miyanolovessasaki

i’m…a little confused…

alienqueen

Rip the bandaid off and tell him girl, because what happens when y’all get there and he’s not down?

jetblackwings

RESIST DARK REUNION, ACCEPT YOUR URGES (nta.)

s.geto

I have a question.

Eijiro was working out when you came to him with the…proposition.

Yeah. You.

“Hey, Eiji,” you ask, poking your head into the room. Eijiro doesn’t hear you, but he sees you, and takes a headphone off before racking the weights.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Eijiro still sweats anytime you’re in his relative vicinity. He’s gotten better at it, but you make eye contact like a motherfucker—staring past red irises and into his soul, perceiving all the secrets he keeps safe, in little boxes with little organized titles. You make him want to spill his guts.

“Kat and I are going to Hawaii in a few weeks, and we're wondering if you could come,” you smile, unassuming and confident, like Eijiro doesn’t know what’s in a few weeks. What date it is.

The two year anniversary of his fucking suffering.

(Technically, you’ve only been moved in for a year, but his suffering began the day you and Katsuki met, so.)

“Oh, um, are you sure?” Eijiro wipes clammy hands on his basketball shorts as you enter the room and take a seat on the exercise bench. You literally have clothes on, a casual sweatsuit fit, and Eijiro’s already drooling. He needs to get a grip.

(Or a girlfriend, his brain helpfully supplies, but that’s not fair to his hypothetical girlfriend. Not when Eijiro has yet to find anyone that measures up to you, holy shit—)

“Yes,” you giggle, like his response is strange. Eijiro’s brain is busy reeling, busy trying to decipher what this invite really means, that he misses your next sentence.

“Sorry—what did you say?”

“Just that it’d be more fun if you were there,” you wave your words off like they’re unimportant, but they are so, so important. Eijiro still doesn’t know what to make of it, though, and eventually gives up. He licks his lips and nods dutifully. He shouldn’t go—it seems like a very bad, not so good idea to go, but will he? Absolutely.

He can picture it now: you and Katsuki, late at night, getting down and dirty in the bed across from his, as quiet as you can, while he squints through closed eyes and jacks himself off into a pathetic state. And then, he sleeps in it, because what the fuck is he going to do—get up to clean himself off? Tell on himself?

“Okay, then I’ll go,” he smiles, and tries his best to hide the myriad of emotions pressing in on his lungs. Excitement, nervousness, confusion. Misery. It’s like Inside Out, but worse.

“Okay, great!” You clap twice, adjusting to, for some reason, get more comfortable in your seat. “Do you mind if I stay to watch?”

Eijiro waits for the other ball to drop. For you to explain that Kat is in the shower, or not even home, and you’re overwhelmingly bored—but, no. Nothing. That was the end of your sentence.

What the fuck.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, a little breathless and a lot confused. You stay for the duration of his workout, quiet as a mouse, and just…watching…

Eijirō nearly drops the barbell on his toes.

s.geto

I have a question.

cyberch!ck69

i have an answer.

s.geto

What do I do in this exact scenario if I’m the boyfriend?

The resort is so nice.

The lobby is open and airy, with poles instead of walls, and leads straight to the beach. Eijirō can see it. Can smell the salt in the air and hear seagulls squawking over food. As Katsuki talks to the concierge and checks in, Eijirō looks out to see calm and blue waters, poorly tamping his excitement with an impatient, bouncing foot. He, also, promptly pushes the last time he went to the beach out of his mind. Nope, not even thinking about it.

“Race you to the sea?” You ask, saddling up beside him. Eijirō shrugs.

“Sure.”

Immediately, you take off—leaving your bags behind and everything—and out the opening that leads to the water.

“Wait, right now?!” Eijirō squeaks, and looks to Katsuki, who isn’t paying either of you much mind, too busy barking at the concierge about something, probably their organizational practices, or another thing equally as trivial.

Eijirō makes a break for it.

He sees you weaving and cutting past cabanas, tripping over blankets and children, and follows the path your feet left in the sand, stomping them five sizes bigger. You’re both still sweaty in airplane clothes that are in no way conducive to these temperatures, but he makes it work—even if he ends up with sand in his sweats in the process.

It isn’t difficult to catch up to you, all things considered. Eijirō feels bad, debates on letting you win—until you turn around and stick a tongue out. Then, it’s fucking on.

“Gotcha!”

He snatches your waist just before the sea, swinging you around in tight arms before you can cross the imaginary finish line. After putting you down, he steps both feet into the ocean and cheers at your pout, doing a little victory dance.

“Aha! I win, I win, I wi—hey!”

Eijirō gets a face full of salt water, drenching him down his side and deepening the shade of his grey sweatsuit. The water is warm, but he chokes from shock regardless, and turns to look at his perpetrator with a new challenge in his eyes. You gulp.

“Wait, I didn’t—fuck!”

You whine when he pours a handful of water over your head. You accept your fate, sighing with your head down and hands open. Your white shirt sticks flush to your body, giving Eijirō the pleasure of revealing your bra underneath, and that’s—

“Oi, the fuck are you two doing?!”

Katsuki comes storming up to the shoreline, shaking sand out of his slides and grumbling with every other step. You and Eijirō stand in the water, white wake pooling around your ankles as the tide starts to recede. Katsuki huffs.

“It was his idea!” You point at the redhead to your right, who gapes at your audacity. For that, you get another handful of water over the head. “Wha—c’mon!”

“No, you both c’mon,” Katsuki hisses, pulling out three cards from his back pocket. “Got the room keys. You Dumbasses can frolic in the ocean afterwards.”

You two grouse, but agree. Because, Eijirō’s sweatpants stick to his thighs most uncomfortably, starting to stiffen from the salt—and you need a better shirt, preferably one that’s not white and wet and doesn’t highlight your bra beneath. So he can be sane again.

(He can’t help but feel like that sentence was all ‘Eijirō, Eijirō, Eijirō’ but also, guys, please—)

Katsuki walks to the hotel room with two soggy cats in his wake.

The pathways are just as open and airy as the lobby, with no walls on one side to provide a proper outlook to the ocean, and numbered rooms on the other. Theirs is on the top floor of the hotel, and luckily, not much of a shuffle from the elevator.

The room is just as nice as the hotel.

It’s spacious—Eijirō wouldn’t even classify it as a room, but a small apartment. There’s a kitchen and living room, all matching in a calming mahogany wood. Wood floors, wooden ceilings, wooden…wood, until everything but the soft furniture melts into one cohesive image. A pair of sliding doors lead to a balcony spanning the whole room, including the one bedroom—

Um.

“There’s only one bedroom,” Eijirō asks, because the hotel must have made a mistake. Not only is there only one bedroom, but one bed. The bed is big, sure—like, an Alaskan fucking King, more than enough to fit three comfortably—but this isn’t his anniversary, too.

(And yes, he knows his earlier fantasy is contingent on him technically sleeping in the same room, but the same bed is just—)

“Mm,” Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement. That’s about all he gets before you two drag your suitcases inside the bedroom, leaving Eijirō hovering in the doorway. He can sleep on the couch. That’s fine.

“What’re you waitin’ for, Shitty Hair,” Katsuki grumbles as he starts folding his clothes away, and to be honest, he isn’t exactly sure. Maybe for someone to tell him where to go.

“Yeah, c’mon! Feel the bed, it’s so comfy!” And, you’re jumping onto it back first. You hit the pillows with a muted pfft, and Katsuki immediately jumps into action.

“You’re all fuckin’ wet, get off,” he swats at your feet in encouragement, but you kick his hands away, and snuggle on top of the covers. When swatting fails, Katsuki starts to lightly tug at your legs. You don’t budge, and he stands over you with a warning in his eyes, hands on his hips.

“Babe.”

“No.”

“Baby.”

“No, Kats, I’m comfy.”

You wiggle deeper into the mattress, and Katsuki growls. He goes for your legs again, but a foot shoots out to kick him in his knee, his bad knee, leaving his leg to buckle. He catches himself before he falls with hands on either side of your head. This feels like a very intimate, very domestic situation that Eijirō should not be privy to, and yet, he is. Every day.

He’s okay. He’s fine, really.

“Move your ass,” Katsuki says after a long inhale through the nose, carefully, voice low and words over-enunciated. “Or, I’ll move it for you.”

You groan, but loop your arms around Katsuki’s neck like you aren’t going anywhere. With a laugh in your eyes, you bite back a grin. “No.”

“Fine,” Katsuki huffs, picking you up by the waist. You squeal, legs wrapping around his torso as he carries you to a desk in the corner of the room and drops you rather unceremoniously. You don’t let go, though. He doesn’t make you. “You piss me off.”

“Wow, my boyfriend is so big and strong,” you whine, completely overexaggerating, while caressing Katsuki by his shoulders. You giggle when he sighs.

“Shut the ever-loving fuck up. Please.”

“Why?” Your hand snakes from his shoulder to tangle in the nape of his neck, and Katsuki shivers. Eijirō lingers in the doorway. “Like it too much?”

Katsuki stands there for a second, relishing the feeling of your hands. His eyes flutter shut as your fingers card through his hair with something precious, and his next grumble has a lot less fire in it. “Do you wanna go to the beach or not?”

Finally, he unsticks you himself, with fingers around your wrists. You squeal at the sheer mention of the beach, squirming off the desk to start getting ready. “Ooh, yes! I’m gonna get all the Piña Coladas!”

“Let’s start with one,” Katsuki says, pressing a kiss to your temple before he resumes his unpacking. Why he insists on moving into every hotel he’s stayed in is lost to Eijirō. All he knows is that he’s happy his torture is over. For now.

“Are you gonna keep standing there like a weirdo?” Katsuki says, eyes focused on his activities. Eijirō knows it's directed at him—he’s the only one lingering. The only one ‘standing there like a weirdo.’ Eijirō grabs his things.

“Right. Right.”

cyberch!ck69

talk to them? 

s.geto

You’re useless.

cyberch!ck69

fine then, suffer in silence idgaf

When Eijirō finds time to get over himself, he realizes there is something about this that feels way too natural.

“That lady is staring at me weird—I’m gonna fight her.”

“No, you’re not,” Katsuki grunts, and grabs your hand before you can even consider getting up. Eijirō doesn’t really expect you to—you only say these things to give Katsuki a hard time, and he always falls for it, hook, line, and sinker. To the point that Eijirō is starting to think maybe he wants to. That maybe, that’s the whole point. “That’s just how old people look. They forget it’s fuckin’ rude to stare.”

Despite the all-inclusive resort, you three spend the first night eating out at a small restaurant not too far away. It’s a quaint and quiet barbecue spot, with cheap liquor and decent food. You insisted on going out, seeing the town, doing something, and despite Katsuki’s passionate argument—‘the whole point of an all-inclusive is to go fuckin’ nowhere’—he caved quick once it was two against one. (What? Eijirō wants to see the town, too—and he has a soft spot for cute girls with even cuter pouts.)

“I think that would count as elder abuse,” Eijirō says, once swallowing his food and getting a look at your newly proclaimed enemy. Empty shot glasses litter the table, some in stacks of three to make room for the food, and everyone sways a little from it all.

“Definitely does,” Katsuki sniffles and nods. He’s the most obviously drunk at this table—face flushed a bright pink and shirt collar askew. “Definitely would go to jail for it, too. I dunno how to get you outta Hawaiian jail, Babe.”

“Boo! Bribe them,” you heckle, throwing a big thumbs down in Katsuki’s face, and getting in the way of his barbecue chicken sandwich. Katsuki grunts and swats at the air twice until your thumb goes away. “Ooh! Or we could tunnel out, like El Chapo, or those guys from Alcatraz—”

“Those guys tunneled from the inside-out. ’M not going to jail with you.”

