I Have That Shirt Too Kurt

i have that shirt too kurt

reblog if you're gay, not gay, slightly gay, or if you just want to launch donald trump into a dying star

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dirtbagattack

2 months ago

this made me giggle especially the hawks and aizawa ones

MHA Characters Getting "The Talk"

Warning: awkwardness ahead. This is pure stupid crack.

Inspired by a JJK version of this on tiktok by @ matt_the_curtin

How do the guys react to recieving 'the talk'

Featuring: Izuku Midoriya, Toshinori Yagi (All Might), Katsuki Bakugo, Best Jeanist, Fumikage Tokoyami, Keigo Takami (Hawks), Tamaki Amajiki, Fatgum, Tomura Shigaraki, Toya Todoroki (Dabi), Hitoshi Shinso, Shota Aizawa (Eraserhead), Shoto Todoroki, Enji Todoroki (Endeavor)

Izuku Midoriya – Getting "The Talk" from Toshinori Yagi (All Might)

Toshinori Yagi sat across from Izuku Midoriya, looking extremely uncomfortable as he clasped his hands together. Sweat dripped down his face as he tried to find the right words.

"Y-Young Midoriya," he coughed. "I… uh… I feel that, as your mentor, it's my duty to, er, educate you on… certain aspects of life."

Izuku blinked. "Oh! Like hero strategy? The importance of recovery time after a big battle?"

"No." Toshinori's face paled. "I-I mean… relationships. Love. And… physical intimacy."

Izuku turned bright red. "OH GOD."

"YES, EXACTLY!" Toshinori shouted, dramatically pointing at him. "GOD HELP US BOTH!"

There was an awkward silence.

Toshinori cleared his throat. "Ahem. So. When two people care for each other very much—"

"PLEASE STOP."

Toshinori held up a shaky finger. "No, no, listen, Young Midoriya. I must do this! It is my responsibility!" He inhaled deeply. "It is much like a United States of Smash—except instead of destroying an enemy, you are—"

"OH MY GOD, PLEASE NO!" Izuku covered his ears, mortified. "DON’T RUIN SMASH ATTACKS FOR ME, SENSEI!"

Toshinori’s gaunt cheeks turned red. "S-sorry."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"...Do you have any questions?" Toshinori finally asked.

Izuku stood up. "I HAVE TO GO STUDY FOR A TEST!"

"But there’s no test!"

"THERE IS NOW!"

And with that, Midoriya ran.

Outcome: All Might is traumatized. Izuku never looks at him the same way again.

Katsuki Bakugo – Getting "The Talk" from Best Jeanist

Best Jeanist sat elegantly in his chair, hands clasped, posture impeccable. Across from him, Katsuki Bakugo slumped aggressively, arms crossed, looking seconds away from combusting.

"Katsuki," Best Jeanist said, his voice smooth. "It is my duty as your mentor to educate you on a matter most delicate."

Bakugo scowled. "If this is about ‘being a proper gentleman,’ I’m out."

Jeanist exhaled through his nose. "No, my unruly pupil. This is about intimacy."

Bakugo's eye twitched.

Jeanist continued. "Love is a fabric that must be woven carefully. Each strand—trust, respect, communication—is vital. And much like a fine pair of denim—"

"NO." Bakugo stood up. "NO DENIM ANALOGIES, YOU WEIRD STRING BEAN!"

Jeanist ignored him. "A strong foundation is crucial, lest one suffer a wardrobe malfunction, if you understand my meaning."

Bakugo’s hands literally sparked.

Jeanist smiled, unfazed. "And of course, protection is important. Just as one would not step into battle without proper armor, one must also ensure—"

"STOP TALKING!" Bakugo turned completely red. "I’M OUT! I’M DONE! I’M NOT LISTENING TO A GUY IN A DENIM TURTLENECK TALK ABOUT CONDOMS!"

And with that, he exploded through the nearest window.

Outcome: Best Jeanist remains unbothered. Bakugo needs therapy.

Fumikage Tokoyami – Getting "The Talk" from Hawks

Hawks leaned back in his chair, casually tossing popcorn into his mouth. "Alright, kid. So. Birds and bees talk. Let’s go."

Fumikage Tokoyami stared at him. "...I already know about birds."

Hawks grinned. "Not like this, you don’t."

Tokoyami sighed. "This is unnecessary. My path is one of solitude and darkness. I have no need for such knowledge."

Hawks waggled his eyebrows. "Yeah? Well, when your Dark Shadow isn’t the only thing rising at night, you might wanna reconsider."

Tokoyami froze.

Dark Shadow: "BRO, WHAT THE HELL?!"

"HAWKS." Tokoyami gripped the edge of the table, visibly trembling. "DO NOT SPEAK OF SUCH MATTERS!"

Hawks chuckled. "Relax, Bird Boy. I got your back." He tossed a condom at him. "Use that if you ever wanna fly south for the winter, yeah?"

