#low cost costume | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

suguann · 1 day ago

Text

✎. you aren’t happy about your roommate’s party until you meet the attractive guy down the hall.

tags. fem!reader, future installments will contain smut, age difference, original characters, college student reader, one-night stands, angst, dirty talk, hurt/comfort, size kink, unplanned pregnancy

featuring. simon

It’s your first semester living off-campus, and Finn is boundlessly enthusiastic about all things that involve cheap liquor and crowded spaces, even more so now that she roped you into being her roommate after promising to split the cost of furnishing an apartment that’s probably too expensive for two undergrads working part-time, low-pay jobs.

You don’t like parties, really.

Movies and the social connotations surrounding parties have always made them seem like some monumental proverbial chip in your college experience; the real thing, once the bright-eyed shine of trying something new wears off, is more or less a bunch of random people packed into a room like sardines who abate their social awkwardness with alcohol and loud music.

So, no, you can’t exactly say that you enjoy the thought of Finn’s friends (and everyone she hardly smiles at) cramping up your already tiny apartment—especially when one of them is Miller from one of your business classes, who gives you the creeps.

And leave it to Finn to invite him, anyway.

"Now he knows where I live," you grumble into your bowl of cereal—something probably too sweet and (definitely) full of sugar for breakfast.

Finn shrugs, not at all worried for you, as she pours more sticky orange batter into the hot pan on the stove. "The guy has a crush on you. I think it's cute. And he seems harmless."

“Harmless until I end up in a ditch somewhere.”

You don’t have to see her face to know she’s doing that thing with her mouth whenever you say something she thinks is ridiculous. “If you’d agree to split the Netflix bill, you wouldn’t be stuck watching horror movies. Why do you only own horror movies, again?”

"That's easy for you to say.” You roll your eyes, ignoring her question. “You don’t have to sit by him every week.”

(As if that would ever convince her to change her mind.)

"Ow! Shit!"

You look up right before Finn drops a steaming pancake onto her hand and rushes to the sink to run it under cold water. The mutilated pancake lay forgotten with the others that didn't survive her last several attempts.

"Finn, I think this is unnecessary," you tell her after swallowing a mouthful of cereal. "Can't you do something more practical? Like sticking a note to their door?"

Finn looks up from the sink, her wild, red curls bouncing from the movement. "Oh, come on! Don't chicken out now. I've already made fifteen of these things." She points her pink spatula at the tower of not-quite pumpkin-shaped pancakes on the counter. "Plus, who's going to turn down free food? Now, go put on your costume and hand these out."

You shovel another spoonful of cereal into your mouth, scowling. "I'm not wearing the costume you picked out. It's so...inappropriate."

You’re pretty sure Finn picked out your costume from the dicey sex shop down the street rather than an actual Halloween store—the amount of mesh compared to solid fabric only solidifies the theory.

Finn finally turns the water off and gives you a stern look, amused eyes set under a furrowed brow. "I can find the one you own in the children's section at Costco."

You roll your eyes. "I really don’t feel like flashing my tits to the neighbors while offering them breakfast.”

She grins, wide and teasing. "You have nice tits, though.”

"Yeah, I'm sure the old woman down the hall would love to see her neighbor in the equivalent of a thong and nipple coverings at the start of her day." You don’t think you’d ever be able to look her in the eye again.

"Miss Yado is cool,” Finn says, returning to the stove to continue cooking. “She'll probably just tell you to wear a jacket or something."

You pick up your empty bowl and lean over the counter to put it in the sink. "I didn't know you talked to our neighbors."

Finn shrugs, flipping the pancake in the skillet. "She normally walks her dog while I'm heading to class. I stop to talk to her sometimes when I'm not running late."

“Oh?”

She shoots you a wry grin over her shoulder. "You'd know the neighbors too if you didn't scowl all the time."

In response, the corners of your mouth tip down. "I don’t scowl."

"Now, would you go change? These are getting cold."

Several minutes later, you come out of your room wearing the same costume you'd worn the past two years. Finn pouts when she sees you forwent the one she had picked out. However, she doesn’t do more than shake her head and shove a handful of food containers full of pancakes into your hands.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember to smile,” she tells you before the front door closes behind you.