“Well—wait, no,” Eijirō says, gesturing to you. “What if we tunnel from the outside, and you tunnel from the inside, and we meet in the middle—”

“Omg, omg, I need spoons and a poster—”

“And, people are naturally corrupt, y’know, I’m sure there’s someone we could find to smuggle it inside—”

“You’re not goin’ to jail,” Katsuki groans through grit teeth, pointing at you, before his finger shifts to his friend across the booth. “And you’re not helping her escape from jail.”

“Oh wow, my boyfriend hates me,” you nod, picking at your food with a fork. Katsuki snatches a cherry tomato off Eijirō’s plate and stuffs it between your lips to keep you quiet. You spit it back out. “Would you even love me if I was a worm?”

Katsuki chucks his head back like this is a question you’ve asked many times before, and groans with nothing but pure frustration. “The fuck does that even mean?”

“It means ‘would you love her no matter what,’ Bro!”

“Thank you, Eiji,” you nod solemnly, suddenly, like this is a life-or-death conversation. “See? He gets it.”

“I’m gonna,” Katsuki incenses, looking at you with something heavier than just annoyance, something Eijirō, unfortunately, has seen too often to not understand—arousal. Suddenly, Eijirō feels like he’s shifting in the doorway of something unknown, again. Katsuki grabs your cheek and pinches. “You’ve been pissin’ me off all day.”

“Oh? And what’cha gonna do about it,” you smile smug past the distortion. Katsuki lets go of your face, and pats the sore area twice. Eijirō looks down at his plate. He’s not even here. He doesn’t even exist. (But, is he watching this entire interaction with one eye open? Perhaps.)

“You don’t wanna know,” Katsuki grunts in passing as he returns to his sandwich. Eijirō lets out a soft breath. This is going to be a rough trip.

“Well,” you say after a few moments of silence, clapping your hands together like they’re cymbals, calling to attention. “Now that I have a sufficient amount of liquid courage in me, it’s time to tell Eijirō the thing.”

Katsuki freezes—as does Eijirō.

“You didn’t tell him the thing,” Katsuki grumbles, looking at you like you’ve grown two heads. “I thought you told him the thing.”

“He’s here, isn’t he?” You argue, but when Katsuki’s look doesn’t budge, you deflate a little. “…I chickened out.”

“Again,” Katsuki adds with a sigh, running a hand over his face. Then, he redirects his gaze to Eijirō. “No wonder you’ve been acting weird.”

“Um,” Eijirō releases his own food to put hands in his lap. Would ‘the thing’ explain why he’s here in the first place? Because, if so, he’d like to know. “What thing?”

As you steeple hands in front of your face, Eijirō takes a sip of his Sprite. Sprite always tastes better when it comes in a cup instead of a can. He doesn’t know why—something about the fizziness, the freshness of it all. Honestly, he prefers Cherry Sprite, but that’s because he really likes cherry, and strawberry, and honestly, most things red, now that he thinks about it—

“I wanna watch you fuck her.”

Eijirō spits out his Sprite—he’s sure some came out of his nose with the propulsion, Jesus fuck—and possibly soaking his shirt in the process.

“I’m—sorry, what?”

Despite Eijirō’s respiratory distress, Katsuki watches with relative bemusement. You pass him a napkin, and Eijirō takes it thankfully.

“What part of that didn’t you get, Shitty Hair.”

“No, no, I—” Eijirō gives himself a few more seconds, a few more deep breaths, and slips half a grounding technique in there, just in case. “Just, like—I think I heard you correctly, but I’m—but I’m really not sure—”

“I wanna watch you fuck her,” Katsuki just…repeats, like Eijirō’s entire world hasn’t flipped on its axis. Like Atlas isn’t officially hanging upside-down, with his legs in the sky like a dying bug, flailing for any sort of friction to upright himself.

“So—” Eijirō starts, and coughs twice into a napkin before redirecting his question. “Why.”

“Because he thinks you’re hot,” you whisper, cupping a hand over your lips so Katsuki can’t read them. Not that it matters—you’re not muttering very quietly. “And so do I.”

Eijirō’s not sure if his face gets red, but he feels it, that heat. That overwhelming sensation to burn and melt away into nothing, and he’s simply trying to tamp it down, keep it safe, so he doesn’t end up making a fool of himself in this very nice, very clearly family-owned establishment.

He nods, though. You bet your ass he fucking nods.

He’d be stupid as fuck to pass this up, and Eijirō Kirishima does not take his curse words lightly.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

jetblackwings

RESIST DARK REUNION, ACCEPT YOUR URGES

kusuo_saiki

why are you everywhere i go

jetblackwings

fate, bro

Your energy is endless, and the next stop is a club.

It goes how it always does—you want something, Katsuki says no. Eijirō says it’s not that bad. Katsuki says fine.

The club is more packed than he expects. It’s not too far from the hotel, the place is full of foreigners, tourists looking for a good time on vacation, and then some. The theme is somewhat tropical, with warm orange lights, a smoke machine, and tree ferns in every corner. You hold onto Eijirō’s thumb and Katsuki’s wrist, yelling over your shoulder and above the heavy afrobeat that makes the floor rattle under his feet.

“Let’s go to the bar!”

“Where they sell overpriced shots?!” Katsuki yells back, almost immediately. You roll your eyes. “Absolutely not!”

And yet, you drag both of them closer to the bar, and further from the front door.

“I just want one,” you holler, and pull out that irresistible pout Eijirō loves so much. Fucked. He’s fucked. “If it’s really that deep, I’ll buy them!”

The bar counter is vaguely sticky, and the four working bartenders look a mess, screaming over the music to grab something, but no one can hear. There are two seats open—Eijirō takes one, Katsuki takes the other, and you take Katsuki’s lap.

“’M not letting my girlfriend buy me a shot,” Katsuki huffs, and pulls his wallet out from his back pocket. After waving a bartender over, he grumbles, “Three shots of Kauaʻi Coconut Rum.”

“Oh, boohoo,” you whine, dropping your head back on his shoulder. Then, with one eye open, “Eijirō would let me buy him a shot.”

“Hey! Don’t bring me into this,” Eijirō chuckles, resting a forearm against the counter. Sticky. Immediate regret floods his system, but he’s made his bed and proceeds to lie in it.

“Am I wrong?” You lift an eyebrow. Eijirō stutters.

Because, if a pretty girl bought him a shot, would he let her? Yeah, probably. And, if you bought him a shot, would he let you? Absolutely.

But, that’s neither here nor there.

“Shitty Hair…”

“Guys, I’m not a part of this,” he whines, and as if on cue, their shots slide across the counter. Everyone grabs hold of theirs.

“Okay, wait, wait, I wanna do a toast,” you sniff, a little wobbly. You lift your shot glass, waiting for the rest of them to follow suit. Eijirō doesn’t hesitate, and while Katsuki grumbles, he raises his own. Then, with your chest, you yell, “To me, getting plowed!”

Katsuki drops his head on your shoulder. Thank God you made the toast before they took shots to the head, or Eijirō would be choking all over again.

“Baby, you can’t just—”

“Why would you even—”

You pay their plight no mind, chucking your head back as you swallow the shot. Eijirō follows; he needs one after that, and is wildly unsatisfied when he realizes it’s watered down.

Katsuki sets his glass down with a clink and a growl.

“’Kay, can we fuckin’ go, now?”

“No!” You bark, sliding off his legs unceremoniously. You slip a little, and Eijirō catches you by the waist before you can stumble into him, and tries not to think about how well you fit. When he lets go, he still feels your warmth burning into his palms. His fist opens and closes on his thigh. “I wanna dance!”

Katsuki leans his head back, and groans.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Eijirō!”

You both say his name at the exact same time, like he’s been deemed the official tie-breaker—like it’s his fault you two argue like an old married couple, and he needs to fix his mess. When Eijirō shrinks in his seat, looking at Katsuki, both of you know what his answer is.

“Fuckin’—fine,” Katsuki huffs and stands almost as clumsy as you. You giggle a yay, and take Eijirō’s hand before he has a chance to stand.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” you bounce. Eijirō comes stumbling behind you—because, for someone with little feet, you move real fast—and you find a corner of the dance floor to make your own.

The beat grows in volume and aggression the closer they get to the dance floor. With a steady grip on both of their hands, you start jumping up and down, yanking at their arms to bounce with you. Katsuki grumbles something with a straight face—Eijirō starts hopping along, until it’s a two-person mosh pit, with Katsuki’s unimpressed shoulders jerking under the weight.

“C’mon, Kat!” Eijirō yells over the music. Katsuki looks at him, but his feet are firmly planted on the ground.

“Please,” you whine when he doesn’t budge. Eijirō thinks that Katsuki’s arms would be crossed if they could. “You’ll have fun!”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. His heels rise and drop, slowly, completely against the beat, and without the balls of his feet separating from the tiled floor. “This is not fun.”

“Because you’re not doing it right!” Eijirō says, tugging him closer. Katsuki stumbles forth. “You gotta jump!”

“It’s too late for this shit,” Katsuki huffs, but jumps. Once. “I don’t know how you two are grown-ass adults with this type of energy.”

You quit your jumping, chest heaving in a pant, and sweating skin glistening under halogen lights. Eijirō follows suit, a little less out of breath, but you were going hard. Katsuki exhales, thankful his torture is over, for now.

The song changes into something slower. Not too slow; a trap beat still hides underneath, but slow enough to calm his hammering heart. Eijirō has always loved clubs—enough alcohol to make people friendly, the humid atmosphere from too many bodies in one place, the way the music is all-consuming enough to block out the buzz of the world…

Eijirō shakes himself out of his reminiscent stupor to see Katsuki draped over your back. His hands hold your hips steady, swaying, and while you aren’t grinding, you’re pretty damn close.

You grab Eijirō by his shirt.

The redhead takes a deep, steadying breath. He’s not sure whether it's the alcohol or the sight that makes his head spin. Maybe, it’s the fact that he’s included, for the first time.

All he knows is that he really, really does not want to fuck this up.

No pressure.

His hands find your hips, running over Katsuki’s. He looks at his friend, double-checking if this is okay, if he’s crossing a line. Katsuki’s nose is in your neck, brushing against your jaw, utterly unbothered. He takes it as an O.K.

You hum, arms wrapping around Eijirō’s neck to the best of your ability. He’s not sure you’re even standing, simply leaning your weight against Katsuki, and trusting Eijirō enough to keep you from falling forward. There isn’t much space for you to, anyway. Your chin is pressed flush against his chest, looking up at him like he has something you want, and he’s not exactly sure what to do about that.

He lets a ‘fuck’ slip, quiet enough to fit under his breath and completely involuntary. It’s not his fault—your lip gloss glistens in the shifting light, and he can’t stop looking at it. Katsuki mutters something into your neck, and you giggle, hips shifting forward so you can grind against Eijirō, too.

He’s losing his mind, a little.

Because, this feels better than he could’ve imagined—you fit better than he could’ve imagined. The alcohol, the lights, and the faint fog soften the edges of everything, to the point where it feels like he’s walking in a very vivid dream, like he’ll wake up at the most inopportune time, sweaty, sad, and probably rock hard. Katsuki groans under his breath, and Eijirō finally peels his eyes away from your face to notice that his friend isn’t doing much better.

“God, this is fuckin’ hot,” Katsuki grunts, and you giggle with a bottom lip tucked between your teeth, eyes way too bright with excitement. Eijirō huffs a laugh.

“Cool, ‘cause I was thinking the same thing.”

Katsuki grunts again, and grinds into you harder, heavier. You don’t stumble forward, but you would’ve if the redhead weren’t there to take the brunt of the blow.

One of Eijirō’s hands starts to wander.

Completely of its own volition—he was totally content to keep them at your sides, swear—it caresses your waist, running up and down, contemplating the feel of your skin under your dress. He takes another deep inhale, for his sanity.

