lovergirl

“We’ll be over for dinner tonight so that you can officially meet him. Be sure to make some katsudon for us,” you add, flashing a smile.

“Yeah, we’ll— wait, the hell?” He turns to you, his brows furrowing in utter confusion as he squints down at you.

“What? Don’t you like katsudon? Want something else?”

“Love it, actually, but why the hell would I go to dinner with you?!”

“You’re my husband. That’s why,” you explain, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He just stares at you, completely silent, his brain visibly short-circuiting trying to process what’s happening.

“Lady, I don’t even know you,” he says, shaking his head and taking a small step back.

There is a moment of silence in which the two of you just stare at each other with your video still rolling.

Then—

“Do you want to know me?” You playfully wink at him, giving him one of your flirty smiles.

He blinks, caught off guard by your sudden boldness. A second passes as he studies your face once again, the gears turning in his head before finally making a decision.

“…I kinda do now, yeah,” he admits, half confused, half intrigued, because who the hell approaches someone else like this anyway?

“Perfect!” You turn back to the camera. “See you tonight, Mom!”

e liked autumn best because summer was a busy time for him as a pro hero and winter felt too lonely after all the holidays passed, so it was the "good in-betweener". his words. also— he was a sucker for halloween. he told you that his mother sent him home with enough containers of homemade curry to feed him and all the people he knew, which made you giggle at the mental image. he has two sisters, one younger and one older. he says he's never felt like the middle child a day in his life because they all have such a close bond. his family must be really sweet based on the way he detailed endearing memories of them, you think.

letters made you both say whatever was on your minds and then forget about it for a few days. it was mildly inconvenient, at worst. honestly, it was a little stupid given that you both lived in the same city with perfectly functioning phones. which was exactly why you ruined it by asking for his number. it was the end of letter eighteen (or twenty, you weren't sure). the ache in your wrist from annotating case law made the idea of texting feel nearly seductive.

his response arrived three days later like clockwork. you sat at your desk, unfolded the letter, and immediately got to reading.

you reread his letter a couple times, giggling at his doodles. 

"cute." you said to yourself, trying not to smile.

there was something so boyish about the way he wrote to you that you couldn't help it. he was a pro hero, which should have made him intimidating in theory. he was trained to fight villains, handle disasters, and probably lift cars or something equally horrifying. yet here he was passionately defending the beauty of sending letters back and forth. truly acting like the top ambassador of snail mail.

the worst part was that he was right. you had expected to feel a little disappointed by the refusal, but it was more like being reminded that the strange rhythm you had with him existed because it was this way. texting would make everything too akin to a casual talking stage. oh god. you already were getting ahead of yourself. the smile that was on your lips falters a little. 

neither of you had even defined this relationship you had. you trace the part of the letter with your finger… lawyer pen pal. 

as swoon-worthy as the entire situation was to you, you weren't too keen on getting ahead of yourself and misreading his intentions. lots of rejection and over-romanticization has taught you well and good over the years. despite that, it was hard to ignore the feeling in the pit of your stomach. you had told him things you hadn't told people you've known for forever. you shake the thoughts away.

you set the letter among the others in the old stationary box on your desk. the stack of cream envelopes inside was getting thick enough that you had to press the lid down a little harder to close it.

instead of responding, you forced yourself to shower and review more documents before bed because kami's case was unfortunately not going to be solved by you contemplating e's purely-platonic messages. 

when you finally crawled under your covers and stared up at your ceiling, tired as can be, your mind betrays you by drifting back to the anonymous pro hero. you were curious about what he looked like. you could deduce as an employed and self-proclaimed busy bee at his work, he's probably rather built. maybe tall, but you didn't care neither here nor there. mostly, you simply wondered what color his eyes were. back in your school days, a ton of your crushes had pretty eyes; your kryptonite.

but why would it matter—you didn't have a crush on him, so why were you thinking about it? you brushed off the daydream train as soon as it came. stop fawning over your pen pal's potentially mesmerizing eyes! you turned over in your bed with a small embarrassed huff to no one in particular.

you hesitated to sign it as you usually did after your mental spiral about his intentions with writing you. mystery girl made no sense anyways; you doubt many quirkless women with your name were lawyers in musutafu. 

his friends had ended up at kirishima's apartment after patrol, occupying nearly every available seat. bakugou had made the dinner that was slowly disappearing across kirishima's dining table. "someone's in love central."

he looked up. denki was pointing at him with his chopsticks.

"what? no."

"you're thinking about miss lawyer. i can feel it." sero snorts. "where, in your balls?" denki shoots a withered look towards him. "you're so weird, man."

kirishima rolled his eyes, reaching for another piece of grilled meat. "i was thinking about work, not her."

"liar," denki said immediately. "you've got the face."

"... what face?"

without looking up from her plate, mina chimed in. "it's the letter face."

bakugou clicked his tongue. "you idiots gave it a name?" 

mina nodded matter-of-fact-ly. kirishima's face pulled into a deadpan. "the what?"

"the letter face!" she finally looked at him. "you get all spacey and woo-woo, it's obvious you're thinking about your loooove letters." 

"i do not get all woo-woo!"

"you do," sero agreed.

kirishima gave up trying to defend himself. there was no point once they collectively decided on something. he reached for his drink instead, opting for silence.

"so," denki said. "what was her last letter about?" mina slaps him upside the head. "you can't ask him about his private stuff like that!" slowly, mina gives kirishima a curious grin. "but really… what did she write?"

kirishima rolled his eyes. "it was a lot of stuff about her private life, but she did ask me to trade numbers."

every conversation around the table stopped.

"...and?" mina asked. "i said i'd rather keep writing." sero and denki groan in unison.

bakugou nodded once. "good. no need for some random fangirl to leak your phone number to the internet." kirishima frowned. "she is most definitely not a fangirl."

"whatever dude. fangirl or not, you could've been texting a hot chick," denki whines.

mina snickers quietly to herself, shaking her head as she picked up her phone. the conversation drifted after that. denki started arguing that kirishima was intentionally making his own life more difficult, while bakugou insisted people survived perfectly fine before smartphones existed. sero contributed absolutely nothing useful beyond occasionally saying "that's crazy," regardless of which side he was pretending to support.

mina wasn't listening anymore. she had absentmindedly opened a browser while everyone argued, your first name still lingering in the back of her mind after seeing it on the envelope earlier. quirk discrimination lawyer, right? it couldn't hurt to see what kind of firm you worked at. her thumb hovered over the screen for a second before she typed. multiple results populated the screen. 

"hmm." nobody heard her, but she went on to the first link. the firm's homepage loaded almost immediately.

"hey, guys."

the conversation continued. she cleared her throat.

"AHEM, guys!"

denki stopped mid-sentence. everyone looked over. mina stared at her phone for another second before lifting her eyes mischievously toward kirishima.

"i think i found her," she says, sing-song like.

kirishima's brain short-circuited for a second. “found who, ‘her’?”

“miss lawyer! it's her, i'm ninety percent sure." mina held the sparkly pink phone up triumphantly. “mina, no.” he didn't move to take it. "you can't just look people up like that."

"she’s super gorgeous, by the way,” mina gushes, delighted at how easy it was. "totally could be a model." kirishima's frown deepened.

"oh my god—no way you're actually mad, are you?”

"i'm not mad, i just think it's weird to go looking for her before she wants me to see her!”

“you’re making it hard for the rest of us dudes, being so chivalrous,” sero said, "and also you’re lame if you aren’t a little curious.”

"i'm being a good person, sero. it's manly."

"you're being annoying," denki corrected, already leaning over mina's shoulder without asking anyone's permission. “c’mon mina, lemme see!”

"denki, move—"

"oh my GOD," denki said, way too loud for the room. “dude. she's so fucking pretty! i'm pissed. how the fuck does a random letter lead to this?!”

"it doesn't matter. she’ll show me when she’s ready.”

"you're the only man in this apartment who's ever turned down a glance at a pretty girl on principle. idiot," bakugou said, still not glancing up from his plate. kirishima's jaw drops at him. bakugo shrugs.

"kiri, even bakugou agrees," mina points.

"tch, i didn't agree with you! i said he's an idiot."

sero, who had clearly decided the debate portion of the evening was over, reached across the table and turned kirishima's whole head toward the phone by the jaw like he was adjusting a mannequin. "there. you've technically already seen it. might as well look properly now."

"you guys are so stubborn.”

