the entire class of 1-a discovers exactly how soft and squishy Kirishima is, and as Bakugou looks on, he has no one to blame but himself

(my most self-indulgent thread yet)

Bakugou prefers arriving for homeroom about five minutes early – it insures he’ll be on time for class, but not zealously so. It gives him just enough time to settle in, and it cuts unsolicited, one-sided conversations down to a minimum.

Ten minutes left time for almost as many students to greet him, too sweetly for the hour, half of them even trying for small talk, pushing for some hint of normalcy from Bakugou’s out-of-service personality.

He buries his head in his arms.

More students begin to shuffle in, all of them distracted by one another; the noise is growing louder. Kirishima – with his hair and his personality and yeah, his voice – is typically loud, loud enough to rival all of them, loud enough to be singled out…on a good day.

Bakugou’s mind, unoccupied, focuses on the sound of Kirishima’s voice mixed in with all the others, his /current/ tone enough to instantly raise red flags. Bakugou would call it a whine when he’s trying to get him to stop it, but really, it’s a sort of heartbreaking droning,

a kind of gut-wrenching monotone with an occasionally distressed lilt that always, without fail, takes what little do-good impulses Bakugou has and shoves them forth with a sort of urgency that almost results in embarrassment.

So Bakugou’s overheard /some/ of the content of Kirishima’s woes by the time his own chair scratches loudly over the tile, but mostly he’s heard the dejectedness and the doubt and /fuck/ it’s starting to sound like hurt as Bakugou’s legs carry him to Kirishima’s desk within

seconds.

Kirishima had been talking to Kaminari, the latter turned around to face him. Bakugou materializes then and wastes no time in stealing Kirishima’s attention in an unthinking move; he grabs him by the face, by the cheeks – squishing them together, meeting his eyes.

General proximity corrals curious gazes. Bakugou feels them watching and it’s not the type of scrutiny to which he’s accustom; it’s judgment but not in a manner for which he’s prepared, not for a subject in which he’s versed. He grips tighter at his resolve and Kirishima’s face.

Kirishima’s brows are drawn, his face - squishy, his lips - fishy. His eyes are wide and Bakugou’s own dart between them. “If I have to tell you one more time,” He pushes out, “that you’re one of the strongest fuckers here, we’re gonna have a problem.”

He then yanks back, turns on his heel, and returns to his seat.

Bakugou chooses to face the window so as to not meet the equal mix of confounded and knowing expressions he left in his wake, the worst being from Kirishima himself.

He has no regrets, he means what he said, and there’s a silver lining in the silence until its duration overwhelms itself.

There’s still idle chatter from those outside the pocket of residual energy, but when Bakugou looks over,

Kirishima and his friends are still frozen for the most part, sharing looks with raised brows.

Then, Ashido scrambles to lean over the space between herself and Kirishima.

It happens very quickly: when Bakugou blinks again, she’s got her hands on Kirishima’s face, leaning over her chair in a manner that threatens to topple it. She’s beaming and she squeaks between her teeth as her palms push together the sides of Kirishima’s face.

“Guys!” She announces, garnering even more attention than Bakugou had. “Kirishima is /soft!/”

Kirishima’s face shifts from befuddlement to slight irritation, but ever the good sport, there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. Kaminari looks at Ashido as though she singlehandedly discovered the eighth wonder of the world.

Sero leans forward, curious, his arm seemingly on autopilot as he reaches forth. Ashido removes a hand from Kirishima’s left cheek and nods once to invite Sero’s touch, his input.

“Dude,” Kirishima says, sucking in a breath as he jolts but not out of their combined touch. “Your hand is cold.”

“Sorry.” He squishes Kirishima’s cheek, Ashido squishes the other, Kirishima huffs. “Why /are/ you so soft, man? Isn’t your whole shtick supposed to be hardening?”

Kirishima deadpans as best he can, considering. “Hardening – especially going Unbreakable – damages my skin like crazy, so I try and take pretty good care of it,” He graciously explains.

Kaminari then turns around fully, knees in his chair.

He slaps away the arms of his friends with more force than necessary, and then grabs Kirishima’s face with more oomph than anyone else had yet.

“Dude!” Kirishima objects.

Kaminari only presses.

“‘Dude’ yourself!” He uses his thumbs to knead Kirishima’s cheeks. “What is this! What is this! You’re so soft! Like fuckin’ butter, bro! Is all of you this soft?” His question seems sincere; his eyes dart up and down Kirishima, and he seems to expect an answer.

Instead, Kirishima blushes.

A row away, Bakugou breaks his pencil.

