Chapter 1: They sing of lost electric love.
"What-- Why-- How?"
Indeed, it is a multi-chapter story. I cannot explain how exactly this came about. It seems he simply inspires me too much. At any rate, please enjoy the read!
Perturbator - "Future Club"
Ghosted ft. Kamille - "Get Some"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The beat bled into you, consuming, ravishing you. The music was loud, louder than you would have been able to stand it in any other situation, but it was exactly what you needed right in that moment. Flashing lights, darkness, whiteness, darkness again, the faces around you only visible for split seconds at a time, too short for you to really piece them together. There was a nose, straight but nothing to lose words over otherwise. Blackness. A smirk showing off white teeth. Blackness, again. Little puzzle pieces, slowly forming a complete picture in your head. Light hair that might have been either white or light blond. A clean-shaven, strong jaw. And finally: the most intense red eyes you had ever seen, pinning you in place and then pulling you in like gravity.
You had come to the club tonight with your friends, but like always, as the night had gone on, you had taken off on your own to jump into the fray and dance until you forgot your own name. You supposed that you had been doing this for too long, had started your excessive partying habit too young. Now that you were in your mid-twenties, perhaps you should have been exhausted by the never-ending late nights. But that was not the case. Like every weekend, you once again found yourself here, spending money you did not have on drinks you did not need and then dancing the night away with alternating strangers that were never able to keep up with your stamina.
Something was different about tonight. He was different. It was not a secret what the men dancing with you – or rather at you, you supposed – wanted from you. Even those few of them that actually raised your attention never managed to retain it for long. Eventually, they would always realize that they could not keep up with you and that you had little to no intention of going home with them.
But this one – he had been on the dance floor for almost as long as you had, the two of you slowly drifting closer to each other as one song faded into the next. And then it could no longer be said that you were simply dancing near each other. You were dancing with each other, and then even that was not a good description anymore when there was hardly any space left between your bodies.
The deejay threw in another heavy techno number, and you were moving your hips in small, yet unforgiving movements, and you swore his irises were becoming ever smaller with each time the short bursts of light let you see him.
You wanted to touch this attractive stranger. There was a longing pulling at your better reasoning from somewhere deep inside. It had been too long since you had had an adventure.
When you recognized the next song that came on, you decided that this could not have been mere coincidence. This must have been a sign from the universe to go ahead with your less-than-appropriate plans. Why else would you be given the chance to finally reach your arms up around his neck, making first contact, and looking deep into his fascinating eyes as you mouthed the lyrics along with the speakers?
You just need to fuck me right,
I guess I ain’t the loving kind…
Maybe you should have been blushing at the sheer vulgarity of it, but you were not. His mouth opened for a moment as if he were not sure whether you were being serious or not. Then it closed again – it was not like you would have been able to hear anything he said over the noise anyways.
You decided that you had made your move and that the ball was now in his court. In an attempt to let him know you had meant what you said, you let go of him, raised a suggestive eyebrow at him as you bit the tip of your tongue and then shrugged, turning away and leaving the dance floor.
The hallway you were headed for was darker than the main floor had been. It went off next to the bar, connecting the main room of the club to a small outside area. Although there were no actual doors separating it from the main event, the music seemed more subdued with every step you took away from it. Soon, all you were able to hear was the bass line, and to be truthful, you could feel rather than hear it.
It was colder out here as well, and it suddenly hit you how exhausted you were. What time was it? Maybe three am, four am, if you had been forced to guess. You must have been dancing for hours. Still, you were pulled taut like a rubber band on the inside and excited to see whether your ploy was going to get you company – preferably in the form of a handsome, red-eyed man.
Just when you were about to give up hope, said man appeared in the hallway, gait looking steadier than your own had felt. You had had a few drinks earlier, but you felt as if you had sweated out all of the alcohol through dancing by now.
Now was the time to say something witty, you thought. But nothing would come to mind – your brand of flirting had never been flirting at all, but rather brutal honesty, which seemed to intrigue most guys. You had been honest on the dancefloor. All you could do now was to repeat yourself, if anything.
He was standing before you now, half a head taller than you and looking positively delicious with his unruly hair (a blonde – you had been right) and expressionless face (except for his eyes, which were liquid fire).
He appeared to welcome the fact that you were standing with your back against the wall already. That way, it was not difficult for him to trap you between both of his arms as he leaned in close enough for your breaths to mingle. His breath smelled of tonic water and spices. Your mouth was watering and you had to swallow before you could speak. “I’m [Name],” you declared, deciding that the faster this exchange was over, the faster you could get on with the good part.
“Bakugou,” he growled in reply, and then he was kissing you senseless.
He tasted exactly as good as he smelled. The excitement of kissing a complete stranger clouded your mind – briefly, you wondered whether you had ever kissed anyone you had known less about than him. Not that you could recall, but then, thinking was becoming difficult as you faded into him. His tongue invaded your mouth, massaging your own with expert skill, claiming you. Your fingers found purchase in his sweat-soaked hair as you moaned into his mouth. His mouth soon left yours, giving you the freedom to whisper his name like it was the only prayer you knew while he made his way down your jaw and to your throat. Nipping and biting at your skin, sparks of arousal and slight pain sending mixed messages to your brain and leaving your head reeling. He was intense as a whole, intensely attractive and intensely eager.
When he let go of you and reached for your wrist, urging you to go along with him, you were expecting him to pull you to the exit of the club. You were ready and willing to go with him.
Instead, he pulled you into the other direction, towards the small outside area contained on four sides by the club building. It was cramped with several sets of wicker sofas and chairs that people could sit on when they wanted to have a smoke or simply get away from the commotion for a little while.
There must have been people around, but if anyone had asked you about it later, you could not have given them an estimate of how many. The entirety of your attention was focused on him. His hand was still clasping your wrist, holding onto you tightly, yet not tightly enough to cause you pain. You could not say that you minded the assertiveness.
He sat down on one of the wicker sofas, pulling you down along with him. Instead of pulling you into his lap, however, he had simply pulled you into a sitting position next to him. You decided that this could not stand. So you pulled up your feet and draped your legs across his lap, wrapping yourself around him as well as was possible in this position. He welcomed you, wrapping an arm around your back securely and meeting you halfway when you kissed him. Your arms made their way around his neck without a conscious decision to do so on your part.
You were no longer breathing air – you were breathing him, and he was more satisfying a source of energy than oxygen had ever been.
Time was no longer a useful dimension while the two of you consumed each other, at times kissing, at times leaving marks on any exposed plain of skin available. He was electric, and perfect, and everything you had not known you had needed until right then.
Eventually, however, the spell was broken when someone cleared their throat loudly behind you. The insistence in the sound made it likely that it had not been the first time this person had tried to be noticed, but rather that you simply had not heard the other time(s).
With distaste, you broke away from Bakugou. His lips were deep red and swollen from the continued attention you had given them. A good look for him. Then, you raised an eyebrow and turned around.
You found two young guys standing there, looking at lot more embarrassed by the situation at hand than either you or the guy whose lap you were draped across. One of them had surprisingly spiky red hair, while the other was a yellow-blonde.
“What the fuck do you want?” asked Bakugou, a surly frown pulling at the edges of his mouth. (His kiss-red, swollen, perfect mouth.)
“Uhm,” mumbled the redhead, grinning, yet scratching at the back of his neck bashfully. “The club’s closing soon, and we’re leaving, and since, you know, we live together…”
It was then that you decided to get a better look at Bakugou as a whole, now that you had the outside lighting fixtures available. Very attractive, indeed. But he also looked younger than you had expected. Younger than it had felt when he had had you pinned against a wall with his large, if lean frame. Definitely younger than you.
He did not seem entirely sure what to do about the situation.
You helped him then by turning so you were properly sitting on the sofa. Then, you stood up, fixing your skirt that had become rumpled due to obvious reasons. Then you made eye-contact with each of them for a short moment, lingering longer on Bakugou than on the other two. You finally nodded at him, the gesture marking the end of something.
“See you around.”
While you were walking inside and away from them, you absentmindedly reached up and ran your thumb along your lower lip. It was a little sore from the abuse. It had been a few years at least since you had last had an hours-long make-out session – you were not a teenager anymore, after all.
If things had gone your way, your story would not have ended there.
But you were not going to walk home with a guy and his roommates like a duckling following its mother. You were not that desperate.
*hammers handpainted sign into the ground*
THERE BE SMUT AHEAD
(Also. Do you have thoughts? ♥)
Chapter 2: They sing about hope, they sing of giving up.
Thank you for the positive response to the first chapter - I am very grateful for every single reaction. ♥
As promised, here be smut.
Dance with the Dead - "Andromeda"
HEALTH - "Blue Monday"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
In the following weeks, you were surprised to find your thoughts returning to the boy you had kissed time and time again. Whenever they went there, they lingered – you wondered whether you were ever going to see him again, and if so, if he were going to make things awkward. (Because you certainly were not going to. You had had a taste and now you wanted more.)
Also, retrospectively, you had realized something. It was his youth that had clued you in. He had been dominant and good at it – but he had also been shy. He had always shied away from making the even bigger move. He had kept you trapped against the wall under his sway, but he had not taken you back home with him. He had pulled you outside, but he had not pulled you into his lap. Always one step short of what you had wanted him to do.
But what good did it do now to mull it over? It had been three weeks and while you had been back, he had not been. It was unlikely you were ever going to see him again.
That was what you told yourself while getting ready for yet another night out. (You had never claimed to have good habits.) You strategically chose to wear mostly black because if you knew your friends at all, they were probably going to bring UV-sensitive body paint to the party and you were not going to get away without getting some of it on you somewhere. So, for contrast, a black top, a black skirt and fishnet tights were going to have to do. You hoped that the latter would make it back home in one piece.
As soon as you arrived at the club, a tangible calmness washed over you despite the noise and the throngs of people. This was your element; you knew your way around here.
One drink turned into three and soon, you let yourself get swept up in the music once more.
You had been dancing with abandon for the duration of more songs than you could count when a hand reached for your shoulder from behind. The touch tore you from your music-induced trance – of course, people would sometimes touch you by pure chance while dancing, but seldom did anyone dare reach for you as clearly intentionally as this time. You quickly turned around and were met with an explosive grin spread across a face you had not been expecting to see again.
On the inside, you were elated to see him, but of course he did not and would not ever know that.
If his facial expression was any indication, you need not have been worried about any awkwardness between the two of you. For a moment, you were tempted to hug him. A strange gesture it would have been, considering you were strangers still. Strangers that had exchanged both breath and saliva, yet strangers nonetheless.