“says you. look at the girl.”

his eyes flick to the screen.

it was just a staff photo. stiff, overlit, a photo every firm made its people take. ideally, it should make everyone look a little uglier than they were in person, but there you were: smiling, your eyes crinkling mid-moment, like someone off camera had said something funny right before the shutter clicked.

"yeah," kirishima said. "she's pretty." the table lost it immediately.

"THAT'S IT?" denki looked incredulous. "all you got is 'she's pretty'?"

"what do you want from me!"

"passion. feeling. use more words!"

"i have plenty of words, denki, i'm choosing not to use them right now!"

"veryyyy suspicious," mina said, already smug again.

bakugou ended it the only way he knows how. by chucking a fork at denki's head, enlisting a yelp from the poor blonde. "shut up! fuckin' irritating, the whole bunch of you. i'm eating."

denki rubs his head and sulks. "every single one of you is violent. violent i tell you."

mina slid her phone back into her pocket, entirely unbothered by having been yelled at. "i'm probs gonna find her insta later,"

"mina."

"keyword probably!"

kirishima went back to his food, ears warm, doing a very bad job of looking unbothered. it was going to be really hard to remove the image of you from his mind every time he's writing. he was already too smitten over you without knowing your face.

adjusting your pencil skirt exiting your car, you walk towards the entrance of the bright orange building. yuma told you this morning that fatgum's assistant emailed her back, and that he was ready to have a talk with you. 

you knew he was one of the best pro-heroes of your time. genuinely kind hearted, always involved in charity events and uplifting his fellow heroes. you were glad he was finally in good enough shape to come in to the office, at least. 

heroes and support staff were moving through the lobby like a whirlwind as you entered the complex. you were used to that atmosphere at hero-affiliated businesses. a couple minutes early, you decided to start reading over your notes while you waited at the front desk. suddenly, someone rounds the corner too fast and fully collides into you, knocking the documents out of your hands.

"geez, i'm so sorry!"

you stumbled backward, one heel slipping against the polished floor. you brace for the contact, but a large hand caught your upper arm before you could do so. the man had quick reflexes, whoever he was. "are you okay? i didn't hurt you, did i?" 

"i'm fine," you said automatically, looking down to regain your footing. then you looked up.

pro hero red riot was stood in front of you. arguably one of your favorite heroes but you weren't alone. children loved him. the elderly loved him. based on yuma's opinions, a terrifying number of women online loved him too. he was much larger in person than he appeared on television, which felt unfair considering he already looked particularly massive in interviews. his red hair was pulled away from his face in its usual sharp style, and he was dressed in black agency athletic-wear instead of his costume.

more notably, he looked horrified.

"i really didn't see you there," he continued. "not that you're hard to notice! you're obviously noticeable. i just meant i wasn't looking, which why would i be looking? wait, no—" the man was tripping over his words unlike anything you'd seen from him. wasn't he known to be a really charismatic guy..? oh well, pro-hero pr agents do work harder than the devil.

you blinked. "right."

"your papers!" 

he released your arm as if he had only just realized he was holding you and immediately crouched down. 

you knelt to help him gather the scattered documents, although he was moving with such frantic efficiency that there was barely anything left for you to pick up.

"you don't have to do all that," you told him. 

"no, it was my fault, i got it!"

he reached for one page at the same time you did, and your fingers brushed. red riot jerked his hand back hard enough to hit his elbow against the front desk, an audible thunk. the receptionist looked down at the commotion, mildly amused.

"ow, fuck!" you look at him with a concerned expression. count that the first time you heard red riot curse. "are you okay?" you asked.

"never better!" his voice cracked slightly.

you frowned, staring at him again. he seemed nice enough, if not a little strange. perhaps he was simply terrible around lawyers. then his gaze dropped to the front page of your files. your name and firm were printed clearly beneath the case heading, confirming his beliefs.

"thanks for helping. i wanted to know if you could show me to fatgum's office?"

something almost like understanding passed over his expression, although you couldn't imagine why. before you could question it, the elevator opened across the lobby and a sidekick called his hero name. red riot glanced over his shoulder.

“shoot, i’m sorry. i have to go lead patrol briefing," he said. “but hina will show you where it is.” he took two backward steps, towards the elevators doors. "and sorry again about nearly taking you out!”

you giggle. "i'll recover, big guy."

he smiled then, wide and warm enough that you finally understood some of yuma's ramblings. he does have some nice eyes. you watched him jog toward the elevator, narrowly avoid walking into a potted plant, and disappear behind the closing doors. what a strange man. 

you turned back toward the front desk. hina, the receptionist, was trying very hard not to burst out giggling.

“mr. fatgum is ready for you upstairs. just up and to the left." she said, pointing at the corridor.

you nod. "thank you."

fatgum's office was located on the highest floor of the agency, decorated with photographs, gifts from children, and framed newspaper clippings from his career. the man himself sat behind a wide desk, dressed casually with one arm still supported in a sling. he was in his normal form, a sharp contrast to the usual size of him you saw during villain fights. he looked a little thinner, probably due to the injury rest time.

"thanks for comin' all the way over," he greeted. "sorry i couldn't meet with ya sooner."

you give him a concerned smile. "please don't apologize. i'm glad you're recovering."

he chuckles. "slowly but surely, kid."

you took the seat across from him and opened your case folder. "your assistant mentioned the police returned the equipment."

fatgum's expression sobered. "yeah. they finished collectin' the forensics they needed from it. the thing's pretty torn up, but i figured you'd wanna see it anyways."

he pressed the intercom and asked someone to bring the evidence container in. "before we look at it, i'd like to go over the delivery," you said. "the report says the aegis frame arrived here two days before the accident." 

"that's right."

"who accepted it?"

"one of our support coordinators signed for the shipment, but i picked it up personally later."

you looked down at the report. "from hashima's courier?"

"not exactly." your pen paused.

fatgum leaned back carefully in his chair. "that's the strange part. i was supposed to get it straight from that young engineer that designed it. kami, i think her name was."

you looked up sharply. "but she didn't come."

"right. another email from hashima came the morning of the delivery sayin' the arrangement changed. told me to pick it up from another hashima employee at one of their satellite offices. i've never had to go out to get new equipment before."

a faint uneasiness crawled up your spine.

kami had never mentioned that she was expected to personally deliver the frame. according to her, the equipment had left her department after the final internal inspection. she believed it had gone directly to the agency through the usual shipping process.

"do you still have that email?"

he slid a printed copy across the desk. "my assistant pulled the whole thread for ya."

you scanned the first message. it appeared legitimate, right down to kami's professional signature and employee identification number. it matched the information that kami originally emailed you with her plea as well. so someone was using her credentials.

the second email, however, had been sent from a different internal hashima address. no name, just a jumble of letters and numbers. there was something oddly familiar about it. not the name itself. the department, perhaps. corporate relations and product reinforcement. you made a note beside it.

"did you speak with this employee?"

"briefly. he was a tall fella, dressed real sharp." he leaned towards you. "listen… off the record? the guy seemed like an asshole. he was actin' like he was in a hurry," fatgum recalled. "he said kami had been pulled into an emergency meeting and the team asked him to handle it."

"did he explain why the location changed?"

"nothing of the sort. was really in and out with giving me the gear. do you mind me asking why you're asking me questions if the police are investigating it already?" 

you give him a firm stare. "because i'm a quirk discrimination lawyer, i usually don't trust the initial investigation. i like to collect my own information, if that's okay."

fatgum raises his hands with a simple glance. "hey, i respect it. i'm willing to comply wherever possible."

the office door opened, and an agency member wheeled in a reinforced evidence case. fatgum nodded toward it.

"that's what's left of the frame."

once the latches were released, you stepped closer. the equipment inside hardly resembled the sleek silver structure from kami's blueprints and pictures. several sections had warped inward. the invisible plating had burned into a dark, glass-like substance around the joints, and internal wiring spilled out from the back of the structure. you pulled on the gloves provided by the police.

"which part failed first?"

"the left shoulder mechanism," fatgum explained. "it locked up when i used my quirk. then the chest plating started constricting instead of adjusting with it. the emergency releases didn't respond, and the rest is what everyone saw on the news." you crouched beside the container. something you noted while looking at the documents at home was that kami's original blueprints included three separate release systems. all of them were designed to function independently. even if someone had removed one during manufacturing, the other two should have activated. you examined the damaged control unit more closely. a part of the hardware control panel was blown open.

"was this panel open before the police recovered it?"

