b-no

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.

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because, you're denki's high school best friend.

best friend, like, best fucking friend. best friend like you made denki what he is today.

he took his first shot with you, smoked his first joint with you, bought his first vape with your fake id.

every morning, he'd meet you at the bus stop, share those cheap ass, shitty ass, earphones of his, with your playlist saved onto his phone, only half of it downloaded with the 200MB he had left, using your phone to check the homework updates that neither of you completed.

and then you'd get the homework answers off some random, and spend registration scribbling out absolute bullshit, because even if it's incorrect and illegible at least it was done, and you wouldn't be given detention.

because you guys couldn't get detention, not when you had rustled up twenty dollars between you, to buy cheap weed off some sketchy guy, and smoke in the park next to his house.

late nights on face-time during family holidays, dinner at his house almost three times a week, helping your dad fix something that was broken in the backyard.

your lives were so intertwined, that when you made-out for the first time, it didn't feel like a big deal.

because, of course your first kiss would be with denki, of course the first guy to see you naked would be denki, of course the first guy to dry hump you on some random girl’s couch, would be denki.

so natural, so not-a-big-deal, so normal.

and then he left for college.

you knew it would happen at some point, that he would leave, that he would get tired of having to hide himself, quiet himself, tone himself down, in your small conservative little town, fucking duh. right?

and he told you he was going to leave, you were there when he applied for the university. and you were there, right fucking next to him, jumping for joy, when he got accepted.

doesn't mean it didn't hurt.

doesn't mean you didn't feel it in your chest.

despite the fact that you were doing your own thing, living your own life, becoming your own person.

it doesn't mean that every time you get a notification from him, an update about his new friend group, or something dumb that happened on a night out, or he comes back for a weekend, and he has a new piercing or tattoo or a different hairstyle, that you don't miss him so fucking much.

that doesn't mean that he doesn't miss you too.

every time he makes a joke that doesn't land, or references a meme from five years ago, or wants to go to a gig, or talk bullshit, or get high and go grocery shopping, he sighs to himself.

because no one really gets him like you do. no one sees him like you do.

you’re his person, his everything.

he had to invite you to come and see the city eventually, it took a while for your schedules to align for sure, but you got there in the end.

got here.

and denki's late.

you're late too if we're being honest. you missed the transfer, and had to wait for 45 minutes for the next train, enough time to leave the station for a smoke, fall asleep on the train, and nearly miss your stop.

but you're here now.

outside this big, loud, city station, suddenly feeling conscious of how you must definitely reek of weed, tapping your foot on the cracked concrete, lent up against the metal railing, idly scrolling on your phone.

travel bag full, headphones on, you don't even realise someone is calling your name till—

“—holy shit dude, are you that fucking deaf?” a sun-kissed hand waving in front of your face, “haven’t changed a bit—”

he cuts himself off to borderline tackle you into a hug, you nearly drop your phone, his warm body heat enveloping your system. arms wrapped tightly around your waist, he still smells the same, so do you.

you barely notice how he takes a deep inhale when he noses at the junction of your neck.

it’s so fucking weird to have you here, but in the best way. it feels like a dream, you feel like a dream, all disgruntled and weary from the journey.

“you gonna take her bag or what?”

oh right.

denki’s head stays where it is, nestled into your shoulder. the only move he makes is to stick a finger up from behind his back, but your gaze snaps up, meeting with the owner of the voice.

dark eyes meet yours, half-lidded, grin creeping onto his face, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, a few paces back from where you’re embracing the blonde.

“hey—”

“oh, fuck off, man,” denki still hasn’t let go, you feel his voice rumble through your skin, “don’t even talk t’er.”

“relax,” you say grabbing the back of his hair and pulling him off you, he lets out a small whimper, minuscule really, but you know him, yank a bit harder, voice dropping to a whisper, “don’t you dare.”

but denki doesn’t budge, he hums almost dreamily, “don’t talk to me like that, y’know it’s been a while.” with his arms squeezing you tighter, practically melting into your chest.

“free show for the general public, i knew you were freaked out but seriously dude—”

that does the job, denki finally unwinds his limbs from you to turn and scoff at his friend, talking about some, “you can’t let me have a moment,” and then turns back without waiting for answer, grabbing your travel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“not if i’m uninvolved,” the other guy scoffs out, hands in his back pockets, and he smirks down at the blonde who’s marched over to give him a light shove in the chest.

denki snatches the lit cigarette from his friend’s mouth, with a mocking sneer, and pops it into his own.

“‘uninvolved’ that’s not even a real word,” the words curl around the smoke as he waves you over.

