Chapter Text
You meet Mina on the first day in the first year of university drawing class.
When you enter the class studio, she’s already set up an easel on the far side of the room. Looking too cool to approach in her acid green cheetah print tube top and her pink hair, the whites of her eyes tattooed black. Her ears, nose, and eyebrow, glitter with all her piercings and tattoos that line and mark the exposed skin of her arms and legs.
Someone who would definitely not be interested in someone like you. Someone ordinary. Plain.
But for some reason she strikes up a conversation with you. As you’re all sent outside by the instructor to do some experimental life drawing sketches with a long stick and a bamboo paint brush taped to the end, she decides to join you.
She’s easy to talk to. Bright and energetic and easily amused. She laughs so hard she falls over when you bring the stick above your head and twirl it around like you’re a character from Sailor Moon. You join her in laying down in the grass, the drawing assignment momentarily forgotten, and look up at the pleasant morning sky. You want to be her friend. You like her a lot already.
In true Mina fashion, she brings you into the folds of her chaotic life. You become one of her many, many friends. You’re just a small checkmark in her extensive, all consuming to-do list she calls a life.
You get tired just listening to all the things she gets done in a day. Yoga in the morning, full time school, a part time job serving at a chinese restaurant that lets her get away with her pink hair and piercings and her other body mods. Dance classes at a local studio she sometimes teaches at. She likes to do illicit drugs and party in underground scenes until the sun comes up. She’s a busy gal.
And she’s got not just one partner, but three. She’s in some kind of polyamorous quad relationship that she glosses over very casually. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, so neither do you. You keep your curiosity to yourself, but listen intently when she talks about her partners. She’s incredibly fond of them, and talks about them like they personally hung the stars in the sky. She’s just like that. Open, honest, wearing her heart on her sleeve.
Something you struggle to do. Something as simple as telling your friend you love them seems impossible.
You and Mina stay late at school to work on your individual projects together. Her with her cement and silicone and metal, all experimental and three dimensional, just like she is. And you, with your more safe 2D materials, canvas, paper, acrylic paint, charcoal, graphite pencil.
She’s always initiating things. Always texting first. She invites you to picnics in the park, where you eat crackers and cheese and wine and laugh until the sun goes down. She invites you over to her apartment enough times you start to just always bring a change of clothes and your toothbrush, because she always asks you to stay over.
She’s an extrovert, through and through. The kind of person that always enjoys having someone else around. Says if she’s alone she can’t get anything done.
So, you go over to her apartment when she asks, and you watch as she cooks for you both, and you help her take her recycling down to the bins, and do her dishes, and help her procrastinate on her schoolwork.
So, when she reaches out to hold your sweaty hand, because you’re her friend, because she loves you and wants to be close to you, you can’t help but melt a little. You’re already a little in love with her, if you let yourself.
But you don’t.
Because even though you’re so close to her, she’s still unreachable, like she was across the classroom that first day. And you fear the day she loses interest in you. Because you’re boring and hard to get along with. Because you’re guarded and won’t let anyone get behind the walls you’ve built up.
And in the loneliness of your dark room, you let the things you usually keep locked down fester in your mind.
Of course she wouldn’t like you in that way. Talk about you like she talks about her partners.
Because you’re unlovable, you’ve decided. Tolerable, sure. Your select few friends and your family would mourn your death. But not anything like a lover. You’re sure of it. Have come to accept it about yourself. No one has looked at you the way others look at their lovers. The way you hope Mina doesn’t see the way you sometimes let yourself look at her.
Your first crush is silently born, a momentary revelation, then it quietly dies, going unacknowledged by you or anyone else. You’re still her friend. Life carries on.
—
Of course, you eventually meet the other people whose lives also revolve around Mina Ashido.
Her band of lovers. Her admirers. Who all look at her with lovesick puppy dog eyes. It’s sickening–like looking in a mirror. And horrible, because they get to actually hold her and kiss her because they’re sure she loves them back.
You who are so unsure of yourself, who can’t feel at ease in her presence. Unworthy. Plain. Boring.
