That Feeling When You Have A Fire Idea For A Fanfiction But Don't Have Enough Motivation Or Writing Skill

everyone always talking about how hot hiccup is in httyd 2 and 3 which like i agree but BROOO HE'S SUCH A CUTIE IN THE FIRST MOVIE

LIKE IF I SAW THAT DUDE ON THE STREET, I WOULD IMMEDIATELY BE IN LOVE‼️‼️ HE'S SO POOKIE WOOKIE AND I JUST WANNA HOLD HIM

gabriel better do my favorite twink (snotlout) justice or I'm sueing

bro so im reading son of neptune right?? and like percy is SO LOYAL??? like miss reyna over here is like "yo want this job? oh and fyi the people that have his job usually end up romantically involved." and percy's like "errmmmm ive got a girlfriend☝️🤓" AND DOESN'T EVEN REMEMBER HER??? LIKE BRO IS OUT HERE RAISING MY STANDARDS TO THE NEXT GALAXY

I feel like this one needs to be added

Unfinished. Won't finish.

i actually refuse to believe vigcup shippers are real like wdym you ship the enemies that have nothing in common and are 11 years apart together

like that's a fresh adult with a 30 year old how do you find this okay im genuinely concerned

Unmasking the Heart

Y/N and Shoji share a quiet romance, built on trust and unspoken affection. After witnessing a passionate kiss between two students, Y/N realizes how much she craves the intimacy she's never had with Shoji.

Tags: First kiss, Insecurity, Private Relationship, Affection, Mild Suggestive Themes (18+), GN! Reader, Light Angst

W/C: 1.8k

~Hey everyone! I've been writing for a while, but this is the first story l'm posting here. I actually wrote it months ago on a different platform and just now decided to share it. If y'all like this one, I have tons of other stories sitting in my drafts that l'd love to post-let me know what you think!~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The polished floors of UA High echoed with the soft murmur of students transitioning between lunches. You and Shoji were walking outside the corridor during lunch, opting to enjoy the nice day. There was a spot you two enjoyed occupying on days like this—a shaded area behind a tree that provided some privacy from other students.

A comfortable silence hung between you two, your steps in sync as you walked side by side. You’d been dating for a couple of months now, but neither of you made a big show of affection in public. Only those who paid close attention could see the depth of your connection—something more than just friendship.

As you turned toward your usual spot, your peaceful moment was shattered by an unexpected scene. Just ahead, two students stood locked in a kiss, completely lost in each other. Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your cheeks. Despite them being the ones engaging in PDA, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed witnessing it—almost as if you were the one who had been caught.

A gentle tug on the sleeve of your sweater pulled you from your daze. Shoji was quietly signaling for you to leave. When you glanced up to meet his gaze, you were surprised to see a blush creeping up from beneath his mask, the pink hue deepening across his cheeks. Shoji, who was usually calm and collected, rarely letting others affect him, was blushing? It was a small detail considering his mask was hiding his cheeks, but it didn’t go unnoticed by you.

Without a word, you both walked away. Yet, the image lingered in your mind, making it difficult to pretend you hadn’t seen the kiss. An awkward silence settled between you as you hurried to find another spot.

That night, as you sat at your vanity, brushing your freshly washed hair, the thought of the kiss haunted you. The carefree way they were able to show affection, so natural and unguarded, replayed over and over in your mind.

Something stirred deep within you—an ache you hadn’t realized was there. You and Shoji hadn’t had your first kiss yet. And for that to happen, he would have to take off his mask.

You knew about Shoji’s insecurities—he had confided in you about his scars, the ones he kept hidden beneath the fabric. He had told you how he felt his face made others uncomfortable, how he wore the mask more for their sake than his own. The thought of him feeling the need to hide himself from the world hurt more than you could put into words. You boyfriend was too selfless.

But you never pushed him. You understood his hesitation and respected his boundaries. Still, you wished he could see himself the way you saw him—strong, kind, and so much more than just his appearance.

Days passed in a blur of classes and training, but the quiet ache remained. The deeper your bond with Shoji grew, the more you yearned to be closer to him—not just emotionally, but physically. You wanted to erase the lingering doubts you knew still resided in his heart.