"as far as i know."

a row of screws along the edge caught your attention. most were damaged from the accident, the metal scratched and deformed. one was nearly untouched. newer than the others. you leaned closer. it was obvious someone had opened the control panel after the unit left kami assembled it.

"fatgum," you said carefully, "i'm going to need the original email files, not only printouts. the metadata is what i need. i also need security footage time stamps when you left the agency, the name of every employee who knew about the change, and the plate number of the car you used that day."

his face hardened.

"you think the handoff matters?"

"i'm telling you this because i trust you. but i know for a fact that kami didn't send either of these emails." you looked back at the second unfamiliar email. you shut the evidence case.

"and i think whoever gave this to you wanted everyone to believe she did."

fatgum's jaw tightened. "kid, i like you, and i want whoever did this to answer for it. but if what you’re saying is true..."

he reached into one of the folders on his desk and pulled out a business card, scribbling something before sliding it across to you.

"anything you need from my agency, you ask me directly. i don't care how inconvenient it is."

you looked down at the card before slipping it into your folder.

"thank you so much, fatgum."

"please, don't thank me yet." he shook his head. "i have a feeling you're going to need all the help you can get."

the man nods firmly after viewing the entirety of the footage clip. "thank you, hina. please send this to her as soon as you can." the little receptionist had a flash of mischief glimmer in her eyes. "mr. fatgum, can i show you something kinda funny?" 

he looks at her quizzically, but nods anyway. her fingers move rapidly and the time stamp from earlier this afternoon pulls up, where a certain red haired hero runs into you in the agency lobby. fatgum's eyes light up in recognition as he sees the awkward interaction of his second in charge bumbling about, trying to pick up the papers he spilled. 

hina's beside herself in a fit of giggles. "i don't know about you mr. fatgum, but i think kiri has a crush."

"huh. seems so."

guys i want fatgum

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“Oh thank fuck—c’mere, Baby.”

Katsuki—a Katsuki, you suppose—starts moving independent of the other. He all but collapses into very confused arms, dropping his chin on your head and squeezing you tight. The other one glowers, messily shoving two pairs of boots under the bench with complete disregard for his strict organizational pattern.

“Um…”

You blink at the Katsuki that cradles you. He gives a soft smile in return, one that usually requires blood, sweat, and tears to crack (even if it takes you a significant less amount of blood, sweat, and tears than the average human—they’re blood, sweat, and tears nonetheless) and you don’t know what to do with it. Where to put it.

“Got hit with a fucker’s quirk,” the other Katsuki explains after giving up on making the boots fit. Typically, there aren’t two pairs, but one—and the shoe rack is feeling the added pressure.

“So…it’s the quirk that split you in two,” you ask, even though you know. The answer is staring you right in the face, but, like. Just in case.

The Katsuki still holding onto you grunts in agreement, and you finally manage to peel away. He steps back as the other Katsuki steps forward, and you finally get a good look at how identical they are. Which, obviously, but it’s still slightly alarming, nonetheless. Like…the shining twins, if they were blond and angry. And covered in grime.

“Holy shit…” your eyes dart between the two of them, trying to find discrepancies in anything other than mismatched dirt. You find none, save for the way they hold themselves. You need better names—you can’t keep calling them Katsuki and other Katsuki.

“Do…you know when it’s going to wear off?”

A self-indulgent question. Perhaps.

“Fuckin’—no.” Angry Katsuki digs a knuckle into his ear, and the other one yawns. “They gotta track the fucker down, first. Apparently, I can’t do my goddamn job like this.”

He gestures between the two of them, and you teeter your head in semi-agreement. The other Katsuki pipes up, and god, you need better names.

“’M not pissed about it, though,” He steps out of line to grab the hand limp by your side, kissing your knuckles with the lightest touch you’ve ever felt. “Means I get to see you.”

Oh?

“I am,” angry Katsuki growls, slapping his counterpart’s hand away from yours. “I should be out there, hunting that mitosis motherfucker.”

“If you go out there, you’re killing him,” other Katsuki defends. Angry Katsuki rolls his eyes.

“Fuckin’ exactly.”

Other Katsuki just sighs, turning back to you. Immediately his features soften along with his voice. “How’ve you been today, Baby? I left early.”

“Um…good? This is just…” you peer around Katsuki’s body to view the other one, who rolls his eyes again, almost completely ignoring your presence. That is, until:

“Ima fuckin’ shower,” he grumbles, and walks down the hall.

“A lot?” Other Katsuki finishes for you, watching his parallel until he disappears into the bedroom, and you nod.

Something like that.

“Okay. Kat.” You point to Angry Katsuki, who’s now glowering on the couch, much like he did at the front door, and much cleaner than before. Your finger shifts to Other Katsuki, until his head becomes a small point at the top of your fingernail. “Suki. That way, if I call, you both don’t come running. Cool?”

While Suki nods his head with diligence, Kat finally smiles. Not the soft smile that’s reserved for you, but the self-satisfied smile reserved for villains, the one that barely hides his hunger for blood.

“Hear that, Nerd? I’m Kat, not your bitch-ass.”

Suki blinks, relatively confused, and tips his head to the side. “Why the fuck does that matter?”

“’Cuz I’m the original!” Kat says loud and proud, digging a thumb into his chest. “Not you.”

“…Again, why the fuck does that matter,” Suki grumbles, less a question and more an observation. A statement. “We got split in two. We’re two halves of the same person, not a copy-paste.”

“I fuckin’ know that, shit stick.” Kat’s hands crackle at the prospect of being challenged, and while Suki tries to hide the way he shrinks in on himself, you throw a spare pillow at Kat’s head.

“Ow, what the fuck!”

“No explosions in the house!”

Kat grumbles, but his hands fizzle out. He shakes them out at his sides. “’M not doin’ this shit—’m goin’ to bed.”

“Ah-Ah! No,” you say, and Kat freezes like you grabbed him physically, like there’s an invisible wall that separates the living room from the rest of the house. “You said we’d watch that move tonight, remember?”

“We said,” he amends, looking unimpressed before jerking his head to Suki. “Make him watch it.”

“No! It’s exactly like you said—you both promised. Technically,” you smile and look at Suki, who, honestly, looks like there’s no other place he’d rather be—he just watches you talk with his chin propped on a hand and love in his eyes. “So. We’re both watching it.”

“Fuckin’—fine,” Kat groans, loud and obnoxious, and to the ceiling. He sits back down with a huff. “But I swear to God, if it’s some fuckin’ Twilight shit again—”

“It’s not.” You get up only to shove Kat over with a hip, quitting his manspreading, and make yourself enough room between them. He lets you. Suki wraps both arms around your middle, and cuddles you close and tight, like you might up and disappear tomorrow. “That was one time—”

“One horrible time, when I was forced to watch five fuckin’ movies of absolute bullshit—”

“It wasn’t that fuckin’ bad,” Suki defends with a quiet grumble, and you want to scoop him up and run away with him. “’S…campy.”

“Thank you,” you nod, before redirecting your attention to Kat, patting him on the leg. “See? Suki understands quality content when he sees it.”

“Get the fuck out my face.”

You don’t put on Twilight—but you do put on Argylle, and that’s not much better.

“So, you’re tellin’ me,” Kat trails off, and you watch the movie flicker in carmine eyes. “That the whole damn time, this chick was writing a book that predicts the future—”

“Specifically a spy-future, yes—”

“And, that’s why…y’know what? Fuck this shit, my head hurts.”

“You have no sense of whimsy,” you sigh, unimpressed. Kat rolls his eyes.

“Listen, Sweetheart,” He fills his voice with faux saccharine, artificial flavoring, and you scowl at the mockery. “I got a job—a real serious job. Don’t got fuckin’ time for ‘whimsy.’”

Kat hangs air quotes with a hand, and that just pushes your frown deeper.

“Oh, and I don’t?” you smile, but it’s just as artificial as his words. Kat glowers, and behind you, Suki goes:

“Uh oh…”

“Somethin’ like that.”

With a huff, you snatch him by blond spikes—and, if Kat is even a little tenderheaded as Katsuki is…

You yank and pull upward, and Kat rises with your grip. Yep. “Ow, what the fuck?! Ah—okay, fuck, I’m sorry—”

He hisses, face twisting in agony—and finally, you relent the torture. You let him go with a satisfied smile, and Kat snarls at you, rubbing the soft points of his head.

“What did we learn?”

Suki snickers under his breath. “Fuckin’ nothing.”