You start on your end of the hall, going door to door and handing out the small containers. The whole time, you’re wondering why Finn couldn’t do this herself, considering you’re hardly a people person as is. Thankfully, nobody seemed too annoyed about being bothered on a Saturday morning—only one neighbor shut the door in your face before you could say anything.

But it’s fine. You’re not going to let it ruin your day. Plus, you only have one person left.

There’s a small pit of nerves in your stomach when you knock this time—half expecting another door to the face. What you don’t expect, however, is the tall and imposing guy who answers.

Who also doesn’t appear to be any less annoyed.

Your mouth opens and closes helplessly, all words stuck to the back of your tongue, watching as stray water droplets drip down from his wet hair and travel down the side of his face before dispersing into the dark stubble lining his jaw.

You stare. And stare. Eyes, most likely, bugging unattractively out of your head.

How did Finn never mention the super hot neighbor who lived six doors down the hall?

He gives you a once-over, and part of you suddenly wishes you’d gone with Finn's costume instead. Only because here, at that moment, you’re willing to admit that maybe the one you have on looks like a six-year-old picked it out—especially when this guy, who is way out of your league, scrutinizes it for a second longer, mostly your frilly crew socks.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice low as if he hasn’t been awake for long.

You blink, mild embarrassment rushing through you from the sudden realization that you’ve been standing there and saying absolutely nothing.

"Hi, um, I'm your neighbor from down the hall. My roommate and I are throwing a Halloween party, and we're inviting people in the building." Annoyance slowly melts off his face.

"Thank you,” heavily tattooed arms cross over his broad chest, and he leans against the door frame (and you definitely don’t stare at how his biceps seem to strain against his black t-shirt). “But I think I'm getting a little old for parties."

The corners of your mouth tip up in what’s the beginning of a smile.

"Okay, sure. You're, what, twenty-five?"

It’s a stupid joke, and for a moment, you panic, afraid he’d been unimpressed, but then his lips quirked slightly. "Not quite. Nice costume. Let me guess, fairy?"

"Witch, actually. I’ve always gone with something more original," you babble and bite your lip before you can say something else.

"It’s cute."

Cute?

You’re unsure if you should feel elated that he thinks so or self-conscious—that he might be making fun of you—so you settle with a mumbled “thanks.”

"So, what's with the container?" he asks, nodding toward your hands.

"Oh, um, my roommate thought she could bribe people with food to come to the party." Truthfully, it’s to prevent potential complaints from the neighbors, but you decide not to mention that part, although you think he knows by the way the corner of his mouth subtly lifts.

You give him the plastic container and watch as he stares into it with a furrowed brow. "It's a... pancake?"

"Er, yeah. My roommate likes to go above and beyond for everything."

"What's it supposed to be?" he asks, glancing up at you.

"Um, a pumpkin..."

You look between him and the container and find Finn had accidentally mixed up her presentable pancakes with the throwaways. And the pumpkin shape is...well, it isn't.

"Ah, I see," he nods, his slowly drying hair falling onto his forehead. "That makes more sense."

You can’t stop the giggle that bubbles to the surface. "You think you can do better?"

"Yes, actually," he grins back, all cocksure, with a flash of white teeth. "Maybe I’ll bring some over some time."

"I won't tell her you said that." However, you can't wait to rib Finn later.

"Right, it probably wouldn't make a very good first impression." Then he sticks out his free hand, "Simon."

You shyly shake it—ignoring the little skip in your chest at how big his hand is compared to yours—and tell him your name, too.

His eyes flicker down to his watch, and he curses under his breath. "Well, it was nice meeting you. But I have to finish getting ready for work."

Only then do you take note of the tactical pants and heavy boots he’s wearing.

When you meet his gaze again, you find amusement there, and you consider, with a new rush of mortification, that it probably seemed like you’d been openly eyeing his crotch.

You clear your throat, the back of your neck feeling hot, and you pointedly pretend your voice doesn’t hitch when you breathe a soft, tremulous, "Okay, sure.”

"Tell your roommate I said thanks for breakfast."

"Yeah, I'll tell her. Um, I guess I'll see you around." No longer able to make eye contact with him, you turn away and begin walking (though it’s probably closer to running) toward your door.

And you definitely don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s still standing there.