One evening, as you sat together in your dorm with textbooks and notebooks scattered around, Shoji noticed the distant look in your eyes. He was always observant, attuned to even the smallest changes in the people around him. You weren’t acting withdrawn, but your mind was clearly elsewhere.

"Y/N," he said gently, his voice soft with concern, "Is something bothering you?"

His question caught you off guard. Your heart skipped a beat. The words you had been struggling to say for days were suddenly on the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t find the right way to express what you felt, so you averted your gaze, twisting the fabric of your sweater.

"It’s nothing," you mumbled, forcing a smile, but your eyes didn’t meet it.

Your boyfriend didn’t buy it. He stayed quiet for a moment, giving you space to speak if you chose to. When you didn’t, he tried again, his voice steady and full of reassurance.

"Y/N, you can talk to me. Whatever it is, I want to understand."

His words settled over you like a comforting weight, grounding you. You swallowed hard, breath catching in your throat.

""It’s just been on my mind lately," you admitted, voice faltering. "Ever since we saw that couple, I…" You hesitated, unsure how to put it into words.

You took a shaky breath. "I’ve been thinking about kissing you," you finally murmured, heat rushing to your face in embarrassment.

You could feel the flush creeping up your neck. "I don’t want you to feel pressured," you added quickly. "I know it probably sounds stupid, and I…" You trailed off, watching his expression.

Shoji went still, caught off-guard by your confession. He had always admired your straightforwardness, but now it was his turn to be at a loss for words. His hands tightened on the table before him, his face flushing a soft pink before he took in what you had said. He knew you meant no harm, but a part of him felt scared. He wanted to say something, to reassure you, but he couldn't get the words out, the insecurity drowning him.

The silence stretched on, and you could see him battling within himself. You watched him closely, your heart sinking as hesitation flickered in his eyes. That look—the way he seemed to shrink into himself—made your chest ache.

"I don’t want you to hide from me," you said, your voice now firm. "Not from me, Mezo."

Gently, you reached out, resting your hands on either side of his face. "I need you to hear me," you whispered. "I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I care about you—all of you. And I wish you could see yourself the way I do."

Your thumbs brushed over the fabric of his mask. "You’re the most selfless, strongest person I know. And I swear, nothing could ever change the way I feel about you."

He was still, so still, but you felt his breath tremble, his resolve wavering beneath the weight of your words.

"Y/N, I… I don't want to lose you," he murmured, his voice thick with fear. "I’m used to this happening, but it’s different with you. What if you don’t feel the same way anymore?"

Your heart clenched at his words. You gently brushed your thumb across his masked jawline. "Mezo," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I love you with the mask, and I’ll love you without the mask, with scars, without scars. I love all of you. You are beautiful to me, inside and out."

Shoji’s eyes glistened, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his fears—of the rejection he had braced for—slowly began to lift. Your love, patient and unwavering, reached the wounds he had kept hidden for so long, healing him in ways he never thought possible.

Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against the fabric of his mask. It wasn’t the first kiss you had imagined, but in this moment, it meant something deeper. It was a quiet vow, a promise that nothing about him could ever push you away.

He exhaled shakily, his hand trembling as it covered yours, the warmth of his touch an unspoken acknowledgment. Then, with careful movements, he removed your hands from his face and sat up straighter, tension coiling in his posture.

"Close your eyes," he murmured.

You obeyed without hesitation, squeezing them shut. You listened as he undid the clasps of his mask, the soft rustling of fabric as it fell away.

His hands reached for yours, guiding your fingers to his face. As your touch met his skin, you felt the contours of his scars—the raised ridges, the uneven texture—each mark a roadmap of his past, now yours to explore.

Your fingertips traced along the sharp line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his cheek, the depth of each scar. You could feel his tears, warm and unguarded, slipping down his face.

Your hands moved to cup his cheeks with a tenderness meant to soothe. "Mezo," you whispered, your voice filled with unwavering love, "You are so beautiful."

Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, then deepened with the weight of months of unspoken emotions finally breaking free. It was raw, full of quiet devotion, a silent reassurance that nothing had changed—only strengthened.

When you finally parted, you opened your eyes, drinking in the sight of him. His expression held a vulnerability you had never seen before, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But there was none. You took in every curve, every mark, every beautiful imperfection—memorizing him, loving him, just as he was.