“Bakugou?” you asked instead, returning his grin with equal ferocity. He could not hear you over the loud music, but appeared to recognize his name on your lips. He mouthed something in reply that seemed close enough to your name for your taste.
A sign from the universe that you were going to get what you had begun wanting the minute you had met him.
Taking that sign and running with it, a little while later, you were pulling him behind you towards the contained outside area of the club, not unlike he had done to you the first time around. Together, you sat down in a different spot than last time, leaving little to no space between your legs. It was surprising how naturally the physical closeness came with him. He seemed to know he was attractive, even if he had not been quite as daring as you would have liked him to be the last time.
You pulled up one leg onto the sofa, resting your chin on your knee and turning towards him slightly. “Didn’t think we’d meet again,” you said.
“Would’ve been a damn shame,” he responded in a voice that did not sound unlike a growl. You did not gather any hostility from him, however. Maybe it was just the way he always sounded.
“Agreed. Did you get a lot of shit from your roommates?” You smirked to let him know you were teasing him, but it was all in good fun.
“You fucking bet,” he groaned, apparently still annoyed with them for it. “Shitheads couldn’t let me have one fucking good thing.”
Oh, and he did not even realize what a great opportunity he had just given you. “And believe me, it would have been very good.”
The innuendo was not lost on him. “You—“ He trailed off, unable to think of a witty response.
“I see, so this is what it takes to get you to speak a single sentence without a swear word in it.” You giggled, leaning it and pressing a kiss to his cheek, perhaps a little close to the corner of his mouth.
If only the lighting had been any better, if only you had not been casting a shadow on him in this position, you might have noticed the red shimmer dusting his cheeks right then.
“You got a problem with it?” Not a swear word in sight, though he had obviously had to concentrate for it to be that way.
“None whatsoever,” you reassured him before leaning in close enough to whisper into his ear. “You know, I would have gone home with you if you had asked me to.” You wanted to tell him that you had noticed his hesitation three weeks earlier, but decided not to embarrass him like that. There were still options open for where the story of you and him might lead, and you were excited to explore them.
You were just about to pull back when he turned his head and captured your mouth with his. The kiss was messy, but, just like the first time around, you were ready to whimper into his mouth because of how right it felt. He might have been the best kisser you had ever encountered. Just when this thought had formed, he broke away, leaving only millimeters between your lips and his. “And if I asked you now?” Any remainder of shyness you had gathered about him before – gone as though it had never existed.
“I’m begging you to.” You smirked, the confidence in your voice contrasting your choice of words.
“I’d fucking love to see you beg,” he grinned wickedly, reaching for the back of your head and pulling you in for another open-mouthed kiss before pulling you back by your hair – not harshly enough to cause you pain, but just enough to show you he enjoyed being in control. A tingle spread through your body at the notion.
Then, he let go of you before standing upright. For just a moment, you took in the sight of him in the warm light of the candles and torches surrounding you. He was tall, handsome, dangerous, exciting. You vowed to save this image and store it in your memory for your future self to recall. Then, you took the hand he offered you and let him pull you up and whisk you away and out of the club.
Though he lived only four streets away – as you would soon enough find out –, there were no less than three instances of him either pushing you against a wall in a response to your endless teasing, both verbal and physical, or you pulling him into some dark alleyway, wordlessly asking him to cage you with his body.
When you had finally made it to the apartment he shared with the other two (to you, yet nameless) guys, you stopped for a moment to look around as he closed the door behind you.
A narrow hallway gave way to five doorways, one of them lacking a door – quite obviously the way inside the kitchen. You wondered which of the others Bakugou was going to lead you through.
It ended up being the second-to-last. You usually had a keen eye for detail, but that was one of your last collected thoughts before he was to consume you whole.
When he walked you backwards into his room, he flipped a light switch that did not turn on a central lamp on the ceiling, but rather several smaller lights on different surfaces throughout the chamber. Romantic lighting for a romantic occasion such as this, you supposed.
Soon, your ass met the front of his desk. He had you trapped once again. You let your head fall back and did not hold back your moans of pleasure when he began to ravage your neck and chest. He pulled at the already low-cut neckline of your top to reveal more skin for him to leave his mark on, heat persisting in every place he had touched. He grabbed the backs of your thighs and lifted you onto the desk, pressing his groin against yours just in case you yet had any questions about where this was going. You whined his name in reply. “Just fuck me already, you bastard. I’ve been fantasizing about you for three whole weeks now.”
“You’re one fucking eager slut,” he growled into the swell of your breast, and you felt yourself getting wetter with every syllable he spoke.
You reached down with one hand to cup the hard bulge in his pants none too gently. “Tell me about eager, big boy.” He returned your grin while you reached down and shoved your hands under his black top that made him look so scandalously fuckable and shoving it upwards. He lifted his arms to allow you to take it off before doing the same to your own top, leaving you in your simple, black balconette bra.
“With the rest of your outfit, I was expecting something that showed your tits off more.” You knew he was only trying to rile you up. What a nuisance. A supremely handsome, delightfully bad-mouthed nuisance.
“Well, if I’d known you’d be fucking me tonight, I would’ve worn something pretty and lacey and horribly impractical. As it stands, I wanted to dance, and dancing requires a certain amount of support. You could always just get me out of it if it offends you so,” you urged him on, arching your back and thrusting your breasts against his chest.
He took a step back from you, reaching for your hips and pulling on them until you were standing once more. Then, he turned you around, your pelvis meeting the wood, his erection pressed against your backside. You were expected him to undo your bra from this angle, but he did no such thing. Instead, he shoved your tight, elastic skirt up so it gathered around your hips, the tips of several fingers pressing against your center through your tights and panties. You fell forward, catching yourself on both hands, panting in arousal already. “Get to it,” you commanded.
Your answer came in the form of the sound of a belt being opened. You heard fabric hitting the floor. “That’s not quite begging, but I’ll take it,” he stated. Then, his fingers found purchase in the holes of your fishnet tights and he pulled into opposite directions, effectively ripping them open front to back across your crotch.
You gasped in surprise, your head whipping around to look at him over your shoulder. “You could’ve at least asked, asshole!” He sneered at you, one corner of his mouth lifting higher than the other. “Maybe I really liked those tights. Maybe they were expensive. Maybe—“
He cut you off by pushing his tongue into your mouth, licking yours demandingly and effectively swallowing all of your protests. When he let you breathe once more, you had forgotten where you had been going with your sentence. You heard a crinkling sound, something synthetic perhaps, and you had a good idea what he was doing. “Quit complaining. I’ll make it worth it,” he promised.
It was not his fault you had been too preoccupied to watch his hands and what they had been doing. The next instant, he had hooked a finger under the crotch of your panties, pulled them to the side and plunged his cock inside you to the hilt.
“Oh my fucking God,” you cried out, fingers grappling across his desk’s surface for purchase and finding none as he set a punishing pace, fucking you relentlessly. You had not had a proper look at him earlier, but now resolved to do so later. He felt huge, at any rate, but you could not be sure whether it was his actual size or simply the way he knew to use it.
Here you were, still wearing your bra and skirt, still wearing your boots for heaven’s sake, letting this blond animal of a boy fuck you into oblivion.
He reached around you, pulling at your bra until the straps fell down your shoulders, and then tore at the fabric until the band was close to your waist, revealing your breasts for him to palm and squeeze at his leisure.
Your hips were being driven against the wooden tabletop with every thrust he took, the pain overshadowed by the bliss of being filled so completely, over and over. He was rolling your rock-hard nipples between his fingers, toying with you.
“You’re so fucking tight. You fit me like a glove,” he grumbled into the nape of your neck before biting down on the flesh there. Your insides constricted at this information, drawing further animalistic noises from him that got lost in your skin between his teeth.
You could no longer think straight, differently intoned variations of his name and curses loosely strung together falling from your lips. He absorbed them gratefully, his lovely, deep voice echoing your own name as he never slowed down for even one second.
And then, a growl that resonated as less human than it was basal and bestial. He kept on driving himself inside you throughout his orgasm, fingers desisting from their movements on your breasts. Eventually, he stilled. His hands fell to your stomach, sweaty palms sizzling against your skin. The sensation was not unlike that of carbonated candy you remembered loving as a child, only not on your tongue. The unbefittingness of such a memory in a moment like this gave you pause.
Most of his body weight was pushing on you now as he rested his forehead between your shoulder blades, hair tickling you when he nuzzled your skin. It was an unexpectedly tender action in the midst of everything else.
You let him have this short moment to regather himself. Mind you, you had not failed to notice that only one of you had come thus far.
After a minute or three, he lifted himself off your body, pulling out of you in the process. He helped you turn around to face him. You sat up on the desk just barely, lest your fluids leave a stain. You readily met him for another kiss, staking a claim to dominance this time when you pushed your tongue into his mouth. He let you. When you separated again, you noted that he did not look quite as destroyed as you had expected him to. A tragedy. You so loved seeing proof of the power you had over men, after all.
“Don’t you think for a fucking instant that I’m done with you,” he panted, pulling off the used condom and tying a knot into the rubber sleeve before disposing of it in a bin that was conveniently situated under his desk. It seemed you might not be left high and dry after all.
You unabashedly stared at his cock then, trying to reconcile the sight of it with the fact that it had just been inside you. It was lovely. Its size was only emphasized by the comparison with his slender hips, the foreskin glistening with a telltale reminder of events just past.
You were no more proper than him at this point, arousal having leaking onto the insides of your thighs and stained the mesh of your fishnet tights. He spread one large hand on the inside of your leg, thumb gathering some amount of the evident wetness. “Just needed to get the edge off first, that’s all,” he continued.
You laughed benignly. “Don’t tell me you’ve been fantasizing about little old me, as well.”
“Only every time I got myself off,” he confessed, too caught up in the afterglow of his orgasm to be embarrassed. You appreciated the straightforwardness of his words. He leaned down to unzip your boots and pull them off of you, getting to work on your skirt, tights and panties next. While he was doing so, you unclasped your bra that honestly had not been doing much to support your breasts at this point either way. Soon, you were as naked as he was. All the while, it was not lost on you that his erection was exactly as present as it had been the whole time. Oh, the miraculous stamina of youth.
“Is now an appropriate time to ask your first name?” you questioned as he rose.
“Thank you.” You smiled at him widely. “Do I also get to know how old you are?”
He took a step so he was between your thighs, skin to skin once more. “I’m nineteen,” he said and hoisted you up by your thighs, only barely giving you the chance to wrap your arms around his neck for support. He lifted you like you weighed nothing. This show of strength and dominance reminded you that you were but putty in his hands.
