Saucy Little Secret

── .✦ eijiro kirishima

── .✦ izuku midoriya

── .✦ shouto todoroki

── .✦ denki kaminari

Though, you will say you like this excuse much more, now that he’s writhing and pathetic and fighting for his life. You trace his slit with the vibrator, holding his dick still to keep it in place, and Katsuki sobs.

“It wasn’t—it-it wasn’t—” he tries to push past gritted teeth and into the ether, but falls short. You tilt your head to the left, and pray he doesn’t realize how much you’re enjoying this through the light in your eyes.

“You know what you need to say to make this stop, Katsuki,” you warn, running the wand down his shaft and up again. You apply enough pressure to keep his dick pinned to his stomach, leaking all over his abs and onto the sheets. You revel at the sight.

There’s something about breaking this man down that is so overwhelmingly satisfying.

“Apologize,” you demand, and Katsuki’s head rolls from side to side.

“Fuckin’—no,” he heaves, wrists rattling against their chains. You sigh, and place more weight behind the vibrator. “You fuckin’—god damn, holy shit—you fucked two guys! Yo-You should be the one apologizin’—”

You think he had more to his speech, but aren’t really sure, as it devolves into a broken moan that you drink up like water. You two should do this more often.

“They were literally you,” you say for the thousandth time, tired of him acting like its something to actually hold over your head. Through the weakness, a flash of fury, jealousy, possession, crosses his face, before it melts into a pathetic whine once more.

“Nah, nah, t-two is better than one, right?” Which you said one time when you were mad, a few days ago, because he wouldn’t fucking apologize. Katsuki holds grudges like the sky holds a storm—loud, overwhelming, and always prime for another. Surely, that can’t be healthy.

“Oh my God—I didn’t mean it, Kats, I was mad—”

“No, fuck that,” he barks, but the blow is softened tenfold by his quaking body. Katsuki is close now, you can tell—the way his thighs flex and hips cant like he could take more despite his state. So, you give him more.

Katsuki’s jaw grows tight, and his eyes narrow into slits as he manages to calm his voice enough to growl, “Get your fuckin’ finger outta my ass.”

Technically, it’s not ‘in his ass,’—not really, just resting along the rim, lightly threatening. The thing about your boyfriend is that, honestly, he’s not a big fan of butt stuff (boo), but if you leave the finger on the edge, pressing against the soft flesh and up—

“Oh fuck!”

Katsuki keens, just like that. Just enough for you to know your aim is correct and you hit his prostate from the outside. He seems torn between causing a fuss and melting into the pleasure, because against his will, a guttural moan punches from his diaphragm.

“Apologize,” you try again, and, although it’s weaker, the intent is there, nonetheless—

“Fuck you.”

“Okay,” you nod, and press the wand down as hard as you can. The high-pitched vibrations deepen due to the wetness, and the way Katsuki rolls his body into it is a sight. He’s too close to shy away from the overstimulation, in search of something, anything that can get him off. He’s so close.

So, you move your hand away.

“What the f—Baby. Baby c’mon.”

Katsuki takes a deep breath and his voice returns to it’s normal register, but it’s all frayed on the edges. His eyes are wide and entreating, but you refuse to fall for it, even as he bucks into nothing. Katsuki licks his lips, looks to the ceiling, and tries again.

“Baby—”

“Apologize.”

Katsuki wavers, for once, seriously considering the fate of his dick if he refuses. As he should.

Then—

“Fine. Fuck, fine,” he huffs, adjusting so his shoulders aren’t pressing into the mattress as much, and then, “Sorry.”

You turn the vibrator back on, but keep it held far away from him. Your eyes narrow as you spit, “Sorry for what.”

Katsuki groans, and can barely look you in the eye, properly defeated. “S-Sorry for, um, sayin’ you don’t have a real job.”

“Thank you,” you smile, demeanor shifting in a flash. It makes Katsuki shiver—as does the vibrator, when it returns. Then, with a mock pout, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Katsuki scowls, but doesn’t say much as you shift the wand, grinding it into the head of his cock, other than:

“C-Cumming!”

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

It doesn’t matter where the group is—the beach, a club, a simple hang out—somehow, Katsuki gravitates, slowly drifting across the space until he’s by your side for the rest of the night like a semi-annoying moon.

You two aren’t…dating (yet), but you have crossed a line: kissed. A quick make-out session in the shadows, light petting in a club when no one’s looking. Obviously, a conversation needs to be had, but you’re not starting it.

It isn’t him that catches your attention, but the sound of your vest powering down for the first time during the game. It’s a depressing sound, a mechanical splat. You turn around to see Katsuki, hair haloed by black lights.

“Thought you were slick, huh?”

Despite your compromised state, you lift and pull the trigger on your gun. It doesn’t do anything, obviously, other than make Katsuki snort.

