kirishima couldn’t care less about how much you weigh and anytime you’re down about it, he’s sending you videos from the gym, lifting two-three times your weight. he’s curling it, he’s hip thrusting it, the works. and it’s always followed by a flirty little message, ones that make you blush if the videos didn’t do that already. but he doesn’t stop there, once he has time alone with you, he’s driving that message home by pounding the hell out you. he’s got you picked up into his arms, secure in his hold as he fucks you where he stands. the loud clapping of his hips smacking into you is all you can hear as your mind blanks, insecurities forgotten for just a moment. he’s growling into your ear, feral as he drills you.
“yeah, this what you wanted, honey? wanted to be held in daddy’s arms…my precious angel. mmhm i gotcha..makin’ a big fuss outta nothin’.”
and if it’s not that, its him absolutely worshipping you, most times in front of a mirror. he needs you to know how fucking down bad he is for you. he could kill a man if he had to.
“who’s my pretty baby? hm?”
“m-me-“ you’re responding as best you can with him peaking up at you from between your thighs. you’re sensitive, having just came over and over…and over…and he still wanted more.
“yeah? i think so too. absolutely gorgeous.” and he’s sucking marks into your tummy, your hips, your thighs.
“mine. mine. mine. all fucking mine.”
