The fourth tab gets popped on the can, and Hanta doesn’t even know why he’s drinking. He doesn’t like it, hasn’t ever liked it, won’t ever, if he has anything to say about it. It burns the back of his throat, the yeasty taste settling heavy on his warm, loose tongue, right around the ball stud in the middle.
Hypocrisy, maybe, is what leads him to tip the can back more, letting more of the mild, lukewarm liquid flow down his throat. Driblets fly down his chin, winning a race to his bare chest. That feeling is exciting, at least.
He crushes the can in his hand and flicks it over his shoulder, letting it meet the now overly crunchy sounding pile behind the couch. It’s not hypocrisy, but a real-life problem that leads to the fifth and final can being opened. That one tastes even more like sh*t because it comes with the realization that he has nothing else to keep himself distracted from the outpouring of thoughts jack hammering his skull f*cking dead.
And there was a reason—for the drinking, the panicked search for a dab pen or a roach hanging around the dirty ashtrays of his sh*thole apartment. Slammed doors and a beautiful face streaked with tears, a clutched phone in a prettily manicured hand with more screenshots than Hanta’s ever seen in his life pulled up on the screen.
Yeah.
Hanta’s not a f*cking cheater, but, honestly, with the show Katsuki put on, he kinda wishes he was. Maybe then he woulda been able to make sense of the issue before she packed her bag and tugged on her shoes. In the reality that apparently only Hanta exists in, he couldn’t ever bring himself to do that to her, or to anyone. That’s not his thing.
For some reason, that probably has to do with her being a sexy ass psycho blonde, she insists it is his exact thing.
Or isn’t, but that it could be? Honestly, a lotta sh*t got lost in translation. There was something about too-friendly instagram comments or some other sh*t that Hanta had barely been able to comprehend through her screeching.
Normally, his favorite thing about Katsuki has always been how vocal she is. That smart little mouth had been what first ensnared him in their 9 month long on-again off-again low-key but kinda high-key situationship. Not to mention how she sounds in the bedroom with Hanta’s lips wrapped around her slu*tty little cl*t with two of his fingers pumping her ass.
That’s going a little far. Probably. He’s losing the plot. He shouldn’t think about that now, right? That’s scummy. Scummy to get hard over a girl who screamed never to contact her again before nearly blowing the damn door off its hinges to go sh*t talk him into oblivion to whatever poor soul would listen.
Briefly, Hanta wonders who it is this time, and after a moment of mind-numbing consideration, decides he doesn’t give a f*ck. It’s probably Mina, anyway, and there’s no use getting his boxers in a twist over Mina.
Either way, whatever the hell Katsuki’s up to, Hanta’s co*ck doesn’t seem to f*cking care. The thing’s still twitching with interest, immune to the effect of the libido-stomping liquid coursing through his veins and the irritation coating his heart in barbed wire.
Scummy is as scummy does, Hanta supposes with a shrug as he pushes his boxers down and his co*ck springs out. The pierced tip catches on the scrunched edge of the fabric and he hisses, biting into his lip with unkempt ferocity.
The little ring is more trouble than it’s worth, but Katsuki had gone absolutely wild for it. Some of the best head Hanta had ever gotten in his life had come right when it healed all the way and Katsuki all but attacked him. Sat him down nice and solid and sucked his soul out through his co*ck so thoroughly that he swore he’d get a million piercings if it meant that kinda reward every time.
He’d basically sworn lifelong fealty to her right then and there. But… he was a cheater, so what the f*ck kinda loyalty could he ever pledge?
The next breath he takes comes out a sarcastic snort and his head falls back against the edge of the couch. He doesn’t even wanna jerk off, that’s the sad part. And what’s even sadder is that he really hasn’t even had to jerk off in months, and if he has, it’s been directly on Katsuki’s face. She’d take it like a champ too, whimpering and moaning and egging him on just so he’ll paint her pink lips white every single damn time.
God… it’s gotta be at least some form of self-mutilation that he can literally only think about the girl who drives him absolutely bonkers insane on a good day.
Maybe he should call Mina and bitch. Or Deku—f*ck, that guy practically wrote the manual on how to deal with the storm that is Katsuki Bakugou.
The second thing is probably a horrible idea, which is exactly why he ignores his slumped over co*ck and pats around for his phone lazily.
Right around the time he digs in between the cushions is when his brain dings and he remembers that the phone Katsuki threw through the drywall had been his and not hers.
Great.
His head drops to the back of the couch again, and he scrubs his eyes with a groan.
“This can’t be my f*cking life, dude,” Hanta bitches aloud. “How could someone so f*cking hot be so crazy?”