“I was until you shot me,” you huff, ever a sore loser. Katsuki presses closer in flickering orange. “There goes my streak.”

“Your streak ain’t nothin’ to brag about if you’re hidin’, Princess.” He pockets his gun, still encroaching.

“A streak is always something to brag about.”

Your vest whirrs back to life, and you scramble for your gun, only for him to beat you to it. It powers off again, and you groan. “Ugh, you suck!”

Katsuki just snickers, clearly having more fun messing with you than winning the game. Which is a little crazy—he’s always prioritized winning over everything, even when winning doesn’t really matter.

“You’re shit at this.”

He’s close, now. Close enough that you know his skin is a little tacky from sweat, and you can feel his breath along your lips. You puff.

“You’re shooting me at point blank. I don’t wanna hear it, Katsuki.”

He tries to stifle a growl by clearing his throat, but you still hear it on the way down.

“Say it again.”

“Huh?” Your eyebrows furrow, but unsure if he can see them, you give a little more context than necessary. With a little laugh, you say, “That you shot me at point blank?”

“No,” Katsuki’s hands find your waist under your vest. It powers back on, but suddenly, neither of you care very much. He knocks his forehead into yours, so close you can hear his chest rumble with his voice, even through the equipment. “My name.”

Oh.

“…Katsuki?”

He kisses you. Hard.

Hard enough that the back of your head knocks into the wall. And Katsuki, who’s always been better at apologizing through actions than words, places a hand behind your head and caresses it. He tastes sweet—for some reason, he always does—and you whimper a little, wrapping arms around his neck.

“You look kinda good like this,” he mutters as kisses fall from your lips to your jaw. You giggle.

“In a laser tag vest?”

“Nah,” he says, and bites into your neck. You slam your lips together before you can make another sound, even with EDM pounding through the room. “Hot and sweaty and mad at me.”

“If you want me to bully you, just say that,” and, Katsuki pushes you flush against the wall. You were already close enough—but now, his body presses you into it, heavy with want and infused with something new. Then, he crosses another line, and rolls his hips forward.

“Oh,” you breathe, and position your hands against his shoulders for leverage. Katsuki gives up on kissing your neck to let out a heavy sigh, uncaring about all the clunky plastic in the way.

“I don’t like when you bully me,” Katsuki says, voice low and heady, “I like watchin’ you try, though.”

“Fuck you,” you glare, but the bite is long gone. Left at the door, actually.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he huffs a laugh, body grinding heavy in a steady rhythm. A blink, then he has your leg in a palm and wraps it tight around his waist, pulling your hips closer to him and tilting your body at an angle. You don’t feel like you’re going to fall, so you let it happen. “Don’t tempt me, Baby. I’ll take your pants off and fuck you right here.”

He won’t. You know he won’t, but that doesn’t stop you from keening, or melting, or tugging him tighter. Katsuki chuckles at your reaction, but it’s breathless and half-assed.

“Bet you’d like showin’ everybody how good I can make you feel,” his words trail off into a moan, and the hands around your thigh and waist tighten.

“Kats—”

Katsuki takes your other leg and lifts it—thankfully, your arms are already around his neck. He shoves your back into the wall until it rattles, his slow and weighted pace never failing. You hear a scream that sounds like it’s coming from your base, and only have a moment to hope it’s a scream of success before you feel his cock catch against your clit.

“Fuck,” you moan, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. Katsuki growls at the little noises you make, spurring him further, harder, faster. The image is lewd within itself, and you can only pray no one will get creative enough to check behind the slide.

“God, Baby, you feel too good,” Katsuki pants into your ear, and the timbre of his voice makes you shiver. “I can’t—y’gotta let me fuck you.”

You laugh, but it’s useless. “Right now?”

“Fuckin’—no, not right now,” he growls. “Later. Lemme give you your birthday present, Baby.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Cheesy.”

“Y’like it,” Katsuki says, arrogant and callous and relatively uncaring. “C’mon, lemme—”

"Players, please return to the armory! The game is over."

It isn’t until the lights turn back on that you understand how wrecked Katsuki is.

His face is flushed a deep red, lips pink and swollen, and hair a mess (your fault). He looks at you with something wild, eyes trying to memorize everything and nothing, all while you’re still precariously perched between him and the wall. Katsuki takes a deep breath, steeling himself, before he gently sets you back on your feet. Then, he adjusts his pants.

“Later,” he says, a promise. Before he steps out, he takes one final look at you, licking his lips as a fire flashes behind his eyes. It’s gone as quick as it came. “And fix your shirt. Your tits are out.”

You look down. Your tits are, in fact, out.

You cover yourself with an embarrassed quickness, swiftly trying to fix yourself until you don’t look like you just got dry-humped to hell against a wall. Hopefully.

“Later,” you nod, and follow him out.

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