Damn. Your boyfriend is hot.

The thought hit you so suddenly that you barely had time to process it before you were leaning in again, drawn to him like gravity. This kiss was different— more desperate. You just wanted to feel him, to drown in the warmth of his touch. Your fingers tangled in his white locks, giving a gentle pull that sent a shiver through him.

Two of Shoji’s hands gripped your waist, hesitant yet firm, while the others hovered uncertainly, as if unsure where they belonged. Slowly, you shifted closer, straddling him, feeling the sharp hitch in his breath against your lips.

The kiss grew more fervent, months of unspoken feelings, stolen glances, and quiet longing spilling into each movement. You gasped softly as his hands tightened around you, grounding himself in the moment. When you accidentally bit his lip, a low, unexpected moan escaped him, sending heat coursing through your veins.

The room was filled with the sound of ragged breaths and quiet moans as your hands explored every contour of each other’s bodies, committing them to memory. Every touch, every kiss, felt like a silent vow—one of trust, of love, of something deeper than words could ever convey.

When you finally parted, foreheads pressed together, your chests rose and fell in sync. Shoji swallowed hard, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you, Y/N."

Your heart soared, and a soft smile curled at your lips. "I love you too, Mezo."

— NOISE COMPLAINT ; eijiro kirishima ; 切島

summary: red riot feels really bad about absolutely wrecking the shit out of your treasured plants, or eijiro kirishima falls in love at first sight. pairing: f!reader / pro hero!red riot word count: 3.7k tags: mutual pining, fluff/comfort, humor, very gentlemanly make-out, reader is a fan of red riot, mention of ingenium thirst (truth) a/n: kiri might be a twenty-seven year old pro hero in this fic but he is an absolute lovesick virgin who gets all his romantic cues from k-dramas. you cannot force me to think otherwise.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

The television, low and quiet, drones on as a deep-dive video on terrariums plays. Your apartment is clean — dishes done, laundry folded and trash taken out. There's a new candle burning on the coffee table, and a Dynamight-themed, cucumber-melon eye mask plastered to your delightedly thoughtless expression.

It's supposed to be good for dark circles. It kinda burns. You wonder if maybe that's, like, part of the gimmick. Y'know. Burns. Dynamight. 

Whatever.

No thoughts. Only the pleasure of turning everything off — brain included — for a perfect Friday night, complete with a mediocre glass of wine and no pants. 

The oversized Red Riot t-shirt clinging to your frame is your favorite. You've had it since college — it's a simple red tee with REAL MEN RIOT blazoned across the front, complete with your favorite hero popping a cheeky, shark-like grin and a double bicep. It's faded, stretched out, and broken in but it's also clean, and it smells like fabric softener and comfort.

This is the life. 

Even Twitter is decidedly pretty calm tonight. 

You're scrolling through your timeline, snickering at your friends' recent thirst tweets over Ingenium's recent GQ Japan shoot when it starts.

Apparently, your upstairs neighbors are home.

You thought those guys were out of town for the week. 

You've had beautiful, silent bliss for too long. The buck stops tonight, you suppose.

There's a shout overhead, then a scramble. Another voice joins the fray, and you swear you hear someone call someone else an idiot. You frown deeply as your eyes trail upwards. You wait, expecting more noise, but unsettling silence follows.

Your eye twitches.

Annoyance tips into a simmering rage.

The apartment complex is old. It's in decent shape, and the rent isn't half bad, but the walls are thin. Your upstairs neighbors have been like this as long as you can remember: shouting, stomping, fighting... Some nights it's like being subjected to musical chairs, modern contemporary tap dance, and experimental sound drum solos all at once. 

Your first week was the worst. You dragged yourself up the back to knock on their door and politely negotiate some silence — but the man who opened the door was less than pleased to have his little dude-bro circle-jerk interrupted. He told you to fuck off, get bent, and leave him the fuck alone. 

Then, before he slammed the door in your face, he procured the sort of audacity only assholes possessed and laughed at your Red Riot shirt — which is just plain unforgivable, frankly. 

"That guy's a fuckin' pussy." 

Sure, sure, sure, right, right, right.