You spend most of the party hanging out near the front door, quietly hoping Simon might show up—even though it seems unlikely. After all, he did mention that he’s too old for parties, and a small, insecure part of you wonders if it was his polite way of turning you down.

"The guy was running late,” Finn had tried to reassure you. “I'm sure he was thinking about how to beat expressway traffic before the lunch hour rush hit. Not about the crazy lady in a witch costume running away from his door."

That was the initial deciding factor between your witch costume and the one Finn’s been trying to force you into—only so you don’t have to hear another person call you cute just to seem nice.

And leave it to Finn to jump at the opportunity to help you get ready, though she nearly freaked out when you popped into your joint bathroom with an old tube of mascara that you rummaged out of your nightstand.

"Do you know how many germs are probably on that thing?" Finn’s nose scrunched up as she threw it away in the waste bin near the toilet. "Please tell me you haven't used it since you bought it?"

You had rolled your eyes. "Probably not."

Finn sighed, then smiled. "Luckily for you, I own more than a crusty mascara tube."

You were about to argue, but when Finn told you to sit on the toilet lid with a dangerously sharp liner pen, you’d clenched your jaw instead, unsure what you were more scared of when Finn brought the pen close to your face: that your friend might potentially stab you in the eye or that you’d come out of the bathroom with raccoon eyes.

Thankfully, when Finn finally finished, neither was the case, except the number of looks you’ve been receiving anytime someone stops in the kitchen to get more drinks is something you hadn’t anticipated—especially when one of them happens to be Miller.

You’ve been avoiding him and his overly bare chest from the moment he walked through your front door. It grew more challenging after Finn left your side (the traitor) to talk to a guy you’ve seen her hanging around with on campus a few times.

And with the apartment feeling smaller than it already is, you’re only option is to blend in with the group hanging around your kitchen island.

You’ll be fine, Finn said.

Right, you think as you adjust the scanty tube top under your mesh shirt, trying to cover more of yourself with what little fabric you have at your disposal, and you wonder if it’s too late to change—

A knock at the door makes you perk up, regardless of how noisy the room is, with eardrum-shattering music and loud college students. You pull it open, expecting to see Simon on the other side, only to be disappointed when it’s one of Finn’s friends and her girlfriend instead.

"Hey, Roma." You realize you probably sound rude and attempt to give them your best smile—which is more or less a grimace.

Roma smooths out her extremely short referee-style dress. "Sorry, we're late! I couldn't remember where you lived. There are way too many blue apartment buildings around here..."

Everything she’s saying goes in one ear and out the other when you spot Simon stepping out of the door to the stairway across the hall. You hold your breath, waiting for him to look up from his phone.

But he keeps walking.

"Uh, yeah," you say distractedly before speeding up the conversation. "Hey, Finn is in the living room, but I'll see you guys inside, okay? I need to do something."

You step around them to catch up to Simon, which you learn isn’t easy in heels. So you call his name, hoping he hears you and smiling when he turns toward you. And you don’t miss how his gaze trails down your body slowly.

It makes something inside you quiver as you nervously play with the short hem of your skirt.

“Hey,” he says, sounding every bit as tired as he looks—his shirt from that morning now wrinkled with bluish hollows under his eyes—though he tries to hide it with what you think is an attempt at a smile.

And your cheeks burn because you feel guilty.

"Hey," you repeat dumbly.

Your eyes lower as his smile melts into one of faint amusement at your lack of tact. You fidget, shifting from one foot to the other. Maybe, you think, you should have let him walk into his apartment before you could embarrass yourself further today.

After a moment, you meet his gaze again.

"Uh, I just wanted to see if you still wanted to come over…But I imagine you're probably not up for it, so I’ll leave—"

Simon surprises you when he shrugs his shoulders and says, "Sure."

Your mouth gapes, unsure if you heard him correctly. "Wh-what?"

"I just need to shower and change, and then I'll be over. Okay?"

"I... yeah, okay," your nod is shy, trying not to betray eagerness.

A lazy grin stretches across his mouth. "Nice costume, by the way," he disappears into his apartment before he can witness how his words make you flush.