“maybe you should read a fuckin’ book.”

“maybe you should shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he clears his throat, then dramatically flourishes to the guy standing next to him, whom you vaguely recognise. from blurry snaps, from instagram stories, from half of his figure in face-times, the one, the only, “hanta sero.”

he smirks at the introduction, something you reckon he does a lot of, and nods at you in greeting, “i’m surprised you’re a real person, i was almost sure this shit-head was making you up.”

your smile is strained because of the sunlight glaring right in your eye line, but your tone is warm, if not a little dry, when you reply with, “talks ‘bout me a lot, does he?”

“you don’t know the half of it—” denki shoves him forward, and sero laughs, bright and loud, let’s the momentum carry him into a step, which turns into another, and another, and then denki takes your hand to pull you along with them, as you make your way down the street, away from the station’s exit, back to their place.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“finally.”

denki huffs as he flops onto his bed with a groan, it creaks and shifts when you drop down next to him, his legs intertwining with yours like second nature.

and denki’s smelling you again. it’s less weird than it sounds, but still weird. it’s not his fault, you smell like sunshine and home, how could he not, nose buried into the top of your head, arms curled around your body.

you both lay like that for a minute, content in the silence, just basking in each other’s presence. electricity buzzing under your fingertips as he softly grazes his knuckles against your back.

until you decide to be a little bitch.

“your friend’s cute,” you murmur into his chest, you can feel denki’s heart pitter-pattering, vibrating through your body.

he doesn’t say anything for a beat.

you crack open an eye, try again, “i said, your friend is hot—”

he doesn’t give you the reaction you’d hoped for, which is a shame. instead he chuckles, snickers, softly against your hair, still tracing patterns into your skin, “you really gonna talk about another guy while you’re in my bed, no class.”

“take that back asshole,” and he catches your hand when you move to hit him, brings a thumb down to curl around your wrist, rolls his eyes as you squint up at him, “no class?” you repeat, “i’m so classy, so fuckin’ classy i brought my own bud—”

yeaaahhh, that wakes him up.

and because it's denki, because he has no manners, or boundaries, or concept of personal space, both his hands start sliding down your body until they feel the bulge in one of your back pockets.

you squirm out of his grip, feebly kicking at his legs, but he's so solid. you can feel his muffled snickers as you smack his arms away from you, but he barely moves, just presses you further into the mess of pillows and blankets that cover his bedspread.

“you're such an asshole,” but your shoulders shake with the uncontrollable laughter that tumbles out of your body when he starts trying to curl his fingers into the pocket.

you get a face full of armpit. “and you smell so fuckin’ bad, couldn't even take a shower before inviting me over here—”

he kisses his teeth at your insult, but doesn't flinch when your heel catches his shin, just lightly slaps your thigh to get you to chill the fuck out, because his bed-frame is cheap and creaking like it might collapse any second.

"dude," as he sits back on his knees and sticks out his tongue in victory, shiny foil package dangling between his fingertips, "the water pressure here sucks balls, i promise you, i tried my best."

you kick at him again when he starts to open it, and the baggy drops from his grip. you snatch it up before he gets a moment to breathe, and point a finger at him in warning, “nah-ah-ah. say please.”

he collapses on top of you again, bullshit doe-eyed expression, and juts out his bottom lip as he simpers, “oh please, my perfect princess,” you don't budge, “oh, please, dear goddess, let us roll a zoot.”

“well, seeing as you’ve always been a loyal subject.”

“you’re such a fucking dork.”

“me? me? i’m a dork?" you repeat back to him, voice wavering in astonishment, “the first thing you did when you moved in here was put up that zelda poster,” and you gesture to the aforementioned poster, corners peeling, plastered onto his wall next to the window, “and you wanna talk about dorks.”

“well if i'm a dork and you’re a dork,” he says, and with his face so close to your own, you can practically count the freckles matted across his cheeks. and that annoying little smile, so unchanging despite the time you've spent apart, despite the distance. "what does that make us?”

he answers for you, not before his eyes flick down to your lips as his tongue pokes out to wet his, “it makes us perfectly compatible.”

your eyes roll and you shove his face back with the palm of your hand, “you're a fucking loser.”

his hands crawling over your thighs, “yeah, what else?”

“a freak.”

his eyes boring into your soul, “keep going.”

“pathetic.”

his breath ghosting over your ear, “nearly there."