The interaction told you everything you needed to know about the two (or four?) men who lived upstairs. They were losers. And they were fuckin' annoying. 

And, as it turns out, manufacturing bad batches of Trigger. 

You don't know that yet, but truth be told it isn't exactly shocking.

Maybe it's your fault for picking an apartment complex in this part of Tokyo. This part of Arawaka Ward is rarely found on those top-ten-neighborhoods-for-young-professionals lists, but it's affordable! And for day laborers like you, it worked. And hey, in recent months, the crime rate has gone down at least 5% — which only quelled the anxieties of your mom and dad by about the same percentage. 

The candle on the coffee table flickers, and you're about to turn back to your slow Twitter feed when there's another bang upstairs — this one admittedly loud enough to send a wave through your wine beside you. You slip your eyes slowly to the glass, perched on a coaster, as another bang rattles your apartment. You reach to still the vibrating glass on the side table. 

That's when the shouting really starts.

And it's when you notice the growing brightness of red and blue lights outside the window.

The apartment complex is pretty big. There are about sixty residents and six floors. You lucked out and managed to snagone of the last available Western-facing studios with a balcony — which made for a perfect plant haven. 

It was a recent hobby, but one that quickly became your calm after the chaos of the day-to-day. Working for the city's Heroics Response Department left you picking up the physical pieces (literally) of a lot of lives. Your quirk might be the usual, run-of-the-mill strength-based ability, but it comes in handy in the aftermath of property damage due to — what the Nation's Safety Commission has labeled — "villain-aggressed encounters". 

All in all, it's a good gig. It's physically demanding but rewarding. The pay is good, you've got union benefits, and you even have a per-diem schedule. It keeps you busy, and though it's not your father's construction business, it's a career path your parents are proud of. 

The slice-of-heaven balcony is bustling with plants. Some are happier than others, sure, but it's pretty. You've admittedlyformed an emotional bond with those vines, leaves, and flowers. 

It's perfect.

It's also perfect for snooping whenever things like this go down in your complex, or the sister complex across the parking lot. 

The shouting match upstairs is escalating, and you take the moment to tip-toe towards your balcony door to peek outside. It looks like two or three police cruisers have pulled up outside. Maybe someone called for a noise complaint? Maybe the property manager was tired of dealing with those losers?

Cackling to yourself, and hoping for a vindicating show of revenge (NO ONE CALLS RED RIOT A PUSSY), you yank open your balcony door and slip outside just as the sound of a pot crashing meets your ears.

Then:

"Shit, shit, shit—"

There's someone on the balcony. That someone's boot is currently stuck in an empty terracotta pot you were saving for spring. Your eyes are wide as you watch the shadow leap to his other foot, lose his balance, and unceremoniously knock over your entire, six-foot-tall, and well-treasured plant stand. You slap a hand over your mouth mid-shriek, hands flying to try and save whatever you can. 

You fail.

Eijiro Kirishima freezes.

What the fu—

It takes a second.

Like, a full second. Maybe even two. Your brain can't make sense of the sight before you. Neither can his, really. 

There's a girl on this balcony. A pretty girl. Like, mega pretty. Like soft and warm and cute and you smell kinda like vanilla — and there's... You're wearing his merch. His merch and... nothing else. Nothing else but a Dynamight eye mask and a pair of fluffy socks. 

...Is this what it's like to fall in love at first sight?

Shit.

Red Riot is on your balcony.

The Red Riot.

Red Riot, the hero in question, catches himself staring. His wide eyes openly wander over your figure (woah, okay, hello thighs), and the second he realizes it, he quickly snaps his eyes up to your face with a mortified expression. "Uh... hi!"

"...Hi...?"

Your expression is tied between shame, fear, and sheepishness as you blink once at him, then twice at the mess of your hobby's destruction. There's dirt everywhere, a plant stand blocking the doorway, and carnage. Your precious babies have been murdered. 

By Red Riot.

And... Red Riot is on your balcony. 

You repeat: Red Riot is on your balcony. 

Abort mission, abort mission.

Your lips part, your mouth hangs open, and every single thought in your head seems to stutter. Kirishima winces as you look down dejectedly at your plants (or, what remains) before he speaks.

"I, uh— is it cool if I..." he points upwards, "Use your balcony?" 