Katsuki, on the other hand, lost his sanity a long time ago.

One of his hands leaves your hip, too—the one that’s not still trapped under Eijirō’s own—sliding up your stomach, over your breasts. Eventually, it comes to rest at your neck. Eijirō knows when he squeezes, because as his wrist flexes, your eyes bulge, then melt. Eijirō simply tries to memorize it all—the wild look in Katsuki’s eyes, the entreating one in yours—just in case this is a one-time thing. Or, if you change your mind.

(This isn’t a one time thing, nor are you going to change your mind.)

While Eijirō doesn’t hear your whimper, he does feel it. Which is torture to someone who’s heard your moans through the walls for the past year.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” Katsuki hums to himself, shaking his hand on your neck until your head bobs. Then, carmine eyes turn to Eijirō, piercing through the aimless float of smoke. “Ain’t she?”

Eijirō remembers the first time Katsuki asked him this question a couple of months ago, at the beach. He had an answer then, but didn’t want to say it. And, he’s got an answer now.

“Yeah,” he breathes, watching your body curl in between them. His thumb comes to pull at your lip, smearing lip gloss across your cheek in the pattern of his fingerprint. “Bet she’d look even prettier with something in her mouth, though.”

“Fuck.” Katsuki groans like the sound is punched out of his gut, and his hand on your waist tightens. Eijirō feels it and follows suit. “I wanna fuck. Like, now.”

Eijirō laughs, throat tight and voice hoarse from arousal. “That can be arranged.”

And, you—you’re just happily swaying between the two of them, eyes lidded and humming along to the music. Like you were built for this, built to handle both of them at once, and, that thought is—

Eijirō takes another deep breath, squeezing your side once more before stepping away.

“Hotel?” He asks. You and Katsuki nod and respond at the same time.

“Hotel.”

geordo.s

fascinating. is this how peasants live?

cyberch!ck69

PEASANTS?

kurapika.chu

You're slightly the asshole—not because of what you did, but because you didn't tell him beforehand.

eren.exe

mmmm idk if you’re the asshole tbh

When you three get back to the hotel, though…

“I don’t wanna fuck tonight!”

Katsuki’s got his shirt halfway off his head, cloth still stuck around his elbows, as he looks at you like you’re clinically insane.

“Fuckin’ what.”

“You heard me!” You giggle, collapsing into the bed with your club clothes still on. Everybody is reasonably drunk, at this point—and Eijirō starts to wonder if you’re having cold feet. Katsuki is quick to put that worry to rest, though.

“No,” he huffs, taking the rest of his shirt off, before he starts pulling your legs like he was earlier and wagging a finger in your face. “No—no, we’re not doing that shit again.”

You lift your head, voice gargling from the awkward position of your neck. “What ‘shit’?”

“You’re fuckin’—you’re fuckin’—” Katsuki stutters in the way he always does when immensely frustrated, and growls at the ceiling steadily, before starting again. “You’re fuckin’ ‘oh, let's wait, it feels so good if we wait.’ I’m not—no.”

Katsuki mocks your voice, as nasal and high-pitched as he can muster, and it earns him a hearty pillow to the face. He snatches it away, reddened face growing deeper in frustration. And Eijirō, who’s still a little confused as to where he’s going to sleep, lingers in the doorway once again.

“Like…edging?”

“Yes!” Katsuki points at his friend, now borderline pacing. “Except—except it’s fuckin’ worse. She’s a tease—it’s teasin’, that’s the fuckin’ word!”

“I’m glad we could come to that conclusion together, Katsuki,” you sit up with a bright smile. Then, kicking a leg out, “Now, help me take my shoes off!”

Katsuki groans, and looks at you with deflating shoulders. His pacing stalls.

“Are we really not gonna fuck tonight?”

“Nope!”

“Fuck!”

“Well, we are here for about a week,” Eijirō tries to placate with a shrug. “We have time.”

“Plus, when we get back,” you nod, kicking the heels of your feet against the bed. Eijirō didn’t know ‘when we get back’ was an option, but he’s most definitely not complaining. You lift your foot again. “Shoes.”

Katsuki grumbles something else that Eijirō can’t quite hear, and gets down on one knee. Your shoes are confusing to look at—they’re heels, with straps that wrap around your leg and end just below the knee. Yeah, if Eijirō wore those all night, he wouldn’t have the energy to take them off, either. As Katsuki starts to undo the bow at the top, you look at Eijirō, and lift your other foot.

“Shoes.”

“Oh, you want me to—”

You nod. “Shoes.”

Eijirō passes the threshold and mimics his roommate—gets down on one knee, and pulls your foot to his thigh. You let out a satisfied hum, nodding your head twice, like somehow, Eijirō’s added presence satiates something. What that something is, though, he isn’t quite sure.

“You happy?” Katsuki grunts, halfway done unlacing. He glares at you, but you just smile lazy and pat both of their heads.

“Mhm,” you nod. “Very. My good boys, taking care of me…”

You sound tired, and Eijirō snorts as Katsuki’s blush deepens. “Don’t fall asleep on us, now.”

“’M not,” you slur, resting a head on your shoulder. Katsuki slides off one shoe, and Eijirō takes the other. You wiggle your toes.

“Y’still gotta change outta this, though,” Katsuki grunts on his way up, snapping the strap of your dress. You whine, collapsing back into the bed with an exhale.

“No! I’m sleeping naked!”

“And, that’s fine,” Katsuki snorts in a soft voice, leaning over you. “Y’can’t sleep in this, though.”

You whine. “Why not.”

“’Cause,” he tugs at the bottom of the dress, “this shit was expensive. I know, ‘cause I paid for it.”

“Ugh,” you groan, loud and drawn out, before sitting up again. “Fine. Someone’s gotta unzip me, though.”

Katsuki runs the zipper down the back of your dress. Eijirō just…turns around, unsure where to put himself, opting to change as discreet as possible. You huff once free, hobbling towards your suitcase with your dress still on but unzipped, only to realize—

“Uh oh…”

Katsuki, who’s already gotten ready for sleep—no shirt and grey sweatpants—looks at you and huffs. “What.”

You turn to both of them with a guilty smile, still uncomfortably hunched over your suitcase.

“I forgot my pj’s.”

Katsuki sighs long until his Adam's apple pops. “Y’gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

Your awkward grin just widens. “Oopsie?”

“Well, I don’t have a fuckin’ shirt for you to wear,” Katsuki drops arms at his sides, and proceeds to fold his clothes from today and put them away. “Like, literally. I brought fancy ass vacation shit—I didn’t bring a singular t-shirt.”

“You can wear one of mine!” Eijirō says, a little too quick for comfort, but what can he do about it? He already blurted it out. Your eyes light up, though.

“Really?”

“Yeah, one sec—”

He stands from his seated position on the floor (don’t judge him; he doesn’t know where to sit), knees popping, as he makes his way to his own suitcase. He files through the plethora of t-shirts he brought— that’s all he wears—and tosses one over his shoulder without even looking at it. You catch it with your face.

“Thank you!” You sing-song. Eijirō looks over his shoulder to give you a thumbs up, only to realize you’re fully stripped save for your panties, and very quickly looks away.

“Yeah, no problem,” he mutters weakly. When he closes his eyes, he still sees you naked, so he starts folding his clothes back into his suitcase like he’s Katsuki Bakugō, instead.

“Ooh, this is soft!”

Eijirō finally deems it okay to look—hoping you’re not just, like, feeling his shirt in your hands, but actually wearing it. Except, this sight isn’t much better. You’re only in his shirt, the Crimson Riot one. It’s beyond oversized, collar loose and hem ending mid-thigh. Eijirō tries not to think about it too much.

(He’s thinking about it. Oh, he’s totally thinking about it.)

Katsuki’s already on the bed, propped up on an arm. When he sees the shirt's design, he snorts.

“When are you gonna get over that comic book character?” He grunts, like Eijirō’s hair isn’t still red.

“When are you gonna start being nice to strangers?” Eijirō asks as he gets up, brushing stray carpet lint from his basketball shorts. Katsuki barks a laugh.

“Fuckin’ never.”

“Exactly,” Eijirō nods. You flop into bed right beside Katsuki, who wraps a steady arm around your waist. Eijirō takes a deep breath. Someone tell him where to go. Please.

It’s like you hear his internal battle. You pat the open space next to you, enough room for one more person, and Eijirō swallows. Wait, so like—

“Are you comin’ to bed or not, Shitty Hair?”

Yeah, okay. Yep.

Eijirō slides in right next to you, slow and awkward in case either of you wants to change your mind. You don’t. Katsuki reaches behind himself to turn the lamp off, and suddenly, everyone is plunged into darkness.

“Hi,” you giggle as Eijirō lays his head on the pillow. He snorts.

“Hi.”

“Hi, bye, goodnight—if we’re not fuckin’, go to sleep!”

You swat Katsuki’s bad attitude away, looking over your shoulder where his head nestles. “Okay, okay. Got it. G’night, Katsuki.”

“Good fuckin’ night,” he grumbles, but when you purse your lips, he meets them with his own. Then, you turn back to Eijirō, who’s lying uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, putting enough space between you and him to fit a tiny person.

“G’night Eijirō,” you smile, wrapping your arms around his waist to tug him closer. He lets you, sliding an arm under the pillows, right along Katsuki’s.

“Goodnight.”

Then, you purse your lips again, waiting for a kiss.

Eijirō hesitates.

And, apparently, you don’t like hesitation. Your puckered lips turn into a pout. “Kiss.”

Eijirō stifles the butterflies in his belly, and leans in.

Your lips are soft, warm from alcohol and the evening’s activities, and then, they’re gone.

Eijirō lays his head back on the pillow, rightfully worn out. A long flight, a beach race, a dinner, a club, new information—his head is still reeling, trying to catalogue it all, but he’s only focused on one thing. You.

With a yawn, Eijirō gets comfortable because he’s allowed.

“Night, Ei.”

Katsuki’s voice rings low through the quiet room—quiet enough that Eijirō sort of assumed both of you had fallen asleep already. The hand running on the underside of his arm squeezes it, three times.

“G’night, Kat.”

Eijirō squeezes him back. One-two-three.

t.kageyama

i have yet to decide whether im too old or too young for this app.

geordo.s

fascinating. is this how peasants live?

cyberch!ck69

PEASANTS?

cyberch!ck69

PEASANTS?????

Eijirō wakes up to you and Katsuki whispering like little conspirators.

“Ugh—who let me drink so much last night?”

Sunlight escapes through thick curtains, cut into thin lines and scattering the room in patterns. Eijirō’s slightly startled for a second, before remembering where he is and, more importantly, the events from last night.

‘I wanna watch you fuck her.’

Right. Right.

“I don’t wanna hear shit,” Katsuki yawns beside you, scratching his stomach. “We tried to cut you off. You said, and I quote, ‘Don’t tell me what to do, I’m a grown ass woman.’”

“Oh,” you say softly, dragging hands down your face. “Yeah, I kinda remember that.”

Your back is facing Eijirō as you pillow talk with your boyfriend, and in a way, it feels like he’s looking through the crack in the door again. Except, he’s allowed to look through the crack, maybe step through it a little, and does just that.

Eijirō nods his bird nest against the pillow and lifts up a sleepy fist. “Work hard, party harder.”

“Hell yeah,” you nod, looking over your shoulder to fist bump him properly. While unconscious, he scooted closer, leaving you squished between two hard bodies. You aren’t complaining, though. With a voice raspy from sleep and screaming over club music, you smile, “Good morning, Eijirō.”

Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement, coffee-less and therefore relatively silent. Eijirō beams. “Morning, everybody. How’d we sleep?”

“Ugh, great,” you say, melting deeper into the covers. “Like a baby.”