And you walk back to your apartment feeling a little more floaty than when you left.

masterlist

#.things i write #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod imagine #cod x you #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #fem!reader

266 notes · View notes

renthony · 6 months ago

Text

On Cosplay, Fast Fashion, & Waste

Fast fashion and disposable outfits in cosplay community spaces give me anxiety. Seeing people openly talk about throwing their "trashed" cosplay away after a single con makes me sad. Some costumes are crafted with such low durability that they fall apart beyond repair if you look at them the wrong way. I've met a ton of other cosplayers whose idea of "cosplay repair" ends with a stapler and some hot glue.

I never ever ever ever want to shame people for not knowing something. Crafting is hard. Making a low-quality costume isn't a sin or a crime. If you're new and still learning and don't really know what you're doing yet, that's fine! No harm, no foul, no bruise.

The cosplayers who do make me grouchy, however, are the ones who are unwilling to try. The ones who are flippant about throwing away a cosplay without trying to mend it, repurpose it, reuse it, or pass it along. The ones who intentionally make a costume just durable enough to last a single day, then toss it in the trash with zero thought.

My sewing and costuming experience started when I joined the ren faire, and I had to make my costumes sturdy enough to survive multiple weeks of heavy use, with the durability and freedom of movement to allow sword fighting on the living chessboard. I was taught how to shop for inexpensive fabrics and materials, but use high-quality, long-lasting techniques so that my costumes didn't disintegrate after a single day of performing. I have made extremely durable, cost-effective costumes out of bedsheets and thrift store fabric, as have many of my friends.

That experience has carried over into my cosplay. I am not happy with a costume unless it can go through three consecutive days of stage combat and high-intensity walking around outside in the heat, go through the washer and dryer, and come out completely unscathed.

Again, I never want to needlessly shit on other people's cosplay. Cosplay gatekeeping sucks and is no fun for anyone. At the same time, fast fashion is just as rampant in cosplay as it is everywhere else, and it sucks to see how wasteful it is.

You can make things durable even with cheap materials. Stop making flimsy costumes that you're just going to toss. Stop making piles and piles of waste. Please stop buying fabric just to slap a costume together with glue and throw it in the trash. If you are going to invest time and money into making something by hand, make it durable and comfy and worth the effort.

Even if you only want to personally wear it once, you can sell it, give it away, trade it, do something other than toss it in the trash. Show some love to your costumes, show some love to the planet, pick one action you can take to make your cosplay a little less wasteful. Being obsessed with the myth of a "personal carbon footprint" isn't helpful, but we as cosplayers should try to at least make things that'll last longer than 24 hours.

I understand that sewing can be incredibly intimidating, but basic stitching really isn't that complicated if you have a guide and the right tools. I personally need assistive devices for sewing thanks to my hand tremors and tendonitis, but those tools do exist, and can make things easier for both disabled and newbie sewists. I use rotary cutters instead of scissors, I keep a supply of needle threaders on hand, I have multiple little gadgets that help me sew in a straight line so my shaking hands don't screw everything up. There are tons of tools available, tons of tutorials online, and if you're interested in learning, there's a whole world out there to explore.

If you don't want to do all the crafting yourself, that's totally fine, but if you are going to hand-make your costume, you should try and make it durable. It's better for the planet and it's way less stressful to go to an event when you know your costume won't fall apart on the con floor.

If you have zero idea where to start, here are some books with crafting techniques I've found very useful, both in cosplay and regular household sewing I do for my family:

Make, Sew and Mend: Traditional Techniques to Sustainably Maintain and Refashion Your Clothes, by Bernadette Banner (who also has an incredible YouTube channel)

Cosplay Fabric FX: Painting, Dyeing & Weathering Costumes Like a Pro, by Julianna Franchini

Creative Cosplay: Selecting & Sewing Costumes Way Beyond Basic, by Amanda Haas

Level Up! Creative Cosplay: Costume Design & Creation, SFX Makeup, LED Basics & More, by Amanda Haas

#original post #cosplay #fast fashion

470 notes · View notes

deramin2 · 2 months ago

Text

Taliesin's neat swimsuit here is from Beefcake Swimwear of Portland, Oregon. They're based on androgenous 1920s bathing costumes, and were designed by a lesbian to be affirming to gender-nonconforming friends. They're also size inclusive from XS to 5XL with the full range of models.

