Thread by @omegaharte, Bakubeefy and his Fluffishima Desires: a thread inspired and encouraged by @_arxaris

Bakubeefy and his Fluffishima Desires: a thread inspired and encouraged by @_arxaris_ @kiribaku511 and @LalaLuffles

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Bakugou can’t help but admire himself in the gym mirror as he does another deadlift. Only five more in the set and he’ll take to the mat to stretch.

But he’s come to this gym for months now and he will never stop taking the time to watch his powerful body with every free weight routine he goes through.

He’s stacked and he knows it. Is proud of it.

Bakugou takes care of his body and in return he can do anything. Push through his PRs and strive for better and faster.

The extra padding? Bonus.

He’s not all show of flashy muscles cut to impress. This is a working body, not an aesthetic. Fuck the grunts who throw weights around for the attention, sacrificing delicious meals for a higher follower count.

Gym rat dumbasses probably eat so clean that they’ve forgotten what heaven can be found in a quality pizza.

His pecs bounce. His abs have cushion.

Biceps capable of duality: rock hard muscles when flexed but soft enough for top notch hugging when he deigns to show his affection.

With the last rep, Bakugou glances behind him in the mirror.

He’s not imagining it.

The stunning redhead on the leg press is eyeing him.

He’s seen him here with growing regularity. They’ve passed each other in the locker rooms and Bakugou has taken /every/ opportunity to admire the other man. Because fuck, he may be built but the redhead is a mass he wants to sink into.

Bakugou drops the barbell and grabs the gym’s cleaning towel, making certain to bend over in his tiny shorts as he wipes down the metal. His red gaze watches beneath his lashes and a small victorious smirk tugs at his lips when the redhead all but ogles his backside.

Oh, hell yes.

The barbell gets racked and Bakugou proceeds to make a show of himself as he settles into the mat with a foam roller.

When he rolls out his back, he lets the thin loose tank top he wears to ride up. It bunches at his arms, leaving his tits and belly exposed. Bakugou can feel a particular pair of eyes on him.

/Eat it up, handsome/.

He can feel his extra fat jiggle as he makes a slow roll up and back down. His skin folds as he comes out of the stretch and Bakugou doesn’t tug his shirt back down for a solid five seconds.

He starts doing his other stretches afterward.

Another thing his natural blend of fat and muscle grants him? Better flexibility.

And Bakugou makes certain his audience of one becomes vividly aware of this fact as he spreads his legs wide, leaning forward. Basic. But this is his back day and his /favourite/ yoga pose and best stretch for the spine is necessary.

Halasana, commonly known as /plow/ pose.

Bakugou effortlessly folds himself in half, thick thighs above his head and toes pressing into the floor above him. The fabric of his shorts squeeze into his glutes, shirt riding up again to expose the folds in his stomach.

It’s midday on a Tuesday, not enough gym rats to grunt or clang weights; nothing to drown out the small strangled sound that Bakugou hears from the machine behind him.

Right then and there, Bakugou knows he’s done appreciating the hunk from a distance. Fuck that. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t sink his teeth—figuratively and literally—into the redhead. /Soon/.

He finishes his post-workout stretching and abandons the weight room for the showers. As he passes the leg press, Bakugou makes certain to meet the other man’s gaze.

He winks.

The blush Bakugou receives in return is far too endearing. The redhead ducks his head, resolute in the next rep he does.

Too irresistible.

It’s while he’s in the shower, rinsing the sweat off his body, that Bakugou determines his best approach.

He hasn’t been blindly drinking up the sight of the redhead. The truth is getting a look at the bod beneath the workout clothes has been a challenge, to say the least.

Bakugou /knows/ why that is. At one time he can say he was the same. And he’s since run into his share of men in similar positions. The signs are all there.

But on this particular man, the signs look terrible.

No man with a body like his should be trying to hide it.

* * * *

“Hey, Red.” Bakugou leans against the lockers clad only in boxer briefs, the curve of his belly pooch and dark blond trail of hair on display.

The redhead in question turns, startled out of putting his shirt on and hugging it over his chest instead. “Me?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “No, the fucking yellow lockers. Yes you, dumbass.”

“Oh. Uh yeah, what’s up?”

“You got plans tonight?” No matter what approach, it’s anything but delicate.

The other man stares, brows pinching together. “Uh, I mean, I have to walk my dog…”

“That ain’t plans. Yes or no.”

Another silent moment passes before he answers, “No?”

Bakugou smirks. “You do now. Meet me here at the gym at 6.”

This time one brow rises in question. “How do I know you aren’t going to murder me?”

Bakugou lets out a snort. Taking a step closer, he lets his gaze roam over the other man’s physique with open interest. The teasing sight of grippable love handles his shirt can’t hide, chest wide and begging to be touched.