“No, you slept like a menace—kickin’ me and shit,” Katsuki grumbles, placing hands on your waist to tug you closer regardless. And, it’s a little weird—seeing Katsuki so overwhelmingly unguarded. So soft.

“Oh, that’s what that was?” Eijirō wakes up feeling bold this morning, and tests the waters, wrapping an arm around your waist, too. It runs along Katsuki’s until it dips below, resting just above your belly button.

“Maybe,” you say, a little guilty. “But, it’s not my fault! I picked up the habit because Katsuki starfishes, so I subconsciously kick his legs back together. See?”

Eijirō has never seen someone kick so hard laying down in his life.

It’s actually pretty impressive—how you manage to know exactly where Katsuki’s foot lies, and aim with utmost precision. He sees Katsuki’s leg reel under the covers as he hisses in pain.

“Ah—the fuck? You’re not the only one with a hangover, y’know.”

You let out an evil little cackle, but kiss Katsuki on the forehead to placate him. He hums in satisfaction. Placation: successful.

“How’d you sleep, Eiji?”

“Like a rock,” he huffs, and snuggles closer. For warmth, he tells himself. Because he’s allowed.

“Good, good,” you wave over your shoulder, and yawn. “’Kay, well I’m gonna go back to bed—”

“Hell no. We’re fuckin’ now,” Katsuki grunts, eyes still closed and face still swollen. He’s half awake. You pout while Eijirō snickers, and the blond peeks an eye out. “Fuckin’ what.”

“Nothing,” Eijirō hums, shaking his head. He presses his chin into your shoulder to see Katsuki better. “You just seem impatient.”

“I am,” Katsuki makes a pained groan. “I’ve waited a whole goddamn year. Now, Baby—strip.”

A year?

You whine again, giving Eijirō absolutely no time to do the math, to understand the repercussions of what Katsuki confessed. Shit, maybe he should go back to bed too. Just to, like, sit on that information for an hour or two.

“I don’t wanna,” you pout, dragging out the last word in the most obnoxious tone you can muster. “My head hurts. Later.”

“When is later,” Katsuki over-enunciates, clearly hanging on by a thread. You shift under the covers, ass pressing against Eijirō’s crotch, and—oh. Is that morning wood?

“Later is…later,” you huff, tucking the fluffy hotel duvet under your chin. Then, with another wiggle of your ass, “You’re not the only one having a hard time, you know.”

Eijirō juts his bottom lip in a pout, and tightens his hand on your stomach to get you to stop, please. Because, Katsuki was right about one thing—not being able to fuck you is torture. And now that Eijirō knows he can, it only makes it worse.

“Hey,” the redhead whines, because, low blow. It’s a low blow from you, and a low blow from his body for telling on him. It’s a low blow from the gods, who put him in this situation to begin with. “Not cool, Dude.”

“Are you really gonna call me dude when your dick is pressed against my back,” you snort, and Eijirō hears Katsuki’s breath hitch. Feels the arm on your waist squeeze a little tighter.

“Yeah,” Eijirō licks his lips, watching your hips fall into a light and slow but steady pace. Katsuki’s hand slides to your back and drags a light line down your spine. “You’re being mean.”

Because, what’s the point of grinding if you don’t wanna fuck?

“I can be meaner,” you say, with a smile flashing over your shoulder. Eijirō whimpers as you push more weight into him, and keep pushing. He looks at Katsuki for help, but he’s busy watching your body curl, too.

“Kat,” Eijirō whines, actually pleads, because, “help me.”

“Nah,” Katsuki huffs, getting comfortable on the pillow, and pats your side. “Now y’get to handle what I’ve been dealing with for the past two years.”

All Eijirō hears is: at least it’s not me.

And, honestly? Fuck him for that.

“This is horrible,” Eijirō laments after a sharp inhale, rubbing his face into your neck like it’ll make him feel better. It doesn’t. If anything, he’s flooded with the scent of you, more than he already was, and it makes his dick jump in his shorts. Nudging you in the side, “Okay, c’mon—no more.”

“But, I thought you guys were horny,” you tease, the lilt in your tone undeniable. “I’m just taking the edge off a bit.”

You're pressed flush to Eijirō now—even the slightest grind, and he’d feel it. Except, nothing about this is slight. It’s heavy and hot and makes his breathing pick up in the way only one thing can.

“This isn’t—this is, like, sharpening the edge,” Eijirō reasons aloud, huffing into your shoulder. “This is like dangling me over the cliff, and being like, ‘oh, don’t fall.’”

You cackle at that, like you know. Another roll of your hips, then, “You can stop me if you want.”

Eijirō whines, loud and long and pathetic, because you don’t understand—he cannot. You feel too good, too real, too solid, and as someone who’s been dreaming of this all year, no, Eijirō cannot simply stop you.

You giggle when he doesn’t, when his hands scramble for your sides instead, sitting above Katsuki’s just like last night. And, at the thought of last night, Eijirō pulls you a little closer. He doesn’t know how long he can take this before returning to his natural state—weak, pitiful, and overall, severely down bad.

After a little longer, room filled with human humidity and heavy pants, you stop grinding. Sit up.

“Okay, I should probably get breakfast to help my headache,” you yawn with a hand over your mouth. “Before I fall back asleep.”

Katsuki gets up on an arm, hair still flattened on one side from sleep. “Y’gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

You smile, innocent and polite, like you aren’t the bane of their existences. “Anyone want anything?”

“Fuckin’—you, the fuck,” Katsuki huffs, tugging at your midsection to bring you back under the covers, but you don’t budge. Instead, you peel his hands off your hips.

Then, you crawl out of bed, on all fours and face first, and Eijirō is forced to watch your ass move in his Crimson Riot shirt, panties slightly askew. He’s so close he can taste it, and just watches at the overhead fan. He won’t know if he can’t see. (And, if he knows, he’ll lose his mind.)

You throw on a pair of sweatpants, and you’re out the door with a click. Eijirō and Katsuki are left with the hum of the AC and a very silent room.

“Cold shower?” Katsuki grumbles, staring at the ceiling with something wistful. Eijirō nods.

“Yep.”

akira.aaaaaah

this poor guy, ik he’s stressed

zenitsuckthesenuts

oooh lemme be a fourth 

kid.death

What the fuck is wrong with people?

Eijirō doesn’t know why you left him and Katsuki alone like that. Also, cold showers suck.

So, they didn’t take one.

“F-Fuck, Dude, holy shit—”

Thanks to the wetness from constant running water, Katsuki’s hand slides easy. The tile is cold against his back, but Eijirō sweats anyway, arm pumping as his own hand glides smooth along a cock that isn’t his.

“Why the fuck are your hands so soft?” Katsuki pants into his neck. He has Eijirō pinned to the side of the shower, just out the way of the spray. This is a moment of severe weakness, and Eijirō hopes what happens in the shower, stays in the shower.

(Katsuki can always touch his dick, though. Not that part.)

“Lotion, Man,” Eijirō says past a breathless laugh, droplets sliding off the sharp ends of his hair and rolling down Katsuki’s shoulder. Eijirō’s face flinches in pleasure, and while he tries to keep his sounds to a minimum—this is still a little weird, this is still just his Bro—little squeaky whines slip from his lips. He was more desperate to get in Katsuki’s hands than he thought. “How are your hands so rough?”

“’Cause I’m a man that works with his hands,” Katsuki postures, and Eijirō snorts.

“Kat, you have a desk job.”

“Shut the fuck up, and cum already,” He grunts, lips moving against Eijirō’s neck in a way that makes him shiver, even if it’s accidental. Katsuki’s grip gets tighter, and so does his.

“You can’t rush orgasms, Dude,” Eijirō says, tries to say, but ‘dude’ turns into a really embarrassing whine he hopes was drowned out by running water. He knows it wasn’t. “That’s, like, Sex 101.”

“I’m not fuckin’ rushin’ it, she’s rushin’ it,” Katsuki says behind a deep growl, and Eijirō’s cock jumps. “We’ve got five minutes, tops.”

Eijirō knocks his head back into the tile, a little too hard, and winces at the feeling. Katsuki’s head falls off his shoulder. Shower smoke fogs the glass doors and curls toward the one canned light in the ceiling.

“I know, I know,” he whines. He’s not even standing on his feet anymore—fully leaned against the shower wall, with Katsuki keeping him upright at his front. And, Katsuki’s dick is so pretty. It’s curved and flushed and just as glossy and pale as his skin. Eijirō watches pre-cum bead at his tip before sliding down the shaft, running down Eijirō’s knuckles and disappearing in the slide. Katsuki’s cock jumps, too. With a weak grin and a lilt in his voice, Eijirō asks, “I turn you on, Dude?”

And Katsuki, whose eyes are trained on Eijirō’s own dick, finally looks away to huff in his face. “You already know the answer to that question, Dumbass”

Eijirō bites his lip. He wants to hold onto Katsuki, more than he already is. He wants a hand on his hip, gliding over those shower-slick muscles Eijirō remembers him working so hard to get, wants to see how easy it is to redden his skin, wants to see if his nipples are sensitive. He wants…he wants—

“Shit, I’m close,” Eijirō pants, eyebrows folding. He looks at Katsuki. “Are you close?”

“Stop askin’ stupid questions,” Katsuki grunts, but leans forward a bit. Incrementally—but enough for Eijirō to notice—like he’s melting. Then, an afterthought, “Not cummin’ before you, though.”

Eijirō wheezes a laugh, tight and bright and a little bit bitter. “Dude, now is not the time for a competition.”

Putting a hand next to Eijirō’s head, on the slippery tile, Katsuki’s eyes flit down to his lips. Return to his eyes. “Now’s definitely the time for a competition.”

“No, Bro,” he shakes his head, then licks his lips—because Katsuki keeps looking at them like he wants something. And, y’know, maybe Eijirō’s eyes slip a little, too. “’Cause then I’m gonna try to hold out. We don’t have time for that.”

“Then cum,” Katsuki says, like it’s easy, and suddenly much closer than Eijirō remembers. Katsuki’s smile turns cocky, and that’s the exact moment he knows he’s screwed. Or, maybe it’s when Katsuki drags a thumb along his jawline. “Be a good boy for me, and cum.”

“Oh, that’s not fucking fair,” Eijirō whimpers, finally caving and grabbing Katsuki by his waist. “That’s not fair at all, Kat, I—”

“Awh,” Katsuki coos and clicks his tongue. The thumb on Eijirō’s jaw lifts his head, and he can feel Katsuki’s condescending breath on his lips as he says, “’S okay, Ei. Just let go.”

“I—”

Knock, knock, knock!

They jump apart. Eijirō slips on water and nearly falls on his ass. Katsuki catches him, though.

“What are you two doing in there?!”

Your voice is muffled by the door, but still sounds just as lovely. The hands Katsuki has around his waist tighten.

“Fuckin’ showerin’!” Katsuki hollers, voice echoing off glass and tile. He lets go of Eijirō, and turns the shower handle from hot to freezing. Under his breath, he grumbles, “Nosy.”

“I heard that!”

“Good!”

horihori

nta, GET THAT DICK BITCH

yurikatsuki’sno1hater

Yuri Katsuki is a professional figure skater from Hatsetsu Japan, certified by the JSF. At age 18, he moved to Detriot to train under Coach Celestino Cialdini, only to come back and LOSE TO THE MUCH SUPERIOR AND EXTREMELY HANDSOME YURI PLISETSKY SUCK MY DICK

cyberch!ck69

what does this have to do with anything i just said?

yurikatsuki’sno1hater

It doesn’t

Unfortunately, before they both realized you were going to be a tease, Katsuki signed everyone up for snorkeling after breakfast. And, he takes his reservations very seriously. Especially ones with thirty-dollar cancellation fees. Thirty dollars each.