Tokoyami practically flew out of the room.

Outcome: Tokoyami becomes celibate. Dark Shadow is scarred for life.

Tamaki Amajiki – Getting "The Talk" from Fatgum

Fatgum grinned as he placed a giant plate of takoyaki in front of Tamaki.

"Alright, bud! Let’s talk about the big stuff!"

Tamaki, already nervous, started sweating. "B-big… s-stuff?"

"Yup!" Fatgum nodded. "The ol' horizontal tango! The whoopee cushion shuffle! The bibbity boppity boink!"

Tamaki looked like he wanted to disintegrate.

Fatgum laughed. "Aww, c’mon, kiddo! Ain’t nothing to be scared of! Everybody’s gotta learn how to get down to business eventually!"

Tamaki: "I don’t."

Fatgum patted his shoulder. "Ah, it ain’t so bad! You just gotta be confident, communicate with your partner, and—"

Tamaki teleported out of his chair.

Outcome: Fatgum laughs it off. Tamaki moves to another city.

Tomura Shigaraki – Getting "The Talk" from Dabi

Dabi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking.

"So, you and relationships. That’s a funny thought."

Shigaraki scowled. "Tch. Whatever. I don’t care."

Dabi chuckled. "Alright, well, let’s say you do care. You meet someone, they actually like you—miracle, by the way—so what then?"

Shigaraki crossed his arms. "Then I’d… tell them they’re mine?"

Dabi sighed. "Alright, well, if you don’t wanna accidentally dust your date mid-kiss, you should probably learn some control, champ."

Shigaraki looked away. "...Tch. Whatever. I have control."

"Yeah? What about when your emotions get wild?" Dabi grinned. "Or if they kiss your neck?"

Shigaraki turned bright red. "SHUT UP."

Outcome: Shigaraki refuses to speak to Dabi for a week.

Hitoshi Shinso – Getting "The Talk" from Aizawa

Aizawa sighed, rubbing his temples. "Okay, Shinso. We need to talk."

Shinso sipped his coffee. "About what?"

Aizawa: "...Sex."

Shinso immediately choked.

Aizawa sighed again. "Look, it’s nothing complicated. Just be respectful, communicate, use protection, and for the love of god, don’t use your Quirk in bed."

Shinso: "WHY WOULD I—WHAT—NO! WHY WOULD YOU EVEN THINK THAT?!"

Aizawa shrugged. "I don’t know. Gotta cover all the bases."

Shinso buried his face in his hands. "I hate it here."

Outcome: Aizawa doesn’t care. Shinso wants to disappear.

Shoto Todoroki – Getting "The Talk" from Endeavor

Endeavor sat across from Shoto, arms crossed, his face burning slightly brighter than usual.

"Shoto. We need to talk."

Shoto blinked. "About?"

"...Procreation."

Shoto immediately stood up. "I’m leaving."

Endeavor grabbed his wrist. "SIT."

Outcome: Shoto literally escapes through a window.

tracing secrets onto your skin. e!kirishima

in which you are stuck in a hotel room, with the guy you've loved for years. and oh did i mention? there's only one bed.

authors note: 1.3k words! one bed trope, pure fluff, mutual pining. this is so similar to a shoujo manga. m.list <3

Tracing Secrets Onto Your Skin. E!kirishima

You and Kiri had been assigned a mission together in a completely different country, but now, arriving at the already booked hotel room—the one the HPSC had provided, courtesy of you both saving the day—there was one slight problem.

Upon stepping inside, weak bruised aching limbs and battered hearts, you opened the door to reveal only one bed.

Yep. Only one bed.

And to make matters worse, it was incredibly small—supposedly a queen, but barely bigger than a twin. And who was standing next to you? Only the guy you’d been painstakingly in love with for three years now. Ever since you first saw him as a first-year at U.A., with his sharp teeth and kind eyes, you had been on the floor for him.

You and Kiri were friends—sort of? Maybe? It was complicated. He was nice to everyone, and it was hard to call someone like that a friend when they belonged to everyone. Mr. Aizawa had always partnered the two of you together. At first, you weren’t sure why, but then you realized—it was because you hesitated. You were shy, timid, and always second-guessing yourself even when you knew you were capable. And Kirishima was loud, outgoing, and so completely kind, that he had a way of making people feel so sure of themselves, which is exactly what you had needed.

Being the gentleman he was, Kirishima immediately insisted on taking the floor. And by the time you emerged from the shower, hair damp and clinging to your face, wrapped in a shirt far too big for you, he was already curled up on the ground.

You climbed into the plush bed, the blankets swallowing you whole in their softness, but your mind couldn’t settle. Not when you knew his back was aching from today’s mission. Not when you knew his body was probably in even worse shape than yours.

You swallowed down the thoughts, let them mix inside like creamer in coffee, before finally whispering, as softly as ever, as if your words could shatter the distance you’d held between him and your heart for so long.