“and,” your hand suddenly stretches out, and denki keens when you take a fistful of his hair into your grasp, his body folds inwards towards you as you pull him closer, gently grazing your teeth across his earlobe while he shudders and you murmur, “i don’t fuck with blondes.”

unserious to a fault, denki breaks down into snickers, nuzzling his nose against your neck. it would’ve been believable, if not for the fact that, “y’know i can feel your lil’ boner pressing against my stomach.”

that makes him chuckle even harder into your neck. “guilty,” sarcastically muttered, and then denki cranes his head so he’s at the perfect angle to lick your cheek.

you groan in disgust and push his face away, but that doesn’t stop him, and you get his slobber all over your palms.

“get the fuck off me, i swear to—” he covers your mouth with his palm and continues to lick your face like a demented cat, what the fuck? “is this what the city life does to people?”

“no,” he whines suddenly, interlocking his fingers with yours against either side of your head, “i-i just missed you.”

oh.

you didn’t expect him to say it outright.

there’s been an annoying, awful, nagging, voice that has been whispering in the depths of your brain ever since he left. whispering that he stopped caring about you, that you were just a placeholder until he got cooler, funnier, friends, that you were nothing but an insignificant speck in the long, vibrant, life he was going to live.

denki’s warm, honey, eyes scan your face.

he’s frowning, and, well, denki should never be frowning.

you shake his hand off one of your wrists and he sits back immediately. no longer breaching your personal space, a brief look of hurt flashing through his eyes as you say nothing.

but then, your free hand reaches up, and your thumb, very carefully, very gently, smooths out the wrinkle that has appeared between his brows.

“i missed you too.”

the corners of his mouth uplift, his eyes shine, god, it's like the sunlight breaking through the dawn, the way denki's face contorts into a smile, “you really know how to make a guy sweat, baby.”

you snort, “oh, you're sweating now?”

“amongst other things, yeah.”

"amongst?" you repeat, eyes squinting in the way they do when you're about to take this piss, “is that a new vocab word?”

you’re trying to ragebait, but it doesn’t work.

because denki can't stop smiling.

there's just something so fucking dreamy about how you're here, in his college house, on his horrible twin xl bed. it's really hard to describe the feeling, because, sure, he's seen you, during holidays, on face-time and the like, but it's different having you in the city with him.

with him.

as in, not only did you trek all the way here, three fuckin' buses, two trains, all your essentials packed, with the sole intention of spending time with him.

but you missed him too?

that notion, that suggestion, that you thought about him nearly a fraction as much as he thought about you.

it makes him dizzy.

"you really like being mean to me, don'tcha?" and he can't keep his hands off of you, his fingers tracing patterns along your sides.

"i think you like it more than i do."

"you can't prove that."

that makes you laugh, genuinely, because, it's like, do you mention the hard-on that is throbbing against your thigh, again, or do you let him live in his delusion? questions, questions.

or…

the secret third option.

bringing your hand down, and cupping his erection through the material that covers his bottom half. using your nails to scratch at the seam that is straining with his hard cock, and watching his breath hitch, his brow furrow, his eyelids flutter.

"you're playing dirty," denki whines, as if that could hide the guttural moan that literally comes from the depths of his spirit.

you lean up towards him so you can mouth at patch of skin where his ear meets his neck, and you murmur into his ear, "i think you like it when i play dirty."

“well, i think,” as he traces your pulse points with his nose, “that you only have one voice line option," and then with his teeth, like the most least obvious vampire, "where's the variety?"

"don't be a dick."

"thought you liked my dick."

"i like your mouth more."

"oh yeah," he turns his head, kisses along your jawline, softly, like you’re something delicate, something he has to hold very carefully, something that he couldn't afford to break, something he wants to take his time with.

it makes your heart race, being loved on like that, you needed it to be honest. someone that knows you intimately, someone that knows exactly what you want.

you shrug his hand off you, from where one of his palms still had a firm grip on your wrist, so you can grab his chin, bring his face closer to yours, your breath intermingling.

and the next time he opens his mouth to make a smart comment, you stop him before he can even start.

by grasping his tongue with two of your fingers.

you know him as much as he knows you.

and you absolutely could not miss the shudder that wracks his body, or the way his eyes practically roll back into his head.

you have to tut at him until he stops trying to wrap the pink textured tip of his tongue around your digits.

so you have the space, to spit in his mouth.

oh wow.

there are not enough words to describe the pathetic mess denki makes out of himself at that moment.

i won't bother attempting to walk you through it.

but sero can.

denki's bedroom door slams open, hanta sero, giving no prelude before making his entrance, "are we still gonna go out tonighhh…"

now imagine this, your best friend, practically on his knees, on top his best friend, literally eating out of the palm of her hand, with both of his hands underneath her shirt.

sero grins.

and carelessly swats away the pillow that comes flying at his face.

the three of you just kinda blink at each other for a minute.

before sero turns on his heel and walks right back out.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“this is the best spot in the entirety of the old town, i'm telling you.”