Sero chortles, leaning into the commotion. "That's kinda gay."

"It is," Kaminari agrees, tilting his head at the way the pads of his thumbs sink into Kirishima's ever-reddening cheeks.

Kaminari's leaning in, closely inspecting the planes of Kirishima's face as if he'll find the answers there. Meanwhile, Ashido turns around to face Tsuyu, waving for her attention. "Psst."

Tsuyu looks up from what she's writing, peering at her quizzically, her tongue poking out. Ashido smiles. "Kirishima is soft." She makes a sweeping gesture towards him, as if in invitation.

At the other side of the room, Bakugou grits his teeth, helpless only to look on as more and more people take notice of Kirishima and his softness. He glances around the room at his classmate's faces: amused and weirdly eager, as though they're holding back.

As though they too want to feel the alleged squishiness that is Kirishima.

The thing is...Bakugou knows - has known- arguably better than anyone else, just how soft Kirishima is. He noticed when Kirishima flung an arm around him, or dug his cheek into his shoulder in exasperation. He noticed when they sparred,

gripping Kirishima wherever he could in the heat of the moment - whatever it took to ascertain victory - and noticing, every single time, the answer to the question Kaminari asked just moments ago.

At first, Bakugou too was at a loss – in light of the information as well as what to do with it. Aside from the clear contradiction that was his quirk, Kirishima's built, right? So there's no reason for him to be soft in such a frankly startling way.

Skin is soft in general, but not like his - never like his.

It wasn't the type of thing upon which Bakugou was inclined to fixate, and he really hadn't been - but he /had/ always been, to some degree, perplexed by it.

Kirishima uses a lot of chapstick and he always seems to have lotion, using it multiple times during training or during their study sessions. It wasn't until after the strife they faced at I-Island - when Kirishima still took the time to execute his forty-five minute

skincare routine - that, yeah, alright, that's probably why Kirishima's skin is one of the most smooth and texturally-pleasing things Bakugou's ever laid his hands on, inadvertently or otherwise.

He glares as he looks around once more and notices that every single one of his classmates is now looking at Kirishima; the only ones that don't wear that same held-back, curious expression being the ones who are actively touching Kirishima's face.

"Guys," Kirishima starts, and he’s muffled by hands. "I'm gonna start breaking out at this rate!"

The fingers of Sero, Ashido, Tsuyu, Aoyama, and Kaminari (who is trying to smack them all away) land somewhere on Kirishima's face - mostly on his cheeks,

but Ashido is definitely trying to trace his scar.

Like a pack of hyenas, the other four girls - having long emerged from their seats, currently breaking from a makeshift huddle - descend upon Kirishima. Ashido and Tsuyu remove their hands, giving the other girls space.

"What the heck, Kirishima!" Uraraka chirps, indignant. "You're softer than me!"

"He might be even rounder-faced than you, Ochako," Jirou comments, blushing, knuckle light at Kirishima's cheekbone.

"Hey!" Kirishima responds, pouting, redder than ever.

"Goodness, keep pouting! You’re even squishier!"

"His cheeks are puffing out further!" Hagakure squeals.

Bakugou's nails dig into the pants of his thighs hard as he fights for control over his quirk.

Meanwhile, Kaminari is still trying to get in on the action, raising his hand to touch Kirishima again – then, he stops cold, seeming to catch sight of something - someone - beyond the girls.

"Todoroki?" He comments. "What's up, man?"

And it’s odd, it’s something to call out, because Todoroki is always sitting quietly at his desk in the minutes before homeroom, studious as ever, writing or reading /some/ assignment; an attempt for his attention notoriously results in stark silence - not even a glance.

But here he is, standing among the onlookers, in an aisle nowhere near his desk. The girls part wordlessly, and Kirishima's pitiable pores finally get a window to breathe.

It's short-lived, however, before Todoroki takes two decisive steps forth and moves to hold Kirishima's face in his hands, jaw centered in his palms.

Kirishima makes eye contact with him, apparently without choice, and smiles, inspiring a few observers to gasp.

"One of your hands is actually cold," Kirishima points out. "And the other is actually hot." He swallows. "That's cool, man."

Todoroki doesn't shift. "You /are/ soft. And red," He points out in return. "Fascinating." He removes one of his hands from the bottom of Kirishima's face and moves the back of it to his forehead, as if checking for a fever. Kirishima chews the inside of his cheek.

"Midoriya," Todoroki calls suddenly, not ceasing his attention on Kirishima but glancing in Midoriya's direction. "Come feel Kirishima's skin."