You're speechless.

You draw your mouth shut and nod hurriedly.

"Thanks," he grins, giving you a thumbs up — and a smile. A toothy, cute, nervous smile, "Lemme just... I gotta handle something. B-But, I'll be back. I'll help fix this mess — just... five minutes, okay?"

It hits you suddenly that his voice sounds different from all those interviews you've watched. It's a little warmer, a little raspier, a little less heroic. It's cute. 

Your brain is still having a hard time connecting the words coming out of his mouth to the scene before you — like, yes frontal lobe, this is real. This is happening.

Red Riot is real and Red Riot is on your balcony. 

He's shockingly gentle when he finally frees his boot from your terracotta pot, setting it down with purposeful delicacy — he even whispers 'please stay' as he props it upright — and then steps back to eye the balcony above yours like an athlete remembering a gameplan. 

He's trying to figure out the best way up. 

How he even got up here is news to you. 

(It was Uravity, as it turns out. They've been patrolling together more in this Ward.)

Red Riot is huge. Like, huge. 

Broad shoulders, rippling biceps, and long, fluffy crimson hair. It's daunting to realize how tall he is in person. The guy is a beast — everyone knows it — but his chivalrous nature is that thing that usually draws in his fans. It's no secret that Red Riot is sweet. He openly champions the need to be a good role model for men everywhere. Y'know, you can be strong and nice!

A sharp canine glints in your apartment's light as he pokes his tongue out and thinks for a second. 

Then, he settles on his plan. 

"You might wanna head inside," Red Riot says as he rolls his shoulders and bounces on the balls of his feet; he's readying up for a fight — and you blink as the beautiful realization dawns on you, "This could get kinda loud."

Loud?

Oh my god.

Is he here for your upstairs neighbors?

Oh my god, he is. 

Your jaw falls open as you bark out a laugh — it's an incredulous rasp that sends you into a spiral of joy; you're not a vengeful person by any means but...

"They're gonna shit themselves," you grin, your eyes alight with pure delight and a spark of something that reminds Kirishima a lot little bit of Bakugo, "They called you a pussy—"

Kirishima's brows shoot upwards as he pauses. He was about to jump and dig his hands into the underside of the balcony, but his quirk is stalling at your words. There's a roaring fire blazing in your eyes, one that screams retribution. 

It's... comical.

You cackle again at him with a wide grin, hissing conspiratorily. "They made fun of my shirt!"

You point down at the REAL MEN RIOT tee with both hands, your face set in a look of vindicated glee. Then, the second realization of the night hits — that you've got no pants on, and that stupid, goofy Dynamight eye mask is still on your face. You make a soft sound of embarrassment and tug your shirt down lower, trying to cover up. He cannot see your underwear. No. No way, no fucking way. Without a single word, you reach up, snatch the Dynamight eye mask off your face, and whip it off the balcony without a second thought. 

Slowly, Kirishima's face splits into a pointy grin. 

Holy shit, he's so fucking hot. 

"Oh, man," Red Riot rumbles, his face cracking into a sharp, playful smirk, "That's real rude. I might have t' teach these guys some manners."

Your smile returns, washing away the wobbly look of embarrassment sticking to your cheeks. 

Man, it sure is cute.

You are really cute, Kirishima realizes.

"Right! And who calls Red Riot a pussy?" you counter excitedly, before reigning it in and awkwardly lowering your arms as you try to tug your shirt down to hide the tops of your thighs again. Your glee has stifled a little bit, but it only reaffirms Kirishima's duty to wrap this all up. 

"Yea, that's, like, super misogynistic," he muses as his quirk kicks in and his hands flick into a hardened state. It's insaneto witness the way his large hands transform into weapons with a single breath. You can see the jagged extension of his quirk working up his large arms, too, "Lemme just have a lil' word with these boys, alright? Head on inside, I'll be back in a sec'."

Then, with graceful ease, he hops upwards with a little hup before latching to the base of the upstairs neighbor's balcony. 

It's insane how effortless it is for him to haul himself up the balcony, his hands dug into the cement. His upper body strength is insane. He's scaling the terrace, alternating his grip. He disappears into the dark, swinging his body upwards and reaching his destination.

You tamp down your awe in favor of heeding his directions: head inside.