“you said the same thing about the bar by the river—”

“—and about that arcade on the high-street.”

“anddddd, when we found the spot along the bridge with the benches.”

"that, that, that, that,” denki slurs, well stutters, a step behind you, “that doesn't diminish my point.”

you can’t see him but you hear the sound of him smacking sero when he mocks the blonde with a, “uh-ba-ba-ba-ba-da-ba-dah."

"shut up, just shusshh,” oh god, he really is licked, you can’t take him seriously, “i'm trying to show my beloved friend–in fact, you guys are even proving my point.”

"and what is your point exactly."

"well... that old town has all the best spots."

they all hum in agreement.

all being, the rest of denki's new friend group.

honestly, they're a cool bunch.

the girls are fucking lovely, stunning, nice as hell, like surprisingly. not that you thought his friends would be dickheads, but still, it's refreshing to be around.

almost as refreshing as the cool night air.

the sunset a while ago, while you were still pre-gaming at this one girl's flat, mina. she's a fucking legend. super hospitable, one of those people who never let's anyone sit out of conversation, a little prying but not enough to make you uncomfortable.

but she mixes drinks like a demon.

sero had warned you.

after denki had, ahem, had a shower and cleaned himself up, the three of you made your way over to mina's together.

but, denki was on the phone the whole time. one of the guys was having a crisis and apparently, it was very, super, extremely, important, so he had left sero to entertain you on the twenty minute walk over.

this sero guy is something else.

there's something very telling about the way he talks, like he's constantly trying to sus you out, but in the least discrete way he can. his questions are really leading, and it doesn't matter how you answer, it feels like you've fallen into a trap.

it doesn't help that he's fucking sexy.

with the piercings, the way his hair falls into his face, and that ridiculous sleeve of line-drawn patchwork tattoos, that denki seems intent on copying.

but his smile gets you the most.

this annoying, slick, grin that he gets when you say something a bit too sarcastic, or a bit too rude, or a bit too risky, and he visibly bites his tongue while he cheeses, flashing his pearly whites, all half-lidded eyes and barely concealed snickers.

fuck denki for leaving you to your own devices.

you'd been walking side by side with the dude, bare arms brushing, up until you got to the front steps of mina's flat, and even then, denki had disappeared almost instantly, leaving you with this guy, again.

and sero had not left you alone, maybe denki had told him to keep an eye on you or something, but you can't deny it, the attention was addicting. fetching you drinks when you asked, lighting your blunt for you, letting you smoke his cigs with nothing but a shake of his head and another one of those confusing, biting, grins.

aside from that, the rest of denki's friends had been great.

aside from the drinks.

sero, and the other girl, jirou, had fuckin’ warned you, that mina enjoys playing bartender, and that she takes her job very seriously. you had waved them off at the time, because honestly, two blunts deep, the glass you had tasted like fuckin' juice. really sweet, really orange, and apparently chock full of tequila.

which leads us to now, a large gaggle of about seven undergrads, arguing, then bursting into cackles, then tripping over their own feet, then arguing again, stumbling along the high street.

one dude, the guy that was having a "major crisis sorry for stealing him," is on your right, recounting the lore of their last night out, the group of 'em, getting lost on the way home, missing the last train, no ubers picking up the request, and having to walk back to the student housing, two hours away from where the gig was.

"and then, and then, that's not even the worst part," kirishima nearly hits you in the face when he gestures towards the other blonde of the group. he pats you gently on the shoulder in apology, but the volume level of his voice does not lower in the slightest when he says, "this dude, this fuckin' dude, ran off, like literally, sprinted into the distance, and left us."

jirou, who is to your left, chokes on her snort, pulls on your arm, calling your attention back to her, "all of our phones were dead, mind you."

"don't start talkin’ shit," the blonde in front of you suddenly cuts in, he's been quiet most of the night, aside from the occasional jeer, "i left you with the portable charger, i'm not a fuckin' asshole."

kirishima buffers, and then cries out, "dude, you left us. stranded."

"y'all made it home, didn't ya?"