“Shit, now you’re just showing off.” You loosened one arm from around him to run your hand over his tense bicep. He snickered then, equal parts pride (or was it cockiness?) and amusement. “Well, you certainly fuck like a nineteen-year-old.” A fucking teenager. What you had said had been more praise than insult, but it did not matter to you much how he was going to take it. Either path promised countless possibilities for what was to come next.
“You haven’t seen the fucking start of it.” With that, he dropped you onto his bed, climbing on top of you immediately. His frame dwarfed you and you absolutely loved it. He held his body up on one well-defined arm as he rolled another condom onto himself. You could not remember ever having been with a man who needed this little time to recharge. Your insides contracted at the idea of what might yet be in store for you.
Without further ado, he pushed himself inside you once more, entry aided by the ridiculous amounts of lubrication your body had provided. You would have been perfectly happy to lie underneath him all the while, letting him wreak havoc on your body in all the ways he pleased. Instead, he turned over rather unexpectedly, keeping himself sheathed inside you as you knelt over him suddenly.
Another picture that you swore to keep as a mental memento: the look of him underneath you, ready and willing to let you have your way with him.
“I want to see your tits bouncing while you fuck yourself on my cock,” he requested. Such a dirty mouth he had on him.
“So obscene,” you teased, resting your palms on his torso for support as you followed his order. “You shall get exactly what you asked for.”
He reached further inside you in this position, each time your body swallowed him seeming to go deeper still. He held onto your pelvis tightly with one hand, the other splayed across your pubic mound, thumb finding your clit and rubbing insistent circles into the swollen organ.
Controlling the movements of your hips with his tight grasp, he helped you towards a faster pace. Still, it seemed to not be enough for his liking. Soon, he chose to sit up instead, keeping you straddling his lap and meeting each of your downward motions with an upward thrust of his own.
You wrapped your arms around his back, having to hold onto something, anything. Your nails were digging into his skin now, over planes of skin and ropes of taut muscle, your mind too gone to control the force behind your scratching. He was so unbelievably deep inside you, your clit pounding in time with your heartbeat while he did not allow you a single second of respite from the intense pleasure.
His first name was the only word you knew to pronounce then, first in a whisper, then in a sigh, and finally in an ear-deafening scream as you came around him, trying and failing to commit to memory exactly how far inside you he had been when you fell over the edge. He let off your clitoris for the moment, pushing in and out of you just as deeply, only slower now to prolong your orgasm.
After either seconds, minutes, or hours (time seemed to work differently on the plane of existence your peak had abandoned you on), you felt confident enough to move without your limbs giving out. You let yourself fall onto your side next to him, immediately missing the fullness of having him inside you. Perhaps you would never feel quite whole again without him inside you.
It was only then that you noticed noises from outside the room. The sounds of steps and hushed voices seemed foreign to your ears, like they had no right to exist at all in this little world the two of you had created for yourselves.
“I’m sorry to report,” you had to pause to swallow, your voice not wanting to work as it normally did, “but I think your roommates might have heard us.”
He smirked at you from his position beside you on the bed before reaching out and smoothing your hair that had got caught in the sweat on your forehead from your face. He kept running his fingers through your hair until all of it was neatly falling over one of your shoulders. Then, he rested his hand on the exposed side of your neck, thumb running along the edge of your jaw. “They might have heard you, you mean.”
You did not know what to reply to that, so you kept still, enjoying the way he was petting you.
“Fucking let them hear,” he finished his thought. “I want everyone to know how good you feel getting fucked by me.”
You did not know him well – did not know him at all, to be truthful. But even so, you could have sworn that being turned on by this kind of thing was exactly like him.
Reaching up with one hand, you ran your thumb across his full bottom lip, revealing some of his white teeth as you gently pulled at the sensory organ. “I feel absolutely fantastic getting fucked by you.”
“I’m holding you to that.” With that, he had risen again, a seemingly endless supply of endurance at his disposal. He knelt behind you, hands urging you to lift yourself onto your knees.
You did as he wanted you to, not quite sure whether you had another round in you. Your arms were shaky as you placed your weight on them, arching your back to give him easier access. “You’re a fucking animal, Katsuki,” you assured him while he lined his erection up with your entrance for a third time.
He laughed and bored into you again, his entire body covering yours as he embraced you from behind, his chest pleasantly hot against your back. “Don’t pretend you’re not loving it,” he taunted, the tips of his fingers pulling at both your tight nipples in turns. He was right, of course. Your cunt was like a vice on him, the aftermath of your orgasm.
“Just can’t promise I’ll be able to come again,” you warned, voice more pant than speech at this point. His heat, both inside and on top of you, threatened to eat you alive.
“I appreciate the challenge.” He was so obviously much more collected than you, ready to go on for hours if need be.
And while it took a long while, he was meticulous in his work towards greatness. At times concentrating on your nipples, at times licking his fingers to make their path around your clit smoother. All the while, reassuring and taunting you with both filthy praises and almost-too-honest reminders of how you were at his mercy.
And then, eventually, your arms finally gave out underneath you as you fell over the edge for a second time, taking him with you. You could not later have recounted whether the blackness of your sight came from your face being buried in his sheets or from an actual, momentary loss of sensory perception.
When you came back to, you were laughing and not quite sure whether you had only just started or had been doing so the entire time. Your reality was pulled back into its hinges only when Katsuki spoke again.
“Told you, you hadn’t seen the fucking start of it.”
“I really hadn’t,” you agreed willingly, a borderline insane smile still pulling at your features as you turned your head to the side so your voice would no longer be muffled by his mattress. “Apparently I am capable of multiple orgasms. That’s a first.”
You met his ember eyes. The pride and satisfaction in his gaze was unmistakable. He came to lie next to you, draping an arm across your lower back that you would have deemed possessive for lack of a better term. Still lying on your front, you lifted one shaky hand to run it through his sweat-soaked, beautiful, awfully spiky, perfectly lovable hair.
“Please tell me this does not have to be the last time we ever do this,” you requested, selfish as always.
His grasp on your hip tightened for a moment before he replied, “It doesn’t.”
It seems I am wholly incapable of keeping things short when I write smut. I'm certain you don't mind too much, now do you?
Chapter 3: They sing of waiting endlessly.
Hello! I am back, and I bring a chapter for your reading pleasure! (I hope.) ♥
Eric Saade feat. Gustaf Norén & Filatov & Karas - "Wide Awake - Red Mix"
Nouvelle Vague - "In A Manner Of Speaking"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
When you first woke up, it was still dark outside. You could not have been asleep for very long, you thought.
Katsuki was lying on his stomach next to you, an arm thrown lazily over you; he was not holding you close or actually embracing you, but you appreciated it nonetheless. So much, in fact, that you decided to remain here just a little while longer. You watched him for some time. The side of his face was pressed into the pillow, mouth open, breath audible, though quietly. Even this position was not able to make him look any less dashing than he did any other time. God, he was gorgeous.
On your second time waking, sunrays had begun to invade the room. Katsuki now had his back turned to you, which was just as well, you supposed. This way, you would not have to untangle yourself in order to leave.
You slowed your breathing to a halt. (You did not require oxygen to function. A quirk that sounded cool in theory, but proved largely useless in practice.) If there was one thing you were good at, it was being sneaky if you wanted to be. Tiptoeing toward the desk underneath which your discarded clothes lay in a heap, you grabbed a random, wrinkled piece of paper and a pen.
text me if you like
wouldn’t want to lose sight of you again xx
You left the note on the table, assuming he would find it as soon as he went to pick up his own clothes from last night. Then you got dressed very quietly (foregoing your ripped tights – the pattern they had been ripped apart in was a little too telling for your taste) and threw another look at him over your shoulder. That was when you noticed the dark red lines you had left on his upper back. You liked the idea of him still being reminded of you for a few days this way. You pressed down the door handle and left.
You had only just opened the front door when you heard slight noises from what you had deemed the kitchen last night. Turning towards the sound, you found yourself face to face with the redhead who had interrupted Katsuki and you that fateful first night. His hair was down rather than gelled up this time around.
“Your hair looks nice like that,” you both realized and told him at once. He was grinning at you (those were some pointy teeth!), apparently torn between embarrassment at knowing what you had been doing last night and excitement at having yet something else to tease his roommate with.
“Thanks,” he accepted your compliment good-naturedly. “I was wondering whether we’d see you again.” It was not clear to you whether his we included Katsuki, their third roommate or both of them.
You laughed, incapable of feeling embarrassed at his knowledge about what had transpired. “So was I.”
“Can I offer you some coffee or are you trying to flee the scene?”
“If you’re asking whether I’m committing a hit-and-run, no, I’m not. I even left my number and everything!” You considered his offer of a hot beverage for a moment, but knew you had to decline so you would be home in time to take your morning medication. “Think I’ll take a rain check on the coffee, though. I really miss my bed.” He did not need to know about your primordial reason.
“I see. See you around then?” His one-sided grin let you know that he was intentionally quoting what you had said the first time you had met.
“See you around,” you nodded and exited through the door that you had still been holding open this entire time. You hoped that it would prove true.
When Katsuki finally made his way out of his room a good while later, he was surprised to be met by both of his roommates in the kitchen. Eijirou was not as much of a surprise – in order to conform to his ideal of fitness, he often got up very early to train. Denki, on the other hand, was usually a late sleeper. It only reminded Katsuki of how uncharacteristically late he had slept this morning. To be fair, you had worn him out. (Though not as thoroughly as he had worn you out, he thought to himself boastfully.)
Their knowing smiles told him everything, and he did not quite know whether to feel proud or annoyed. Both, maybe.
“Have fun last night?” Eijirou was cutting right to the chase, apparently.
“Shut up,” he growled in response and decided to busy himself with the coffee machine rather than to dignify the others with more of an answer. Unfortunately, this way, Eijirou and Denki were able to get a good look at his back.
“Sure looks like she did,” Denki commented.
It took Katsuki a moment to realize what he was getting at, but once he did, he grumbled. “At least one of us can get laid. Not like you fuckers would know anything about that.”
Eijirou and Denki did not take his bait. Instead, Eijirou kept on talking about you. “You know, I met her this morning while she was leaving. I think she’s older than us.”
“No fucking idea.” Katsuki shrugged. “She’s hot as hell and doesn’t get on my nerves, which is more than can be said about you two assholes.”
He took his coffee back to his room, not in the mood for more of a conversation. Sitting at his desk (where the discarded remainder of your tights still lay on the floor), he read through your note to him once more.