Midoriya, pretending he hadn't been paying attention the entire time, does a double-take. "I don't know, Todoroki-kun...he looks kind of uncomfortable."

Kirishima laughs, slightly uncomfortable.

"He's very soft," Todoroki states as though that's all it should take, and then it is. Midoriya stands from his chair in an unsure movement; as Bakugou leans to grab for his wrist, trying to stop him, he notices he's carrying his hero notebook.

The other surrounding students part for Midoriya as well. Kaminari seems momentarily sated just leaving his hand on Kirishima's forearm.

Midoriya starts with a humble fingertip: his index finger pokes lightly at the squishiest part of Kirishima's cheek. "Oh my."

Todoroki's hand falls away as Midoriya's makes a roundabout movement over Kirishima's face, tracing his scar for a moment. When his touch seems to become indecisive, Kirishima tilts his head at him.

"That is actually...kind of crazy, Kirishima." He then pulls his hand away and looks at it, as if only just noticing the contact. He then places his notebook on Kirishima's desk, and then kneels down next to it.

"Could you tell me your skincare routine?" Midoriya asks quietly, readying his pencil and looking up at him. "It would enhance my notes on hardening-based defense type quirks."

Kirishima's face spreads with a smile, now understanding his atypical interest. "Sure thing, man!"

Kirishima then beings animatedly delving into his extensive routine with great enthusiasm, going as far as to reenact the motions of exfoliating his skin. He's got an audience still;

Midoriya’s attention is the most rapt, save for Bakugou’s, whose internal storm is quickly brewing to the point of no return.

After a minute of Kirishima's chatter,

Midoriya reaches for his chin - right hand still clutching his pencil - as if to appraise him. "Could you harden where I'm touching for me?"

Kirishima does, taking a breath from his spiel in order to giggle.

Then, the red clawing at Bakugou's vision explodes.

The back of his chair smacks against the floor; his desk collides with the chair in front of his. "Fucking - break it up! Leave him alone!" He bellows, kicking his way toward his rapidly scattering peers. "He's not some sort of damn pet!"

"It's okay, Bakugou!"

"It's not fucking /okay/, they're treating you like a fuckin' lab experiment!"

"Really, I don't mind-"

And then Kaminari leans in with unbidden suddenness, whispering into Kirishima's ear.

Kirishima turns his darkest shade of red yet. "That's not...c'mon, dude." He mutters at Kaminari, the latter settling back into his seat.

"Totally."

Bakugou grins wickedly at Kaminari's audacity, moving to meet his desk with a stride so swift he’d basically leapt. He slams his hands down in front of him, palms scorching.

"You're going to tell me what you just said to him," He cocks his head in Kirishima's direction. "One way or another."

"Drop the act, Kacchan," Kaminari whines. "We're just having fun."

This time, it's Kirishima's own hands on his face as he hides behind them.

Kaminari gives a seething Bakugou a once-over, rolls his eyes, and scoffs. "I told him you got a problem with all this because you wanna be the only one touching him."

Ashido gasps. "Blasty boy's got a crush?!"

"On /our/ Kiri..." Sero adds, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose with mock exasperation.

The entire classroom erupts, everyone spouting their theories, no one minding that Bakugou is standing right there. They’re louder than they’ve ever been,

as though they’ve just been waiting for the subject to become a class discussion, as though they’ve been yearning to address the elephant in the room Bakugou never saw.
Kirishima looks as though he’s about to wither away right there at his desk, too overwhelmed

to even look at anyone. Worst of all, however, is Midoriya, who’s waving around frantically, trying to get everyone to stop talking about it; Bakugou first assumes that he’s attempting in vain to diffuse the ticking time-bomb that he is,

but upon closer evaluation, he realizes Midoriya is /desperately holding back his own laughter/.

And that does it.

"So fucking what?!"

Everyone goes silent; the only noise is Bakugou rapidly pulling and pushing air through his clenched teeth.

“So fucking what?” Kirishima then squeaks, the curse word comical - colored with his genuine confusion.

Bakugou winces and meets Kirishima’s line of sight, trying desperately to communicate /something/ with his eyes, something the extras don’t need to hear. “So fucking what,” He repeats, much quieter – almost tired.

“I’m not sure what all this is,” Aizawa begins, stepping into the room and startling all twenty of them out of their skins. “But it can’t be nearly as important as today’s briefings. Take your seats.”

Everyone scrambles to do so - save for Bakugou, who’s still on the noticeable end of simmering, holding tight to Kirishima’s gaze. “After class,” He rumbles – a compromise.

Kirishima nods.

And just like that, waking up early had resulted in the longest ten minutes of Bakugou’s life.