"that is sosososo not the point."

the girls burst into snickers again, you are included in the hyena laughter, and you take a deep breath.

the streets are not quiet. it’s late, but it’s still so busy. cars and buses whizzing past, laughter and music pouring in from every open bar door.

this place, this city, it’s no wonder denki wanted to move up here.

bright, loud, vibrant.

just like him.

speaking of…

there’s suddenly a horrific, wailing, screech, that echoes around the street. you spin your head, sero and denki, both two steps behind you. or… were?

sero’s standing, sorry, crouching, hands on his knees, in a fit of cackles, coughing and spluttering. and denki, poor, sweet, denki, rushing back over to the group from where, you’re guessing, he was pushed into the road.

“stop fuckin’ around,” the blonde, scary, one bellows out at the both of them, to which they suddenly stand up straight, like well trained military dogs, “i’m not goin’ to a&e again for you schmucks.”

ah, that kicks off the idiots, “whadidhesayyy?”

“schmuck.” —and they both burst into another fit of boisterous cackles.

“are they always like this…?”

“yup.”

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“mhmm, mhmmm that’s it baby, shiiiiit.”

denki’s always had this weird obsession with the way you smell. it’s not that you smell bad, usually you smell really fucking good, you have a… what’s the word… routine.

you have a routine. he’s seen you, watched you, even earlier tonight, he was sat on his bed ready to go, half scrolling, half watching you lather lotion across your limbs, practically drooling at the sight of your doughy thighs glistening with body butter.

and he thought that was the end. but then you pulled out your body oil, oh okay, which is actually very different to body lotion… apparently? and then, you’re done— oh, wait, no, now you have, uh, body spray? okay now you’re definitely finish– perfume oil? how many oils does one person need?

he can admit, the routine lasts, it does the job, he can get hints of it now, this close to you, whiffs of jasmine, and vanilla, and whatever that yummy spicy smell is, but that’s not what he means.

he loves the smell of your skin, of your sweat, of your natural body odour, that’s what makes it weird.

like right now, you’re sat on the closed toilet seat, in the back of that bar, the supposed ‘best spot in old town,’ with your legs thrown over denki’s shoulders, and him, on his knees before you, taking turns between viciously eating your pussy, and taking deep inhales of your cunt. he can’t help himself, there’s something addictive about you, pretty pink lips suckling on your clit, tongue lolling out to lick fat stripes across your sloppy, gummy, entrance, and his eyes rolling at you scent.

fuck, it’s “so good,” he dazedly mutters, nose buried into your bush, “sosososo so goooood mama holy fu-uck.”

your foot digs itself into his shoulder blade, as the vibrations of his drunken praise send shivers up your spine, “you’re so fucking nasty.”

“mmmm, i know, i know,” he does know, but he also doesn’t care, how could he, your fingers gripping his hair, your nails scratching at his scalp, your clit throbbing between his lips.

he takes a moment to very carefully trace his teeth along your pulsing bud, that makes you jolt, and hiss at him through your teeth, and clamp your thighs around his head, just like he wanted.

fffuck, he’s dizzy.

denki was already decently faded, but the smell of your pussy is even more intoxicating then any liquor, and so much sweeter, your juices just spilling into his mouth, so fucking delicious, oh lord.

“denks’, denki, denki, s’too much, fucking relax—”

you always get mean when you’re close, like your body doesn’t allow itself to experience pleasure without a negative output.

good thing denki likes it, right.

“shiiiiiit,” he gasps, between, disgustingly wet slobbers, his tongue prodding at your sensitive, stimulated, walls, “you gonna squirt in my mouth?” your mushy, gummy, pussy, just oozing with slick, all for him to gobble up, “oh, shit, please, pleasepleaseplease—”

and you cum with a hand burying his face into your cunt, hectic rolls of your hips, quivering thighs. your jelly legs collapse around his shoulders, your body slack against the wall, just panting for a minute, chest rising and falling with your laboured breaths. denki looks stupidly proud of himself, with that smug grin gracing his shiny lips. your heel kicks out again to smack that ridiculous look off his face, but it literally does nothing to deform his starry-eyed face.

“well, shit,” you breathe out finally, your eyes, half-lidded, as you watch him stand up, and snort at the crack of his knees.

“s’that all you got t’say?” denki snickers down at you while dusting the floor imprints off on jeans.

“what d’you want me to say?”

“oh, i dunno,” he fake contemplates, and then, in a stupidly high pitched tone that sounds absolutely nothing like you, goes “thank you, big dick daddy denki for eatin’ my pussy— OW FUCK.”

your foot, again, saying hello to his shin.

“who the fuck is calling you big dick daddy denki, you fucking loser?”