Bakugou is tall at 6’3” but the redhead stands several inches taller. For once he feels small and he loves it.

He takes pleasure in the spreading flush across the other man’s face and neck at the attention.

Bakugou lifts a brow, grin predatory. “Wreck you? Maybe. But snuff isn’t one of my kinks, Red.”

The other man gapes for a moment before finally making his voice work. “K-Kirishima.”

“Hah?”

“The name’s Kirishima,” he says with more confidence. “If you’re taking me out, we should know each other’s names, yeah?”

Bakugou lifts his chin in acknowledgement, smirking. “Bakugou Katsuki.” He pushes off the lockers and turns to leave, sending a heated glance over his shoulder. “See you tonight, Kirishima.”

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Upcoming CWs: poor self image and insecurity, negative self esteem, kiri needs cuddles forever, Ochako is a sassy mama

Pls QRT, don’t break the thread. And I love interacting with everyone.

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Kirishima arrives at the gym 30 minutes to six that evening, shuffling on his feet as he fidgets with the hem of his pullover hoodie. The fall weather means it’s not strange to be wearing something on the warmer side. He hadn’t known what kind of clothes to wear for this—/date/?

A /date/. There’s no denying that’s what’s about to happen.

The blond, Bakugou, had made that abundantly clear.

With warm cheeks, Kirishima recalls the look on the other man’s face. His voice had dropped with suggestion, gaze hungrily taking him in.

It feels impossible that /he/ could have caught the attention of a built man like Bakugou.

“What’s got you flustered, Red?” That gruff voice cuts through Kirishima’s tumbling thoughts, pulling his attention to the man in question.

It should be illegal for Bakugou to look so good in a fitted shirt and bomber jacket. There’s a duffle bag slung over his shoulder that catches Kirishima’s attention.

“Are we—you want to work out again?” he asks tentatively, frowning in confusion.

Bakugou’s grin makes something in Kirishima’s chest squirm. “Not quite, handsome. Come on, it ain’t far from here.”

As they fall into step beside each other, Kirishima finds himself wondering how he could have possibly attracted this man.

He’d been admiring Bakugou for weeks now, first in shock that a man of his size would willingly show off his plushness that hides the strength of his muscles. Kirishima envied that level of confidence.

But shock had given way to lustful attraction with a swiftness. Because Bakugou looks like a man that can handle Kirishima the way he is now without fuss.

Kirishima has spent far too many workout sessions forgetting which rep he had been on because he couldn’t take his eyes off the blond; wondering just how much give his tempting midsection had, what it would feel like to be wedged between those plump powerful thighs.

The last thing he expected was to end up here, walking alongside Bakugou on their way somewhere. Together.

He’d spent his afternoon screaming at his roommate Kaminari and burying his face in the collar of his dog Rambo to conceal the raging blush.

The other man’s shoulder knocks against him, drawing Kirishima from his thoughts a second time. “You get stuck in your head a lot? Am I gunna have to fuckin’ snap you out of it every few minutes?”

Kirishima bites at his lip with a guilty frown. “Sorry, man. I’m just—not sure why you asked me out.”

Bakugou arches an incredulous brow. “You’re pretty fuckin’ dense then.”

“Wha—” He doesn’t get the chance to finish his question. Bakugou strides ahead to reach a set of double doors and yanks one of them open to welcome Kirishima inside the building.

/YUUEI CLIMBING/. The name of the establishment is carved into the surface of the expansive front desk, painted to appear like stone with thin veining throughout. Kirishima stares, brows pinched as he takes in the retail space to the right and the open space behind the desk.

An array of different rock walls, varying in height and difficulty, stand like silent sentries across the space of the building.

“Oi, Deku!” Bakugou shouts as he gives the bolt on the front door a twist. In response, a green haired man strides out from a side door with a smile.

“Kacchan! It’s been awhile!”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. Kirishima splits his gaze between the two of them while attempting to shrink out of the picture entirely. They know each other and he feels decidedly out of place.

Slim aerodynamic people come to places like this. Muscled powerful people. Not chunks like him who will inevitably bulge between the straps of the harnesses.

“Yeah whatever. You didn’t fuck up did you? We got the place to ourselves for an hour, right?”

“As requested.” That voice comes from behind the man called Deku.

Bakugou nods at the bespeckled man who comes to stand next to Deku, resting a hand on his shoulder. His dark hair shines a faint blue in the fading evening sun.

“And you must be Bakugou’s date!” He acknowledges Kirishima with a polite smile. “I’m Iida Tenya and this is my partner Midoriya Izuku.”

“And I’m going to snap someone’s neck if I don’t get mochi kitkats and pickles in the next half hour.” Bakugou scoffs at the woman who makes her appearance through the same side door. Kirishima feels cornered by the attention.