Heaving himself off the couch, he tucks his co*ck away and hastily digs around in the wall for his phone. He finds it and desperately ignores the sh*t moving around inside the plaster in favor of wiping it off on his boxers and opening the display.
It’s cracked, but usable, so he drags open the call log to see 45 missed calls from the woman of the hour. Like his unstoppable blonde-soaked thoughts, this is expected, if not incredibly f*cking annoying.
Just for funsies, he clicks on their texts and is met with a barrage of “I’m sorry’s” and “I love you’s”. Hanta rolls his eyes so hard he almost winds himself. Leaning against the wall, he focuses on counting the dots on their ceiling.
This is the normal song and dance, sure, but he likes to test his willpower, see how long he can go before the itch for her becomes irresistible.
It’s never long, and the phone always starts ringing again before he can really sit and ponder his emotions. Not that he really even has to—he knows he’s in love with her and he knows that love comes without training wheels and brakes and whatever the hell else could make it stop altogether.
No explanation or self-reasoning required, he answers the phone. “You done?”
She sniffles, because of course she does. “Y-You mean, like with us?” So small, so uncharacteristically Katsuki.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant, because I’m the kinda dickhe*d that’d break up with you over the phone,” he snorts, kinda mean, kinda rude. “Bring your ass home.”
Before he even sets his phone down on the kitchen island the door opens tentatively, like she’d been waiting on the other side the whole time. Her presence adds a thickness to the air, a layer of tension that is cloying in a way, sticky sweetness that chases away the last remnants of the cheap beer and burnt weed on his tongue.
And that’s before he even glances at her, face all red and puffy, red eyes gleaming around pink stained whites. She’s high, he realizes absently, before his eyes flick to her loose hair sticking to her shoulders and the thin night shirt that does f*ck-all to hide the thick swell of her tit*. Then there’s the itty bitty sleep shorts, all baby pink and blue hugging her perfect bulge and that fuels Hanta with something else a little darker, more possessive.
Had she really left the house like that?
“You gotta be f*cking kidding me, sweetheart,” he grunts, suddenly in desperate need of a smoke, either nicotine or more weed, just to take the edge off the knife of possessive worry dangling between his ribs.
She takes a step forward, and it’s a worried, apprehensive thing, as if she hadn’t been the one to fly off the handle. “What?”
He can’t even really give her an answer, so he gives her a deep breath instead and stalks forward so he’s towering over her, those red eyes blowing wide with surprise. With little thought, he catches her chin in two fingers, dragging it up so she can only look at him.
“You drive me nuts, you know that?”
“I know.”
“Do you?” he counters, eyes sparking. “Cause doing all this bullsh*t at midnight is new levels, Kat.”
“I know,” she repeats, and something about that ticks him off more. And maybe she senses it because she frowns, brow knitting together. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what the f*ck is wrong with me.”
Hanta doesn’t either. Really, he’s tried to work it out, but absolutely no dice. Still, the frown looks wrong on such a delicately featured face and it tugs the very end of his heart so it’s strung tight.
Stupidly, he throws her a bone that she doesn’t deserve. “Probably the same thing that’s wrong with me for letting you lose your sh*t and still want you to come crawling back.”
“I will, you know,” she breathes as his palm meets her cheek, cupping it gently. “Always come back, I mean, even when I’m being a f*cking psycho.”
There’s no time for her to lean into his touch before that hand slides down to her neck and grips it soundly. “Playing the good girl now, huh?”
Her fingers wrap around his wrist gently, soft finger pads caressing the tattoos. Eyes blown wide, she licks her lips and Hanta pretends like his eyes don’t track the motion. “Not an act. I can be good for you, Han. I can.”
“How good, sweetheart? Gotta be pretty good to make up for just how much you put me through,” he frowns, increasing the pressure on her throat just a little so her next breath is labored and he can feel the lazy beat of her pulse under his fingertips.
thump. thump. thump.
He almost wants to grin as she licks her lips again and that innocent, soft expression she was wearing flies off her face, replaced with a smile so tempting that Hanta has to fight himself not to lean forward and kiss it.
Which is the problem, isn’t it? f*ck the beer, f*ck the weed, his brand is sticky and blonde and an all-encompassing head rush that has him leaning in to kiss her anyway, despite himself, despite the irritation, despite the hole in his wall and crack in his phone screen.
She’s quick with it, fruity tongue melding with his, traversing paths that only she seems to know. She flicks the tip against his stud, laving it like he’s seen her do to the head of his co*ck and, yeah, suddenly, literally nothing else matters. His co*ck jumps, his boxers becoming more and more constricting as her tongue divests him of any sense he’d been pretending to have.