But then there’s not just Mina’s lovers. She’s got other friends too. Ones whose lives don’t revolve around her. You’ve met them a few times, and you wonder if you’ll see them tonight.
She brings you to this invite only underground club. A place too cool for the likes of you but you say yes anyway. You spend the days leading up to it imagining how it will go down, mind spiralling with the what-ifs. What you’ll say. How you’ll act. Only for none of it to matter the night of.
Because it’s always fun and easy with Mina.
You get ready with her before going out. She puts on music that’s dark and bassy, what to expect at the club, she says.
You’re dressed up by your standards. Effort put into your choices. Black on black makes you feel stylish, comfortable. You’ve switched your everyday sneakers for a chunky heeled boot. You’ve swiped some black on your eyelids, some mascara, hoping your eyes appear bigger, sultry. And hope you don’t look like a wet raccoon.
She gets dressed in something you’d never be able to pull off. It’s all tattered lace and bandage-like fabric that barely covers her skin, a jean skirt that’s more like a distressed belt.
The club is filled with cool, beautiful people. They all seem to know Mina, and you get to stand awkwardly at her side as she introduces you to seemingly the entire club.
You’re just grabbing a drink with Mina when a duo walks in that catches your attention. Like a magnet being drawn to them, your eyes track them as they get halted by some of Mina’s friends.
Noticing where you’re gazing, Mina says, “looks like they made it for once.”
You’ve run into them a few times through Mina. The red head is Kirishima, in his third year of his sports physio program. And the blond is Bakugou, in his third year of culinary school. They’re the only two that don't fit in the entire equation. The only two immune to Mina’s charm. They're like a single entity. If one shows up the other one does too, attached at the hip. You watch as others approach the pair.
"So...are they...together?" you ask, feigning disinterest.
Mina hums in thought. "They've got some weird co-dependent thing. I don't know. They live together. Basically married at this point."
“Hmm,” you murmur, noncommittally.
"Why?” Her grin is all knowing, lecherous. “You interested?"
You scoff and wave your hand. "Just curious. They’re an interesting….couple."
“Right. Sure.” Mina pats your shoulder. She leans in to whisper conspiratorially in your ear. “It’s totally not that you want to jump their bones.”
You gape at her as her band of lovers sweep through, cackling as she’s swept away in a cloud of hugs and kisses.
You feel eyes on you, but when you look around, the only person in your line of sight is that blond, Bakugou, but he’s looking angrily to the left of you, somewhere in the crowd.
Your hackles raise anytime he’s around. For some reason, the two of you can’t help the animosity directed at each other. When he points his glare at you, you can't help but glare back.
You turn away and busy yourself with getting a drink from the bar. You end up leaning on a wall at the edge of the dance floor, nursing your drink. The base is a constant thump in your veins, in your bones, in your skull, drowning out any thoughts you might’ve had.
Someone leans up against the wall beside you.
“Hey, pretty girl.”
It’s Kirishima. The yin to Bakugou’s yang.
From your limited interactions with him you’ve gathered he’s always saying something like that, always flirty and charming. He’s like that with everyone, you remind yourself, you shouldn’t take it personally. But you can’t help the butterflies that show up in your stomach whenever he’s around.
Especially because he’s so easy to like.
First of all–he’s hot. Broad and tall and beefy. His hair’s dyed a striking bright flame red and he’s pulled it back into a spiky ponytail tonight. He’s got a handsome and sweet face. When he grins down at you, the flash of his sharp white teeth sends a tantalising shiver down your spine.
In the packed confines of the sauna-like club, he fully inhabits the space between you with his huge body. Thick and well defined muscle filling out of his white tank top and low slung jeans. Strong arms and broad chest. A chiselled jaw. Your heart rate increases at the idea of him picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
He makes your brain go dumb. With his boyish smile, his big arms, the way he has to lean down to hear you. Which is why you struggle to answer him.
And did you already say he was huge? He’s fucking huge.