“Move your asses, we’re gonna be late.”

(And, Eijirō is really trying—to move his ass. But, it’s extremely difficult to stuff a rock-hard dick into awfully short swim shorts, and then hide it. He’s trying.)

They end up arriving about five minutes late, which isn’t late for the hotel, used to dealing with people on vacation with lax schedules, but it is late for Katsuki. Being on time is late for Katsuki.

The instructor gives them routine warnings and directions—stay away from the coral reefs, keep within the buoys, don’t wear anything shiny, remember to avoid breathing through your nose. Katsuki thinks the last one is self-explanatory, but people are dumbasses.

Katsuki didn’t realize how much of a dumbass he’d look, though, in goggles too big and the snorkel a comical thing next to his face. Somehow, Shitty Hair makes it work, and that pisses him off even more.

Snorkeling was fine—it was fun. Though he’ll never say it aloud, Katsuki liked looking at the different types of fish while floating on the water's surface. Eventually, Eijirō returns to the beach, too tired from last night’s activities and probably a little horny, opting to lounge on a chair to catch a tan. The tide slowly pulls you and Katsuki into a small grotto, still within the buoy's boundaries, and that’s where you two take a breather.

“This is fun,” you smile, picking the goggles off your head and stuffing them into your hair. It leaves your snorkel in a wonky position. “There are even fish in here, look!”

You point to the shallow waters lapping at your feet from where you’re standing on the rock. Katsuki watches your ass protrude as you bend over.

He might’ve made everyone go snorkeling, but there’s still only one thing on his mind.

Katsuki hums, but he’s not even looking at the fish. He’s looking at you—how minimal sunlight bounces off your wet skin and makes it shine, how your fat bends and curls with every shift, how you turn to him with bright eyes, like you forgot the whole point of this trip in the first place.

When Katsuki pushes you against the rough cave wall, he doesn’t know why you act surprised.

“Wha—Katsuki!”

His mouth is on yours before you can get another word in, clammy hands gripping your sides as Katsuki gives you a taste of your own medicine. Your kisses start out soft, broken by giggles, but Katsuki very quickly brings you down to his level—fucking desperate.

“Kats,” you whimper, and Katsuki moves to your neck, dragging his tongue along your pulse point and making you shiver. You press at his shoulders, but it’s not enough to push him away. “Kats—we shouldn’t—someone could walk in, or—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Katsuki growls. One of the hands on your hips slowly snakes lower, grabbing the side of your swimsuit bottoms and tugging upward until you can feel it strain against your clit. You huff, looking up at him with that swell in your eyes he loves so much, so he tugs again.

“Kats—”

“I’m tired of your shit.”

His other hand slides upwards, wrenching your bathing suit top to the side and freeing a breast to tweak a nipple. He can feel your breath puff on his bare skin as you sigh, lolling your head to the right just enough to give him more room to work with. And, work with, he does.

After too much tugging and teasing, Katsuki dips a hand beneath a damp waistband. He needs to feel you—and groans when he finally does, because holy shit, how are you so wet.

“You drive me crazy, y’know that,” he grunts, fingers slowly rolling over your skin in a way you deem pleasurable. Your eyes flutter in response. Katsuki presses harder. “Prancin’ around in practically nothin’, and you still won’t lemme touch you.”

You let out a moan too loud for a public space, cracking against craggy cave walls and echoing through the grotto. Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, wrapping around his neck in a way that almost chokes, but Katsuki barely feels it. No, all he feels is you, and the swell of his dick.

“And here you are, all fuckin’ needy,” he huffs a laugh, grin scraping against your skin, bending it in his wake. Your hips buck, so his hands still. “Ah-ah. You’re not cummin’ yet.”

You whimper, licking your lips and panting, huffing, with your askew top shuddering with every exhale. Goosebumps rise on Katsuki’s skin, flatten into nothing, then rise again.

“Kats, please—”

“Please ain’t gon’ get you anywhere, Princess,” Katsuki growls, free hand finding your chin to lift it, while the other continues its steady ministrations between your legs. “You played with me—now it’s my turn to return the favor, right? Like a good boyfriend?”

Katsuki’s words are mocking enough to make you shiver in the way he loves, and your nails dig into his shoulders tight enough to leave crescents in your wake. The sting runs straight to Katsuki’s dick, and stays there.

“F-Fuck you,” you manage to hiss, lacking vitriol and replacing it with ecstasy and an undercurrent of annoyance. Your hips hitch again, so Katsuki stills again.

“See, that attitude right there is the reason you’re cummin’ last, tonight,” Katsuki’s grip tightens on your cheeks enough to make them squish, enough for him to feel the groove of your teeth through the skin. His hand is wet with you, now—fingers fucking soaked, and all he did was rub your clit for about five minutes. You whine.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, tonight,” Katsuki over-enunciates, hoping to bury it in your thick skull that you’re not getting an orgasm until the moon is high in the sky and everyone has returned to their rooms to knock out—you can sing with the crickets, for all he cares. Your face curdles into a pout between his fingers, the pout that lets him know you now understand that you’ve bit off more than you can chew. Katsuki clicks his tongue. “You’ve been actin’ a brat this whole damn trip. Y’don’t just get shit ‘cause you asked for it, y’get shit ‘cause you work for it.”

With that, Katsuki releases your face. You collapse against the cave wall, bathing suit still twisted and goggles hanging on your head by a strand of hair.

“I’m not being a brat,” you scoff, gathering yourself and your bathing suit, with a slightly unsteady voice and shaky hands. “I—I was…poetically and sexually inclined, okay, that’s not even—”

“Baby,” Katsuki grunts, and levels you with a look.

“…Yes?”

“Shut the hell up before I fuck you right here.”

s.geto

Okay, how do I ask them?

cyberch!ck69

YOU’VE COME CRAWLING BACK I SEE

s.geto

Nvm.

After snorkeling is lunch. After lunch is a lei-making class. Katsuki tore half the carnations with hands that aren’t built to handle delicate things, and you spent the whole time being a tease. Eijirō just tries to focus on his lei, because if he focuses on anything else, his mind drifts to you, and suddenly, the flower in his palm is missing a few petals. After that, staying true to Katsuki’s itinerary, is a dinner and a luau.

“Eiji—come take a picture of me!”

They’re getting ready for dinner, and per usual, Katsuki is the last one ready. You’ve had enough time to find and pick a hibiscus flower to tuck behind your ear, matching the same shade as your strapless wrap dress. It’s not as tight as last night’s—thank God—but just as revealing, especially when you bend over like that, holy fuck—

“Sorry, had to fix my shoe.” You stand, brushing off the bottom of your dress in two firm strokes. “Ready?”

Eijirō has a vice grip on your phone as you walk towards the balcony. Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard—

Now, the sun is setting, fingers of orange and pink receding past the horizon. The sun is setting, but it’s still hot enough to give you that faint sheen, sweat or sparkle, as you lift a leg and pose. Your eyes glint in a way that’s nothing short of teasing—and while Eijirō assumes it’s for the camera, it damn sure feels like it’s for him.

You go through a few poses, all against the balcony railing. Eijirō’s knees hurt from trying to get the perfect angle, and when he hands back the phone, you smile. His mantra remains loud and true:

Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard—

“Wow, you take pictures so much better than Kats,” you amaze while scrolling through the images. Something akin to pride swells in his chest. Something also swells in his crotch.

Which is, like, totally not okay—drooling over the fact that he’s better than Katsuki at something. To you. When you’ve been the one dating Katsuki for the past two years, when it’s very clear you love him. But, Eijirō is stupid, and his brain is fried from severe blood loss over the past twenty-four hours.

“Thank you,” he smiles, and watches you swipe through pictures over your shoulder, pointing at one. “That one’s my favorite.”

It’s somewhat candid, of you in the middle of turning around to watch the sinking sun. The look on your face is nothing short of blissful—relaxed, at peace—and despite the looseness of the dress, your ass pokes out in something teasing, tantalizing, something—

Eijirō Kirishima needs to chill the fuck out. He knows this.

But, it’s hard. Hard when you drag your nails down his stomach in passing and say good job, hard when Katsuki grumbles at both of you to move it because they’re going to be late (like it’s not his fault), hard when he’s sat at a long table on the beach with strangers and dancers flanking both sides.

Eijirō is hard.

Fuck.

“Get your fuckin’ hand off my knee,” Katsuki grunts at you. You’re sitting between them, which is both the best and worst place to be—best, because Eijirō gets to be close to you. Worst, because Eijirō gets to be close to you.

And, he’s not the only one hanging by a thread—Katsuki has been pissy all day. He’s been mean and angry and a live wire just waiting for something flammable. (More than he already is.) And you, you’re starting to regret the grave you dug yourself, Eijirō thinks, because you wanted to fuck after snorkeling, wanting to fuck after lei making, but Katsuki keeps saying tonight.

“No,” you whine, and paw at Katsuki’s thigh in a way that you know will annoy him. “I wanna touch you.”

Your hand is also on Eijirō’s knee, but he’s not strong enough to move it. Just weak, and sitting in said weakness, feeling your drifting touch burn a hole in his skin. It’s a lot, honestly.

Katsuki grumbles, but doesn’t say much more, instead bouncing his other leg with an impatience that makes it seem like he doesn’t even want to be at the dinner in the first place.

Loud drums batter, accompanied by the patter of feet on sand and the swish of skirts. All of it falls into one noise, something steady and white, as your thumbs start rubbing circles on the inside of Eijirō’s knee. As it starts rubbing circles higher than Eijirō’s knee.

“What are you doing,” he asks. The food can’t come fast enough. The sun can’t fall fast enough.

“Nothing,” you say, in that tone that definitely means you're doing something. A lilt. Eijirō exhales sharp through his nose.

“Y/N…” he says warily and debates taking his leg away, knocking your hand off, anything. A stronger man might, but not Eijirō. Not today.

“What?” You pout in offense. Eijirō eyes the people next to him, then across, in hopes you get the message. You don’t.

Or, you do, but really don’t care.

“Baby, seriously.”

Eijirō looks at Katsuki’s lap to notice he’s not going through this alone. If anything, Katsuki has it worse, as you squeeze and pull at his thighs under his shorts, with no care for who might see or what they might say. There’s a sick sense of camaraderie that comes with the sight. At least he isn’t suffering alone.

“Oh, have I been banned from touching you guys, too?” You huff, a little bitter, a little like the thought is an impossibility. Where the hell is the food?

“At this point, yes,” Katsuki growls. He picks your hand off his lap and pins it to the table. The second he lets go, your hand falls back to where it belongs. His inner thigh.

Eijirō is tearing up the inside of his cheek. Soon, you’ve moved further up on his thigh too, drawing absentminded shapes that induce shivers. He whines.

“What if we…like…skip dinner.”

“We’re not skippin’ this shit, ‘m hungry,” Katsuki grumbles while crossing arms over his chest. Eijirō groans, but his stomach rumbles in agreement.

“Fuck.”

“So, I can keep touching y—”

“No.”

Both Katsuki and Eijirō take your hands and place them on the table. You giggle, but relent. The food doesn’t arrive too long after.

s.geto

Nvm.

cyberch!ck69

just TALK TO THEM

s.geto

Absolutely not.

s.geto

I need a five step plan, preferably one that doesn’t include me sitting them down and baring my soul.

cyberch!ck69

i give the fuck up

When they get back to the room, Katsuki slams you against the wall. Hard.

“Y’thought that shit was funny, huh,” he says in a low voice typically reserved for the bedroom—Eijirō knows, he’s heard it—and you bite back a smile and fail, wrists pinned to the wall above your head.

“A little, yeah,” you breathe, and Katsuki starts working his way down your neck. “You were the one who said ‘tonight.’”