When he had woken up alone, he had felt strange for a moment. Not strongly so – only in the way that it felt strange to be met with unexpected circumstances. If he had been hoping for you to still be there in the morning, he was not willing to admit it to himself. At any rate, it did not matter whether your wordless disappearance would have made him feel anything – since it had turned out not to have been wordless after all.
His roommates’ reminder about the marks you had left on him had given him an idea.
You had been home for about an hour and a half by the time you received his text. Seeing an unknown number on your phone’s display had immediately sown an inkling of hope in you, and you were pleasantly surprised to see it really was Katsuki who had sent you a message.
The image took a moment to load. When it had, you laughed to yourself quietly. It was a photo of his back, covered in angry red stripes, some of them more parallel than others. The awkward angle it was taken from suggested he had taken it himself. How sweet.
Its caption read, ‘Thank you for these.’
So, that’s why he had got in contact with you so unexpectedly early. Obviously, the fresh scratches made for a better picture. Well, you were able to contend with that.
You reached for the waistband of your leggings and pulled it down on one side, holding it in place like that with one hand and pulling your top up a little with the other. Then, you took a photo of your midsection with your phone. Looking at it and deciding it was flattering enough, you began to type a caption for the visible blue bruises on your hips.
‘You certainly returned the favor quite well.’
You hit ‘send’ and then rolled onto your side, giggling like a damn school girl. No matter how sedated the aripiprazole made you feel, today, you were not going to be able to go back to sleep, too activated by the things that had happened last night and this morning.
And what the hell am I supposed to do about that?
Well, you could be fucking me, for instance.
I’m at home. You know where that is.
A couple of weeks later, the spell had not yet worn off. The raw intensity of the attraction you felt to him never wavered, but rather only changed shapes, twisting and turning into something new every time you were with him, every time he was inside you.
Somehow, you had become a regular at the three guys’ place – and though you were very obviously Katsuki’s guest and his guest only, you got on surprisingly well with both Eijirou and Denki. It was not a rarity to see you in the kitchen on a weekend morning, stocking up on caffeine and making small talk while Katsuki was grumbling into his coffee about how annoying all three of you were.
But he never threw you out. A favor you repaid by never overstaying your welcome, instead opting to leave on your own terms and eventually come back after a few days – also on your own terms.
“She really said that?” you questioned in disbelief at a story Eijirou had been telling about a girl he, himself, had met while partying. While waiting for his reply, you took the now-empty pot to the sink and filled it with water, preparing to make another few units of coffee.
“Yeah, can you believe it?!” Eijirou replied enthusiastically, gesturing with his hands. You found him adorable.
You were just about to say something more when you slipped up while refilling the coffee maker and spilled the water all over the counter and floor.
“Shit,” you sighed in frustration, moving immediately to get a rag with which to clean up the mess you had just made.
That was the exact moment in time that Katsuki, who had thus far endured the conversation rather quietly, chose to contribute a few choice words. “Fucking pay attention to what you’re doing, will you, you idiot?”
It did not even bother you anymore when he spoke to you like this. You knew it was simply who he was.
Looking over your shoulder from your position on the floor, where you were wiping up the water you had spilled, you warned, “Careful. Keep talking to me like that, I might actually fall in love with you.”
You waited for a beat to let the joke have proper impact before you laughed out loud, inviting everyone else to join you.
You had always been supremely bad at anticipating the future.
“Oh fuck.” You inhaled through your mouth, teeth pressed together.
Katsuki’s tongue was working wonders between your thighs. You had your legs resting on either of his shoulders, the muscles in your calves contracting and relaxing on their own accord. The surface of the kitchen counter you were sitting on was cold and uncomfortable, but you liked the idea of him ravishing you in a place where other people would be appalled to find you.
“You really enjoy having sex in any place that isn’t your bed, don’t you?” you asked, running your fingers through his stupidly spiky blond hair fondly.
He pulled back for a moment. “And you fucking don’t?”
Your affirmative answer unwittingly became another loud sigh when he pulled your clit into his mouth. The combination of his sucking and the relentless teasing of his tongue against your most sensitive nerve endings was hurling you closer to the edge fast.
You attempted to keep up the conversation to delay your own peak. While nothing compared to the all-encompassing pleasure of the orgasms he provided you, you had always loved that moment just before you came, that most promising of plateaus.
“There’s so many places left for us to try. One of those alleyways between here and the club. Your roommates’ beds.” Your own voice sounded hollow to you now as pleasure threatened to take over your mind. “The hood of a car. I don’t have a car. But any car will do.”
His large hand squeezed your thigh in approval. Then, you came.
Afterwards, he kissed you, open-mouthed and deep, letting you taste all of yourself on his tongue. The force behind his movement almost pushed you against the kitchen cupboard behind you – had there not been his hand at the back of your head, making sure you did not hurt yourself.
When he came inside your mouth, you were not as surprised by the sheer amount of fluid his body expelled as you had been the first time.
Everything about him was an exaggeration. His stamina, his ability to stay hard after one orgasm, the intensity with which he came. In less sexual terms, the thought applied, as well. He was needlessly loud and dirty-mouthed, needlessly intriguing and attractive. Perhaps the worst thing about all of this was that he knew. Or maybe that was not so bad at all – the fact that he never pretended to be anything but exactly what he was made him incredibly authentic. You never had to second-guess anything he said or did, never had to worry about a hidden meaning behind any of it.
You swallowed the liquid, bitter salt.
“You give fucking amazing head, [Name],” he complimented a little while later, while you were lounging around in a post-sex haze. He was lying on his back, sprawled across the bed like the king of the world. You were lying next to him on your side, head on his midsection, breathing in his skin. Your legs were angled just enough so your feet were not hanging off the side of his bed.
“So I’ve been told,” you laughed, nuzzling the bare skin of his stomach. You loved his natural scent, whether he had just been sweating or not. The way his abs were readily apparent under the surface was only one of many facets of his physical perfection.
He laughed along with you. You appreciated that he did not mind your implication of previous sexual partners in the slightest. Then again, you supposed it would have been more than inappropriate for him to take issue with the idea of you having had some (or many) sexual encounters before him, especially given the nature of your current arrangement.
“Seriously, though. How the hell do you hold your breath for that long?” He did not lose a single word along the lines of being worried about your wellbeing, but the implication was there.
“Right, I guess I’ve never told you. Well, it never came up. That’s my quirk. I don’t actually need to breathe.”
Next thing you knew, there was his hand directly below your nose, registering the streams of carbon dioxide you were exhaling. “…the fuck?”
“I mean, I do breathe. But it doesn’t really do anything for me. It didn’t manifest until I was about three years old or so, so my body developed normally until then. My brain stem does its thing, and I inhale and exhale without actively controlling it. But if I concentrate and stop breathing, I can go for hours. That’s actually how my parents figured it out. They were scared I’d drowned in the bathtub, but I just really enjoyed being underwater.”
“I’ve never met anyone with a quirk like that,” he replied, voice even enough to imply disinterest in anyone that was not him. You did not linger on the thought of how well you knew how to read him already.
“I don’t think it’s really common, but even if it were, it’s not like you’d hear a lot about it. It’s kinda cool in theory and all, but it’s not like you can do a lot of cool things with it or anything. As a kid, I wanted to be a hero when I grew up. But then I realized that my quirk is pretty useless in the people-saving and crime-fighting regard. So, I gave up on that pipe dream rather quickly.”
He did not answer verbally. Instead, he just gave a noise that was parts agreement and parts something more. The something more interested you.
“Don’t tell me you wanted to be a hero when you were a kid, too?” you asked, intrigued.
“I am a fucking hero,” he emphasized, the pride noticeably swelling in his body underneath you. “I’m in the top ten, for fuck’s sake. You didn’t know that?”
Apparently, he was famous. You could not help but giggle at the absurdity of it all, a little embarrassed. The one time you fucked someone famous – and you had not even realized.
“Don’t be offended,” you requested softly, pressing a kiss to his stomach. “I don’t really keep up with hero news. Or news at all, for that matter.”
You hoped it did not make you sound as stupid as you feared it would. The truth was that most days, you simply did not have the expendable mental energy to face what was going on in the world. You found it hard to concentrate even on the things you did enjoy – it was downright impossible when it came to things you found arduous, like reading about and accepting the current state of the world.
“I’m not. It’s kinda fucked up, but somehow, I prefer knowing that you didn’t just wanna fuck me because you’ve seen me on tv.” He was smirking, obviously enjoying the power that this newfound knowledge afforded him.
“I don’t even own a tv. I just wanted to fuck you cause I thought you were hot.” You shot him a wide smile, not an ounce of embarrassment left in you now. “And I still do, by the way.”
“When I saw you on that dancefloor, I thought you were the most fuckable woman I’ve ever seen.”
You laughed gleefully at his compliment, glad that the conversation had taken this turn after all.
Feeling that you had already shared too much of yourself, you welcomed the chance to focus the conversation on him instead. He knew about your quirk now, and that was fine. He still did not know your last name. Your age. Where you lived. He did not know about your darkness.
You preferred it this way.
“So,” you started, moving so you were lying next to him, using his bicep as a pillow and facing him. “Tell me about your quirk.”
I kinda played around a bit stylistically in this one. Tell me what you think? :)
Chapter 4: They sing about lost eternity.
Dear readers, your ever-splendid encouragement makes my heart grow a size. ♥
Onwards! Onto the angst.
Pale Honey - "Someone's Devotion"
Nostalghia - "Sunshiny Milk"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Once again, you found yourself at Katsuki’s place – his bed, specifically. While he was entirely in the nude, you were topless, still wearing your jeans.
As you were lying on your side next to him, pumping his erection with one hand, his head was bent to access your chest. He was palming one of your breasts, pulling and squeezing at the flesh while sucking your nipple. You sighed contentedly, trying hard to keep up with the multitasking.
In your other, non-dominant hand you held your phone, scrolling through the news tagged with his hero name. You clicked on another article from a few days ago, never stilling your hand on his cock while you read the title out loud.
“Local top hero arrives in the nick of time, saves three hostages and arrests villain in a BLAST.”
You laughed as he pulled away from your chest with a wet sound. Immediately, you began to miss the stimulation, your body yearning for his attention.
“They must’ve made that same stupid joke about a hundred fucking times by now. Apparently, they don’t get paid enough to come up with anything new.”
“Don’t you like the attention? And besides, who told you you could take your mouth off me?” You smirked at him. His pupils narrowed, perfectly emphasizing the pure red of his eyes.
“Don’t worry, you’re gonna get fucked soon enough. First though, I’m gonna ask you why the fuck you’re checking news about me now of all times? Don’t tell me it gets you off.”