Her hand snakes in between them, dainty fingers meeting the thing lightly, because she’s got the nerve to tease him even after behaving like she did.
“If you’re not going to touch it for real, you don’t get to at all, angel,” he mumbles against her lips, dragging her closer by the throat until he can only twist her around, pressing her back against his chest. From there, his other hand explores, pushing down her slu*tty little shorts until her pretty, leaking co*ck bobs free.
He lets out a solid stream of air from his lungs, not at all surprised to find her half-hard and twitching. Despite being hot, it gets a little ball of anger igniting in his chest.
“Yeah, I bet you get off on torturing me, huh? Bet you were out in the car rubbing your pitiful little cl*t between your legs and sobbing into the mirror,” he grunts against her neck.
“Han…” she gasps, wriggling back against his hold on her throat. “Not f*ckin’ true.”
“No?” His fingers find their way to the soft hair at the base of her, blunt nails dragging through it so she shivers. They find purchase on the root of her co*ck, teasing the sensitive skin for just a second before he grips it like she had his, echoed by another one of her punched-out gasps.
“f*ck, Hanta, please,” she groans, head lolling back onto his shoulder. “I said I was sorry.”
“I want my apology in a different way, baby girl. You said you’d be good for me, right?” he whispers against her throat, nipping the skin. “Gonna show you how I’d f*ck all those girls you’re so damn worried about in my comments.”
“Hanta!”
He ignores her in favor of biting into her neck more harshly while his fingers spread the pre-cum soaking her tip around the head, effectively using it as lube to jerk her off, slow and teasing.
“‘Course none of those other girls would have something so delicious between their legs,” he compliments, husky voice barely above a whisper. “Should ignore it altogether then, shouldn’t I?”
“Wait! No, c’mon, I want—“
Ignoring her for the second time, his hands leave the area altogether and he walks them forward toward the counter. She hisses when her bare thighs meet the rough edge and he pushes her over it so she’s splayed messily on the formica. She makes a pretty picture like that, loose body bent over, perky, porcelain ass looking like an unbitten apple.
“Yeah, just like that, Kat.” His hand travels over the swell of her ass to her lower spine where he pushes none-so-gently. “Don’t need to tell you to stay, do I?”
She doesn’t answer, so he just shrugs his shoulders with a snort. “Doesn’t bother me if you don’t answer. What’s gonna happen is the same. Gonna use this pretty little hole and then you’ll find somewhere else to sleep, like the hookup you apparently f*cking want to be.”
“I don’t want that!” she whimpers.
“You do, though, and I’ll give you what you want, princess, don’t worry,” he says, one finger now trailing between the globes of her ass, pressing in between to meet soft pink muscle. It gives way easily, still a little sore, a little used from the sex before the fight.
“And look at that, really are just a slu*tty little hookup, barely any give here,” he coos, pushing that finger in deeper, her hole taking him in greedily.
Her moans are like a feedback loop, causing one finger to become two and then two to three, probably too quickly to be f*cking sane. He’s riding the high of her, though, punctuating each moan with a twist of his fingers, staying away from that tiny area inside her.
“F-f*ck, c’mon, you were—ah—almost there, Han, please,” Katsuki cries, wiggling back on his fingers desperately. Smirking, he moves them opposite to how she wiggles. “f*ck! C’mon, asshole! This isn’t—sh*t, I mean, please.”
She’s distressed now and Hanta can almost see the frustrated tears in her eyes from his vantage point. He shakes his head and tsks. “You talk to hookups like that?”
It’s a dumb question; he knows she does. After all, they had started as just a hookup. Still, it’s a little funny when she turns her head and sneers at him through a red-tinged face.
“f*ck you.”
“I thought you wanted me to f*ck you, angel,” he counters, extricating his fingers from the now soft, pliant hole, so his fingertips catch around her rim, and then altogether, leaving the thing flexing, searching.
“Baby,” she sobs, finally giving up on whatever the hell was keeping her obedient to flip around and crowd into Hanta’s space where he leans over her, hands pawing at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Baby, Hanta, f*cking please.”
There’s real tears in her eyes now and she looks so pretty like this, all wild blonde hair, lips open and mewling, hot tracks of water staining her skin so it’s ruddy and imperfect.
He hums, settling down between her open legs, one hand dragging her forward so their crotches meet, his still covered in blue plaid. She sighs at the contact, nails now finding purchase in the hair at the nape of his neck.
“What, angel?” he says, squeezing her hips and dragging himself right up against her twitching co*ck. “You’re on the same level as them, right? That’s what you communicate when you worry about them. So why should I give a sh*t what you want? You’re just a little nobody, nothing special.”