This isn’t at all what he’d anticipated; the doors the blond /locked/ are beginning to look tempting.

The woman waddles around Midoriya and Iida, round belly protruding. She comes to Kirishima and holds out her hand.

“Uraraka Ochako. I’m the big boss around here, with an assistant boss doing a ride along.” She presses a hand to her belly. “My boys thought it’d be funny to knock me up during our busiest season.”

“Uh,” Kirishima flounders as he shakes her hand. She has an unexpectedly firm grip. “Kirishima Eijirou. Your—boys?”

The petite woman turns to level a sharp look at Bakugou. “Did you drag this poor man here without giving him any info?”

The blond shrugs, unperturbed. “Not a big fuckin’ deal, Round Face.”

The two of them start to square off, glaring at one another. Midoriya interjects quickly, “We three own this place and are also dating each other. Bakugou’s a friend. It’s nice to meet you, Kirishima!”

Kirishima blinks as he absorbs the new information.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” Bakugou snaps. “Didn’t come here to swap life stories. Come on, Kirishima.”

Unable to do much else, the redhead follows after his date with scattered thoughts bouncing around in his head. It’s a lot to take in and he barely registers the fact that they go down a short hall into a locker room.

It isn’t until Bakugou shoves items into his chest that he recognises his new surroundings.

“Get changed, Red.” Bakugou steps back and picks up his own clothes, beginning to shed his current attire without hesitation.

Kirishima stares at the clothing in his arms with an absent blink before flushing with the realisation that these are /Bakugou’s/ clothes. When he looks up he gets an eyeful of his date shirtless and pantsless but for navy blue boxer briefs that hug thick thighs.

Kirishima is simultaneously attracted to Bakugou’s state of undress and uncomfortable with the thought of baring his own body to change into clothing that doesn’t belong to him.

But this is a /date/. Something Kirishima hadn’t thought he’d land with anyone any time soon. Not until he’d carved away his extra weight at least.

“We only got an hour.” Bakugou’s snappish tone cuts through Kirishima’s thoughts once more.

“You can stare, I don’t mind. But Round Face will. We’ve got an actual date to continue.”

Face flushing a darker shade, Kirishima nods. “Uh, right. Yeah.”

With effort, he forces himself to take off his jeans and tug on the athletic capris. They do nothing to hide the roundness of his thighs. Kirishima feels a little queasy as he sheds the pullover and unbuttons his collared shirt, leaving himself in just his singlet beneath.

Bakugou interjects just as Kirishima reaches for the loaned top. “You might as well go without the undershirt too. Gunna get sweaty and you don’t wanna go wearing that after if you climbed with it on.”

Logically, his date is right. But Kirishima frowns down at the white tank top while his brain fights to see how reasonable it is to take the article of clothing off.

Underneath it lies the proof of how unattractive he is. Rolls and pudge where none should be. Stretch marks that map out the evidence of his rapid weight gain since he hit puberty.

“Stop it.” The clang of a locker being slammed shut with violent force rings in the space. Kirishima jumps, startled gaze pulled from his own torso to find Bakugou alarmingly close.

The other man glares at him as he insists, “Stop thinking about stupid shit. I can practically hear your thoughts and none of it is fuckin’ true. Take off the damn thing and put that one on. I’ll see you out on the floor.”

With that, Bakugou vacates the locker room with a huff.

Kirishima stares after his retreating form until he’s rounded the corner out of sight.

He doesn’t understand why his own plight upsets Bakugou. It’s not his body, not his problem to grapple with. /It’s not fuckin’ true/, he’d said.

With a bone-deep sigh, Kirishima squeezes his eyes shut and jerks the singlet up and over his head. He reaches blindly for the other top, finding the bottom hem by feeling alone.

Once it slides over his head and lays across his chest, Kirishima finally opens his eyes again, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in.

The shirt and the spandex pants fit better than expected. The shirt is actually a bit loose in the shoulders. The pants are snug but Kirishima silently admits to himself that his paranoia is likely making it out to be tighter than it actually is.

He can do this. He can enjoy this date with the most attractive man he’s ever seen.

Kirishima promises himself that he won’t let his insecurities ruin his chances.

And once he forcefully shoves his anxious self-conscious thoughts into a locked box, he can admit that he’s looking forward to rock wall climbing. Being active is something Kirishima genuinely enjoys and he really is pleased that Bakugou chose this activity for their date.

“You can do this.” Kirishima mutters it to himself as he redoes the laces of his shoes and heads out of the locker room to find where his date went.

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QRT, livetweet those reactions, just don’t break the thread or it’s walkin’ the plank time.

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If you’re just tuning in here, I’m dropping the top of the thread!