You squeezed his length in your hand, running your thumb along the already-wet slit on his glans. “Does reading the news get me off? No. Does knowing that you’re super-heroic when you’re out there, doing your job?” You paused, making a sound of contemplation. “Kind of. Mostly it’s kinda intimidating, though.” The way you gleamed at him had little to do with intimidation, despite your admission.
You had been telling the truth, however. As soon as you had left his place after finding out about his career, you had googled him. After scrolling through the first couple of hits, you had closed the window again. Trying to reconcile his existence as a person famous for doing good deeds with the small look inside his world you had been privy to until then had got your head reeling.
He reached for your breasts again, rolling your nipples with his thumbs while pushing his face against the side of your neck, leaving an open-mouthed kiss under your ear before he spoke once more, quietly but roughly. “You didn’t seem all that intimidated the last time you were riding my face.”
You laughed, squeezing your thighs together to perfectly savor the sparks of arousal his words had sent to your core. “Just fuck me already, you big, arrogant hero.”
He quickly abided by your wish, reaching to unbutton your ripped jeans. Your phone lay somewhere on the side of the bed, already long forgotten about.
“Are you seriously wearing fishnets under your jeans? Damn it, woman, you know I’m just gonna get you out of your clothes as soon as you get here.” He seemed genuinely exasperated, if only for a moment.
“Well, excuse me for trying to look at least a little bit attractive. Maybe next time I should wear a potato sack, which will have me looking like shit, but will give you infinitely much easier access.”
He made a sound that may have been a chuckle and pressed his lips to the skin just below your navel, sucking on it for a moment before breaking away. “Like you could ever look like shit.”
“Flatterer,” you joked, resisting the urge to run your hand through his hair lovingly. Instead, you lifted your hips to make it easier for him to peel the skinny jeans and the tights off your form.
“Do you have, like, a never-ending supply of these fucking things? Like, ‘These are my Monday fishnets, these are my good fishnets for high holidays only, these…’”
“Oh, shut up.” Smiling, you flipped him over onto his back, reaching down with one hand to pull your panties off as quickly as you could.
“Make me,” he said, grinning up at you tauntingly as you were straddling him, as if he already knew where you were about to take things.
Lying there underneath you, with his erection hard and waiting for you take action, he looked captivating. You wanted to run your hands all over his body and never breathe anything beside him ever again.
“I plan to,” you retorted, shuffling up to align your pelvis with his face. “You gave me an idea earlier.”
The consent you had been waiting for came in the form of his strong, calloused hands gripping your hips and forcing you to sit on his face properly, where his tongue was already waiting to meet your clit.
Reaching forward with your hands, you placed your palms against the wall above his bed to steady yourself. Then, you began to ride his mouth in earnest.
The wanting had taken a hold of you again.
You were at the indoor pool, underwater. When you had been younger, you had often come here. In recent months, not as much anymore. Still, your routine was intact, as if you had never left. The pool was open around the clock, and you had intentionally chosen a timeframe when very few others would be there – the early morning hours (or perhaps still night hours) of a weekday.
Here, in this corner at the deep end of the pool, you could pretend that you were all alone in the world, if only for a moment. You enjoyed the pressure of the water, some fifteen feet below the surface. It was dark down here, and though you were sure there were other visitors on the far end of the pool, you could not see them from this distance with the little illumination coming from far above you.
Darkness. Silence. Pressure. It was laughable, but these conditions made you feel more human, closer to being an actual person that you were at any other time. It felt like the pressure was containing your essence inside your body, keeping all of you inside you when at any other time, you threatened to spill.
You had, in a momentous lapse of judgment, perhaps still delirious from the wholeness he had brought you, kissed him goodbye.
Next to you, there were steps built into the pool wall – a safety measure so people could leave even if the water was drained. In opposition to their intended purpose, you used them to hold yourself underwater. The liquid’s buoyancy was trying its best to coax you upwards. Once, you had tried to combat it by breathing water – it was not like you needed vacant lungs to keep going. It had worked for a moment, but it had not been worth the pain and vomiting that had followed.
You had come back here today because you hoped that it would illuminate for you a path back to yourself. Away from the wanting, the superhuman force pulling at you from all sides.
It never began slowly. With you, it had always been all or nothing. A flame that burned brightly, yet never lasted, because you needed to pull back, back back back, lest you burn the person who had provided you with the accelerant in the first place.
You attempted to remind yourself that unlike a couple of months or years ago, you had not gone off your medication. The antipsychotics were as much a part of your routine now as breathing, more so, in fact, since you needed the one more than the other. As were the mantras you had adopted through years of cognitive behavioral therapy, most of them adaptable at any time to your current cause of anxious spiraling.
It is a misconception that letting yourself have feelings directly causes your mania. Correlation does not imply causation. – Yes, all of your manic episodes correlated with times when you fell, no, thought you had fallen in love. No, not all of the times you fell, no, thought you had fallen in love were followed by an episode. – The meds help you, they are not making you ill. – Yes, you will probably have to take them for the rest of your life. Yes, that will probably significantly diminish your life expectancy. No, that does not mean you would be better off without them. – Manic is not better than functional with a crush. Psychotic is not better than this.
You still wanted, but the pressure was helping you not to dissolve.
You wondered whether higher pressure would work better yet, but you had never had the chance to try it. Perhaps one day, you would see and feel the sea.
Until then, you would have to find another way to silence the part of you that had stopped to kiss him goodbye when you had left his apartment. You had to find a way to not want; or, if that did not work, to find a way that made him incapable of wanting you.
The only way you could think of was to remain a mystery to him. Of course, you could have just as well stopped seeing him, but the thought was unthinkable. You could have begun to intentionally be unkind to him, but the action was infeasible.
The only thing you could see yourself doing was to be more of an event than of a person to him. You decided that to him, you would cease to exist whenever you left his place. If part of being a person was to share demographical information, was to go places, to have plans, to go about your life, you would do none of those things.
Of course, you still did do those things, just not in front of him. You diligently took the aripiprazole. You made preparations to go back to university next semester. You unpacked a couple more of the innumerable moving boxes full of things you theoretically owned littering your apartment. (You had moved into this apartment almost a year ago. It had not been changed much by your presence.) You let yourself have a little crush.
Your plan worked, somewhat. Unfortunately, your only strategy to talk to him without sharing anything was to ask him about himself. He seemed content to answer every question you had for him, if not without a lot of sarcasm and cursing. It was unfortunate only because this way, you kept getting to know him better and better. And thus, the wanting grew.
Several weeks later, the radius of places where he would fuck you had grown from the boys’ shared apartment to include, at first, the backseat of Katsuki’s car ( – he had a car! – ), and then, the bathroom(s) of not one, but three nightclubs you frequented.
“Holy shit,” you breathed, more whine than moan as he drove his shaft inside you relentlessly. With your legs wrapped around his waist, thighs resting on his hips, each snap of his pelvis let you appreciate the solidity of the tiled wall against your spine.
Despite how often you had had sex with him by now, it still felt as though he were stretching you beyond your limits. You felt him deep inside and deeper still, the pleasure he was providing you overcoming all of your senses. Wrapping your arms around his neck and the back of his head, you pulled him as close as was humanly possible. His mouth was open against your neck, his panting breath hot against your already warm skin. He was not biting down, precisely, but you could feel the sharpness of his teeth pressing into you.
“Is this what you were imagining when you first came onto me on that dancefloor out there?” His speech was muffled by your skin, but you heard him as clearly as distilled alcohol, as if he were speaking right inside your head. “That we’d head back here and you’d get fucked into oblivion?”
“It was one idea out of many.” You only just barely got the words out, reality threatening to escape you. He was so hard, and perfect, and everywhere. “Didn’t think it’d become a habit. Shit, how does your dick feel so amazing?” Your eyes were squeezing shut now, desperation painting your path to completion.
There was nothing but his cock inside you, and his teeth on your neck, and his voice in your brain. “I couldn’t stop fucking you if I tried. Your cunt’s so tight and hot, you’re fucking perfect.”
The compliment was what got to you in the end. You were coming, harshly, desperately, squeezing him inside you. It was as if your body, too, could not imagine ever letting him go. Perhaps it was that intensity that tore him down with you into a world of bliss.
A little while later, you were leaning onto the bar, waiting for the drink you had just ordered. Despite how much you partied, you rarely drank alcohol these days. Right now, however, after the thorough fucking you had just received, you felt in the mood for gin.
Katsuki came up behind you, placing one hand on your hip and pressing a prolonged kiss onto the naked skin between your shoulder blades, bared by the lowcut back of your shirt. He got like this sometimes after sex – physically affectionate in ways he usually was not. You knew not to interpret anything into it, not even into the fact that he obviously did not mind showing you affection in public. He cared little about people’s opinions of him, and that apparently extended to things like these. You simply enjoyed it.
“You’re drinking for once?” he questioned as the glass was placed before you.
“Just the one.” You smiled and reached for his wrist to pull him outside with you. The whole situation held a flavor of déjà-vu.
Outside, a somewhat dark corner found the two of you, inviting kisses and lazy, post-coital T-rated touching. Things were so easy with him. If only they could be that way forever.
When you returned inside, you reached for your drink off the table beside the door leading to the enclosed patio. The club did not allow glasses to be taken outside. Draining the rest of your gin and tonic, you followed your not-boyfriend onto the dancefloor where it all had begun.
And just like that fateful first time, you were swallowed by the music and trapped in Katsuki’s gaze. He was just as intense now, perhaps more so because you had had a taste – or, more correctly, multiple tastes. Enough tastes to declare him your favorite.
You especially liked how present he was physically – it was not simply a question of height or strength. He held an aura of power, of there being more to him than met the eye. He was endlessly fascinating.
The feeling of awe inside you persisted for a moment, then twisted and turned into something else. A scattered sense of dread was in its place now. You felt like you were in a different place suddenly, the bass of the techno beat growing louder, then predominant. The bright colors of the flickering lights swam into long, serrated scotoma.
“I…” Your voice was not really your own. “I need to…” You didn’t know what you needed to do.
Stumbling out into the darker hallway between here and there, you knew very little at all. Something hard – and painful? – fell into you, your shoulder and the side of your head weak in comparison. No, it was you that had fallen against the wall. You were only walking because it was an automatism.
Something was tight on your upper arm, not the one that was already hurting.
“Shit, [Name], what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Everything was wrong with you, you thought, or did not think, because thinking was not a thing you did right then. Next, nothing.