Kat scrambles at that, getting to his feet in preparation to attack. Fear flashes across Suki’s face, making you wonder if his statement was supposed to come out quieter, perhaps unheard. He scrambles over the arm of the couch, and you get thrown around in his rush.

“You’re fuckin’ dead meat!” Kat hollers. Suki takes off in a mad dash.

It isn’t before long that they’re chasing each other in circles around the couch, like a pack of wild dogs, snarling and huffing and puffing. (With the occasional spark—which you’re quick to put out.) You watch your movie, and occasionally, them, and eat the majority of the popcorn in the process.

Eventually, they collapse back onto the couch and into their respective sides, twin chests heaving and glistening in sweat until their breath makes the mile long trek to catch up.

“You two done?” You ask, but never take your eyes off the screen. It’s getting to the good part.

Suki nods. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kat snaps, and you double check to make sure he isn’t talking to you (because, if he is—you’re locking him in the basement), but he’s still glaring at Suki like he murdered his family. “You piss me the fuck off.”

“Clearly,” Suki snorts, this time quiet enough for Kat to not hear. Still vaguely out of breath, he squeezes your thigh to get attention, and slings his other arm behind you. “I wan’a kiss. Can I get a kiss, Baby?”

You giggle, because as stated, soft Katsuki is a Katsuki you’re used to having to work for, and then some. His hand lifts to your chin as you say, “Sure, Suki.”

And then, you’re getting snatched back by your pajama shirt, nearly choking in the process with an embarrassing and garbled noise.

“Abso-fuckin-lutely not,” Kat grunts, and you nearly fall backwards into his lap. “My girlfriend.”

“Your—” Suki cuts himself off with a scoff, grabbing your hand and pulling you up again—up and away. “One, we’re the same damn person, she’s both our girlfriend. And two, I want my fuckin’ kiss.”

Back.

“Well, that’s too damn bad,” Kat huffs, and you’re yanked again. This is starting to get dizzying. “I don’ want your bitch lips all over her.”

Forth.

“Okay,” Suki chuckles, and you’re tipped forward. Seriously? “And, I don’t want your ugly ass mug anywhere near my girl, so—”

Back.

“Oh, now it’s ‘your girl’—I thought we—”

Forth.

“Yeah. My girl, ‘cuz you don’ even know how to treat her.”

Back—Forth.

“You’re loud, and rude, and angry—”

Back and Forth and Back and Forth.

“Y’don’t appreciate shit that she does for us, and it fuckin’ shows—”

Back and Forth and Back and Forth. Back and Forth and Back.

“Yeah, and she loves me for it anyway, Dipshit—”

Back and Forth and Back and Forth an—

“Can you two quit it!”

When they still, you go tumbling forward and into Suki’s lap—which, Kat doesn’t like very much, and grumbles under his breath about it.

“Sorry, Baby.”

“Fuckin’ what.”

“You guys realize I can kiss both of you, right?” Your words border on exasperated. Kat rolls his eyes.

“Fine—I get first.”

“No, I do!”

“I will blast you to goddamn smithereens.”

“Fine! At least I get my fuckin’ kiss—”

“Oh my god,” you groan aloud, running hands over your face and sinking deeper into the couch. It’s endless. “Y’know what? No. Stand up.”

You pat both of their backs to urge them upwards, and they follow. Standing side by side and watching you—and if you thought that one set of Katsuki’s eyes were intimidating enough, try two.

“Okay, Suki—you asked first, so you go first.”

Kat grumbles under his breath, something about ‘well if I fuckin’ knew that, woulda asked ages ago,’ but relents relatively quiet. Suki bends over with a smile, cradling the side of your face to lift it higher.

“Thank you, Baby.”

Katsuki’s lips always feel warm, and Suki’s are no different—they move slow and soft and patient, like he knows what’s coming, when it’s coming, so might as well take his time until he can see the finish line. He inhales like he could breathe you in, and the hand cupping your face tightens with want and satisfaction.

When Suki pulls away, you’re both breathless, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Missed you.”

But, before you can respond—

Suki is shoved out of the way, out of frame, and in comes Kat, who would be on fire if he could. “Y’call that a fuckin’ kiss? Watch and learn, Loser.”

Kat grabs you by the chin and kisses you with weight. He presses into you with his upper body, using a free hand to rest on the back of the couch, and placing a knee between your legs. Kat kisses you into the cushions and out of any breath you have left, leaving you scrambling for air.

“How was that,” Kat asks once pulling away, dragging his thumb across your kiss-swollen lips. You swoon, before remembering that this Katsuki is downright evil.

“It was…um…” you try to say fine, try to say okay, I’ve had better, but the weight of two intense stares fill your veins and cloud your judgement. And, just overall ability to speak as a whole.

“See Dumbass, what’d I say?” Kat hollers over his shoulder, standing up to glare at his doppelgänger. “Kiss her right and she fuckin’ melts.”

Suki bristles at that, but doesn’t bite back with words. Instead, he quietly assumes Kat’s place with a hum, thumbing the highest point of your cheek as he looks down. He studies you.

“Mmm…looks pretty solid to me,” Suki mutters, tilting your head every which way, like he’s trying to find something that’s not there. Kat yells from the back, ‘shitty ass joke!’ “Wha’d’ya think, Baby? Who’s better?”

“Um,” you swallow, and try to stifle your inner goblin. “I don’t…I think I’ll need more than that to…y’know…know?”

And, yet. The goblin comes out, anyway. (At least she’s respectful, this time.)

Suki teeters his head in consideration, and Kat snorts from behind him. “Fuckin’ pervert.”

You gawk. Because, like, yes, but also, “how am I supposed to know based off a three second kiss?”

“Valid question.”

“Listen—I don’t know about Mr. Chastity over here, but mine was definitely longer than three seconds.”

Suki gives him a look over his shoulder, and though you can’t see it, you can guess based off the way he goes, “Seriously?”

“I said what I said.”

You see the tail end of Suki rolling his eyes as he turns back to you, and the look of pure annoyance on his face shifts to one of affection. His thumb brushes your cheek again, as he leans forward, close enough for you to feel his breath across your lips.

“Well, Baby? Should we prove that fucker wrong?”

But, you’re not paying attention to much else other than the way Suki’s lips round and soften to form words that you barely hear. So, you just nod, let out a quiet ‘uh huh,’ and let him close the distance.

Suki kisses you with more passion this time around, but less vigor and aggression than Kat. You feel comfortable and grounded, and gasp, hands finding the middle of his shirt as he tilts his head to the side. You don’t get kissed stupid like you do with Kat—like the earth got flipped upside down and you just have to deal with it—but held and loved, and that’s stupefying enough.

Suki moans into your mouth, making your body run both hot and cold. It takes ages and alcohol to convince Katsuki to make a sound, to stop holding himself back, but this one might not. This one might not, and God, if that doesn’t make your head spin.

A tongue licks the seam of your lips but never pushes further than that, just enough for you to be aware of the threat and the want, but never enough to give. You whine, pushing deeper—and Suki smiles against your lips like that was exactly what he wanted, before his hand encompasses the front of your neck to squeeze, restricting your airflow just enough.

When he pulls away, the hand around your neck slides to your collarbones, and your eyes flutter shut. It continues to snake lower, past the waistband of your sweats and even lower than that, until two fingers run along your folds. They’re gone as quick as they came, and Suki pulls them out to reveal—

“See? She’s soaked.”

Kat growls, but before he can say anything, Suki tucks both fingers into his mouth and sucks. It’s obscene, and you think you see his tongue poke through at some point.

But then, he’s getting shoved in the shoulder, falling into the couch and more importantly, away from you, as Kat takes his place between your legs. Before you have time to protest (which—you won’t, but you might’ve for a second, for like, posterity) Kat is shoving your sweats down to your ankles, clearly tired of playing fair.

“I’m sick of his shit,” he grumbles, shifting your hips forward until you’re nearly laying flat. “Aren’t you sick of his shit, Princess?”

You don’t really know what to say to that. Luckily, you’re not given much time to—Kat sticks his tongue out and licks a fat stripe up your pussy, swirling his tongue around your clit, and dragging it back down.

“Fuckin’—take your goddamn time,” Suki growls, and Kat just rolls his eyes and continues his ministrations. “I worked hard to get her that fuckin’ wet, y’know—”

Kat only pulls his mouth away to give his double an incredulous look, pointing at your pussy like you’re not even there. “Oh, you think you did this.”