"Kiri?"

He responded quickly—faster than you expected. Your heart clamored against your ribs as he spoke your name so sweetly, laced with the haze of sleep, like he was stumbling through a dream.

"Yeah?"

You hesitated before murmuring, “Come sleep on the bed. The floor is cold and hard, and I know you’re hurting, Kirishima.”

He swallowed, his hesitation stretching into the dimly lit room, then cut through the tension with a quiet chuckle. “No, the bed’s for you. I’m okay.”

But you weren’t convinced.

You leaned over the edge, your long hair spilling down, a tendril brushing against his cheek. The moonlight filtering through the curtains cast a silver glow over his face as his gaze flickered up towards yours, his crimson eyes shining in the glow. His gaze softening as he reached up, twirling a lock of your hair between his calloused fingers.

Your heart beat louder. Faster. It was dangerously close to falling right into his hands, to be held and guarded by him.

You spoke again, this time more hesitantly, afraid your words wouldn’t reach him.

"Please, Kiri?"

He just stared at you, like you were the most fascinatingly beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Like he saw straight through your beating heart to the secrets you held captive. And then, finally, he agreed.

The bed dipped beneath his weight as he climbed in beside you.

The room was filled with silence, save for the soft rhythm of your breathing and the distant sounds of the busy street below. Then, finally, Kirishima spoke—his voice soft, yet raspy, like the soft currents of waves nipping at your feet.

"Thank you."

And you echoed it back. "Thank you."

The silence stretched, turning the room upside down. You listened to the way he shifted, turned, unable to get comfortable. With a bit of confidence, you finally asked, "Having trouble sleeping?"

He let out a quiet, bitter laugh, like he wanted to downplay it, to make it seem not that bad. But you knew him better than that. You knew he was hurting. And you knew he wouldn’t admit it.

"Is it your back?"

He exhaled. "Yeah… strained myself today. Should’ve known when to quit."

You pocketed the last bit of his sentence away in your mind, tucking it into the back of your thoughts like a trinket, to find later but in this case to bring up later. Then Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, your fingertips ghosting over his scarred skin “Is… this okay? I just want to help.”

His breath hitched. Then, after a moment, he murmured, “Yeah.”

Carefully, you ran your fingers over his scarred back, kneading at the sore muscles along his shoulders, pressing into the tension lingering in his body. Your touch grew bolder, tracing the sharp ridges of his shoulder blades, following the delicate line of his spine. He smelled like warmth, like golden honey bottled up with love, like spring flowers dipped in sunshine,mixed with the lingering glances and hidden touches of a teenage love scorned into the pages of a romance novel.

He was everything you’d ever want. Something you would chase—not in a bruised, bloodied-knees, face-full-of-dirt kind of way, but in the way a child chases bubbles, laughing as each one pops. In the way you run toward the sound of the ice cream truck, sneakers untied, heart racing for something sweet.

With every soft breath he let out, it was like tuning into a radio signal— the softness of the faint static giving way to something clearer. Your fingers trailed absentmindedly, and he let them, his body still, his breaths shallow.

Your fingers mapping out something secret, something you’d never been brave enough to say. And with shaky hands, you finally traced the words—

"I love you."

You lingered on the last letter longer than you should have.

Then—

A sharp intake of breath.

Before you could react, he turned over, grasping your wrist in his free hand, enclosing your fingers within his own. His red eyes bore into yours, searching, uncertain.

"You… said you loved me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Well… you traced it on my back."

Your eyes widened. And for a moment, you felt like you were thirteen again, drowning in the dizzying rush of first love, when every feeling was new and everything mattered too much.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, already turning over, already bracing yourself for rejection.

But then he shifted, moving closer, his body hovering slightly over yours, eyes locked onto your face.

"I'm not good with words," he admitted, voice rough, quiet. "Can I show you instead?"

You barely realized you nodded until you felt the vibration of your own agreement, your breath caught in your throat.

His hands—so big, so strong, so gentle—cradled your face like you were porcelain, like he was learning how to be careful with something fragile. And then his lips met yours.

Hesitant. Careful. You could taste his uncertainty, but as your hands threaded through his soft, unstyled red hair, as your fingers traced the edges of his jaw, dancing across his skin, eliciting goosebumps he eased into it—deeper, surer. Your bodies slotted together, moving in perfect harmony, wrapped in warmth and the quiet, breathless overwhelming ecstasy of everything unsaid.

Bodies slotting together, sheets shifting beneath your weight, drowning in something too big to name.

Kissing him felt like the summer afterglow, mosquitos nipping at your flesh with sticky hands from a melted popsicle.

And when he finally pulled away, the moonlight glowing against his face, his hand ghosted over your collarbone, tracing the same words you had left on his skin.

"I love you."

With the same hesitation. The same gentleness. The same certainty.

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dirtbagattack

3 months ago

why do people believe in fake magic when our world is already insanely beautiful and complex