QRT only pls and thank you!

https://twitter.com/harteofpierce/status/1232958392165183493?s=21">https://twitter.com/harteofpi... https://twitter.com/omegaharte/status/1232958392165183493">https://twitter.com/omegahart...

https://twitter.com/harteofpierce/status/1232958392165183493?s=21

As Bakugou collects two harnesses and waits for his date to emerge from the locker room, he finds himself questioning if he’s pushing too hard. They don’t know each other. Not yet. But he would like to. That may not happen if Kirishima feels pressured about his insecurities.

But it rankles him. Bakugou sees nothing but a stunning man he wants to climb on, yet Kirishima’s poor self-image is transparent. Such low self-esteem doesn’t look good on him and Bakugou wants to do whatever he can to show him that.

/Don’t fuck this up/, he tells himself as he twists the straps of the harness between his hands.

His gaze keeps an eye on the exit to the locker rooms and the moment Kirishima steps out, a knot of worry loosens itself from Bakugou’s chest. At least so far, his words and actions haven’t sent the other man running.

And shit, there’s something to be said for seeing Kirishima in his /clothes/.

The curve of his calves in the fitness leggings leading the eye upward to the spread of thick jiggling thighs; Bakugou can only imagine what his /ass/ looks like in them and he burns to find out.

The shirt hugs his middle closer than the hoodie before did, making it hard to resist the temptation to grab and /squeeze/ the layer of fat.

And yet.

Kirishima moves forward with shoulders pulled inward, arms crossed beneath his plush chest. He exudes discomfort and insecurity despite his hulking frame.

As Kirishima approaches, Bakugou’s fingers clench at his sides and he doesn’t hide the hungry look in his expression.

A ripple of satisfaction slips through him when he sees Kirishima blush.

“So, uh. How does this work?” Kirishima forces his gaze away to look up at the expanse of wall Bakugou’s chosen to start with.

Bakugou shrugs as he points to the other harness next to the second cord. “Strap in and climb this fucker with me, Hot Stuff.”

Kirishima’s face flushes darker as he steps over and bends down to pick up the harness, giving the other man the view of his backside he’d been craving.

It’s a sight Bakugou wants to burn onto his retinas and remember for ages.

His jaw aches with the desire to sink his teeth into the full globes of ass beneath spandex; make those muscles twitch and jump under his sharp attention.

“Okay…” Kirishima holds the harness aloft in front of his torso with a quizzical and hesitant gaze. “So how does this go on?”

Bakugou wishes he could strap his date in himself but knows better than to crowd in too close after his display in the locker room.

Instead, he instructs Kirishima with words and demonstrating as he puts his own harness on. It doesn’t take long before they’re both secure.

“Clip me in,” Bakugou directs as he holds out his cord.

When Kirishima takes it from him, he turns around and jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “The big D ring in the middle. Clip the carabiner through there.”

Bakugou does the same in return for Kirishima before they both step up to the bottom of the rock wall.

Though his gaze appears trained on the foot and hand holds molded into different shapes, Bakugou’s attention is attune to the man beside him. Kirishima tugs surreptitiously at the fastening straps of his harness, glancing down at himself with a pinched expression.

“If you keep pullin’ at those, you’ll loosen something and last thing I want is my hot date to crash to the ground. You look fuckin’ better not broken to pieces, Red.”

Kirishima looks up, startled and blushing. But his hands still and slowly fall away from the harness straps.

Bakugou turns fully toward the other man with a smirk and asks, “Think you can keep up with me, handsome? I picked the easy wall just to give you a fighting chance.”

The challenge sparks a light in Kirishima’s ruddy gaze. “I’m nothing if not determined, bro.”

“Good.”

Bakugou turns back to the wall and chooses his starting place, gaze already mapping out the next few moves as he scopes the layout ahead. “Don’t let me down, Kirishima!”

And then they’re both ascending.

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QRT, don’t break the thread or Bakugou will deny you the chance to be crushed between his thicc thighs

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The upward progress goes slower than Kirishima thought it would. Even Bakugou doesn’t move like a spider monkey up the wall, even though he seems far more comfortable and confident with each choice he makes.

What Kirishima thought was only about brute grip strength and body weight lifting is also very much about stamina and pacing.

He’s trying to stay focused and for the most part, he’s succeeding.

But his mind catches on how stupid he must look, feeling the dig of the harness straps into his pudgy midsection and thighs. Kirishima half expects his weight to be too much for the cord and if he slips off the wall, it won’t hold him aloft for long before snapping.

He’s a mass of blubber practically oozing from the harness. Looking down past himself to watch his feet as he finds new footholds makes Kirishima queasy.

If it isn’t for Bakugou’s regular interjections, Kirishima knows he’d likely have backed out by now.

“Kirishima, your sexy ass is going to get left behind and you’ll be a sore loser.”

Like that.