“I know I did,” Suki snarls at the slight, and when Kat chuckles around your clit, it makes your thigh seize. “But, fine—fuck her dry like an animal. See if I care when she comes runnin’ to me ‘cuz y’don’t know what the fuck you’re doin’.”

Kat doesn’t grace his words with more words, just flips a middle finger in his direction before that hand finds your thigh. Only to spread your legs wider, broaden his plate, and you nearly keel over when he sucks too hard.

“He bein’ too rough?” Suki coos, grabbing you by the jaw and running a thumb along it’s sharpest point. “’S okay if you can’t cum, Baby—he has absolutely no finesse.”

Suki rips Kat away from you by the hair, his lips flushed and glossed from you, and yanks him out of the way. Kat snarls and lets his palms pop, but one halfhearted glare from you, and they fizzle right out.

“He’s being a dick!” Kat defends, gesturing at the perpetrator with open hands—said perpetrator simply settles between your legs, licking his lips. Kat is ignored.

Suki moves a lot slower than Kat does—still hot and heavy, but languid, like he knows you’re not going anywhere any time soon. He licks you up and down, avoiding places that would do anything more than simmer. But, even low heat will eventually come to a boil, and your breath hitches when a finger brushes your entrance.

Kat yawns. “I’m fuckin’ bored.”

Suki rolls his eyes and can’t help but pull away, get another word in—but his finger finally quits (some of) the teasing and plunges right in. You shiver, then melt. “Well, that’s too damn bad.”

“Yeah, it is—make her scream or somethin’ before I fuckin’ fall asleep.”

“Oh, please fall asleep,” Suki insists, but never takes his eyes away from you—your pussy—as he berates his double, too fascinated by the way you squeeze and relax around him. “I’d love if you fell asleep—I could be both of us, and she wouldn’t even notice.”

Kat barks out a laugh, loud and sarcastic. “You get mad at me for bein’ rude, then you call her stupid? Some white knight.”

“No,” Suki says, and adds another finger and curls them upward—it makes your leg kick involuntarily, and it probably would’ve done some damage if he didn’t catch it in time. “I’m callin’ you basic. Bitch.”

“Oh, you fuckin—”

“Guys! Please!” You scream at the ceiling. You’re exhausted and annoyed, semi-horny and so far away from the finish line. “Stop arguing—do you want me to cum or not?” 

And, well. That shuts them up quicker than you expected.

“Absolutely, Baby.”

“Ugh—fuckin’ whatever.”

Suki focuses on you, after that. Kat tries to distract him with playground insults, tugging at his hair like a childhood bully, but the most he gets in response is a middle finger. Suki hoists your thigh onto his shoulder, and, when you wiggle too much, uses a free hand to pin your waist in place.

It’s an embarrassingly short amount of time until you feel the fire in your belly turn dangerous, like wind carrying bonfire embers into trees to ignite them. It’s not your fault—there’s two pair of eyes when there should be one, equally eager, equally fascinated. Kat catches your chin and pulls you in for a rough kiss, and Suki’s eyes flutter when you squeeze around him, like he’s fingering himself and feeling every curve of his fingertips.

You squirm, understanding the specifics of the feeling that builds and hating them. “Ah fuck—think I’m gonna…?”

“Squirt?” Suki finishes with a knowing smile, like that’s what he’s been aiming for this whole time, and you bristle.

“Fuck you,” you pant, but it get infinitely harder to argue as your vision starts to blur with your breathing. “Yes, Asshole.”

“Hot,” Kat nods in agreement, and if you had the wherewithal to, you’d chuck a pillow in his face. Again.

“You know I hate this.” You give Suki an half-hearted glare, and he fights the smile growing on his face. “Why do you do this to me.”

“Because it’s hot,” Suki hums, and honestly, he deserves a pillow to the face as well. “C’mon, Baby—relax, let it happen.”

He starts stroking your thigh like that’s going to help any. It doesn’t, and the stick you use is no longer good enough to defend your impending orgasm, which is horrible, horrible news for the couch cushion. You’ll need to flip it over. Again.

(So—maybe you should just buy a new cushion, at this point. And avoid sitting in your usual spot on the couch.)

While the orgasm doesn’t catch you by surprise, the strength of it does. Your thighs squeeze around Suki’s head as much as they’re able—as much as he allows—and a hand finds Kat’s to hold on tight and squeeze. You feel Kat fall into your shoulder, or maybe you fall into his. Your body burns, buzzes, anything that starts with a b that sounds hot. You’re hot. On fire, actually.

You don’t open your eyes until the feeling subsides—in time to watch Suki pull away, face soaked, and the couch cushion even more so. Kat takes two fingers and runs them along your folds, only to dip them into his mouth and hum with contentment.

“Sweet, right?”

“Fuck yeah.”

And you, feeling the wet cushion under your back, haven’t decided whether you’re going to smother both (?) your boyfriends in their sleep.

(You make both of them sleep on the couch that night—the wet couch that’s their fault. Kat doesn’t get it, he didn’t even do anything. Suki accepts his fate with a knowing grin.)

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

taglist; @tokkushin, @kamislop, @zompompurin, @updownandbatty, @lynnsemptymind, @eijiromelissa12, @glokitty, @p1nkv33, @arctivv, @jamanthabean, @oo-juniper-oo, @thedailylexi, @imandumbass … wanna join the taglist? send me and ask, dm, or comment!

a jolt shoots up your spine when he taps his length against your folds, once, then twice — thin lines of slick connecting you.

your hands are practically glued to your face now, heat setting in like a tidal wave when he presses against your entrance, just to pull away once more, "katsuki"

"hm? what is it?"

he guides your hands away from your face, burrowing his nose into the crook of your neck and planting chaste kisses against your cheek.

"please."

"please what?"

"katsuki, you know what."

"okay, okay," he snorts out a laugh, prying himself from the spot in your neck and smiling at the dark bruise already blossoming, "'m gonna go slow. you gotta tell me if it hurts though, alright?"

a nod normally wouldn't be accepted so easily — but when every inch of him is aching to touch you, he thinks he'll let it slide just this once.

an elbow digs into the mattress next to your head, his other hand guiding himself along your entrance — foreheads knocking together as you both peer between the valley of your bodies watching him sink inside you.

no feeling could compare to the one in this very moment. perfection in the form katsuki bakugou settling into every part of you

your neck falls against the sheets, all hopes of hiding your sounds slipping away with every new inch. 

katsuki's not so composed either, sweat-soaked forehead pressed against yours as he bottoms out with his lip between his teeth. low grumbles of your name muffled in your shoulder as he basks in the feeling — the feeling of you.

a comfortable silence fills the room, bodies heaving as he forces himself to be still inside you.

"good? f-fuck, are you good?" he murmurs, lapping at his bottom lip to clean the metallic droplets from the force of his bite, "won't move until . . . until you say i can, promise. but fuck baby, you feel s'good"

"move, katsuki"

". . . you sure? i'm not forcing you into anything if you're not ready—"

"katsuki, move now please." you groan, hips grinding down against him in search of any friction you can get. "please."

to say katsuki's amazed is an understatement. heart racing against his ribcage as you writhe beneath him despite the expression on your face — as if your body spoke more truths than your mind ever could as you cling to him in your desperate haze.

"ok," he starts, readjusting himself above you. "ok, yeah 'm gonna move."

and he does, slow and measured — dragging against every inch of you as if it's his god-given solace.

he's never felt more intoxicated. barely able to keep eye contact when you cup his face and moan against his lips. katsuki's hypntoized by it all, crimson orbs drinking in every reaction he pulls from you.

and he's always prided himself on being the steady one, a comforting balance when the grip of anxiety gets to be too much. but when you pull him closer like space is a barrier, moan softly in his ear — katsuki's not sure who's grounding who.

© — tokkushin : all rights reserved. all works belong to me .ᐟ pls do not repost/copy, or feed into ai.

a/n: hello 🤓 we all say thank you to @lilithkleia, @gyalcapone and bb @riotsgrl for tokkushin not deactivating! hooray! more of this! + even more | comments and reblogs greatly appreciated! 💋

suckmyclituchiha

dude, no. NTA as long as you keep it in your pants.

notthatkentakakura

Mmm a little? I feel like you shouldn’t have a crush on your best friends girlfriend…

gogogokudolls

NTA. I fear we’ve all been there, my guy

6ixeyes

How gay are you for your bro????

Eijirō’s moving out. That’s the only logical course of events.