You're closing the balcony door when you hear Red Riot's voice greet the unexpecting gaggle.

"Hey, fellas! I heard you guys are some super fans. Got anything you want me to sign?"

You snicker to yourself as you hear the beginning of a fight. 

Again, as it turns out, the guys upstairs sucked. Like, mega sucked. They'd been responsible for several recent Trigger overdoses; Uravity and Red Riot were working with law enforcement to track the small-time manufacturers — which explains why they'd been so quiet lately. They suspected someone was on their tail. 

As Red Riot scaled their balcony, law enforcement waited to break down their door. They arrested the four men (Seriously? Four? In that studio?) without much incident — however, you did spy a broken nose on one of them as they were hauled into the back of the awaiting cruisers. 

Sweet, sweet revenge. 

By the time your neighbors are carted off, you've shimmed into some sweats and made a half-assed attempt to look sort ofpresentable, all while firing off a few contextually incomprehensible texts into your group chat.

red riot has seen me in my underwear wtf do i do know kiss him?

You're really weighing your options when there's a knock on your balcony entry. It's gentle and cordial. You turn, head snapping, and spy that trademarked (and a dozen times retweeted) smile through the glass. He waves. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. You try to remember to breathe as you shuffle over and tug the balcony door open. The night air is cool.

Be like the night air.

Stay cool.

Eijiro feels so silly. And guilty. And honestly? Really into you. 

You're still wearing that shirt — the one with his face on it. You have opted to put on pants, but Kirishima still reminds himself to keep his eyes on your face. No ogling. That's not very gentlemanly. 

There's a beat of awkward silence as the two of you wait for the other to speak, and Kirishima is the one to break it with a raspy laugh.

"I wanted to apologize about your plants," a large hand moves to rub the back of his neck, "I cleaned up as best I could. I'm really, really sorry."

You wave him off, leaning into the doorframe. "No, it's okay! It's nothing I can't... fix. I think?"

You look beyond him to the catastrophic mess of plant matter. He must have tried tidying up while you rattled off the rapid-fire texts in the group chat. 

Red Riot's face warbles into something tied between mortification and guilt. "Please forgive me."

"Seriously!" you cry, waving your hands as you try to placate his dejected expression, "Please don't feel bad. It's a fair trade, y'know. Those guys upstairs were, like, the worst."

"I can only imagine," Eijiro concedes, frowning a little, "They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

You shake your head and laugh a little, "Aside from insulting my favorite hero to my face? Not really."

Kirishima can feel his face get a little hot. He shifts from boot to boot. His smile is a little woozy. "So... you're a fan?"

You don't need to tell him the underwear you have on matches the shirt — red, with an embroidered RR on the front. You keep that to yourself. You just nod happily.

"Really?" his grin cracks into something so excitable it makes your entire stomach flip, "I don't meet a lotta fans who are..."

His words drift off.

He's staring at your eyes. You're so... soft. Warm. Your eyes are swirling with quiet, astonished adoration and it's making Kirishima feel like he's floating. 

"Who are...?" your brow quirks as you lean deeper into the doorframe, trying to coax out the rest of the sentence.

"Gorgeous," he breathes, his posture relaxing a little as he soaks in your expression.

It's like getting sucker punched to the sternum.

All the wind rushed out of your lungs.

The soft moment only lasts a beat, because suddenly Red Riot's face screws up and he waves his hands hurriedly. "Wait, no. Hold on, I mean — all of my fans are gorgeous, because, uh, they're my fans and I love them, right? It's not like they're not gorgeous, I just — I'm... I... My fans are, like, usually dudes? A-And that's totally cool because dudes can be gorgeous, too, y'know? But—"

You're laughing.

Kirishima is realizing he was not paying enough attention in his agency's PR training last month and you're laughing.

"I get it," you giggle, crossing your arms and grinning up at him, "I mean, I definitely don't think I'm gorgeous but—"

"You are," he assures firmly, his expression serious.

Are you dead?

Are you, like, literally ascending to a higher plane right now?

There's no fucking way this is happening. 

Your lips part in quiet shock as you bite back a smile that threatens to cramp up your cheeks. Kirishima eats it up, his posture perking up at the way you seem to melt at his compliment. His smile is boyish — almost dizzy. 