Her breath hitches and in the back of his mind he wonders if he’s gone too far when hot, wet tears meet the bare skin of his neck. “Don’t want that. I know you’d never… I just…”
He lets her work it out on her own, refusing to give her a bone now as he lays her back on the counter, intent on seeing his point through. Even crying, she opens herself easily for him, lets him take his co*ck out and rub it over her hole a few times and barely even complains when the head breaches her sharply.
Gathering her hands off of him, he pins them above her head as he thrusts in, their bodies meeting in a sharp smack. “Can’t work it out for you, Kat. You either believe that you’re it for me or you don’t.”
“I do,” she whimpers. “I do. It’s the same for me. I love you!”
Hanta shakes his head, leaning down to kiss along the long column of her neck as he rolls into her, a slow grind that has his stomach unknotting with every tight thrust. “But? You want me to convince you every day? Want me to put up with it and f*ck you and go to sleep like nothing happened?”
He’s pissed now. Or maybe he’s been pissed this whole time and the sobering feeling of her warmth wrapped around him is what awakens it. The thrusts get harder and he knows this isn’t a good way to work it out, but f*ck, they’re actually talking and she’s not screaming for once.
“No! No! I can—I can fix it, I can be better!” she cries as he drives down into her, jostling her on the counter. “I can, just, I—please, I need you.”
That stops him altogether, and he pulls back, confusion tugging on his features heavily. Katsuki doesn’t need anyone. Hanta’s never been stupid enough to think he was the exception to that rule.
“You need me?”
She nods her head shallowly. “I do, you keep me… grounded,” she replies softly, shyly.
“Sweetheart…”
“I know I’m a lot, but I really want to work on this with you and—“
She doesn’t get to finish the rest of the sentence. His lips steal anything she’d hoped to say. They clash almost angrily, but Hanta’s not angry anymore, couldn’t even f*cking hope to be. Love was one thing, but need from Katsuki is something else entirely. And he’s never really needed to be needed, but something about it from his girlfriend who holds the brunt of everything on her shoulders like it’ll collapse if she doesn’t…
f*ck. It’s like gasoline to his fire, engulfing them both in a furious flame.
In a matter of a few heated seconds, carried by Hanta’s sudden stupor, they find themselves in their messy bed, bodies melding together with a deeper frenzy than even the first time they had sex. Hanta’s rocks into her passionately, digging out loud moans from her mouth with his tongue.
And she takes it, every rough thrust, every breath-stealing kiss, driven almost as frantic as him.
“Baby, baby, baby,” she babbles against his mouth, clenching around him harshly, coming with no warning.
He shudders and breaks the kiss to tuck his head into the space between her chin and shoulder. “God, Kat, you’re f*cking… you’re so much,” he rasps, co*ck throbbing, and hips stuttering.
Her fingers tug at his hair as she paints their bodies between them. “love… god, I love you…” she croaks through labored breaths.
“I—” he says, but the sudden crash of his release hits him and all he can do is press an open-mouthed groan to Katsuki’s skin, the last movement of his hips bringing him deep inside her. They both moan in unison then when he spurts inside her, filling her up, hot and dirty.
That’s sobering too, that feeling. Lifts the haze right off of him so he’s like an exposed nerve, still twitching inside his Katsuki, still whipped beyond belief, and still f*cking confused where they stand. But then her hands are there, tugging his face up and wiping the sweat off his brow, and it all makes a little more sense.
Gently, he pulls out of her and rolls over her, dragging her up against his chest. His fingers find her face, too, and they rub the last bits of tears from the corners of her eyes. And they stay like that for just a second, coming down from their peaks, warm bodies molding into each other easily.
After a moment, he cups her cheeks with pursed lips. “Probably need to find a way to talk to each other without involving sex,” he jokes, pinching her skin.
She wrinkles her nose and bats away his fingers. “You don’t like the drama of it?”
“f*ck no,” he laughs. “I love my drama queen, but somehow I don’t think we should resolve all our problems with sex.”
“You started it.”
“Okay, miss blame game, you’re the one who came back in here half hard in those f*cking shorts!”
Warm hands pet his shoulders, massaging out the stress-induced knot there. “Alright, maybe I’ll give you that one,” she laughs too, snuggling up into him like a cat. “I am sorry, and I do need you, by the way. I just… haven’t figured out how to do this relationship sh*t yet.”
He hums and leans forward just to kiss her on the forehead. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll work it out together, it’s okay.”
“Promise?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t let anyone else lob my phone through the wall,” he jokes.
“I f*cking hate you.”
“Yeah, love you too, princess.”
end