“Katsuki—! Oh my God—”

Eijirō groans, sinking a head into his hands. He threads fingers through his bright red hair and tugs. He’s going insane—he’s going to be in a straight jacket in two years if he doesn’t leave right now, this isn’t even fair, this is—

“Oh fuck, right there, right there, right there—”

What is the fucking point of walls. What is the fucking point, when it sounds like you’re right here.

Maybe, you guys don’t realize he’s home. Which is fair—by the time he got back, you two were already hidden away in Katsuki’s room. He should send a text, or knock on the door to be like hey, shut up please, or at least, put headphones in. But, no—instead, he chooses to torture himself, listening to you whine on his best friend’s cock.

“Yeah, Baby? You like that?”

The headboard slams hard enough to rattle the wall, and Eijirō debates on crying. He wants to see. He wants to see so bad that it hurts.

He suffers that night, just like he does all the others. Reddit doesn’t help, and neither does the throbbing between his thighs.

Eijirō likes to make breakfast. It’s the only meal he can make, really, other than chicken and rice. And broccoli—he can make broccoli. But, since you moved in, he likes making breakfast for a different reason.

“G’mornin’, Eiji.”

You come in yawning, bleary eyed and bra-less, just the way he likes. He doesn’t let his eyes drift the expanse of your thighs for too long—just enough to remember until tomorrow morning. Until he sees you in those shorts, again.

“Hey! How’d you sleep?”

Because, he slept horribly. He fell asleep halfway through the sex marathon, and doesn’t know if he had a wet dream, or heard you past the fuzz of slumber. Either way, he fell asleep at two and woke up at six, wholly unrested.

“Mm…good…” You stumble over to the fancy coffee machine he bought for Katsuki’s birthday last year. You maneuver around the kitchen with half a mind, and Eijirō tries to avoid burning breakfast. God forbid Katsuki wakes up to the smoke alarm in a panic, worried the world is on fire. You open the fridge to get water, nearly hitting yourself upside the head with the door, and Eijirō snorts, catching your forehead from his spot by the island.

You sniff, blearily blinking up with a nod as a thank you. “What’cha making?”

“Pancakes,” he grins, gesturing to the freshly poured griddle. “Try not to concuss yourself before then?”

“No promises,” you mumble past a sleepy smile, and its cute enough to make his heart hurt. He returns it, hoping it comes across less endearing than he feels. You shuffle closer to watch pancake batter bubble under the heat. “Ugh, pancakes are gonna hit. Thank you.”

You let out a moan, one that sounds a little too similar to what he heard through the walls last night. He focuses on flipping the pancakes with an unsteady hand, refusing to feel the edges of your molecules when you get too close.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he preaches with a laugh, and you nod vehemently in agreement. The coffee machine starts to whirr.

“Yeah, ‘n if not for you, I’d be having straight coffee for breakfast.”

“That’s…horrible,” he realizes aloud, and you snort in response, collapsing your face into his arm. His arm, which is, now, nearly pinned between your breasts—and Eijirō wants to cry for the twentieth time this week. “You should definitely not do that.”

“But, I don’t even like breakfast,” you whine, jutting out a bottom lip. Eijirō takes a very deep breath, before flipping the last pancake. He fucks it up, and the battered side folds in half.

Then, he remembers what you just said, and frowns. “You eat it, though—I’ve seen you.”

“I eat your breakfast,” you argue sleepily, and the coffee machine beeps for attention. You leave to grab the full cup, leaving his right side much colder than you found it. “You cook good breakfast.”

Eijirō isn’t fully sure what you mean by that, but beams nonetheless. “Thank y—”

Katsuki stretches in the kitchen doorway. Languid like a cat, with arms above his head, and groaning loud enough to startle. He’s shirtless, and Eijirō does not see the purpling hickey on his neck. Does not.

Katsuki waltzes over to you and drapes himself across your shoulders, eyes swollen and voice rugged from sleep. He steals a kiss from your cheek before asking, “Coffee.”

You hum, lifting the mug closer to his collapsed self. “Want some?”

Katsuki scrunches a nose and shakes his head, only for his face to end up in your neck. “Not from you.”

That earns him a gasp and a flick in the forehead, both of which Katsuki takes in stride. He snickers into your skin, biting behind your ear until you yelp, with a hand tight around your hip to ensure you don’t squirm to far.

And, it’s sickening.

It’s sickening, because these are the moments when Eijirō doesn’t quite know who he wishes to be—you, or his best friend. Katsuki mutes a smile in your skin, and Eijirō wants to feel it, but he also wants his hand on your hip, and he wants, he wants—

“Oi, Shitty Hair—the pancakes are on fire.”

Eijirō looks down at charred circles he once called pancakes. He wants to cry.

With a snort, Katsuki moves past you to grab a plate. Then, he’s nudging Eijirō in the shoulder, and the redhead starts plating the useless ones with a pout.

“I can’t believe I messed up the first batch,” he whines, because now they’ll have half the amount they normally would for leftovers. And, he was sort of hoping to not cook breakfast tomorrow. (Though, he’s not as sad about it as he’d like to be—which makes him even more annoyed with himself, in turn.)

Katsuki just rolls his eyes, setting the burnt plate aside, probably to let it cool before throwing it away. “What the fuck was so fascinating outside?”

Eijirō’s eyes flicker to the window he was allegedly looking out of—he doesn’t really remember, to be honest—and irritation floods his being tenfold as he huffs, “Dude, literally nothing. Literally zoned out.”

Which is a half-lie—he did zone out—and luckily, Katsuki’s back is turned to grab the bowl of batter, so he doesn’t have to look him in the eyes. Eijirō can lie, as long as he isn’t looking Katsuki in the eyes.

But, Katsuki turns around with a knowing smirk, like he does know it’s a lie. That makes Eijirō doubt his lying capabilities.

“Uh-huh,” he hums, and starts pouring pancakes in perfect circles while barely looking. Which, Eijirō thinks is wholly unfair—he has to really lock in, and even then, they come out vaguely dinosaur shaped. Don’t ask him why. He doesn’t know.

“Ooh! I want a heart pancake!”

Katsuki eyes finally leave Eijirō—thank God, he can breathe now—to narrow at you. “…Baby. I just poured the last one.”

But, Katsuki knows you’re not going to let up, as does Eijirō. You have that look in your eyes when you want something, and want it now.

Before you can even open your mouth, Katsuki’s warning, “Wait for the next batch.”

You whine and melt, propping your chin onto the island counter with the biggest pout known to man. The most effective pout, because Eijirō would fold for it time and time again, if he had the chance.

“But, I want it now,” you whimper, and while Katsuki sighs out of his nose, Eijirō has an idea.

He walks over to a small cupboard, the one with the straws and syrup cups, and dips a hand between both for a container of toothpicks. Thanks to Katsuki, they always have some on deck—because, every time they go out to eat, Katsuki is convinced he has something in his teeth, and simultaneously convinced that everyone is lying to him, including his phone camera. So, Eijirō sacrifices one of Katsuki’s holy toothpicks to bend a bubbling pancake into a heart. It only kind of works.

“Fuckin—no, Shitty Hair, y’gotta start from the middle an’ go down—”

“No! Start with the edges first! If he takes too long, my heart is gonna have a round bottom!”

“…Y’know who else has a round bottom—”

“Finish that statement and you’re fired, Katsuki. This is serious business.”

Eijirō Kirishima cannot function under this conditions.

“Guys,” he chokes, looking down at what is now a squiggly mess of pancake. It looks nothing like a heart, but definitely an accurate depiction of how Eijirō’s heart feels—squishy and out of shape and useless. Like an amoeba. Or a blobfish.

Yeah. His heart feels like a blobfish.

“I give up.”

He releases the cake-covered toothpick, and it sticks to the counter in a quietly depressing splat. Katsuki huffs, shoving him out of the way to snatch the toothpick and try himself. And, try he does.

But, the issue is that the pancakes are cooking quick—the others have already been flipped and now, they’re almost ready. Meanwhile, the flailing heart shaped pancake is burnt around the edges and gooey in the middle, but they’re still committed.

Eventually, the three of you look at the burnt ball of dough with a sigh.

“We tried. On that front, we get an A, right?”

“If you look at it from the side and squint your eyes…it, like…kind of looks like an actual heart, so I say yeah.”

“…It looks like shit.”

You all prepare to eat the successful pancakes in a dejected silence. You end up cutting a heart out of your pancake instead. Eijirō eats the corners.