*takes a drag from a cigarette and exhales more smoke than should be humanly possible*
Mental illness blows, my dudes.
Chapter 5: Then they sing about waking up alone.
Oh wow, this one got long. That's what conflict does for you!
Lotte Kestner - "Eggshell"
Damien Rice - "Woman Like a Man"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
When consciousness slowly returned you to this plane of reality, you were unsure whether you had been asleep or unconscious. While you could not remember dreaming, you had a distinct feeling of time having passed, which spoke for the former. Opening your eyes was a chore, but you could already feel your heartbeat speeding up at the uncertainty of where you were going to find yourself.
The familiar ingrain wallpaper on the barely illuminated ceiling coupled with the barely-there weight of the thin blanket covering you brought knowledge of your present location. You were… home. Frantically, you tried to remember how you got here, coming up with nothing but the not-quite-quantifiable feeling that you were missing memories that would explain everything.
Your related attempt to sit up proved more difficult than expected as pain consumed the left side of your head. All in all, it was a little as if there were an invisible weight trying to keep you in a lying position. You felt so, so worn.
“[Name]?” You knew that voice, despite its unusually meek quality. What was Katsuki doing here? He had no business being here, in this place, where there were countless reminders of all the parts of your life you kept separate from him, where there were blister packs in various states of fullness lying on the nightstand, where there –
There was a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back down onto the mattress. You let yourself be pulled, putting up no resistance and closing your eyes again. You felt all kinds of wrong, and trying to keep your eyes open was not helping.
“You’re home. You’re safe.” If you had been able to properly get your thoughts in order, perhaps you would have questioned how unlike him those words were, but thinking was becoming harder by the instant.
For now, your body helped itself to the rest it desperately needed. Already, you were falling back asleep.
This time around, you dreamed vividly, as if your mind were trying to make up for its period of inaction. The meaning of the shapes and colors in your head was already beginning to fade the second you woke up once more.
You felt like half a person again, which was more than could have been said of you earlier.
Still, you were quite weak as you opened your eyes properly. You were in your own bed, but not alone, which was an anomaly of great proportions. Next to your head, sitting against the headboard with crossed legs, was Katsuki. His head was leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. His breathing was quiet and even.
How the fuck had it ever come to this? This was not what you had wanted, at all. Now he had taken a step behind the veil you had so carefully crafted, and that was irreversible. You had a strong premonition that this was going to mean the end of whatever the two of you were.
You slowly untangled yourself from your blanket, that small amount of movement already exhausting you to no end. But you needed to use the bathroom. Placing one shaky foot on the floor, you were almost up when a cramp shot through your calf. Through pure instinct, you pulled your leg back up onto the bed, pressing the heel of your hand against the quivering muscle to alleviate the pain and make this stop.
Katsuki groaned, awoken by the sounds of your pain.
Already, there was a hand on your shoulder again, distracting you from the slowly fading pain and making you turn your head to him. Your gaze was still a little unfocused, but you could still make out the blankness of his expression. You had never seen him expressionless. It almost made you shiver.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice as devoid of assessable emotion as his mien.
“Kind of,” you tested your voice. Your tongue was too dry and too heavy for your mouth. “Not really. Maybe?” Speaking was harder than thinking, but both were possible again at this point. “Was I…” You swallowed, but it did nothing to make your mouth feel less like a desert. “…awake before? Or did I dream that?”
“For about a minute. Remember anything else?”
You searched your brain, trying to get everything that had become jumbled back into order. (Not an easy feat, considering your mind might best be likened to an M. C. Escher painting, even on the best of days. Today was a particularly bad day.)
“I remember being outside. Then dancing.” You also remembered leaving your drink unsupervised like an idiot, but did not want to put the words out there. You were able to reprehend yourself well enough without saying it out loud. “I think I hit my head?” Reaching up, you could feel a bump near your crest. Touching it stung, making you pull air through your clenched teeth. “But nothing else,” you finished your incomplete retelling of last night’s events.
“You were really fucked up all of a sudden. You fell into a wall at the club. I caught you before you fell again, but I used too much force.” There was still no change in his disturbingly calm tone as he pointed to your right upper arm. You followed the indicated path with your eyes and found bruises that clearly resembled fingers there. Lifting your left hand and putting the pads your fingers on the marks, you silently remarked that he did have big hands.
He had not apologized, but it was implied.
When you said nothing, he kept chronologizing the timeline of what had happened. “You couldn’t fucking walk, and you almost couldn’t fucking talk, so I got you out of there. I was gonna take you to my place, but you kept saying ‘home’ like a broken record.” He paused. You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and resting your chin on top. It was anything from unsettling to downright wrong to be told about things you had experienced without being able to form any coherent memory of them, even now. “I got the address from your ID.”
Your carefully crafted front had been a house of cards, and it had crumbled without you there to maintain it. It was difficult to decide whether to be more upset about this or about the fact that someone had apparently thought you passable enough a victim to spike your drink. Both made you feel incredibly powerless.
“I think someone drugged me.” The words had escaped you before you had had a chance to reconsider them. You did not appreciate the emotional tone your voice had taken on, did not like to be forced into such vulnerability.
Thankfully, your body was willing to remind you that you had a good excuse to flee the scene for just a moment. Once more, you moved to get up, more successful this time, though you were still shaky on your legs. You put one hand against the wall for support as you had to concentrate hard to set one foot in front of the other.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Katsuki asked, his choice of words – as per usual – not a good indicator of whether he was actually angry or not. At some point, he had stood up and was now hovering behind you.
“Bathroom.” You were not so much being curt as you were simply too exhausted to form longer sentences. “I’d like to piss on my own, though.” You were already combusting internally from the embarrassment of having been dependent on him. Anything more, and you would die of shame.
His exasperation was tangible. “Keep the door unlocked, idiot. If you’re not back in ten, I’m coming to get you, and I don’t give a fuck whether you’ve got your pants down or not.”
While going about your business, you held your head in your hands, trying to make sense of everything. Already, you were thinking you had been too abrasive towards him just now. He was always blunt and vulgar, and you knew perfectly well that he was not trying to talk down to you. If anything, he was probably unsettled by last night’s events, maybe even worried. (You hated it when people worried about you. It was even worse to imagine him of all people worrying about you. But he had no way of knowing that.)
You washed your hands and wiped your face with a wet cloth, ridding your skin of the crudest share of ruined make-up. After that, you drank about one liter of cold water straight from the tap. Then, you used some mouthwash, the imagined exertion of using a toothbrush already too much in your current state. Without your allotted ten minutes having passed, you stepped back into the main room of your small apartment.
“Hey,” you said and then paused for a moment because you had caught yourself wanting to call him by a nickname, but all that had come to mind was lover, which was way too intimate to say aloud. You sat down on the side of your bed and habitually reached for your phone, which was exactly where it was supposed to be – plugged into the charger next to your bed. No new messages, a fact you were thankful for right then.
“Thanks for charging my phone.” That was not what you had been wanting to say, but you meant it. “And thank you for getting me home safe.” That was what you had been wanting to say, and you also meant it.
While you began your google search, he answered to only your latter declaration of gratitude. “What the hell was I supposed to do, fuck off and leave you there?”
You were unsure whether he could see your bitter smile from his position. “That’s probably what whoever drugged me was hoping for.”
“But why go for a woman who obviously isn’t alone?”
Discussing the precise parameters of the attempted assault on you made you feel uneasy and very empty inside. “Who the fuck knows. Maybe they thought that you didn’t actually know me, and if I were out of it, you’d leave me there. Or maybe they just thought I seemed easy.”
“I’m gonna find and murder that fucker. And don’t even start with that ‘blaming yourself’ bullshit. You’re not easy.”
“I am, and you should know that better than anyone.” You were headed for a fight, you realized. And despite your head still not feeling quite right, you welcomed it. You preferred a quick and painful ending to a slow fadeout any day.
“Bullshit. Fuck that. And stop telling me I know shit. I know fuck-all about you. I had to check your ID for your address and last name, for fuck’s sake. And we’ve been fucking for seven months! Also, what the fuck are you doing?” He was referring to you still typing on your phone. “At least look at me while we’re talking!”
Since the end had now officially begun, you felt little inclination to keep information confidential anymore. “I’m looking up the most common types of roofies and trying to find out whether there’s a risk of adverse interaction with my antipsychotics.”
He did not know how to properly react to that information, if his silence was any indication.
“Fuck it,” you continued rather than to wait for him to think of something to say. “It’s not like I’m not gonna take my meds.” You’d been there before, and you were not keen on a replay of that spectacle, regardless of whether you were risking adverse effects or not.
One (surprisingly small) yellow pill later, you finally settled in properly next to him, back against the headboard.
“Look, Katsuki. When I went home with you for the first time, I assumed that it’d be a one-time thing. And then, when it wasn’t, I still thought that that… spark, or whatever, between us would eventually flicker out, and that we’d grow bored and stop seeing each other. I wasn’t planning on you becoming a fucking seven-month-stand.”
He made a sound then that was parts snicker and parts derision. Still, he shuffled closer, until his upper arm was pressed against your own. His skin seemed cold, but yours was colder. Fair enough, you thought, before continuing.
“And I don’t really like sharing anything about myself, because, to be frank, I’m not in the greatest place right now. I’m way better than I used to be, but not… good. And since we weren’t together or anything, it was easy to reason with myself that I didn’t need to tell you anything about me. And to be fair, you never really asked.”
He interrupted you then. “Yeah, because I got the message pretty fucking early that I wasn’t supposed to ask. I may be kind of an asshole, but I’m not unobservant enough to miss that you never fucking talk about yourself.” He was annoyed, and he had a right to be.
“I’m not accusing you. I was glad you never asked, because that made it easier for me.” You considered for a moment how to best put it into words he would understand. It was not as easy as it could have been, your general exhaustion blurring into the drowsiness from your medication. “It’s like… there’s all of this bullshit, and it’s not that far below the surface once you disturb the waters. It goes from ‘Hey, I’m [Name], I’m twenty-four,’ to ‘So what do you do for a living?’ to ‘I’m in university,’ to ‘What do you study?’ to ‘Human Quirk Biology,’ to ‘What semester are you in?’ to ‘I’m on a break right now,’ to ‘Why?’ to ‘Oh, I went kind of crazy and spent a while in a mental hospital and now I’m trying to get back on my feet,’ really quickly.”
You paused, giving him time to let that settle.
Against all of your expectations, he put his arm around you. You did not miss the fact that he placed his hand near your elbow rather than further up on your arm, avoiding the bruises from last night.
“You know,” he said, “I knew you were older than me, but I wasn’t expecting five damn years.”
