rage

“it’s not even our fault, technically,” denki defends, weakly, like he can hear fists balling at your sides. “who would’ve known that the closet locks from the outside?”

eijirō, katsuki, and mina are on the way to save you three now. they can’t come faster.

it was stupid. it was so, so dumb. denki wanted to see if, he didn’t move the lock, would the closet still open and close? apparently, yes. apparently, he wanted everyone to find out with him. from inside the closet.

“who knew that stuffing all of us in a closet was a shitty excuse for a ‘prank’” you hiss, words dripping with sarcasm, and wish to resort to violence so, so bad. “oh wait! i did.”

“’kay, i don’t like your sass,” denki huffs. You growl.

“i don’t like your face!”

“well, good thing you can’t see it!”

“ladies, ladies,” hanta coos, awkwardly setting an arm around your shoulders to hold you in place, and prevent denki from getting another a black eye. “break it up.”

“hanta, shut the fuck up—you’re next.”

“ooh, hot,” and you can hear the smile in his words, as he leans closer—not that he wasn’t already fucking close—to purr in your ear. you push his face away, and into many coats.

you know denki is also about to say some fucked shit, if the deep inhale in preparation to deal a critical blow is any clue.

“y’know what we could do to pass the—”

“absolutely not, that was one time—”

“oh hell yeah, let’s fuck.”

you feel hanta nodding along, the stray hairs of his mullet brushing against the top of your head. so, you pull it. “Ow, what the—”

“if we have sex in here, we’ll run out of air.”

“a little asphyxiation kink never hurt nobody,” hanta says, so you yank again.

“i’m not dying with my pussy out.”

“ooh, i miss it,” denki says, and you can’t see him making grabby hands, but you know he is. “i miss her, show me, show me—”

you don’t even waste breath explaining how no one can even see, slowly loosing energy for this conversation. honestly, you’ve been moving around all day—you never had the energy in the first place.

“c’mon pretty, he’s practically begging for it,” hanta reasons, much too close to your ear, and if your blood goes hot, it’s because the closet is stuffy. obviously.

“i am begging for it,” denki nods, and his hands find your hips. you roll your eyes.

“god, both of you are pathetic.”

“mm, tell me more,” denki purrs, rotating your body until your facing him, and hanta’s chest is flush against your back. “please? just a little heavy petting until they get here.”

you sigh. then you groan, loud and annoyed, and—

“fuck! fine.”

“yay!”

denki takes the hands off your waist to clap softly, before they return where they belong. they blindly search for the tie in your sweats, fiddling and struggling, and you’re not about to fucking help him. he doesn’t even weasel them off—just sticks his hand in your pants like an animal, feeling around with absolutely no finesse at all.

“awh,” he pouts, running a finger through your folds. you shiver from the friction. “you’re dry.”

“and you’re embarrassing,” you huff through grit teeth. “just get on with it.”

so, he does.

hanta’s hand comes to cover the opposite side of your hip, much like denki’s once was, but doesn’t stay there—it drifts over and under your shirt, squeezing and groping as he sees fit. denki takes two fingers to your clit, circling softly and just like you taught him the first time. you lean your weight against hanta’s chest with a sigh.

“feeling good?” hanta checks in, dropping his chin to your crown. his hand slides to grip your breast through the bra, big hand encompassing half of your chest and then some.

“i’m feeling fine,” you huff. even if you were feeling good, you wouldn’t tell them. they don’t get the satisfaction of knowing.

“oh, i think she’s feeling plenty,” denki almost groans, running a finger through you again, only for it to come back soaking. and honestly? fuck him for that. “definitely wet now—that didn’t take much.”

“shut up and make me cum,” you hiss. hanta huffs a laugh and denki giggles.

“look who’s begging now,” hanta says, bending down to litter kisses along your pulse point. denki rubs you faster than before—impatient bastard.

“i’m literally not,” you defend, but it falls on deaf ears. maybe, it has something to do with the pick up of your breathing. oh lord, here we go—asphyxiating in a closet, with the two biggest idiots in the world. bye world, it was nice knowing you.

denki pinches your clit and you yelp. it earns him a slap to the shoulder, and he snickers, “sorry, she felt too cute. had to.”

hanta groans at that, and the hand on your chest drops down, knocking denki’s hand out the way as he hums, “lemme feel.”

he also groans at the feeling of you against his fingers. your body illustrates the biggest betrayal of the century as your hips buck against his palm, and don’t fucking stop.

“oh, bet you could cum just like this,” he purrs, nipping at your neck. you huff and choose to ignore his words, fisting your hands into denki’s top instead.

until he weasels his way out of your grip, only to disappear. it’s not until a hand finds your lower thigh and yanks your sweats down—some, not all the way—that you realize he’s gotten on his knees.

hanta sticks two thick fingers in you, and your head drops to his shoulder. honestly, at this point, fuck it.

you feel a cooling tongue tracing the bulging space around hanta’s fingers. denki grips your thighs and shakes them, groaning at the sense.

“god, you’re fucking perfect,” he whimpers, dropping his cheek to your thigh. you alternate between grinding back on hanta’s fingers, and grinding up into his palm, and try not to jostle denki in the process.

hanta agrees with a moan right in your ear, and denki starts delivering small kisses to the inside of your leg. heat pools behind your belly button, low in your stomach, and your breath hitches and releases, then hitches again.

“awh, you close, princess?” hanta pants, flattening his tongue and licking a hot line up your neck. you whimper.

“may-maybe.”

denki whines, and his grip on your thighs tighten. hanta’s fingers slip out of you to rub your clit properly, and denki’s fingers slide in right after him. you’re a goner, after that.

your hips stutter, and then you squeeze so tight you almost force denki out. the sound that you make is nothing short of embarrassing—a proper moan, which they don’t deserve—and your head tucks into hanta’s chest as the rest of your body curls. your legs give out, but hanta catches you by the waist before you can tumble. at some point, you found a hanger to hold onto, because once the feeling returns to your body, you find one in your hand, snapped in two.

it’s only when hanta’s fingers leave your clit that you open your eyes. there’s a small slit in the door, a strip of yellow light. it runs across denki’s nose and ends at his left eye, making it glow a canary yellow. hanta pokes his fingers at denki’s lips, wet with you, and he takes them happily, eyes fluttering shut as he handles two fingers like a blowjob. he pulls of with a ‘pop,’ a string of spit clinging to his lower lip and attaching him to hanta’s finger like the red string of fate.

“see? we burned like fifteen minutes,” denki says, and voice sounding heavier than it did last. or maybe your brain isn’t arousal-addled anymore. who even cares.

“whatever,” you huff, pulling your sweats back up once denki’s fingers fall out. he sucks those, too.

(and, when your saviors arrive, you realize, yes, the closet locks from the outside, but there’s also a lock inside. you turn to your roommates with a glare—they look guilty.)

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