drunk needy clingy kirishima??
Kirishima's drunk. You can tell by the warm, rosy flush blooming across his cheeks under the soft streetlight glow. His crimson eyes, glassy and half-lidded, blink slow and unfocused as he leans into you, words slurring just enough at the ends that the tang of alcohol clings to every breath.
And god, he's clinging. This big, broad, beefy man—pro hero, strong enough to level buildings—is latched onto his girlfriend like a needy puppy, Anyone passing by might do a double take, but luckily, the street is silent and empty at this hour. It’s one in the morning, and the city's tucked into sleep.
He whines softly, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he drawls, “But babyyy, I missshhh you—hic.”
You laugh under your breath, amused and endeared. “Kiri, I’m right here.”
But he isn’t having it. He spins you around clumsily, his hands landing on your cheeks, fingers poking at the soft skin like he’s checking if you're real.
“Hmmm,” he hums suspiciously, nose wrinkling. “Don’t believe it.”
Then, after a beat, his expression breaks into a crooked grin. “Kidding. But I wanna hug you. And kiss you. Can we do that? Please?”
There’s such raw, eager affection in his tone, it tugs at your heart even as you bite back another smile. You turn your head slightly, dodging his attempts to plant a wet kiss on your cheek.
“Soon, babe. Not yet. I gotta call a cab first, ‘kay?”
He lets out a dramatic groan and crosses his arms like a sulking kid, swaying slightly on his feet as you pull your phone out. But as soon as you start dialing, he’s pressed up against your back again, wrapping you in a warm, clumsy hug. His face buries in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin as he mumbles,
“You smell so good… and you taste good too...”
The kisses start then—sloppy, uncoordinated little pecks peppered across your jaw and neck.
You laugh, startled, and gently push him off. “Kiri, no. You’re drunk. Save the love bites for when you’re sober, yeah? The cab’ll be here any second.”
He grumbles in protest, muttering something unintelligible, but he doesn’t fight it.
The cab ride home is another challenge. Kirishima immediately collapses into you, burying his face into your chest, arms wrapped around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. At one point, he even shoves his head up under your shirt in some misguided attempt to get closer.
“M’just love you so much, y’know that?” he murmurs into your skin.
You hum, combing your fingers through his messy hair. “I know, baby.”
“You’re so manly,” he mumbles next, and it’s so slurred it takes a second to process. “Like… so manly I gotta marry you or somethin’.”
You laugh, heart swelling at the raw honesty in his voice.
“You’re so pretty I—hic—I can’t even handle it...”
And then, without warning, the tears start. His head lifts from under your shirt just long enough to rest against your shoulder, sniffling. His voice cracks as he continues, a mess of intoxicated love confessions spilling out in barely coherent sentences.
“Just wish I could crawl into your skin and… and live there. You’re so warm. So soft.”
You don’t even try to suppress the fond exhale.
Later that night, you’re in the bathroom with him, kneeling on the cold tiles. One hand holds back his messy crimson hair, the other rubbing gentle circles on his back as he throws up everything he'd drunk. A bottle of aspirin and a full glass of water wait nearby.
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