With a shake of his head, Kirishima reaches to his left for a new hand hold, making certain he has a solid grip on it before lifting his foot to a new spot and then making the same moves with his right side. “I think I’m going to be sore, either way.”

“Nothin’ a good fucking rub down can’t cure,”‌ Bakugou retorts, voice heavy with suggestion.

Kirishima swallows thickly around the images the words breath to life in his mind. He can’t deny he’d like to know what Bakugou’s hands feel like on him.

But realistically, Bakugou’s not serious.

All joking aside, his date doesn’t want to touch this body.

Not really.

Kirishima looks up where Bakugou is several paces ahead on the left side of the wall. He can’t deny the fact that the other man looks a bit goofy strapped up like he is, which is part of how he keeps himself from completely loathing the harness.

Though Bakugou’s own heft bulges between the straps he doesn’t look any less attractive. Maybe it’s impossible for his date to /truly/ want to touch him but Kirishima can’t lie to himself; he wants to touch Bakugou.

He wants to press against the softness of his chest, dig his fingers into the give of sumptuous flesh until he meets the firm resistance of muscle he’s currently watching flex with each reach and pull up the rock wall.

Kirishima wants to know the feeling of those pale blond chest hairs beneath his palms, memorise every hill and valley of skin. Does Bakugou have scars? Is he sensitive in certain places?

But being able to experience that would mean the reverse would happen.

Kirishima can’t fathom it without his stomach churning with discomfort.

“Oi! What are you—”

Kirishima snaps out of his thoughts with a gasp, watching as Bakugou’s grip slips on the hand hold he’d been trying to grip onto. He feels his stomach do anxious flips as Bakugou falls backward, feet dislodged in the scramble to resecure himself.

“Bakugou!” he cries.

The cord snaps taunt, doing its job to keep the man aloft and safe from a dangerous plummet. Bakugou hangs in the air with a glare as he looks from the rock wall a foot away to Kirishima just below.

“Your fuckin’ fault, distracting me with your good looks and being so damn /slow/,” he gripes, folding his arms across his broad chest. Kirishima swears the man is /pouting/ but he can already guess that if he pointed it out, it would be loudly denied.

He can’t help it though; Kirishima bursts into a fit of laughter at the absurd expression on Bakugou’s face. He’d been so sure of his ability, flaunting his confidence, only to fail and slip off. Kirishima thinks it’s adorable and hilarious.

And that seems to burst the bubble of anxiety he’s been wrapping around himself.

It’s a date. A /fun/ activity. And even if Bakugou’s being polite in his compliments for the sake of this date, Kirishima can enjoy spending time with someone new.

Focus on the simple exertion and company rather than eat himself up with doubts.

Once Bakugou swings himself back to the wall and finds new purchase, they both continue their climb with playful exchanges. They egg each other on, sweat beginning to bead across their skin.

Kirishima misses the way Bakugou’s eyes light up every time the redhead laughs.

Before he knows it, Uraraka waddles in and stands beneath the second wall they’ve started on.

“Lets go boys! Hour was up twenty minutes ago and I‌ have paying members itching to get in an evening climb!”

Kirishima follows Bakugou’s lead and when they return to the locker rooms to change, his head is a little clearer. Switching out his attire comes a little easier.

Sure he refuses to face Bakugou while he does so, but it’s something. He’s enjoyed himself and he’s reticent to have it end so soon.

“Oi, Red,” Bakugou arches a brow when Kirishima looks up from tying his shoes, “Ready to go grab some food?”

“Uh, sure.” Kirishima nods and follows his date out of the building while his mind turns over the next part of this outing.

/Food./

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QRTs warm my cold little soul. Replies break my heart and the thread.

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Before I dive into the update, two things: 1) I didn’t mean for this to become a detailed piece but here we are and 2) if anyone has visited a Waffle House, Sato’s diner has an open plan kitchen styled in a similar fashion and I hope I translated that well enough.

Anywho

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A chime sounds overhead when Bakugou swings the door open and lets Kirishima step through into the diner first. Standing behind the open plan kitchen counter is a broad mass of a man that rivals both Kirishima and Bakugou in size.

He looks up with the warmest smile. Kirishima vaguely recognises him as someone Bakugou has been with at the gym.

“Welcome!” The man wears an apron that doesn’t manage to cover any of his chest properly, a tee shirt beneath hugs his impressive chest.

“I was worried for a moment that you’d be late, Bakugou.”
Bakugou inclines his head with a sharp grin.

“Want to keep you on your toes, Sato.”

Sato lets out a rumble of bright laughter as he waves them toward a booth that rests right against the counter, a few feet from the industrial stoves and griddle tops. “Of course, man.” Turning his gaze on Kirishima, his smile only grows wider.

“You must be Kirishima. I’m Sato, part owner of this little place.”