But by far the worst thing about him is that he’s so nice. He’s a genuinely good person and it doesn’t help mitigate your crush in the least. The only thing that does reel it in is a certain someone you usually find attached to Kirishima’s hip.
A certain someone who’s made it his life mission to piss off as many as people. At least, that’s what it feels like to you. You peer around Kirishima’s shoulder, narrowing your eyes in preparation, as if the temperamental blond will appear any second to jump out at you and bite you or something.
“Where’s Bakugou? I thought you two did everything together.”
His low chuckle sends another thrill down your spine, his lashes flicker prettily as his lids lower. “He’s here somewhere.” He shrugs, not denying it, then. It’s at that moment that the song ends and another one starts. “C’mon, let’s go dance.”
You let him pull you into the mess of moving bodies. You let yourself get lost in the heat and the music. In the pounding thump of the bass and Kirishima’s presence, always nearby, always within reach. He tugs you closer until you have to brace your palms against his chest, and when your eyes dart from his eyes to his mouth, his lips curl into a devastating sharptoothed grin.
In the corner of your mind, you sense those eyes on you again, but Kirishima, who makes you feel sexy and wanted, you let him distract you, let him pull you close.
You dance and dance and dance, until you can’t bear it any longer, and Kirishima sweeps you away for another drink. You laugh when he trips over an extension cord, and his answering grin as he tugs you with him to the bar has butterflies swirling in your gut. All the while you feel another set of eyes tracking the pair of you.
You let yourself enjoy his attention and you do your best to ignore his…friend. But it's hard not to as the night progresses and he’s still lurking, his eyes ever watchful. Trained on you.
In total, you have three drinks. Enough to be level-headed, but still a good enough buzz that gives you courage to act on your desire. And that is–you wanted Kirishima. You liked his attention, his grins that had warmth fluttering in your stomach, his big hands on your back, your waist.
And so you let yourself be swept away for once. And eventually, you let him take you home.
You sit across Kirishima’s lap in the backseat as he palms your thigh, his other hand palming your throat, thumb stroking your jaw, in a way that makes your brain go fuzzy. Drunk on his kisses.
He nips and licks into your mouth, and you can almost, almost, forget that Bakugou is in the front seat, sober, driving you to their place. Angry, fuming, a silent watchman to you two fooling around in the backseat.
You want to say no. It almost boils out of your mouth a few times. But you let the smooth-talking Kirishima kiss your worries away. Let him kiss and nibble up the side of your neck as you avoid looking in the rearview mirror.
The car stops, the three of you silently pile out. It’s a blur going from their underground parking lot to their apartment, in which you remember they share, remember Mina telling you that they live together.
You protest when Bakugou follows you into their bedroom.
“Remember? Me n’ Katsuki do everything together, baby.”
Meaning: either you have sex with them both or not at all.
Which is fucking weird, right? You’re not the crazy one here for thinking that, right? They’re the ones who are in some weird, codependent relationship.
Maybe you’ll regret it in the morning, but you’re desperate in how much you want Kirishima at that moment. Even if that means putting up with Bakugou–and sucking his dick.
Kirishima’s got you on your hands and knees on their bed. His sweet talk and praise has you like putty in his big and strong hands, he kisses the fight right out of you. You’re so relaxed that by the time he undresses you in front of Bakugou you barely flinch at his scrutinising expression. You whine as Kirishima’s gentle tongue and fingers stretch you open for him.
You can’t see him like you want to. Can’t see his sweet face as he coos at your moans and licks sloppily at your cunt.
Instead, you have to avoid Bakugou’s glare as he sits in front of you on the bed, watching you with a sneer on his face. Oh god, he probably hates you for coming between them like this.
Does Bakugou just have to go along with Kirishima’s whims?
Only clad in boxers, his dick looks threatening as it strains against its confines. Your eyes widen when he pushes the band of his boxers down and his semi hard dick springs out, his hand pumping him to full hardness.
You finally meet his gaze. “That ain’t gonna fit.”
"Shut the fuck up already," he says.
God, you hated everything that came out of his foul mouth, which is why you usually glare at him or avoid him all together.
