The training room smelled like sweat and wet concrete, but all Izuku could notice was Kirishima. He leaned casually against the wall, grin sharp and eyes glinting, but there was a dangerous sort of softness in the way he watched Izuku. Every “accidental” brush of skin, every nudge, made Izuku’s chest tighten.
Izuku tried to focus on his notebook, tried to pretend he was writing down drills and strategies, but Kirishima had other plans. Every laugh, every low murmur, every movement was a subtle game of closeness and tension that made Izuku’s heart race.
“Stop staring at me like that,” Kirishima said, tilting his head, smirk playful but his voice low, teasing. His shoulder brushed Izuku’s once again.
“I… I can’t help it,” Izuku admitted, heat rushing to his face. “You… you make it impossible.”
Kirishima’s grin widened. He stepped closer, just enough that Izuku could feel the warmth radiating off him. “Good,” he said, “that’s the idea.”
The air between them thickened, charged, like a storm waiting to break. Every brush of their hands, every accidental touch, every lingering glance was a spark neither of them wanted to admit could ignite something more.
Izuku’s hands shook slightly as he flipped the notebook closed, pretending he needed a break, but he didn’t move away. He couldn’t. Not when Kirishima’s presence pressed close, teasing, daring him to react.
“You’re way too tense,” Kirishima murmured, letting his fingers trail along Izuku’s arm with deliberate slowness. “Relax. Or… don’t. I kind of like this version of you.”
Izuku’s breath caught. His mind scrambled. Part of him wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to melt right there, part of him wanted to lean into the warmth pressing against him.
Kirishima noticed the flush creeping across Izuku’s neck, the way his hands twitched near the edge of the table. He leaned even closer, whispering just above Izuku’s ear, letting his breath brush against him.
“You feel like… trouble. But maybe that’s exactly why I like it.”
Izuku swallowed hard, heart hammering, words caught somewhere in his chest. Kirishima’s grin turned wicked, fingers brushing along the back of his hand, tracing a path that left shivers in its wake.
Neither spoke for a long moment. The silence was heavy, intimate, dangerous in the best way. Their bodies were close enough to feel the small movements, the tension humming in the space between them.
And still, there was no rush. No sudden confession, no immediate action. Just two hearts beating too fast, inches apart, filled with words they couldn’t say aloud, but were screaming in every glance, every brush of skin, every lingering laugh.
sometimes, being this close is the best kind of dangerous.
vaporwave
turnnoffyourmind
2087
titsay
gummygunk
annaxmalina
ellievsbear
blakekathryn