“And you were the one who said no yesterday,” Katsuki huffs. He picks you up by your hips, tosses you onto the bed and, without a second thought, points and says, “Eijirō.”

Eijirō scrambles on top of you like there’s no tomorrow.

He presses you into the bed and kisses you heavy. Eijirō doesn’t even care about being polite at this point—he knows he’s allowed, you’re allowed, and takes what he needs because he can.

Your hands run up his sides to tangle in red hair, tugging, giggling when he whimpers, then tugging again. Everything fits so easy, like you were meant to be under him in the first place, made specifically to be slotted between his body and the bed.

So, maybe Eijirō’s treating you with all the impatience of an overzealous puppy, sue him.

Katsuki sits in the hotel’s standard cuck chair, slowly palming himself over fabric to relieve some pressure. Eijirō catches him out the corner of his eye, suppressing a grin when Katsuki lifts an eyebrow as if to say, what?

With a strong grip on your chin, Eijirō forcefully redirects your gaze to your boyfriend, the one impatiently writhing in the chair with a hand over his pants. Eijirō’s lips make their way down your neck, skating over a small hickey easily disguised as a bug bite that he knows wasn’t there last night—which makes him wonder what happened in those seven minutes you two disappeared during snorkeling.

(To say you came out of that grotto disheveled was an understatement.)

“God,” Eijirō breathes, mostly to himself, as his hand slides down and beneath your waist, arching your back just a little, just enough to be provocative. You get impatient when he doesn’t move fast enough, with lips still hovering by your collarbones and dress still on, and you yank his hair in admonishment.

“Hurry up,” you huff, and though it’s quiet, it rings in the vaguely silent room like a cry for help. Eijirō’s lips spread in a grin along your clavicle.

“What if I wanna take my time with you, though?” He pouts, and moves lower, but not by much. Just enough to give you false hope. His fingers play with the hem of your dress, lightly squeezing and tugging but never removing. Again, just enough to give you false hope.

You whimper, hips rolling into his stomach as you try to find some sort of friction. Eijirō tuts and pushes your knees down, one by one. He’s not gonna lie—a few more thrusts, and he might snap. With a deep inhale and exhale, determined to take his time because he doesn’t know when he’ll get this chance again, he starts moving down your body a little faster. A little.

He still has to get you back for teasing him all day.

When his hand finally dips under your dress, you sigh in satisfaction. Your arms wrap around his neck, nails scratching short hairs at his nape and sending light shivers down his spine. Eijirō’s eyes flutter shut as he mouths over a clothed breast, relishing the way your breath hitches underneath his lips.

“Respectfully, Shitty Hair, hurry the fuck up,” Katsuki grunts from the corner. Eijirō looks at him—there’s a flush running past the collar of his shirt, lips glossy with spit and chest heaving with impatience. Eijirō feels the balance of control shift, and grabs hold.

“Respectfully, Kat, I think I’m gonna take my time,” he smiles, and while the verb phrase I think gives room for argument, Eijirō hardens his voice until he’s sure Katsuki knows that isn’t the case. I think is a placation.

Katsuki snarls, but sinks deeper in his chair.

Eijirō unwraps your dress—unwraps his present, like it’s his birthday, his anniversary—and kisses down the valley of your chest. Both hands lift to cradle your breasts, shaking them on either side of his face and chuckling when you whimper. He thumbs over one nipple, obsessing over the way your body jolts, and takes another deep inhale like he can smell your arousal from here.

Eijirō takes your nipple into his mouth, next.

You choke out a moan, body strung tight from denying yourself the thing you want most, and your hips struggle to kick under the weight of Eijirō’s body, but they do try. He groans, hugging your waist to keep you from jolting, and sucks.

“Ah—fuck—”

You gasp when his teeth skirt your areola, light enough to soothe but tight enough to graze. Katsuki groans in his peripheral.

“Yeah? Feel good, Baby?” Katsuki pants past a clinch in his throat. You nod and whimper, eyes screwing shut, and he coos. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

You whine and tug at Eijirō’s head again. Not necessarily to instill pain, but to, “Move. Move, Eiji.”

Eijirō’s lips leave your breast with a pop, as he gazes at you with lidded eyes and a lazy smile. He’s exactly where he wants to be.

“Move where?”

You let out a strangled groan, something made of pure annoyance, as you try to push his head down. Eijirō doesn’t budge.

“You know where,” you huff, wiggling to work your knees out from under his body, to frame him and thrust up. ”My pussy, Eijirō—please, I swear to God—”

And, since you asked so nicely—

Eijirō keeps playing dumb, but runs a hand to cup between your legs. You're wet to the touch, through the panties, and he takes his third deep inhale of the night in an attempt to ground himself. It doesn’t work.

Eijirō is unwell.

He feels your pussy twitch under his palm, and he feels dizzy. The room spins, sways, does all the things a room is definitely not supposed to do—like the world kept spinning, but Eijirō stopped moving within it—and he drops his head to your shoulder in hopes it’ll stop. Holy shit, this is actually happening.

“Y’good there, Red?” Katsuki snorts, and honestly, Eijirō shakes his head.

He keeps playing with your pussy, though. A fucking war couldn’t stop that.

Eijirō sits up so his voice isn’t muted by your skin, so he doesn’t have to repeat himself twice. “I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“Oh no,” your face turns from ecstasy into worry in a second, and your hands let go of his hair to cup the softer angles of his face. Eijirō melts into the hold. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”

He shakes his head, pinches your clit. Your body shudders. “No, no. I’m good.”

Eijirō takes another deep breath. His head still spins, but in a good way—a way he can lean into. So, he does, and rips your panties off in the process.

“My—hey!” You pout as Eijirō throws the useless cloth over his shoulders, forgetting about them the instant they leave his palm. He can’t look at your pussy yet, needing a breather and taking it, exhaling with his eyes closed.

“Someone’s impatient,” Katsuki grunts under his breath. Eijirō huffs a weak laugh. Opens his eyes. God, your pussy is pretty.

“You literally just told me to hurry up.”

“And?” Katsuki huffs. Eijirō hears the clink of a belt, the shifting of cloth. He looks up to see Katsuki working his jeans down to his thighs. 

“And nothing, Dude,” Eijirō smiles. Then, he touches you.

“Fuck,” he whines, melting on his knees as you whimper beneath him. It’s something simple—just running a finger through your folds, testing the waters—and you feel better than he ever imagined. On his fingers. He starts to get dizzy, again.

“She feels good, doesn’t she,” Katsuki groans, slightly more breathless than when he last spoke. Eijirō swallows, then nods.

“Yeah, I—” his breath shutters as his train of thought runs into a wall and smashes into a heap of metal. His thumb runs over your clit, lightly, seeing what makes you squirm and what doesn’t, but he’s half-busy reeling in the unbelievability of it all. You, the most unattainable woman he’s ever met, so far out of his league, his best friend’s girlfriend, is here, laid flat and naked in front of him because you want to. What the fuck. What the fuck. He bites back a moan as he watches your eyes flutter, hips slowly picking up their pace as you rock between his hand and the headboard. “How’re you feeling, Pretty?”

The pet name just kind of…slips right out. And, while he probably shouldn’t be calling his best friend’s girlfriend Pretty, he also probably shouldn’t be touching her like this. And Katsuki shouldn’t be sitting in the corner, touching his dick, like this is all perfectly normal.

Eijirō dips a finger inside you.

You flex and flutter around him, clenched, enough to make him wonder how he’s supposed to fit in the first place. It feels like you’ve cut off his circulation, but…to his head. Somehow, he’s getting no blood to his brain—maybe, because it’s all going to his dick—and Eijirō whimpers as he starts pumping a finger, only for you to grip tighter on his way out.

“Oh my God,” he drops his head, eyes fluttering closed as he realizes, “I’m not gonna survive this.”

“Chill out, Shitty Hair; you’ve only got one finger in her,” Katsuki snorts, enjoying the visual of Eijirō losing his mind when he hasn’t even done anything yet. “Just wait ‘til you make her scream.”

Yeah. Eijirō might need to speed things up a bit.

He inserts a second finger right next to the first, and groans. It’s tight. No wonder he could hear Katsuki’s moans through the walls.

Speaking of moans: you’ve been letting out quiet whimpers the whole time, body writhing and breath hitching all cute. But, Eijirō crooks his fingers, and then—fireworks.

Your eyes rocket open, round and wide, and your stomach flexes. You release a moan that’s punched straight from your gut, loud and wanton and exactly what Eijirō has heard through plaster. Your body squeezes and shudders as he focuses on opening you up instead of pleasure, because if he focuses on pleasure, he’ll—

“Rub her clit,” Katsuki huffs. Eijirō looks over to find him pumping himself with a slow and steady pace, dick exposed and looking just like Eijirō remembers from the shower. The urge to lick it remains strong. When he moves to pull his fingers away, Katsuki tuts. “At the same time, Dumbass. What, can’t multitask?”

Honestly, in this situation, Eijirō isn’t really sure.

He keeps his mouth shut, though—whatever embarrassing ramble that sat on his tongue is swallowed—and does as he’s told. The hand resting on your waist drops to your clit, and you squeal.

“There she goes,” Katsuki mutters, with all the predatory satisfaction of an animal at the top of its food chain. You splutter and kick a leg on reflex, and Eijirō sort of has to fight to keep his hands from slipping.

“Eiji,” you scramble for his shirt, holding on tight and keeping him close, “I need you to fuck me—like, yesterday.”

“Then you should’a had him fuck you yesterday,” Katsuki huffs, and Eijirō isn’t sure if he’d be a really good or really bad porn director in another life. Maybe both. “Put in a third finger.”

Eijirō does, and your eyes roll.

“Fuck,” you whimper, and your grip tightens. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Stop touchin’ her.”

Eijirō removes his fingers.

You groan, slamming a heel into the mattress in frustration, and glare at your boyfriend across the room. “Kats—I hate you.”

You’re too out of breath for your words to have any fire in them, so Katsuki just smiles, slow and languid as he rests a chin on his hand. “What’s wrong, Princess? About to cum?”

“You know I was,” you huff, glaring at the ceiling. And Eijirō is too busy looking at the flexing mess between your legs, because, holy shit, you were about to cum, like, all over his fingers—

Eijirō needs to see that. He needs to see that, like, now.

“That’s too damn bad,” Katsuki snorts, then his eyes cut to his roommate. “Keep touchin’ her.”

Eijirō does so, and with a renewed vigor.

He stuffs three fingers back in so quick you yelp in surprise, body curling into his as he works you open. The little sounds you make are heavenly, breathy and whiny and everything he’s dreamt of and more. Eijirō notices when you get close to the edge, this time—the way your eyes flutter, and you squeeze around him like you don’t want to let go.

“Stop.”

You whine again, and this time, Eijirō whines along with you. He wants to feel it, so, so bad.

After a few moments of panting, you lick your lips, “Kats, I—”

“Doesn’t feel too good, does it,” Katsuki grunts, but he’s still smiling just as wide as before. At least someone is having fun. Eijirō, meanwhile, is a hot mess, because all he wants is to feel what he’s heard (and seen) for ages. And, his dick hurts.

You groan, fists squeezing into cute little fists on your forehead. “Why do you have to be an ass?”

“Me?” Katsuki scoffs. “I’m just givin’ you a taste of your own medicine, Sweetheart. Eijirō, you can move.”

It takes you longer to reach the edge than the second time. Maybe, you’re holding back—or, maybe you know it won’t be allowed—but Eijirō’s arm is working overtime until it cramps. He’s sweating now, the shorter hairs sticking to his face in funny designs, but Eijirō Kirishima is nothing if a quitter. He feels it again—the tightness—and looks to Katsuki, who says nothing. Maybe, this time, he’ll let it slide. This time, Eijirō gets to see it, feel it, taste it—

“Stop.”