He looks down at you and forces you on his cock and your mouth has to part to accommodate his girth. With no sympathy he shoves your head down until you’re choking and gagging as his cock is lodged in the back of your throat.
"Be careful!" Kirishima chastises.
You struggle to even fit him in your mouth, glaring up at him as your lips stretch wide around his length, tears threatening to escape your tear ducts.
Bakugou laughs cruelly. “Haha, you look good like that, sucking my cock like a good little slut.”
“Bakugou!” Kirishima says. “Enough.”
Bakugou only rolls his eyes.
You gag on his cock and feel tears leak down your face. He pulls you off and you gasp as you catch your breath.
“Baby, m’ gonna start now, kay?”
You look back and nod at Kirishima, he rubs your hip soothingly as he runs his cockhead through your dripping folds.
Your back curves as his head pops into your cunt, groaning as his length follows, stretching you deliciously around his cock until he’s bottomed out completely inside you.
Your jaw falls slack, mouth wide open at how fucking much you’re being stretched. Holy fuck he’s big. They both are. You’re glad he took the time to slowly stretch you and get you nice and wet, otherwise you would have been struggling to take it.
They were going to ruin you.
“Hah….fuck. You feel so good, baby.”
You want to reply, tell him how good he feels, too. But Bakugou grabs your head on either side, pushing you onto his dick once again.
Your moans gurgle and choke as his cock slides down your throat. You can barely do anything as Bakugou’s hands on the back of your head forces you forward and back on his cock.
“You fucking suck at this,” he says, looking down at you with a sneer.
You glare at him once more, using your hands on his hips to push him away. You gasp as your mouth is freed from his cock and wipe the drool from your lips.
“Well, stop shoving my fucking head down, asshole!”
“Fine, let’s see you do it, then.”
You roll your eyes and then whimper as Kirishima shuttles his hips back and forth, his thick cock spearing you open.
“Holy fuck, she’s so wet,” Kirishima hisses.
Bakugou looks down at you with a dark look, waiting.
You gather enough wits to grasp him in your hand, palming his length, as you lean forward and lick him from root to tip, getting him nice and wet.
He grunts, hips jerking, and you suckle on his cockhead as your hand strokes his length. You’re not confident in your skills, but you try your best, taking him as deep as you can without gagging, stroking whatever can’t fit past your lips.
“Mm…good girl,” Kirishima praises, palming your hips with his big hands. “You look so good like this.”
Who the fuck knew you would end up here, between them, at the end of the night.
He keeps himself deep inside you as you work Bakugou over, subtly rolling into you, as Bakugou fists your hair, grunting as his hips jerk.
You hold onto his thighs to keep yourself upright between them.
It shouldn’t feel this good. To be used like this. Your eyes glaze over, and when you peer up at Bakugou he’s surprisingly already looking down at you, watching you take him into your mouth.
Kirishima groans when you tighten up on him and his arm wraps around your waist, his fingers dipping between your thighs to play with your clit.
“Cum on my cock,” he murmurs, gritting his teeth when you clench down on him. “That’s it, good girl.”
You gasp as you pop off of Bakugou, whimpering as you’re driven forward into Bakugou’s lap from Kirishima’s hard thrusts. He’s forgotten as your brain melts, your body spasms, as you’re rocketed into your orgasm.
Kirishima’s not long after, jerking in your spasming walls and shooting into the condom.
When your brain comes back online, you have a front row seat to Bakugou jerking himself off. His fist is only inches away from your face, and you react too late. His cock jerks in his fist as he spurts, warm and sticky, all over your face.
You splutter as it drips into your mouth, squeezing your eyes closed.
“Oh shit, not cool dude!”
Kirishima pulls out of you and ties the condom off on the way to the bathroom. He comes back with a warm, damp rag that he uses to gently wipe your face, before swiping it between your thighs.
At least one of them is a gentleman.
After such an exciting night out, you can barely roll over before your brain is shutting down, and you hum as a big comforting warmth drapes over you from behind.