You duck a bashful look towards the tiled floor of the balcony, not really giving a singular shit that your beloved monstera has been stomped on.

Kirishima clears his throat, then — in a move he totally hasn't swooned over in those K-dramas he's secretly obsessed with, that'd be ridiculous — he props his arm up against your door and leans over you. Your faces are close in the warm light of the balcony. 

Your eyes stutter up his abdomen, chest, jaw, lips, and eyes. Kirishima notices. It's really, really cute.

"Are you, uh... Are you seeing anyone?" 

Of course, Red Riot would ask that. Red Riot, the king of chivalry. How is something like that so endearing? For the tenth time tonight, he makes your stomach flip.

You shake your head no, a little too stunned to speak.

"Cool," Eijiro musters over a shake of nerves, "Cool. Okay. Uh, then would it... would it be okay if I bought you some new plants?"

You nod, swallowed entirely by his shadow. He's so fucking huge. 

"And if I took you to dinner?" 

Another nod.

"...And — shit. You're, like, so cute," the smooth persona he's put on melts a little as his eyes roam your face; you feel so... shy, "I was gonna ask you something else but..."

"My number?" you offer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you maintain eye contact. 

Is it hot? You're sweating. Is he sweating? He's hot. 

Eijiro nods, absolutely mesmerized by the way you tug your lip between your teeth. "That. Yea."

He has to fight back the urge to bite his knuckle when you turn away and move towards your kitchen to snag your phone. Kirishima stays put, allowing himself one moment of ogling. When you turn around, he's clearing his throat and crossing a boot over his ankle. 

He's still leaning up against the doorway.

"Here," you slip him the phone.

Eiijiro takes it — then hesitates for a second.

"...You're not gonna leak my number, are you?"

You have to laugh. You rub your cheek and shake your head before crossing your arms and looking up at him. "If you think I'm going to do anything to fumble this, you're wrong." 

Fumble this? Fumble him? He's the one that is at risk of fumbling, are you serious?

Eijiro barks out a surprised laugh as he enters his number, shoots a quick text his way then ignores the buzz in his back pocket. He hands your phone back and tries so fucking hard to ignore the way your fingers brush his. 

He got your number.

Holy shit, he got your number.

"Hey, Red Riot?"

He blinks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

You gesture for him to come closer, and he obeys easily — he bends a bit at the waist, his hair falling along his shoulders as he smiles down at you in the threshold of your apartment.

"Is everything alri—?"

You pop a chaste kiss against his cheek. 

Or, try. 

As you hop up onto your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, Eijiro is turning his head at the sound of Urvaity calling his name simultaneously. Trajectory failed, and now it's lips and lips instead of lips on cheek — and honestly? He owes Ochaco one for this. 

Red Riot melts — actually, truly, genuinely melts. His posture slumps down as you let out a shocked little sound of apology. But, Eijiro doesn't mind, and fuck, neither do you — because one hand braces against the doorframe above your head while his other hand is suddenly on your waist. He steadies himself, and damn. Damn. 

He breaks away when Uravity calls his name again. Kirishima is breathless and blushing, and your knees feel like jello. 

"I... Uh, I gotta go—"

"Yea, totally," you breathe, swallowing down the burn of unfiltered attraction, "Sorry, I was trying to kiss your cheek—"

Another call of his name. Red Riot curses softly before hollering a 'COMING!' over his shoulder, out past the edge of the balcony. 

When he turns back, he's fast to sweep you into another kiss — this one hotter than before. This one draws you into his chest, sending your hands colliding with the hot skin of his chest. There's muscle and scars and heat beneath your fingertips. His hand curls around your lower back, and you nearly moan. 

He peels himself away with an apologetic look as he backs towards the edge of the balcony. "I gotta go — I'll text you once patrol is over. Is that okay? I'm serious about the plants. And dinner." 

All you can do is nod.

Eijiro is kinda proud of himself for stunning you stupid with that kiss.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

I have a little voice inside my head demanding I draw shit like this and it's hunger is never satiated

Take a shot each time it says year.

HTTYD fandom, this year we RISE.

quick meme i made in the dead of night, sleepy as hell. Honestly it was waaayyy funnier in my head.