“ehhhh you’d be surprised.”

you’re about to say something else, maybe comment on how there’s a little wet patch on the crotch of his jeans, when a loud thump at the stall door interrupts your train of thought.

and, of course, no shame kaminari goes, “yellooo?” in the fucking most ridiculous, you’ve used ridiculous to describe him many a time but there really isn’t a better word, voice you’ve ever heard from a guy who was literally on his knees, seconds prior.

but, who’s voice is coming from the other side of the door?

“you’ve got all my smokes in y’er pocket, shitface.”

and you watch denki check, then pull a face, because he does have all sero’s smoke in his pocket, “oopsie, we’ll be right out!”

“we?”

and again, no-shame kaminari, just hits the latch on the door, and swings it open, while you’re still sat on the fucking toilet, recovering, and he’s still got your remnants smeared all over his mouth.

“stop fuckin’ disappearin….”

sero’s dark lazy eyes scan his friend, his glossy mouth, his flattened hair, the stain on his jeans.

he raises an eyebrow very slowly, then calls out to you, whom he can not see, but still, he knows his friend, “we have to stop meeting like this.”

“what did i say?” denki practically whines, “don’t fucking talk t’er.” and shoves his friend in the chest to make him back away from where he was leaning against the doorframe.

“what the fuck is your problem today,” sero sighs, not moving an inch, instead crossing one arm over the other and sneering down at his friend, “one minute it’s don’t talk to her, the next it’s please stay with her? what— i don’t even know what you’re thinking half the time.”

this is so fucking awkward, you wanna say something, or get up at least, but you also think, maybe, if you don’t move a muscle, they’ll both forget you’re there.

“unless…” sero pauses, the tip of his tongue peeking out, as he releases another one of those, vicious biting grins, “i know exactly what you’re thinking ‘bout.”

“you don’t know shit.”

“oh really?” he snarks back at denki, who is shaking with… you can’t even tell, and you’ve known denki for a long time, agitation? maybe?

until.

denki decides to make the very poor choice of turning his head, only slightly, to look back at you.

and it’s written all over his face.

because he's flushed, with something that is not the embarrassment of being caught eating pussy in a public restroom. in fact, he’s bitten his lips raw, his pupils are blown, and his eyes are formed into an expression you know very well.

you’re not stupid.

and this time you do want to say something, but you don’t even have the time to formulate the sentence in your head because denki pushes sero out of the stall with one hand, the other hand firm against the door frame, obscuring any vision of you from the outside, and says to you, “can you… uh… give us a minute? we’ll meet you outside—”

and then he’s gone. not by his own will, but because a tanned, flexed hand, has reached out, gripped his t-shirt and pulled him away.

the two guys stumble their way outside, through the bathroom and the purple lit bar interior, with sticky carpeted floors, and overwhelming chatter. there's no 'sorry’s' or 'excuse me’s' as they push past the intoxicated crowd with their elbows out, just denki spluttering the whole time.

“you are so— you’re such a— i can’t even—”

“then don’t,” sero breathes against his neck, as he pushes the blonde against the wall of the deserted alleyway. before his lips attach, grow teeth, and sink deep into denki’s skin, just below a mark that, sero assumes, you had left.

“so fucking needy, ain’t ya?” as he nibbles across the blonde’s pulse points, and curves his palm so he can cup denki’s straining erection. “s’kinda embarrassing if you ask me.”

“good thing no one was asking,” denki replies with his own fingers tracing along sero’s waistband.

sero groans at the tease, bucking his hips up into the sensation, “m’just saying, if you wanna ask her, ask her.”

this is like, the worst place possible to have this conversation.

it’s nearly 2am, the rest of the group is still inside, getting up to some bullshit like they always do, like denki has spent most of his college career doing. except he can’t participate properly, not this time, not when he has the self-proclaimed 'biggest moral dilemma of the century' looming over his head.

sero sighs, giving up on trying to undo denki’s belt, and rutting forward against his friend so both their crotches meet in this delicious tingle of friction, “i can hear you thinking y’know.”

“what if,” denki cuts himself off with a groan, and a roll of his hips, the cold brick wall doing nothing to soothe his feverish skin, “what if she thinks it’s weird?”

“why the— shit, that’s good— why the hell would she think it’s weird?”

his nails dig into sero’s shoulders at a particularly forceful thrust that has his head reeling, and his body whining, “’cos what do i even say like, hey i want you and my other-bestfriend-slash-roommate-slash-guy-i’m-currently-fucking-with to share me?”