6ixeyes

How gay are you for your bro????

redredriot

um. probably gayer than i should b.

6ixeyes

Wait, srsly

Beach is bad. Beach is horrible—Eijirō will never beach again.

‘Guys, I wanna go to the beach,’ you said. ‘It’s so hot today, it’ll be fun,’ you said. ‘Eijirō’s going to be so miserable, and have to fight a hard-on the entire time,’ you didn’t say. He should’ve seen it coming.

Because, if he can barely handle you in pajamas, how the hell is he supposed to be chill while you practically prance around the sand in a bra and panties. He’s going to cry.

And, Katsuki—Katsuki isn’t helping one bit.

“God, fuckin’ look at her,” he groans, adjusting the sunglasses on his nose. You’re in the water alone, because Katsuki refuses to (’I’m not gettin’ fuckin’ wet just to have fuck-ass sand stick to me—no.’) and honestly, Eijirō would join you if he wasn’t suffering. “Ain’t she a pretty li’l thing.”

And like, what is Eijirō supposed to say to that? What is the socially correct thing to say when your bro is frothing over his girl. Do you agree, and possibly look like you want to fuck her, or do you not agree, and by proxy, call his girlfriend ugly?

Eijirō decides not responding is the safest option. He focuses on the self-help book in his lap, but he’s can’t read right now. The words rearrange into something accusatory, and it’s undeniable:

YOU ARE THE ASSHOLE.

Fuck.

“Don’t know how I bagged that,” Katsuki mutters to himself, before reclining underneath the umbrella. Because he burns too easy, and the sun makes him sleepy, and—why does Eijirō know this? He doesn’t need to know this.

“Awh, c’mon dude,” he shoves Katsuki in the shoulder from his seated spot in the sun. His words come out stilted and awkward, because how do you let your bro know he’s a catch without letting him know you’d probably be down to suck his dick. “You’re, like…hot. You guys are the same level of hotness.”

Katsuki snorts, and rolls his head until it’s facing Eijirō. He cracks an eye open. “D’you think I’m hot?”

Eijirō chokes on air. What kind of question is that.

“I mean,” he blows a raspberry and shrugs, and suddenly, can’t look at his roommate. He watches the horizon until you shift into frame, and then, he switches to the sky. “Yeah, of course, Dude. You’re, like, an objectively hot guy.”

“Objectively,” Katsuki repeats, and Eijirō’s eyes dart to the side just in time to see that quiet smirk from earlier return, from breakfast when Eijirō lied before, and he’s starting to worry Katsuki might be onto him. Which is not good. Not good at all.

“Yep, mhm.” His eyes squint into the sun, in hopes it’ll burn his retinas and give him some form of brain-fried amnesia. That would be great. When it doesn’t work, Eijirō finds himself rummaging through the snack bag instead, hoping that stuffing his mouth shut might keep him from saying anything stupid.

“Oi,” Katsuki perks up. “I want fuckin’ grapes.”

Eijirō laughs, nearly collapsing his face into the snack bag when the arm he rests weight on starts to wobble. “Lucky for you, we brought ‘fuckin’ grapes.’”

“I know, that’s why I said it, Dumbass,” Katsuki faux-bristles. “Feed ‘em to me.”

Eijirō swallows.

“Uh, no Dude, feed them to yourself,” he snorts (and very proud of how he played it off, thank you) and grabs a protein bar out of the bag, along with a Ziploc bag of grapes with a melting ice pack in it. He drops them at Katsuki’s side, but Katsuki knocks them over like a petulant cat.

“My hands are sandy,” he says like it’s obvious, and lifts them up. Respectfully, they are not sandy—but ‘sandy’ to Katsuki means that his hands can feel the ‘sand dust,’ or whatever he said, and Katsuki is stubborn. Eijirō knows he won’t have his grapes untainted.

“Then get Y/N to do it,” he grunts, teeth preoccupied with tearing the label away from his protein bar. “She’ll be out soon, I think.”

“No,” Katsuki groans, loud and useless, and grabs the bag of grapes at his side to chuck them at Eijirō’s head. And, chuck them he does—it gets Eijirō in the side of his face, and the flaxen blond snorts at the sound. “Her hands‘re gonna be all sandy and salty. You do it.”

Eijirō scratches his scalp and sighs.

Eijirō Kirishima, at twenty-six years old, is being forced to feed his Bro grapes on the beach like Katsuki is Cleopatra, while you frolic in the water, half-naked and mouth-watering. What series of events led him here, exactly?

“Then just, like…eat it out the bag, or something.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrow beneath his aviators. “If you don’t, I’m telling Y/N that you think she’s hot.”

Eijirō stiffens.

“Fine. Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine—fine,” Eijirō huffs, and feels his face go hot as he scoots closer. Katsuki gives him a self-satisfied smirk, like he enjoys watching his best friend fumble like an oaf. Over him—over you.

This is so not fair.

Katsuki crosses arms behind his head while Eijirō pops the Ziploc open. Eijirō’s not exactly sure how to go about this, but once he picks a firm grape with no strange squishy spots (Katsuki will have a fit), Katsuki’s lips part, and Eijirō just…drops the grape right in there. Katsuki’s jaw pops as he chews with a nod, like the redhead did good in finding a grape he deems decent enough. It makes him feel all warm and gooey, like a chocolate cookie fresh out the oven, and because Eijirō can blame that feeling on the sun, he lets himself bask in it a bit.

It gets quiet, save for the crashing of waves, music from teenagers seated not too far from them, and the occasional pop of a grape. It’s kind of nice—he finds a rhythm, and space in between Katsuki’s chomps and grabbing grapes to nibble on his protein bar, which is gone quick. He must be hungrier than he thought…We should get actual food soon.

Eijirō zones out, thinking about possible food options and how, honestly, he could go for any of them. Then, he feels something round in his hands, and turns to Katsuki, who’s staring at him with a scrutiny that makes Eijirō think he’s got something on his face. He purses his lips, trying to figure out what Katsuki wants for based off expressions—and finds nothing. He finds nothing that he wants to see, and everything he doesn’t—from the sweat forming in Katsuki’s cupids bow, to freckle in his hairline that darkens with the sun, to the curve of his brows and color in his cheeks.

“…What?”

Katsuki blinks himself out of whatever that was, and the lax expression on his face turns into a scowl as he points.

“Grape.”

redredriot

why does that even matter tho

6ixeyes

Ngl, bc I’m going thru somn similar and tryna figure it out LMAO

redredriot

oh damn my condolences bro

For the third time today, Eijirō would like to know how the fuck he got into this predicament.

You come out the water like a…a fucking beach goddess, water clinging to your form like a sheer dress with sand as an jewelry. The sun seems to agree, as it douses you in something ethereal, something just for you.

Eijirō wants to tear his hair out. He’s already suffering because of one set of sweaty tits, he doesn’t need another—

“What are you guys doing?” You snort after getting enough to see Eijirō hover another grape over your boyfriend’s mouth. The redhead pouts.

“I’m being forced into servitude!”

“I see that,” you laugh, and instead of sitting next to Katsuki, you sit next to Eijirō. He tells himself it’s because you need to dry off, and he’s sat in the sun—not that Katsuki minds, seemingly content on consuming grapes from Eijirō’s hand for the foreseeable future. You squish your wet side into Eijirō’s to get a look in the snack bag, and he shivers for all the wrong reasons.

“Ah! You’re cold!”

Plays it off well, though.

“Sorry,” you giggle, but don’t move until you pull out a fruit roll-up, snatching a grape on the way back. “Damn Kat, you ate all the grapes—fat ass bitch.”

Eijirō didn’t even notice, and looks into his lap—where you just had your hand, mind you—to a severely empty bag, now mainly left with undesirables.

“Oh, right, it’s fat ass bitch now, but later it’s ‘oh my god, Kat, your muscles—oh my god, Kat, you’re so big—oh my god—”

Eijirō is going to die.

Katsuki mocks your voice with an unsteady and nasally falsetto, causing you to reach behind Eijirō, balancing a hand on his shoulder while you try to wack your boyfriend in the head. You miss due to range, and because Katsuki sways his head right with a cackle.

“That is not how I sound,” you hiss, resigning yourself to the other side of Eijirō, even though you could easily walk over to give Katsuki a piece of your mind. He shrugs, eyes flitting to Eijirō, and, uh oh, why is he—

“Oh, that’s totally how you sound,” but he’s looking at Eijirō, like he could confirm, and he doesn’t think the blond talking about how you sound outside the bedroom. Fuck. “Right?”