His reply was so out there, you couldn’t help but laugh a little. For a moment there, you had forgotten how much you enjoyed being around him. This also reminded you that less than a day ago, you had been having the time of your life, getting the daylights fucked out of you in a bathroom stall. There must have been a fissure in time with how long ago that felt.
“That’s what you’re focusing on? Not the ‘I’ve been getting it on with a schizo’ part?”
“No, dumbass, I just don’t know what the fuck to say to that. So, does that mean you’re schizophrenic?”
“Schizoaffective. Not sure whether that information gives you something to work with or not.”
He just scoffed, squeezing you to his side. You understood the hint and moved on to explain. “Basically, I go through these manic episodes. They start out pretty nice, I’ll be in a great mood – downright ecstatic – for a while, and all is well. And then I start making all of these plans, and, at first, they’re realistic – maybe after I get my bachelor’s degree, I’ll go for a master’s. And then, they aren’t. Like, screw the master’s, Imma get a doctorate! And on the side, I’ll write a series of novels that will be great and everyone’s gonna read them and know my name! And then, it goes downhill fast. I don’t need sleep because I’m not like normal people! Also, things that hurt others can’t hurt me, because I’m superhuman! And that’s about the time it switches from manic to psychotic. I’m superhuman, but things aren’t working out the way I wanted them to, why is that? It’s because someone out there is scared of what I could do with my powers, and they’re pulling strings to keep me down. It has to be someone close to me, because they somehow know where I am and what I’m doing at all times. What if they implanted me with some kind of device and then erased my memory of it? Hasn’t the back of my neck been itchy for a few days now?”
You paused to catch your breath, because you had been ranting. Then, you decided you might as well go all out to emphasize the gravity of your condition. Maybe that way, he would not feel as bad about leaving when he did.
Reaching up, you lifted your hair from the back of your neck to the side. “That scar? It’s from when I tried to cut out a nonexistent chip with a pocket knife.”
That was when a shiver went through him, strongly enough for you to feel it. “That’s some fucked-up shit,” he pressed through his teeth. Still, he did not actually recoil from you, opting instead to hold onto you tighter.
You knew it was a crass thing to share, but you needed him to understand that your disorder was not some romanticizeable gimmick that bestowed temerity upon you. It was not a thing that would ever pass. It was a life sentence.
“I’m sorry for being graphic. I wish there were prettier words for it. But it was really bad. I was twenty-two at the time. They took me to a hospital, and after a while on medication, I got a lot better. Good enough to return to life as planned, as long as I was taking the antipsychotics. So that’s what I did. But I was taking a different drug then, and I had pretty bad side effects. I was tired basically twenty-four/seven. I felt like someone had wrapped me in bubble-wrap, and everything was dull and muffled. Oh, and guess what?”
“What,” he stated and did not guess.
“You know how I have a pretty big sex drive?”
“You tell me,” he deadpanned, motioning for you to keep talking.
“Well, I lost all of that too. And I wasn’t able to orgasm, no matter what I did.” You kind of wanted to wait for his reaction to that information, but decided that he deserved all of the story, which required you to get on with it. “So, I went off my meds, because everything sucked, and I told myself that my first episode had probably been a one-time thing, because – isn’t there a statistic that one in three people goes crazy at some point in their lives or something? That was about a year ago. Well, guess what, that was a bullshit idea, and I ended up relapsing. It wasn’t quite as bad as the first time, probably because I was admitted to a clinic pretty early on this time around. I started a new type of medication that doesn’t cause me tons of side effects. Been on it ever since.”
Perhaps, to put all of this into perspective, you could end the whole story on a more positive note, it occurred to you. “I’m going back to university once the new semester starts in a few weeks, too. So, I’m not… in as bad a place as I used to be, I guess.”
He made a quiet noise deep in his throat to signal that he realized you were done with your tale.
You felt like you had been talking for hours, although it had more realistically only been ten minutes. Your perception of time was genuinely crooked, and you were unsure whether it was a residuum of whatever had been given to you last night or simply a side effect of this situation that you had been entirely unprepared for.
“So,” he began eventually, the arm he had had around you all this time slowly sliding from around your shoulders. You tried your best to prepare yourself for the rejection that was sure to come. “You never told me about your disorder because, what? You thought I’d tell you to fuck off?”
“Well,” you answered and got up, having trouble looking him in the eye. This was getting dangerously close to the terrain of your feelings for him, a matter you would strongly prefer to leave untouched.
Slowly, and trying not to move your head too much, you took off the leggings and shirt you were still wearing from last night. You even still had your bra on. You appreciated the fact that Katsuki had not undressed you. You felt violated enough in your physical integrity as it was. (You did not mind him seeing you naked, as evidenced by the fact that you were changing in front of him without a second thought right now. But the idea of not being conscious while someone handled you was too unsettling for words.)
“Basically, I figure there’s not a lot of different ways to react to that kind of information. Either you think I’m making it up for attention, or you think it’s creepy, or you think you can save me. One isn’t true, one kind of is, I guess, and the last one’s impossible because it’s not a temporary or conditional thing. But yeah, I kinda assumed that either way, it’d end up with us parting ways, because you shouldn’t have to deal with my mental illness. It’s not like you’re my boyfriend.”
You took off your bra and then pulled on a fresh black top and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. Looking attractive was not a priority at this point.
“Oh, fuck that, [Name].” You could actually hear him in- and exhaling, the strain of trying to contain himself obviously trying. “I get what you’re saying, but – shit, I’d really fucking appreciate it if you let me decide for myself what the hell I’m thinking or not?!”
He inarguably had a point. Of course it was unfair of you to preemptively ascribe to him one or several ways of thinking. But you had spent so much time considering and reconsidering all of these things in an attempt to avoid unnecessary pain whenever the inevitable rejection came – it was difficult to break out of this circular thought structure now.
He had more to say. “Obviously I’m not your fucking boyfriend. I barely actually know anything about you, we’ve been over this, damn it. And I still don’t fucking get it. I can know all the ways you like to be fucked, I can know that being talked down to during sex gets you off, but I can’t know anything else about you? Not even your fucking last name? And why, because I’m not your stupid boyfriend?”
“I just…” You sat on the bed again, legs crossed, facing him. It would have been easier not to look at him while admitting this, but you could not not look at him now. “I didn’t want to overshare. And it’s easier to say nothing at all than to avoid one specific topic, especially when pretty much any other topic is related to it somehow. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to never see you again.” And, simply because you were already sorely vulnerable at this point and opening yourself further could not do anymore harm, “Am I never gonna see you again?”
This was what scared you. Once more, time seemed to bend and crumble and rise from the ashes in all kinds of unnatural ways until he answered.
He shook his head, still not having moved from his position at the head of your bed. “Shit, woman, you’re barely to stand up straight. You fucking took your medication without knowing whether it’ll interact with what’s still in you from last night. Do you honestly, for even a fucking second, think that I’m about to leave you alone? In that case, you’re way dumber than you seem.”
His one-sided smirk was only partially able to hide the sheer exhaustion on his face, the furrow between his brows deeper than you had ever seen it. Apparently, he was staying.
“And now, lie the fuck back down before you fall against anymore walls.” It was clearly an order, and one you did not mind following.
The rest of the day would feel just as surreal as everything else that had occurred so far.
You caught a few more hours of sleep, divided into several smaller naps. Katsuki never left your side, like a dog guarding you from anything that might aim to do further harm to you.
(Never mind the fact that all that could harm you now were chemicals already inside your body, and… well, your stupid head. Your stupid head, that was already trying to twist last night’s most likely coincidental attack into the idea that someone was trying to harm you individually. But that made no sense. You were able distance yourself from that train of thought well enough, and that was an important realization that calmed you, at least a little bit.)
Appalled by the jarring lack of proper food in your refrigerator, he ended up ordering pizza for the both of you. You ate while streaming the newest season of your favorite animated show on your old, but faithful laptop. Katsuki had never seen it, but complained about it less than he could have.
Already, he seemed to feel more at home at your place than you had done for the first half of a year you had lived here. And you felt more at home with him here.
Lying next to him, head on his chest while fully dressed was a new, but not unpleasant experience. You had had it all twisted, you thought. Was it not more normal to be surprised by how someone’s bare skin felt after only knowing them clothed? Now, it was your turn to be stunned by how intimate it felt to be close him in a situation that was clearly non-sexual. Even his hand under the back of your top, just resting there, felt right. It seemed he simply enjoyed the feeling of your bare skin, be it the leadup to something more basal or not.
The most important development, however, was the agreement he and you found regarding your future. The two of you would simply keep going the way you had been up until so far – but you were not to censor yourself anymore. That way, he would have a chance to finally know you in all the ways he did not, or did not yet. And wherever that would lead you both, it would probably be okay.
“Just so you know, I reserve the right to tell you to fuck off once I know you better.”
You laughed out loud, nuzzling his cheek before kissing him, softly, for the briefest of moments. “You do that. I need a boyfriend like I need a hole in my head.”
If mutual exclusivity was what defined the relationship between two people, you already had a boyfriend in him. But to argue definitions at this point would be to get ahead of yourselves.
This chapter was the hardest thing I've written in a really long time. It's 3AM and my eyes hurt.
Of course, I am now mighty curious as to how you see things, dear Reader!
Chapter 6: They sing about being on your own.
I'm going to let you in on a secret: This was supposed to be a three-parter.
Yet, somehow, we're nearing the 20,000 words mark. What happened? ♥
Glass Animals - "Pork Soda"
Wolf Alice - "Blush"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Without you asking him to, Katsuki had made room in his life for you. You were not sure whether he had done so intentionally or whether he had even noticed himself doing so – but it was undebatable that you were now a constant in the formula of his everyday life.
From your toiletries in the bathroom to the ever-respawning bottle of your favorite soda in the refrigerator, you had, for all intents and purposes, become the fourth teammate in the guys’ three-men living arrangement.
Today was not the first time you had taken part in mundane activities such as buying groceries, but for the first time, it was only Eijirou and you who were doing so together. And, going against all odds and all of your worries, it was not awkward at all.
“So, we got coffee, milk, bread and bottled water. We still need detergent and hand soap,” you recited, reading off the shopping list you had prepared on your phone.
“Hand soap? We never have hand soap,” Eijirou answered with surprising certainty, turning the shopping cart and heading down the aisle towards household necessities, you following closely behind him.
“Yeah, and I worry about what that says about your relationship with hygiene.” Their apartment was fairly clean, especially in the light of their being three male (barely-still-)teenagers, but you (rightly) attributed that to Katsuki’s neatness more than anything.