“is that it?”

denki stills at the sound of your voice.

he tilts his head left and, you’re lent against the other side of the wall, half a joint hanging out of the corner of your mouth, patting your pockets down in search of a lighter.

sero, cheeses again, you roll your eyes at the sight of it, but hum in thanks when tosses a zippo your way. the sound of the spark wheel is like a honing signal, and sero release the tight grip he had on denki, who now crumples against the wall in embarrassment, to get a hit from you.

you inhale deeply, the end flaring up a bright cherry red, illuminating the bored look on your face in the dark alley.

you exhale in silence, pass the joint to sero, and make your way over to denki.

“dude,” you say softly, leaning your shoulder against the blonde, “you know you can ask me anything.”

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“now what do you say?”

denki’s bed frame sounds like it’s gonna break, for real this time. it’s creaking and rattling like it only has seconds left to live before it collapse in on itself and takes the three of you down with it.

your pussy won’t let go, denki thinks he might actually die, with the way your walls are pulsing around his dribbling cock, practically milking him.

it wouldn’t be a bad way to go, the crease where your stomach meets your thighs and the sight of your jiggling tits will follow him into the afterlife. along with the way your hips tortuously grind down on him, and the unforgettable sensation of your pussy bubbling around the base of his cock, coating him in a juicy shine of slick, leaving that creamy ring stained forever into his memory.

“s-s-sorry?” he gasps out with laboured breaths, his chest caving, his heart feels like it’s gonna fall out of his throat from how fast it’s beating.

“hmmm, sorry for what?” you don’t give him a moment to think, sucking the soul out of his dick, you see his eyes rolls back into his head, dreamy, dopey, pussy drunk smile glazing his face.

“for–for being weird about it?” he finally croaks out when you slow at his silence.

you share a look with sero across denki’s shaking shoulders, from where he’s pistoling his cock into the blonde’s ass.

he sends you a smile, it forms slowly, beginning with a small grin, eventually spreading across his face, his lips stretching and curving, his teeth biting, with that same smirk in his eyes.

“and,” sero murmurs into his ears as his hands find purchase in denki’s hair, a mean grip that has the blonde carolling into your sweat slicked chest, the stimulus making his mind hazy, “you can ask for anything.”

denki’s head lolls, the sight of him, disoriented with pleasure, has you involuntarily clenching, which send him into another spiral, and leaving sloppy marks over any part of your body he can reach.

“say it.”

“i can—” denki groans against your skin, absolutely fucked out, his fingers bruising your hips with his grip, “holy fuck— i can a-ask for anything.”

"good boy," your voice is like honey in his ears, trickling sexual syrup right through his nervous system. the praise makes denki throb inside of you, you can feel it, the pulse, and you send it right back, rudely clenching down on him again, making him jerk his hips back in agony, right back into sero's cock.

it's disgusting, so fucking filthy, the room reeks of weed and your combined bodily fluids, his mattress is probably soaked in your sweat, and in denki's drool.

it's agonisingly good though, the near constant push and pull of three bodies.

denki feels like he's about to black out, and he keeps pathetically humping into both you and sero like that's gonna keep him from disaster.

his head tilts to suck on your tits, and you use his shoulder for leverage, so you can bounce on his properly, the motion sending him backwards into sero's hard chest, "denki, baby, you gonna cum for us?"

he gurgles in reply, too sex drunk to string any coherent thoughts together, just pleasure, pleasure, and more pleasure, his kiss-bitten body trembling, all your grunts and moans poured into his ears like fucking music.

"denki, denki, denki—"

god, he's gonna cum, he can feel it building, the two of you aren't far behind if the pick up in pace is anything to go by.

he can feel, fuck, hot under his veins, ecstasy thrumming through his body, it's never felt this good, he might die.

"denki—"

he's so fucking close, so close, oh god, everything, this long ass day, the constant tease from the both of you, and he finally gets to have this—

"DENKI!"

"huh, huh, what?"

his head flops back down into the pillow, the sunlight streaming through the open blinds is hurting his eyes, and god, his head is fucking pounding. his tongue slips out to wet his dry lips, fully content in going back to sleep, back to that fucking dream, anything to get away from the horrible light he can't seem to escape.

oh nevermind, he can't go back to sleep, not with his excrutiating morning wood, leaking pre all inside his boxers. he ruts down against the suprisingly smooth mattress beneath him with a satisfied groan, and another sleep filled sigh.

"dude are you serious?" an equally sleep stricken voice calls out from next to him.

oops. turns out his soft, smooth, mattress was his best-friends thigh.

denki's eyes flutter open weakly, and sero stares back at him, his dark hair a mess, his limbs stretched out across the bed.