“Uh hi,” Kirishima offers with a small smile of his own. “It’s a really nice place.”

“Thank you! My husband will be pleased to hear it. He did the interior designing.”

Sato chuckles and then goes on to add, “Please, sit. I’ll grab the menus.”

Bakugou slides into one booth seat and Kirishima settles into the pleather cushion across from him. The diner is entirely empty aside from the two of them and Sato. It’s strange for a weekday evening.

He stares at the tabletop, a warm maroon with flecks of brown and gold in it. Kirishima knows he’s put in a lot of physical activity today and a hearty meal will help him recover energy expended, but it will also shrink his calorie deficit.

Sato returns with two menus and sets them in front of the two diners. “What drinks will you have tonight?”

“Water,” Kirishima responds immediately.

Bakugou nods and asks for the same along with a cup of coffee.

When Sato leaves them to go prepare the drinks, Kirishima opens the menu to glance at the choices.

“Order whatever you want,” Bakugou insists. Kirishima doesn’t look up but can feel the man’s intense gaze on him. “Meal’s on me.”

[CW: mention of restrictive eating]

That does nothing but make him feel worse as he admires the photos of meals he’d love to try but feels undeserving of. Not only would he be ruining his body progress, he’d drain his date’s wallet if he ordered something he truly wants.

Kirishima feels his pudge digging into the waistline of his jeans. No, better to eat on the small side. If he gets hungry later, he can snack on the bag of carrots he has at home.

“Yeah.” Kirishima finds a salad that looks promising. Grilled chicken, tomatoes, cucumber, and onions on a bed of mixed greens. He rapidly scans the menu for something else, knowing full well by now that Bakugou will not stand for him to eat only a salad on this date of theirs.

When Sato returns with two waters and a cup of steaming coffee, he rests his elbows on the counter, pecs squeezing together between massive shoulders as he inquires, “Any thoughts on what you guys are gunna chow down on first?”

Bakugou taps Kirishima’s menu, forcing him to look up.

“Know what you want?”

Kirishima glances down once more and then nods. “Yeah, uh–can I‌ get the caesar salad? But do the vinagrette instead of the caesar dressing? And Grilled Chicken breast with side of corn, please.”

A sigh sounds from across the table but otherwise, Kirishima gets nothing but a small frown and nod from Sato. Their host and server looks to Bakugou and so does Kirishima.

Bakugou’s gaze burns, locked onto Kirishima’s face. “Sato, get me the Plus Ultra Burger, medium rare. Steak fries. And the four barbeque onigiri platter with special spice sauce. Just to start.”

Kirishima drops his chin, unable to look at Bakugou’s judgment.

Perhaps they shouldn’t have come. He doesn’t want to be observed while eating.

“Coming right up!” Sato claps his hands and turns to the cabinets, making a great deal of noise as he begins to pull out pans and ingredients.

“Uh, Sato?” Kirishima can’t take it. The other man looks up and Kirishima forces himself to ask, “Mind adding fries to my order too?”

The smile that breaks across Sato’s face feels unfair. “Sure! You’ll love them.”

When Kirishima steals a glance at Bakugou, he appears to be pouting rather than angry.

“What do you do for work?” he asks in an attempt to generate conversation that doesn’t comment on his eating habits.

Bakugou grunts and shrugs. “Computer Engineering, freelance contracts.”

Kirishima‘s brows rise with his surprise. “You’re super smart then!”

“Duh.” Bakugou’s pout begins to fade away. “I might be a sexy slab of beef but there’s no fat on my brain.”

That gets a snort out of Kirishima.

“And you?”‌

Kirishima suddenly feels less than stellar about his own line of work. “Customer Service rep for, uh, a retail company. I just talk on the phone all day.”

“You get to deal with the cranky assholes, huh?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Kirishima offers with a small grin.

“But I get some really nice people too!”

A bang sounds, drawing them from their sad flimsy conversation. Kirishima looks up to watch the swinging door to the back jerk open for a petite blond man, hair swept back into a tastefully messy bun.

“Mon chiot amour, did you take in the last shipment yet?”

“Uh, no not yet,” Sato answers with a sheepish grin at the tiny man. “I will after I finish making Bakugou and his date their food!”

“Oh!” The blond turns toward them and smiles.

“Bonsoir, friends! Bakugou, don’t be rude. Introduce me to this handsome man you’ve brought to us.”

Kirishima looks from the slender blond to Bakugou. His date is glaring. “His name is Kirishima and he’s not here for you to drool over, Aoyama.”

“Yuga,” Sato interjects, “You know not to tease Bakugou.”

Aoyama pouts at Sato and steps into his personal space, looking up at the man that dwarfs him by at least a head and a half. “But it is such fun, Rikido, love.”