“Alright, alright, we are getting hand soap, new queen of the apartment.” His laugh was contagious.
“You don’t actually mind my being around so much, do you?” You were laughing along with him. Still, for a moment there, you were scared he was going to give you an answer you would not like.
“Not at all! You’re friendly, you clean up more of a mess than you make, and Bakugou’s less grumpy when you’re there. If anyone moves out, I vote it’s him.”
You scoffed. “You don’t actually mean that.”
He grinned his brightest of grins. “I really don’t. He’s kind of my best friend.”
Taking two pink bottles of detergent from the shelves and putting them inside the cart, you added onto your statement. “Besides, once he’s gone, I’m gone.”
“Right,” he said without missing a beat. “I forgot you’re a package deal. It’s still kinda hard to believe Bakugou has a girlfriend.”
The reply you had become used to giving to insinuations such as this one came without the need for you to exceed much thought. “I’m not his girlfriend.”
The noise Eijirou gave instead of saying anything in response said more than enough: Sure, if that’s what you want to believe.
“…and this concludes the perspective I wanted to share with you on the topic of secondary characteristics of less common quirks. Thank you for your attention. If you have any remaining questions, now’s the time to ask.”
While it may have sounded rather professional, that was only the case because you had repeated those sentences to yourself again and again last night until you had known them by heart. It was your first time speaking in front of an audience in years. Before you had been forced to press pause on your university career, you had somehow managed to avoid all seminars that required presentations as part of their grading system. Now, you had intentionally fit several of them into your semester schedule as a challenge to yourself. The first one was done with.
You could feel your heart beating in your tongue and you had stumbled over your words a few times. Your hands were clammy and shaking. But, and this was the most important notion to take away from today – you had survived.
The auditorium was too large for the two dozen people sitting in it. Their lack of further questions was almost certainly not due to your presentational skills but rather due to the general loss of enthusiasm students tended to experience at some point between their first and sixth semester.
After receiving some mostly favorable feedback from your professor, you left the building and headed off campus. You could not wait to tell your not-boyfriend about what you had achieved today.
Speaking of secondary characteristics of uncommon quirks – you had realized early on that Katsuki’s skin was flawless. For a while, you had chalked it up to simple great luck or a kind puberty. It was only after you had participated in several sessions of your aforementioned seminar about uncommon quirks that you had begun to entertain the possibility that those two phenomena might be related.
“So, not only do you get an awesome quirk, but it actually clears up your skin at the same time? That’s so unfair!” you complained from where you were sitting next to him on his bed.
“That’s just how glycerin works, woman.” His smirk let you know that although it was pure luck that he had been able to draw from such a good gene pool, he was at least a little proud of it.
“Still, it’s so not fair. Ten years from now, I’ll probably look twenty years older than I do now, and you’ll still be a walking skincare ad.”
“If that bothers you already, you’ll fucking love my mom. She’s almost fifty and looks like she never fucking turned thirty.”
You could have sworn that your heart stopped for about three and a half seconds right there. It was clear to you he had meant nothing by it. So, you decided to smooth it over by saying something by which you meant nothing at all, either.
“What reason would I have to meet my not-boyfriend’s mother? To congratulate her on her clear skin?”
“You could congratulate her on creating me, a.k.a. the greatest fucking thing that’s ever happened to you.” Considering how arrogant he could be and how dry he kept his voice when saying things like these, it could be difficult to mistake his specific brand of humor for serious statements. You, however, knew better.
Still, for a moment, you were inclined to grab a pillow from his bed and hit him over the head with it. Instead, you let yourself fall backwards so you were lying on the mattress. “Well, I guess you do have a handful of good qualities if I’m squinting. Five, maybe, if I were to count.”
He raised an eyebrow at you. You responded – very maturely – by sticking out your tongue at him. He accepted the unspoken challenge. Less than a moment later, he had you pinned underneath his body, straddling your thighs and holding your wrists above your head with both hands.
“Is fucking you until you can’t walk straight on the list?”
You arched your back, trying to push your breasts against his chest and whining when his grasp on you proved too tight for you to do so. “It’s at the very top,” you promised into his mouth, and then he was kissing you.
You had not had any alcohol since that fateful night at the club.
Letting down your guard around strangers made you feel threatened, so Katsuki and you had gone clubbing less and less, as well. Perhaps it was for the best – you were an adult after all, so maybe you could afford to have a lifestyle befitting one.
You also could not bring yourself to wear the clothes from that night again. So you packed them into a carton, along with some books that reminded you of the people that had gifted them to you and that were no longer part of your life. Then, you donated that box to the charity shop down the road from your home.
It was a shame that Katsuki’s room provided no other seating option for two besides his bed. Or maybe it actually was not that much of a shame, since it was your preferred place to be anyways. He had spent good money on the mattress, and your back agreed with you on the decision to spend as little time as possible at your own apartment. Said apartment was becoming more of a storage space than anything at this point.
What did the two of you even do together with all of those joint hours?
All kinds of things, really. A lot of it was sex, or lead-up to sex, or post-coital coexistence. Any time left over after subtracting those pastimes was just the both of you doing your own thing while coincidentally in the same room. You enjoyed it. You liked occupying the same space as him. You appreciated breathing the same air as him.
In all truth, you could probably spend the rest of your life lying next to him like this and simply looking at him.
He had not got dressed yet, but it was not like he had ever minded being nude. Reading the news on his phone, he was not looking in your direction, allowing you to watch him. You were plenty sure he still knew that you were watching him, however. He was more attentive than he would ever admit out loud, and somehow, he tended to simply know things.
Sometimes, you wondered what he saw in you. It was clear to you why you stuck with him. He was gorgeous, from his spiky blond hair to those red eyes you wanted to drown in, from the scar below his collarbone to his long, muscular legs. But beyond his picturesque body, beyond even the sex that was genuinely the best you had ever had, there was the fact that things were easy with him.
When you had told him about your disorder, you had expected it to be the end of your story. But it had not been. Instead, without wasting a lot of pretty words, he had simply accepted it as fact and moved on. It was what he did for everything you did and shared with him. When you had mentioned that you were going back to university, his response had been, “About time.”
(If he were anyone but himself, it would not have come across even nearly as supportive.)
When you had told him about how well your presentation had gone, he had asked, “What else had you expected?”
(And if he were anyone but himself, it would not have sounded nearly as proud.)
But he must have seen something in you, else he would not have kept you around for this long. You did not know what it was, but you were grateful for it nonetheless.
At this point, it was becoming hard to imagine a life without him.
It had always been hard for you to tell the difference between obsession and love. It was even more so now that Katsuki had made himself at home in the greater scheme of your life. But maybe you had been wrong to assume that you could only ever either be obsessed or in love. Maybe you had been so scared of anything that could at all be interpreted as something akin to a symptom of mania that you had never let yourself consider that one did not work without at least a tiny bit of the other.
After all, what was love if not a mild form of insanity?
The fancy-looking cream envelope had been sitting on Katsuki’s desk for weeks now. You had first noticed it when you had sat down there to work on your presentation. It had been in the way, and you had put it to the side without giving it much thought.
The next day, it had been right back in its former place, as if it had never been moved. Still, you gave it little to no thought.
A few days later, you were packing your bag, getting ready to go back to your own place for the first time in a week. (The mail did not check itself.) You set it on the desk chair while you were folding your worn clothes. (Perhaps, a load of laundry would also prove commendable.)
In doing so, you accidentally knocked over the folded card that was sitting upright on the desk, the surrounding envelope now gone. You set it back up, automatically reading the beginning of the first sentence. ‘You are cordially invited to…’
Then you stopped, a little annoyed that you had read anything at all. It was not your invitation, and thus none of your business. You made sure it looked untouched, finished packing and left.
A little while later, you found yourself in a hurry to arrive at university on time. The mornings were becoming colder, and, as these things with indirect proportionality tend to work, Katsuki’s bed was becoming harder to leave with each passing day. While you ran into the stairway with your hair yet unbrushed, your note pad lay on the desk, forgotten about.
It was a long day, which made your lack of note paper all the more jarring. When you came back to Katsuki’s that evening, your note pad was waiting for you. With the fancy invitation somehow having found its way on top of it. It became clear that these were not coincidences at all.
‘You are cordially invited to the 27th annual Heroes’ Gala to celebrate the strides our society has made since the advent of quirks and heroism. We will be accepting donations, all of which are to go into the Official Hero Registry’s fund to compensate and support civilians who have been hurt or who have experienced damage at the hands of villains. Please let us know whether you will be in attendance, and whether you will have someone joining you.’
Beneath the text, there was further information on the date, place and exact time.
You had not even taken your coat off yet, and you did not. Instead, you turned on your heel, walking towards the kitchen with the omnipresent invitation still in your hand.
Inside the kitchen, there was Katsuki in front of the stove, finishing dinner. (He liked to cook. You enjoyed your position as a beneficiary.) He did not even jump a little when you poked his lower back with the card – it seemed he had become so used to your presence that hardly anything surprised him anymore.
Without further greeting, you launched straight into the topic at hand. “So, where am I gonna find this next? Inside the closet, conveniently stored between my underwear?” You were trying hard not to sound as amused as you were. He was so bad at these things, and you loved him for it. It was getting harder not to think that word, love.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” was his reply, was his lie, because he could see the piece of paper in your hand and because he obviously knew what you were talking about.
“I’m talking about this charity gala thing. What is it?”
“It’s stupid, is what it is.” He was refusing to look at you, instead stirring the vegetables inside the pan with a lot more gusto than necessary. “It’s this shitty important hero bullshit. It’s dumb as hell.”
“And also, you really want to go there,” you added, voicing out loud what he was incapable of saying.
A lack of reply was also a reply.
After a moment of silence, you continued. “You know, I’m just gonna put this out there. If you want me to go with you, you might just have to actually ask me.”
As the seconds passed, the distance between you did not change, but your perception of it did. Eventually, you were unable to take both the silence and the distance, so you had to get rid of at least one of them. You stepped behind him, wrapping your arms around his slim waist and resting your cheek between his shoulder blades. He smelled like frying oil and sweat and all-around perfect. The heat from the stove reminded you that you were still wearing your coat. It did not matter.
What mattered was that after a much-too-long silence for a simple question such as this one, he asked, “Would you?”
You had had your fair share of hesitation for one night. For one lifetime. “I would.”
I'm sorry this one took so long. Life is busy. But I do hope you enjoyed the read, even if we're getting a little low on the smut meter. You shouldn't be worrying about that too much, though, believe you me. ;)