Eijirō groans louder than you do, and drops his head to your shoulder.

“Kat, let her cum,” Eijirō practically begs, eyebrows bowing and lips quivering against your neck. You feel it, and your breath hitches.

“What?” Katsuki acts like he can’t hear him, but Eijirō knows he does.

“Let her cum,” he huffs after lifting his head off your sticky shoulder, looking at Katsuki with the most pleading face—the most pathetic face—he can muster. “Please.”

Katsuki scoffs, eyes narrowing at Eijirō like there’s something to study. There’s not; the answer is obvious—he’s sitting in between the legs of a pretty girl, unable to give her what she wants, eyes wild and chest heaving like he’s had any friction at all.

“Why?”

“I wanna feel it,” Eijirō says, quick enough to be embarrassed about it later.

Katsuki clicks his tongue.

“Fine.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Eijrō sighs, hands officially moving with an end goal in sight. It would be cruel of Katsuki to deny both of you again, but Eijirō knows he’s not going to—the hand on his dick is moving faster, now. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

Eijirō wonders how many times he can make you cum. He wonders what you’ll look like after the first, second, third—how much your body might quiver, what you could sound like without a wall in place. All it does is fuel the fire in his belly, running straight into his muscles until his hand moves at a numbing pace. As your voice pitches, so does the pace of your breathing.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for us, Baby. Cum for Ei, make a mess all over his fuckin’ fingers.”

Eijirō doesn’t even blink.

He just watches as you unravel, starting at your edges and ending in your middle, as your body arches and hips flick. Your pussy squeezes around his fingers tighter than he thought was possible, and your face—God, your face—contorts in ecstasy because of what he did, his fingers. Eijirō can confirm that it's better up close. So much better.

He kisses you before you can come down, out of pure impulse and want. You moan into his mouth, hands lifting to quiver by his cheeks, an attempt to hold them, and it’s just so cute.

Eijirō’s fucked. Though he knew it before, he definitely knows now. He’s not going to be able to exist without this, anymore.

Note: Never make Katsuki mad, like, sexually.

Because, when Katsuki can’t cum, nobody’s fucking cumming.

“Kat, Dude, please, c’mon,” Eijirō wheezes into your neck, but he doesn’t really care whether Katsuki can hear him. Katsuki will do what Katsuki wants—it’s like whining to the weather.

Your pussy is squeezing the life out of his cock. You’re on your fourth orgasm, and Eijirō is on none, even though he didn’t do shit. This is a type of torture he’s woefully unfamiliar with, like he’s getting punished for being attracted to you in the first place. He didn’t do shit.

Katsuki has moved from the chair to the bed, cock still in hand. Eijirō can’t even be cheesy about it, can’t even look to the right and ask, need a hand, because he’s gripping the sheets for dear life, like they might take pity on him. But, sheets don’t bargain, and if they did, they’d write a contract for him to get the hell off.

Katsuki coos, both at Eijirō’s strung-up state and your fucked out one. You’ve got no fight left in you, instead uselessly whimpering and clawing at his back like he can save you. Spoiler alert: he cannot.

Katsuki thumbs at the high points of Eijirō’s cheeks, “Awh, y’want it that bad? You’re cryin’, Red.”

Eijirō sniffles. Yes, he knows he’s crying—despite the heat in his face, he can feel it.

“Yes,” Eijirō hisses between grit teeth, “I’m literally dying, please—”

Katsuki chuckles something dark, grabbing Eijirō by his cheeks and forcing him to look up—and suddenly, he's drowning in carmine eyes. Is Katsuki closer? It feels like he got closer.

“Hold out a little longer,” the blond says, in a voice softer than the bed you lay on, and Eijirō really isn’t sure what to make of it. He’s close enough that Eijirō can almost feel the tongue licking his lips, feel his breath as he says, “Y’gotta make her cum two more times, at least.”

At least? Eijirō’s going to die. Eijirō’s going to die from an arrhythmic heart and overexertion, and it’s going to be Katsuki’s fault.

(But, hey—he’s dying in Hawaii, with you below him, so how much can he really complain?)

Eijirō wheezes out a light and pathetic ‘ah’ in place of what was supposed to be a curse, but he really doesn't care anymore. Not when you blink up at him with watery eyes and palm at his chest, all weak like he did that.

“Eiji…” you whimper, exhausted and sweating into the bed. “Jus’ one more. Please.”

Eijirō’s hips stutter, but they don’t stop.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hands turning into fists in the sheets. He’s not allowed to touch you, not allowed to make this go faster—but God, does he want to. “Fucking fuck—this is so unfair.”

“She’s insatiable, ain’t she,” Katsuki says, letting go of Eijirō’s face to cradle yours, to thumb over your cheeks all soft while he plows into you with every fiber of your being. “’S one of my favorite things about her.”

You whine but don’t do much else, bottom lip sliding from behind your teeth to make room for the sound. As your pussy convulses around his cock, you gasp, soft fingers sharpening into nails to dig into the fat of his back and leave raised red lines in their wake. Eijirō’s going to look wrecked on the beach tomorrow, and that thought is just—

“One more,” he pants, hips dragging impossibly fast. “One more, right, Kat?”

Katsuki grunts with a nod. The hand on his cock starts moving with purpose, now. “One more.”

Eijirō wants to touch it.

He wants to touch Katsuki again so, so bad, but he can’t, not with his hands full with you—not when he can’t cum yet. The ball of arousal is already wound tight in his stomach; one wrong tug, and it will unravel.

“I can’t—” Eijirō wheezes, voice breaking as he falls forward, catching himself with a hand beside your head. The other hand is busy holding your hips up, because you can no longer do it for yourself. “I can’t—”

The room is filled with the wet slap of skin on skin, pants heavy and hot enough to fog a warm glass, predatory groans and whiny whimpers. Eijirō keeps making sounds he’d rather not, but he’s too far gone to even register them. Katsuki’s saying something—his mouth is moving—but all he hears is the rush behind his ears.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Eijiro whimpers, in slight disappointment, but it was inevitable. He feels that tingle in his fingers that lets him know to pull out, and—

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

Katsuki’s voice snarls into focus, grabbing Eijirō by his hair and tugging so hard his back bends.

“I can’t, I’m not gonna—”

“You can, and you will,” Katsuki says with a finality that leaves Eijirō no other choice. And he’ll be damned if he loses this opportunity—he wants to fuck you again, and again, and again, until you’re properly satiated and leaking out of every hole you have. Eijirō whines through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffles, and another tear rolls down his cheek. Katsuki licks it up. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t d—”

But then, you’re squeezing around him with shaky legs, and Eijirō’s shoulders sink in relief. One more second, and he would’ve—

“Oh, fuck!”

Eijirō cums so hard his vision blacks out—whether it's from closed eyes or pure blindness, he doesn’t know—and his hands scramble for something, anything to hold onto. One hand ends on your hip and the other on Katsuki’s thigh, digging bruises in his thumbprint as veins pop in his neck and he floods your system.

Eijirō pumps his hips a few more times, slow but sure. He’s sure he’s making noise—groans, whimpers, whines—but he can’t hear much except for the throb of his heart and Katsuki’s own orgasm, feeling something lukewarm splatter against the fingers still resting on his thigh. Eijirō breathes himself back into his body, through his nose and out his mouth, and finally, pulls out.

His dick jumps, and squirts twice like it’s got more in it. Eijirō can confidently confirm that it does not.

He collapses right on top of your body.

“Holy shit.”

“Holy shit is right,” you swallow, voice raspy and crackling on the edges. Katsuki collapses next to him.

“That was fuckin‘ good.”

You three blink at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Eventually, you squirm under the redhead, so he rolls onto your other side.

“I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow,” you decide aloud, shaking your head. Your eyes are still closed—and you’re still coming down, body twitching every few seconds in places Eijirō didn’t even know you could. “You two are carrying me everywhere.”

“That can be arranged,” Eijirō huffs, still out of breath. Weakly, he reaches across you and taps his roommate. “…When I can walk. So, Kat, you got that.”

Katsuki groans, somehow also exhausted, like he did any of the work. “Fuck you.”

“No,” Eijirō shakes his head, neck still weak and loose from being tense for so long. “You made us fuck for hours. ‘S your punishment.”

Katsuki grumbles under his breath but doesn’t outright lament. Eijirō gives you a slippery smile, and lifts a fist. You meet it with your own.

A few more seconds of catching breaths, of opening pores for cool air and listening to the steady rock of the ceiling fan, and then:

“Hey, Eiji. Wanna be our boyfriend?”

Katsuki shoots up. Suddenly, he has energy.

“We’re not fuckin’ askin’ him like that!”

You don’t really have the energy to argue, so you raise a placating hand and push it into his face.

“How’re we s’posed to ask ‘im, then?”

You slur your words, and Eijirō doesn’t blame you. Tomorrow, he’ll panic about the new information—probably cry a little—but it’s the middle of the night, and he’s already half asleep from exhaustion.

“Fuckin’ properly, the fuck do you mean?”

Katsuki seems really stressed about this, Eijirō thinks distantly. He should probably answer before he knocks out, slowly sinking into a post-orgasm haze he’s not necessarily trying to escape anytime soon.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair—you’re not accepting it until we do it right. When we get back.”

Eijirō snorts weakly. “Okay.”

That night, everyone falls asleep with bone-deep satisfaction. The next morning, Eijirō does cry a little—but he promised Katsuki he won’t accept until you two do ask him properly, whatever that means. That doesn’t mean he’s not dying about it, a little.

This is going to take some getting used to.

© mamashima/pumaya. do not edit, translate or copy my work without my permission. do not use for ai. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

taglist; @tokkushin, @kamislop, @zompompurin, @updownandbatty, @nanakamii @lynnsemptymind, @eijiromelissa12, @glokitty, @p1nkv33, @arctivv, @jazfartz2, @astralravenix, @jamanthabean, @oo-juniper-oo, @thedailylexi, @imandumbass, @bbrckstr, @1cckedheart, @cecemochi … wanna join my main taglist? send me and ask, dm, or comment!

AITA taglist; @talia-scar123, @kalinaseli, @demon-writer2, @moonhalffull444, @amans-puer, @orcaorks, @kirishimaeijiromyman

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Shintaroooo!”

You run quickly towards him and shout out to him with a worried voice, obviously panicking while holding out your unanswered assignment in front of his face. Tears are streaming down your cheeks.

“Please help me!” You shake his shoulders in panic. “I forgot to do my math homework! I’ve fallen asleep after I binge-watched Coffee Prince. I don’t want to fail, please! I want to keep being an honor student—”

Midorima trembles in annoyance within your reach before cutting you off with his finger pressed to your lips. “Will you calm down?! Your voice can reach all the way through the rooftop!”

“B-But my grade—!”

“Stop being dramatic. A tardy submission will not automatically make you fail; our teacher will only give you a deduction.”

“Every point matters, Shin-chan!”

“Don’t call me that!”

You pout before complying. Immediately scooting your chair closer to his seat with a pleading face. “But you’ll help me, right?”

You are too close.

You bat your eyelashes prettily, trying to persuade him. Shintaro’s breath hitched when he feels your face only few centimeters away from him.

He is only met with a bright smile before he is ‘forced’ to help you with your homework—downright snatching it from your hands.

Midorima ignores the fluttering in his heart when his fingers brush against yours.

Why can’t he find himself to resist?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Takao watches his usual stoic, self-absorbent teammate act unusually. He narrows his eyes at the sight of Midorima mistakenly wrapping his fingers twice—he was unfocused, and it was obvious that something was weighing on his mind.

“Shin-chan, are you alright?” There is no way he is actually nervous about going against Kaijo, right?

Takao was only met with a silent glare from his friend, making him blink in confusion.