While they’re distracted in conversation, Kirishima leans over the table to whisper to Bakugou, “That’s Sato’s husband?”

“Yeah.” Bakugou grins, arching a brow. “What of it?”

“Either of us could snap him in half! He’s so—so tiny!”

Behind the counter, Sato laughs as Aoyama slaps him on the ass, insisting that he needs to cook.

Sparing the husbands a glance, Bakugou returns in a hushed tone, “Don’t let him hear you say that, he’ll try to take you up on it.”

Kirishima feels his cheeks heat at the suggestion. He doesn’t know how to respond to that notion.

“Oh non, non, non.” Aoyama suddenly appears at the countertop separating the booth from the kitchen space, deep blue gaze sharp.

“Kirishima, mon ami, I will not stand for you to sit in my diner and not partake in all we have to offer. Une salade? Grilled chicken?”

Kirishima flushes further at the intensity of this man’s gaze, the genuine determination. “Uh, it’s fine. I’m not super hungry, is all.”

“We both had intense workouts this morning and then went rock wall climbing. Like hell you aren’t hungry,” Bakugou snaps.

Aoyama nods. “I see. Unacceptable. Mon chiot and I will make you the best meal you’ll ever have and you must taste every bit of it.

“No man of your delicious calibre will waste away when I am here to provide.”

“I—” Aoyama lifts a hand to silence Kirishima’s objection.

“Please, do not insult our food by starving yourself of it.”

He turns to go assist his husband as he adds, “Nutrition is not all about tiny portions. Your muscle mass will devour far more calories even at rest than a mere salad and bland chicken could provide.”

Kirishima flounders, face red and mouth agape. No one so small has ever demanded he eat for his size. And it’s difficult to refuse him.

If it were Bakugou or Sato, it wouldn’t seem like much because they are comfortable being the size they are but it doesn’t feel like he can embrace himself the same way. Aoyama also makes a sound argument that he forgets so often; muscles burn more calories than just cardio does.

He has muscle, even if he can’t see it beneath the fatty layers on top.

Bakugou looks smug when Kirishima finally settles back in his seat, stunned.

“Believe it or not, these two fuckers were a big part of how I got over my own body image issues during high school.”

Kirishima blinks. All this information is a lot to absorb.

“You—I mean, what do you mean?”

With a scoff, Bakugou leans back, slinging an arm across the back of the booth seat.

“What? You think some of us are just fucking cocky about being so big from the start? Like the mainstream media would ever let us fucking forget what they think of us.”

There’s silence for a moment as Kirishima processes Bakugou’s words. He glances toward the two men working in tandem to prepare what will no doubt be a small feast. “But how did they…?”

“Aoyama has chronic health issues that keep him from gaining weight easily. And yeah, he has a thing for bigger men, but back then he and Sato bonded over fucking food of all things and when he overheard me talking shit about my weight, he snapped at me—

“Never seen the little shit so pissed off before then.” Bakugou shrugs. “Not like having a twig scream at me to love myself suddenly made everything fucking peachy but it helped or whatever.”

Kirishima’s floored by Bakugou’s candour and honesty. It takes a few moments of speculation before his brows furrow. “Did you—bring me here on purpose?”

His date snorts with a sly smirk. “The fuck would I do that for? They’re just fucking good guys who make the best goddamn food. Don’t piss Aoyama off by rejecting his food. He can’t actually eat over half the shit he makes so how he makes it taste good is a fucking mystery.”

“He can’t?” Kirishima looks over at the stove where Aoyama lifts a spoonful of sauce upward as Sato lowers himself to taste it. “Is—he’s okay though, right?”

“It’s chronic, dumbass. He’s as okay as he can be. He’s got his damn /puppy/ of a husband to take care of him on the bad days.”

Kirishima nods.

He can hardly imagine what it would be like to be told you can’t gain weight, that you can’t eat delicious food because it would ruin your health further.

“You healthy?”

“Huh?” Kirishima looks up from where he’d zoned out in his thoughts.

Bakugou lifts his coffee mug to his lips, taking a drink before asking again, “You fucking healthy?”

Kirishima frowns and nods slowly. “I mean—yeah. Are you asking if I have any STDs?”

“No, but good to know.” Bakugou’s gaze shimmers with a spark of interest. “I’m saying if you’re fucking healthy, you work out and shit, then enjoy food and stop worrying about your goddamn size.

“Trying to look like some ideal shit does more harm than good if you can’t accept yourself where you’re at. And where you’re at is fucking hot as shit.”

Kirishima finds himself blushing yet again but is saved from answering.

Aoyama and Sato both come to their booth with plates of food.

“He’s right, you know,” Aoyama quips with a wink.

Bakugou lets out a small sound much like a growl. Sato hastens to put their food down before ushering his husband out of swiping range.