"are you gonna stop that or what?" sero drawls back, voice hoarse with disuse, he raises a tatted arm to cover his eyes, and curses the morning under his breath.

the blonde's hips are still moving on auto pilot, relentlessly chasing a pleasure he can only imagine, until sero swats at him to stop.

hands rubbing his face, denki turns back around with a deep yawn, then starts feeling under the blankets for his vape.

"aren't we," sero yawns uncontrollably mid sentence, so hard tears start forming in his waterline, "uhh, aren't we supposed to go meet your friend at the station in a few?"

they can't stop the yawns now, denki stretches out his back as another one rips out, "s'too early man, s'way too early."

the blonde sits up against the headboard, smacking his dry lips for a minute, then says:

"dude, i just had the craziest dream."

taglist my asshole im so sorry im like dead on the inside lowkey

sure, he could always just put the blame on you. young, horny and ovulating like a madwoman, it wasn’t his fault for cumming deep inside of your fertile womb, especially when you’re wrapping your legs around his hips like this. ankles pushing him so taught against your frame he can barley fuck you properly, keeping him nice and cozy wrapped around your cunt.

his hands were all over you, cracked palms rubbing down the soft ‘n supple skin on your moisturized thighs and stretching you as far into the mattress he possibly can, you’d turned the overly stoic, permanently grouchy man wild.

delirious even.

pussy walls warmly inviting him inside to overstay his welcome, he should have never agreed to fucking you raw tonight, because now that he’s felt around your bare gummy g-spot practically massaging his throbbing cock head, he knows he can’t bring himself to stop.

you can see that look on his face, the one of a man fighting with the angel and devil sat upon his heavy shoulders, furrowed brows partially covered by his leather eyepatch, crows feet sketching his face crinkling in defeat.

“d-don’t pull out,” you’re blurting out of pert lips, nails dragging down the milky flesh of his shoulder blades, reddening lines appearing in your trace, words slurring, “i’m so close, pull out ‘n you’ll ruin it for me!”

aizawa shakes his head, dark tendrils frizzing from the sheer amount of sopping heat surrounding the bedroom, words gravelly, “should’ve said something earlier. should have told you no, not tonight.”

he blinks down at you once, twice. black lashes doing little to shield him from just how pretty you’re looking smushed in the mattress, white sheets surrounding you like an innocent angel. how ironic.

“how is it that you always seem to get your way?” but that deprived devil stares him down in the shape of you, unable to rip himself from your cozy cunt, plap, plap, plaping! gushing walls expanding and carving a perfect curve to pour his seed into. he knows he’ll give you what you want, especially when your canal squeezes him into subtly obeying. “don’t know how to tell you no, seems like you’re too god damned spoiled, kid.”

“not spoiled! you’re taking c-care of me—shit! taking care of me like you s-should.” plump lips curling into a smile, chewing on it in attempts to hide yourself from gloating at the very man destroying your pussy, voice cooing, “getting soft on me now, aren’t you old man?”

turning into a panting mess beneath him, head tossing and turning once the boiling feeling of your impending orgasm rumbles beneath the surface, limbs woozy, mind jaded.

“you are a damn brat,” he’s scoffing, cheeks tinting pink at the dirty name. maybe he is older, in fact he definitely is, yet you are… “fucking spoiled. a spoiled little brat.”

“mmm whatever, you love it t-though!” now you’re giggling, fingers toying with the strands of hairs sticking to his sculpted back, pulling hard enough to make him hiss.

“yeah, yeah,” aizawa grumbles, knowing you’re the very reason he’s pulling the faint strands of silver hairs out from his hairline in the mirror, cock and heart secretly obsessing over the way you toy with him, “maybe i do.”

keeping him on his toes, you make him feel young again, a bright light in the darkness and destruction around him, all without any idea that you’re the one helping him pick up the pieces, staring at you with soaring adoration each time he thinks you’re not looking.

“fuckkk! right t-there!” you yelp, eyes rolling into the back of your skull once your climax tumbles down the twisting valley of your core to crumble at your g-spot. skittish limbs gripping him in place and shaking once his hips grind into yours, onyx thatch of hair on his pelvis smooching your sensitive clit. “please, please don’t stop!”

“wouldn’t dare,” aizawa’s sighing, pressing his lips into yours when he cums—finally inside. instantly plugging your pussy and witty mouth up with wet traces of him, tongue digging past your lips whilst his cock swabs at the tight knot of your cervix, seed drowning your walls full of him. and god does he hope it sticks.

by the look you’re giving him once he pulls away from swollen lips in an attempt to take a staggered breath? he knows you’re both thinking the same thing.