He’s not asking you—he’s asking Eijirō.

And Eijirō, poor Eijirō, quickly looks out to sea like it’ll put a partition between him and this conversation. Maybe, he should try to burn his retinas again. Maybe, he didn’t try hard enough.

He plays dumb.

“Don’t include me in your couple’s quarrel, Dude!” He says, but its more to the sky. “I’m not even here. I’m a ghost. I’m invisible.”

“Well. In that case,” Katsuki grunts. You squeal as your arm gets yanked in Eijirō’s peripheral, falling behind him and into the sand with a thump. “C’mere.”

“Kat—mmph!”

Who knew kissing could be so loud?

If Eijirō lets out a tear, it’s because his fucking dick hurts.

AITA FOR HAVING WANTING TO FUCK MY BEST FRIENDS’ GIRLFRIEND?

u/redredriot

edit: kay my bro is kinda hot but that just makes things SO MUCH WORSE WHAT DO I DO???????

bigdaddytamaki

petition to be a third!

sasakilovesmiyano

Plot-MF-Twist, I’m so invested.

kusuo_saiki

Get a therapist.

redredriot

THATS WHAT YALL ARE FOR

komicommunicatesverywell

Or get a girlfriend!

That night, Eijirō commits a sin.

It’s not his fault—he’s pent up, because you guys are pent up. He had to drive that fucking car, dammit, and had to ignore the fact that he enjoyed watching you and Katsuki makeout in the rearview mirror more than he should.

And, it’s not his fault again, because you and Katsuki decide to fuck in the living room—the living room that his door faces. It’s like you’re trying to kill him, at this point.

So. Maybe, he leaves his door cracked. It’s not like it matters—moonlight spills through the window above his bed, and barely illuminates te edges. While you engage in foreplay, Eijirō gets ready for bed (skips brushing his teeth, because he’s impatient, and so, so horny) and by the time he’s sliding under the covers, you’re sat comfortably between Katsuki’s legs with a full mouth.

“Fuck yeah, Baby—just like that.”

Tucked under his duvet, Eijirō shucks his boxers down to his hips and grabs himself. His eyes flutter at the feeling, underwear and cock soaked enough that anyone lacking context would assume he already came. Meaning, the slide is easy, and he peeks through the doorway and into the lovingly lit living room.

Eijirō shouldn’t be doing this. He also shouldn’t be obsessed with the way his best friend’s cock fits in your mouth. Not all the way, but enough to make you tear and choke and gag. All Eijirō can really see is the back of your head and Katsuki’s blissed out face, both of which he thinks is wildly unfair.

Katsuki shivers, and it’s a full body affair. Eijirō’s hand wraps tight around the base of his dick because, jeez. Give a guy a warning before you do something really hot next time?

Katsuki lets out something akin to a whimper, which was not a sound he thought his bro could make. But now, he wants to hear it again and again, and possibly occasionally be the reason, every once in a while.

You’re not any better—you’re humming around his cock like you’re the one getting a blowjob, and it’s messy, Eijirō can fucking hear it, and it’s driving him insane. Katsuki grabs ahold of your hair and tugs, causing you to mewl, fall further down his cock, then choke. Katsuki groans and Eijirō stifles his own, praying to every God out there that he remains sane after tonight.

It’s a losing battle.

“Yeah? Y’like imagining that this is his cock, huh?” Katsuki takes control, moving your head at his will, and Eijirō’s arm flexes to match the pace. You whine, and Katsuki chuckles. “Dirty fuckin’ girl.”

You huff, irritated, and pinching Katsuki in his inner thigh, which earns you a jolt and a groan. Wow, Eijirō’s learning so many new things today. Like how you get cock drunk easy, and that Katsuki’s a pain slut. And Eijirō, who will never have any use for this information, stores it anyways.

Katsuki tips his head back and moans at something, and for a moment, Eijirō worries he’s been seen. Only for a moment—the ice in his blood is gone as quick as it came as Katsuki’s eyes flit back to you, and melts straight into his dick. No, despite what his dick says, he does not want to be caught—because that would be very, very bad.

As time goes on, he seems to care less about getting caught, too preoccupied with getting his fix. Which, makes him sound like an addict, but it’s not his fault, you guys are fucking right outside his door.

Eijirō nearly cums when Katsuki pulls you off his dick. Debates on it, for a good while.

Your mouth is swollen, with teary eyes to match the gloss of spit and pre-cum on your lips. Eijirō knows, because Katsuki pulls you up and sits you right on his dick, with your back pressed flush to his chest. And, like, Eijirō’s imagined this moment—the moment where he finally sees you naked—but figured it’d be some panicked walk in, a time when he wouldn’t be able to take in all of you and regret it, and most definitely not this.

Your bathing suit is still on, but barely. It’s misshapen and askew and doesn’t cover what it’s supposed to, covers the exact opposite of what it’s supposed to, actually. Eijirō bites back a groan.

“F-Fuck, Kat—’s too big,” you huff, wiping at the corners of your lips like you might be drooling. Are you drooling? Or is it leftover from the fucking amazing head he just watched you give his best friend?

Katsuki coos, clutching you tight to his body like you might scramble. His other hand holds your thigh open, enough that Eijirō can see your entrance stretch around Katsuki’s cock, and he wants to scream.

“You can take it,” he insists, low and heavy, but still loud enough for Eijirō to hear. You whimper and collapse into his chest, and the hand that holds you upright drifts, tweaking and pinching where it deems fit. “Y’wanna put on a show, don’t you?”

That’s the first time Eijirō catches it. A show for who?

You nod, but push at the couch cushions like you regret letting Katsuki in to begin with. Is this how you look every night? If so, Eijirō’s going to need you two to start fucking on the couch more often, ASAP.

“K-Kat, I can’t—”

Katsuki’s free hand finds your clit then, and whatever you were going to say is left to the wind, molded into something choked and garbled and completely unintelligible.

“What’s got you all worked up?” He snorts, like he’s any better, like he isn’t flushed to his chest and fluttering his eyes every time you shift just right. Eijirō squeezes the base of his dick.

You clumsily shove your boyfriend in the side of the head, who’s thrusts never falter. “Fuck you, you know why—Oh my god, Kat, slow the fuck down—”

“No,” he huffs with petulance, before, if anything, speeding up. “You’re greedy—you can take it.”

“It’s—” your leg kicks, seemingly involuntary, and Katsuki laughs at it. “That’s different.”

God, you whine is the same during sex and in the kitchen. How the fuck is he supposed to hear that the same again.

“How,” Katsuki chuckles, and pinches your clit. You squirm and tuck your head in his neck. “How the fuck are you supposed to take both of us when you can barely take me, huh? It’d be worse with Eijirō’s fat ass on top of you—shit—”

Now.

Eijirō has three thoughts, all of which he thinks at the exact same time:

hey! he’s not fat! he’s well-muscled with the right amount of squish!

damn kat…you think his ass is fat, though?

wait. why are we saying his name, why are we saying his name, why are saying his name—

The third thought is the loudest and lasts much longer than the rest, lasts perpetually, actually, and Eijirō almost cums at hearing Katsuki say his name. His actual name—not Shitty Hair, not Fuck-Face or Dumbass, but Eijirō—and while having sex, no less! With his girlfriend! What the fuck is this?!

You moan even louder, like you like that idea, like that’s something you could be into, and Eijirō doesn’t know what to make of that. Katsuki doesn’t seem to care, and Eijirō doesn’t know what to make of that, either. All he knows is that he’s cumming regardless, despite his best efforts, biting tight into the fat of his hand with a strained groan that he really, really hopes no one heard.

He’s so confused.

He still watches, though—watches you cum on Katsuki’s cock twice before he’s stuffing you full with a groan of his own, eyes trained on the gap between Eijirō’s door. Like he knows Eijirō is still watching, even if you two have been fucking for over an hour.

Eijirō waits until you both peel away from the couch and pad into the bathroom before moving a muscle. He finally gets up to close the door, and scrapes at the dried cum on his stomach with an old t-shirt until his skin turns red, and frowns as he watches it flake. What the fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—

He needs to update Reddit. He needs to know what to do.

AITA FOR HAVING WANTING TO FUCK MY BEST FRIENDS’ GIRLFRIEND?

u/redredriot

edit: THEY MIGHT WANNA FUCK ME TOO???????

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