“Lets go do that shipment, babe. Let them eat in peace.”

Kirishima stares at the spread of food, his stomach rumbling at the rich smells. There’s a kernel of anxiety still sitting in his chest over eating so much but—he doesn’t want to ruin this.

Bakugou’s interest is clear and though he doesn’t understand it at /all/, he can’t deny it any longer. Between both his date and the unexpected compliments from the feisty french man, Kirishima feels—maybe not attractive—but desirable.

So he’ll enjoy this the best he can.

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QRT, don’t break the thread or my heart. Also I promise smut will be happening SOON. These boys are just taking me for a trip I wasn’t expected.

I love you and every single one of you are beautiful as fuck, got it?

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Bakugou finds conversation flowing far more smoothly as the two of them enjoy the mass of food Sato and Aoyama make for them. Kirishima eats a helping of everything the more he’s pulled into talking about his roommate Kaminari and his Pitbull, Rambo.

He gets Kirishima to share harrowing and hilarious anecdotes about the customers he’s had to deal with at his job. And every time the man’s face lights up with a broad smile and rumbling laughter, Bakugou feels something in his chest squirm.

“Oh man,” Kirishima groans as he leans back in his seat, “I don’t think I can eat another bite.”

Bakugou grins. They both made a huge dent in their meal, though there’s plenty still to be had. “Fucking same. Oi!”

Aoyama reappears through the employee doors, shirt conspicuously rumpled and lips swollen red. “Mes amis, you called?”

“I could do with the check and something to take this army’s worth of fucking food home in,” Bakugou gripes without heat.

“Of course!” Aoyama saunters over to the register and taps in their meal, jotting down the total and passing the receipt to Bakugou before making quick work of collecting the remaining food. “Who wants to take what?”

Kirishima looks anxious at the thought, gaze skittering away from the food to the tabletop. Bakugou rolls his eyes before pointing to the single onigiri left, the fries, and the deep fried calamari rings. “I’ll take those.”

He nods to the rest and points to Kirishima, saying, “You have the rest. Share it with your roommate and the dog. Bet he’d go crazy for some warmed up steak.”

The grateful smile he receives feels unfair.

Bakugou knows just one night out with Kirishima isn’t enough to wipe away the man’s insecurities. It doesn’t stop him from feeling both enamoured and frustrated with him though.

Aoyama takes it upon himself to arrange the food into plastic bento containers, turning messy remains of their meal into whole packages as if they’d never been picked over. As he hands them over to each of the diners, Sato reappears and comes to stand behind his husband.

“Come back any time, Kirishima!” Sato insists as he rests his hands on Aoyama’s shoulders.

Kirishima’s smile is genuine as he rises to his feet with a nod. “I will! Thank you for the food. Everything was amazing.”

Bakugou pays up and then they exit the diner into the crisp fall evening. Rather than walk back to the gym they met at, the two of them head to the train station in companionable silence.

There’s a block away when Bakugou snatches Kirishima by the bicep, pulling him into a shadowed doorway to a closed shop.

“Phone.” Bakugou holds one hand out while his other offers his own up to his date.

“Oh! Yeah.”

Kirishima fishes his phone out of his jean pocket and unlocks it before passing it over and collecting Bakugou’s and inputting his number.

As he hands the phone back to Kirishima, Bakugou insists, “If you want to see me again, text me first.”

“Hah?” Kirishima gapes. “Why?”

Bakugou steps in close, forcing Kirishima’s back to meet the brick wall. His ruddy gaze sweeps over the redhead, not surprised to see the man’s expression squirm with discomfort. Lifting a hand, Bakugou rests it against Kirishima’s chest as he leans in close.

“Because I would gladly have you for dessert tonight. Taste every fucking /inch/ of you. But we’ve both burned enough calories for today and I’m not going to push you if you ain’t actually interested.”

Kirishima’s face flushes, hidden by the shadows of the alcove.

Before he can think of a response, Bakugou slides the hand at his chest upward, curling around the back of Kirishima’s neck and pulling him down until their lips meet.

Kirishima’s lips are softer than Bakugou could have imagined. He kisses the other man with fervour, pressing close enough for their curves to align with each other. It feels perfect and yet not enough;

only a fraction of what Bakugou wants to give and a sample of what he wants to receive in return as Kirishima tentatively presses back. With the few seconds their lips are connected, Bakugou does his best to burn the heat of his desire into the other man.

When Bakugou finally pulls away, he smirks at the dazed expression on his date’s face. “Text me and I’ll know your answer, handsome. Have a good night.

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QRT, lemme year your thoughts!! Going to set a Kofi goal for the next update—can we get to $45?! I bet we can. https://ko-fi.com/harteofpierce ">https://ko-fi.com/harteofpi...

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