Shintaro instantly denied his claim, “Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I can see your fingers getting suffocated from up here,” Takao points out with a very concerned look on his face. He gasps so dramatically, like a thunder of realization flashes down in the locker room. “And… are my eyes playing tricks on me?!”

Midorima only looks at him like he has grown two heads.

“I’m not seeing you wiping your teddy bear—or what should it be today, a ceramic vase? A shoelace? That small acorn you asked me to steal from your neighbor’s garden?” Takao points out in surprise, because it was very unusual for him to not have his lucky item. “I’m seeing zero of those today. Is my Shin-chan okay?!”

Otsubo gives Midorima a worrying look. Is the world ending for him?

His teammates snickered at the sight, their coach letting out a tired sigh.

Midorima hears the ping on his phone, seeing your message that you have already arrived at the gymnasium. He does not back down at the teasing of his teammates without an answer—partnered with a scowl. “My lucky item is here.”

“What..? Did you seriously have it delivered here and at this hour?!”

If you look deep into his expression, you could see the red flush blooming on his cheeks, wanting to maintain his composure and give all of his teammates the meanest glare that he can muster. “My luck doesn’t require an exposure to all of you.”

Never in Takao’s life has he heard such a bullshit excuse.

“Are you saying it’s spiritual today? Can that stay permane—?” He was shut up by a kick on his ass.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

海常 KAIJO 秀徳 SHUTOKU

30 - 49

You’re in the bleachers, eyes never taking off the match. Excitement and nervousness fill your body—your leg bouncing up and down in your seat while you stare at the team of your school.

Your gaze landed on the four-eyed shooting guard. Pride swells in your heart every time he shoots a three-pointer. You never fail to show your enthusiasm whenever the whole team scores—especially him.

“LET’S GO, SHUTOKU!” You cheer loudly and proudly, and some of the audience thinks you were the leader of the cheerleader team.

Midorima hears your voice and still keeps his attention to his opponent. For some reason, he can feel the hot rush of blood pumping even more all over his body, passing through his teammates before lifting his arms to shoot a 3-pointer.

30 - 52

“Oh yes, Shintaro! That’s my guy!”

The audience cheer loudly with you—but your words can be heard all throughout the gymnasium. People who are close to you whisper in curiosity at your boldness, while others agree with you.

“You’re so amazing, Shintaro!” you shouted again with a bright grin.

Shintaro flinches, and his heart began to beat irrationally. He only lets out a ‘hmph’, not wanting to show his teammates the effect you have on him.

“You have quite the cheerleader, Midorimacchi,” Kise remarks teasingly, his eye focusing on the ball dribbling by the hand of his opponent. “I’m jealous.”

“Really? That’s coming from you?” Midorima comments snarkily at the hypocrisy of the blonde’s statement.

Takao who is getting screened by one of Kise’s teammates, quickly takes a glance at the bleachers to see you, his classmate who would rather be in an arcade than watch a basketball match.

Though their team is leading the game, he knew something was off with Shintaro’s performance today.

Like he can’t give his all yet.

Then his gaze falls on his friend, someone who is too silent—his hawk-eye didn’t miss the fidgety, uncertainty in his body language turned into relaxation on Shintaro’s face.

As if everything’s fine already.

He connects the two and stifles his laughter at his silent realization.

So that’s your lucky charm, Shin-chan.

“I’m so flattered! He made the basket because of my cheer, right?!” You said to a random stranger, who doesn’t know what to do with the question but agrees.

The match ended with Shutoku winning, and you jumped in your seat happily. You wanted to do nothing but congratulate them—you came down to the court excitedly, only standing by the side while you watched them catch their breath.

Shintaro sees you by the side, who only offers you an arrogant huff seeing the joy on your face. He sees you running towards him, holding a bottle of water and a clean towel (you stole it from their coach).

“Shintaroooooo!”

You engulfed him in your arms, not caring that he was sweaty. Unfortunately, he does not feel the same way—grimacing when he feels his sweaty skin touching your clothes. “You were so amazing out there!”

“Stop hugging me! This is literally so disgusting?!” He tries to distance himself from your grip; somehow, you’re stronger.

“I don’t care, Shin-chan! I’m just so happy for you!” You show him your widest and brightest grin, flustering Shintaro at your compliments. He yelps when he feels you slapping his back repeatedly. “You’re just like me!”

“What part of you exactly screams skilled?!” He was met with a harsher slap on the back, making him bite his tongue accidentally.

“That hurts!”

“ :D ”

Midorima grumbles and stops you by gripping your whole head with his hand. He glares down at you—the lack of anger in his voice tempting you to tease him further. “Hey.”

“Let me treat you out for dinner! All of you!” You have to crane your neck up to pinch his cheeks hard; the cuteness aggression in you awakens. “Awh, you’re just so adorable!”

“Shut up!”

Otsubo and Takao watch the interaction with a sweatdrop. The captain complains, “Do they really to have flirt here?”

“Can you really call that flirting?” Takao murmured uneasily. And it seems like his friend had heard him with how quick his head snaps towards him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Say ah!”

You hold out the tip of your chopsticks with tempura in between in front of Shintaro’s mouth. He was trembling in humiliation at what you were doing.

“I don’t need you to feed me!” he turns his head away, making you sigh.

You are left with no choice but to force it down his throat, making him gag and grip your wrist to live. “Mmm! You are welcome, Shin-chan!”

You ignore his attempt to bicker with you as you happily eat down your food. Takao cannot stop laughing with tears, because watching you two has always been his entertainment.

“Hey, Takao. Is it true that you wanted me to be on your match?” You dodged Shintaro’s hand from silencing your voice. “You could have texted me, you know?”

Takao blinked before looking at Shintaro with a knowing smirk. “Oh, did I now?” Your four-eyed friend looks awfully freaked out. “I think someone else did.”

“Who?”

Takao deadpans at you, “You seriously don’t know?”

“I’m enjoying Shin-chan’s reactions, don’t stop me,” You already knew the truth right after he hung up the phone. You weren’t dumb. “You know how hot-and-cold he is.”

Midorima just wants to get the hell away from your table and bury himself in a hole.

Kagami does not have game. He cannot certainly charm his way through you with his words–he does, however, make it up with his skills in court. His egocentric and ferocious nature that Riko had warned you about did happen at first impression, and he had every right to be when he showed you what he can do. 

Both of you had a moment alone.

Accidentally walking on him when he is preparing himself in the locker room for another minute before the game begins. The enhancement of his chiseled body under his jersey thanks to his training, his biceps bulging while staring off space—Kagami yelps in surprise at your sudden arrival and feels conscious with your eyes ogling him, heat crawling up from his neck in embarrassment.

“Don’t you know how to knock, woman?!”

“Sorry,” you muttered without an ounce of sincerity.

You’re tempted to touch them, shutting your eyes so that he does not see how they roll back with how worked up you’re getting. You swallow a groan when his scent mixed along with the lack of air ventilation in the locker room gets into you.

“Are you nervous?”

Kagami releases a calm breath. “No,” he was confident in his words. This makes you nod quietly.

“The game will begin soon. I will not disturb you further,” you chuckled weakly, not wanting to scare your favorite player anymore. You were prepared to leave the room to end whatever is happening between you two. “Excuse me.”

Kagami was finally about to feel relieved that you’re leaving him alone.

BARK

And the peaceful moment gets cut off with an echo of Nigou’s bark when you slowly open the door, sending shivers down his spine.

He swears he is gonna kill Kuroko for letting that furry ball roam around aimlessly.

Without thinking, he tugs your wrist and shielded his gigantic body with yours by gripping your waist with his palms and an uncharacteristic squeak leaving from his lips—the genuine fear in his eyes and him thinking you could protect his ginormous ass with your body rendered you speechless. His bold move surprised you, making you turn around and was taken aback at the close proximity between you two.

Your heart is racing rapidly—and he doesn’t even know his power.

Kagami just realized now what he’s doing, and his mind shuts down for a while when he takes his time admiring your beauty. You feel so warm and soft in his hands, your clothes did no justice in hiding it, and you smell so good—he unconsciously feels you up that makes you hitch your breath.

“What are you doing?”

Kagami blinked and screamed out of embarrassment, quickly releasing you. You fixed your clothes, composing yourself and clearing your throat.

Opening the door, you didn’t expect Aomine to arrive at the worst moment. Right here and on court.

———

You all won. 

And now, you are prepared to head home after a fulfilling dinner with your team. Your body is craving for a nice, hot shower– you bid farewell to everyone before Riko opens her mouth.

“Kagami, you should take her home! Doesn’t she live near you?” she suggested with an innocent smile, making you furrow your eyebrows on where she obtain that information.

Her suggestion made Kagami sputter in embarrassment, his reaction amuses you.

“I don’t mind at all,” you send a wink at the red-head, who gets flustered even further. His other teammates tease you two with giggles and comments about ‘just make out already’. 

---------

That midnight, someone rings the doorbell.

You shifted in your bed sleepily, with Kagami snoring his ass off comfortably on the couch since you insisted he stays with you overnight in case ‘someone tries to break in’. He was opposed to it at first before he eventually gave in with your persistence.

The doorbell kept ringing, irritating you.

You opened the door in annoyance, and your eyes widened seeing Aomine in front of you– the smell of fried chicken hits your nose and cans of soda peek up within your sight. 

“Figured I should celebrate with you,” he muttered. Rubbing the nape of his neck with his hand, holding the food out in front of your face. 

“Because you finally lost?”

“Yeah.”

You pointed out, “It’s the middle of the night.”

“So?”

“It’s too late for me to be eating.”

Aomine scoffed, “Don’t go acting like you’re not used to staying up.” He brushes you off, already taking off his jacket. “And of course, we need to talk.” 

You block him– pushing him away slightly, your face twitching. Kagami was still here.

“Now is not really a good time,” you exclaim with a forced grin. You sweat nervously. “How about tomorrow?”

“Stop being stubborn and just let me in.”

“Absolutely not.”

Aomine furrowed his eyebrows, and sighing– like he understands what is finally happening. “Did I interrupt you in your alone time? Geez, how many times do I tell you to call me so that I can help you–”

“Who is that in the door..?” 

A new voice appeared through your conversation, making you and Aomine still when he recognizes it. His eyes narrowed down on Kagami, who was still oblivious at the tension of the situation and just mindlessly scratching his bare stomach– of course he had to be shirtless.

Until his eyes landed on Aomine, waking him up from his sleep.

“Aomine?!”

You feel a headache forming in your head. The latter eyes Kagami up and down with a judgemental gaze before turning to you in disappointment, “Really? Him?”

Somehow, Kagami feels offended at that. “What is that supposed to mean?!”

“I’m saying she has poor taste.” Aomine rebutted casually with an irritated look.

Kagami growled in frustration, “How do you even know her?”

This caused Aomine to smirk. “You really want to know that?”

It took a while for Kagami to realize what he’s implying before his jaw dropped and he looked over to you for confirmation—you could only answer in silence.

“He’s joking, right?”

“….”

You can feel the spark between the two flying, making you sigh in annoyance and slightly amused. Watching them argue certainly made you lose your sleep, even going as far as to Aomine inviting himself over to your apartment.

Aomine lets out a snort when he sees the blanket and the ruffled pillow on your couch. “So much for competition; she does not even let you on her bed.”

Fueled with the need to overpower the conversation, Kagami taunted him with a lie. “Maybe because we’re actually going slow and seriously.”

It’s your turn to have your jaw dropped. You did not expect that from Kagami. His words managed to actually disgust Aomine—who has commitment issues.

“Loser!”

“Blue-headed moron!”

“Virgin idiot!”

“Why you—!”

It was not getting funny anymore when one of them is now trying to resort to violence.

So you propose something. The fried chicken long forgotten.