—
That hot, frantic passion of last night has been stoked into fading embers in the light of day, until all that's left is ashes and bitter, cool level-headed awareness.
Simply put: you feel used. Dirty.
Kirishima's still passed out beside you, but the angry blond is thankfully nowhere in sight. Maybe he went back to his own room after you passed out.
Your eyes shutter as you remember the easy way they played with you last night. How Kirishima swooped in, charming and playful, stringing you along, and then the sly way Bakugou tagged along, how the both of them coaxed you into this fucked up threeway. The practiced way Kirishima slid on a condom before he fucked you.
You wonder how many girls he's coaxed into this bed of theirs with his easy smile and sweet touches.
You feel cold. Cold and brittle and dirty.
You scurry around picking up your clothes that were haphazardly flung around the room as they undressed you last night.
God, you were so dumb. Letting these guys use you. It'd been so long since you'd had a one night stand. Not since your early going out days. When you thought going out and taking random guys home was sexual empowerment. When in actuality it was just drunk guys taking advantage of a young, naive girl who didn't know any better.
You craved intimacy though. Being held by someone. Skin to skin. Touch starved. Whatever it is. And you thought you could find it in boys who didn't give a fuck about you. They just wanted to get in your pants.
Can they tell? How desperate you are. Is it written all over your face?
Last night... It was different from those other hookups. At least, you felt good in the moment. You don't remember ever being that turned on by another's touch before. Maybe it was because there were two of them. It felt dangerous, exciting in the moment–but in the morning, you don’t feel any less shitty about it. The way you always feel after these kinds of nights.
And you're not going to stick around any longer. You know how these things go. You know to leave before you overstay your welcome. Nothing would be worse than Kirishima awkwardly asking you when your ride is coming, not so subtly hinting for you to go.
Before you leave the bedroom, you glance back at Kirishima. His brow is wrinkled, his hand splayed out on the bed, as if searching for something that’s not there.
You refuse to read too much into it.
You carefully pick your way through the apartment, oddly enough, it feels familiar... like you've walked these halls before. This layout... strange. It's kind of like yours. Except you don’t have boxes strewn everywhere.
As you ponder this, you almost forget that there's another guy lurking around here, until you hear clanking in the kitchen near their entranceway. He's already got his eyes trained on you when you manage to bring yourself to look at his face. Stark in the morning light.
He takes in your grim face, and his... It's the same as last night. Cutting. Knowing. Like he sees right through you. You can’t stand it. That look in his eyes. Like you're some bug beneath his shoe. Just some nameless girl they brought back to get their dicks wet.
Right. Leaving now.
You shove your feet into your heeled boots, your head down as you open their door and quietly leave. You feel rumpled and overdressed in your party clothes, and your mind is occupied with hollow shame and guilt as you make your escape.
It takes you striding down the hall, entering the elevator and hitting the lobby before you look up. And your nose wrinkles in confusion.
It's your lobby.
You see the bulletin board with the trash and recycling day reminders. You see the little flower stickers that the grannie on the floor below you sticks on her mailbox, right next to yours. The wilting fern in the striped pot near the entrance.
Your hungover brain struggles to rationalise. But you’re too tired and wrung out to give a fuck right now. You feel an immediate sense of relief that you get to fall into your bed in a matter of minutes. After a hot shower of course, to scrub the icky feeling of being touched by others off your skin.
You get back into the elevator and hit the button for the third floor. You don’t remember what floor they’re on, you weren’t paying attention when they brought you home last night. But it’s a big building. Hopefully, you’ll never run into them again.
They’re Mina’s friends. But maybe you’ll just turn down any more group hangouts. It hurts a little that they’re part of your friend circle and not some anonymous hook up you don’t know the names of.
When you wake up later today, that’s when you can regret the decisions you made last night. For now, shower, then sleep.
But sleep doesn't come for a while. You toss and turn as the sun rises in the sky, filling your apartment with light. And you remember the way Kirishima reached out in his sleep, hand curling around nothing.
Foolishly, you let yourself imagine for a moment that he could be reaching out for you.