ID: Taliesin Jaffe sitting with his hands in his lap looking looking off to the side. He's sitting ion the bench of a dunk tank surrounded by a cage with a large rope woven between the bars. He's wearing a teal and purple scarf tired around his head, several necklaces, and a one-piece swim suit with a sleeveless black and white horizontal stripe top and black shorts. End ID.

They're a bit pricey at $99, but it's because they aim for ethical labor at all stages of production and durable more sustainable materials. They have a pretty low markup (she's been very transparent about how they're made and costs). Slow fashion horrified by industry norms.

I just think they're a very interesting company. I bought one of their swimsuits early in my trans journey & it definitely unlocked gender euphoria. I like seeing how companies run when they're founded on the principal that industry norms are terrible & they can do better.

(In addition to recognizing the distinctive design on sight, I also know it's not a knockoff because the CR guys filmed an All Work No Play episode in a hot tub before the pandemic, bought these to comply with Twitch/YouTube rules, and mentioned the company by name.)

#Beefcake Swimwear #fashion #ethical fashion #Critical Role #Critical Role Cast #Critical Role Observations #Everything is Content #Everything Is Content Let's Play Sink #Taliesin Jaffe

235 notes · View notes

magnetictapedatastorage · 1 year ago

Text

absolutely insane how much of women's clothing is just a fake pretend costume version of mens clothing. the entire concept of fake pockets, as opposed to single-stitch-sealed ones that serve the same purpose if you really wanted it to lay flat at all costs while still allowing anyone to snip it and actually use them, is a great example. women's jeans are the worst offenders in general, they're made of paper, they're tight as a coat of paint, and they offer no real measurements, just abstract, arbitrary "sizes" that change by brand, year, and cut. it's infuriating. it would be EASY to make them the same quality. but they refuse, because they know the standard for women's clothing has fallen so low, and that so many women are absolutely horrified by the idea of shopping in the "wrong" department, that manufacturers can get away with selling literal garbage for highway robbery prices, while 15 feet away selling normal clothes, at normal prices, to men

#gender critical

765 notes · View notes

written-in-flowers · 4 months ago

Text

The Costume: Demon!San x Demon!Wooyoung

Pairing: Incubs!San x Incubus!Wooyoung/ Side pairing(s): Wooyoung x OFC, demonline x fem!reader

Genre: Smut, slight angst

Word Count: 6K

Summary: Wooyoung is swamped with costume orders for the big ball, and one of his favorite clients arrives to try on his costume. When he confronts Wooyoung about a secret kink, he can't help but partake in a bit of relaxation.

Tags: cuckolding fantasy, cheating fantasy, cheating roleplay, bisexual!wooyoung, bisexual!san, anal sex, anal fingering, oral sex, 69-position, multiple positions, handjobs, blowjobs, frottage, dom/sub undertones, semi-public, casual sex, mentions of bad childhood, mirror sex, deep throat, rough oral sex, sloppy oral, belly bulging.

Pretty Lady Masterlist

***

Satin? No, too plain.

Silk? No, too common.

Perhaps a nice lace and velvet combo? Suede rather than velvet? Leather works too. Nobody could resist a good leather outfit. If not leather, a latex bodysuit is versatile. The Passionate Heart Ball is a time for everyone to show their best side. Wooyoung knew his designs needed to amaze and impress the masses in order for anyone to care. It made him resent them more.

“Master?”

Peacocks. That’s what most of the demons who come into his shop are, a bunch of peacocks. They prance around in their lavish clothing, flaunting their wealth and privilege to the lower classes. Wooyoung used to envy them. He’d stand on the street corners, the commotion of the common streets going past him, and see them pass by. He saw the garish displays of wealth and wished he could have them too. Little Wooyoung dreamed of having enough food to eat and drink, wearing clothes without holes and living in houses with more than one room. He thought with a bit of success, he’d get into the club, but when he did finally reach it, the club kept their doors closed. Wooyoung realized that even if he wore the clothes and jewels, he would always be “common born”. They might like wearing his clothes, but they still looked down their noses. His parentage did not matter.

“Master…”

Even if his mother was distantly related to the king, they'd still lived in the slums of the inner city. Wooyoung carried memories of his father pushing him into the street blindfolded to beg for money. He claimed people pitied blind, homeless children more than they did a grown man. He’d stand by street corners, in his rags and bare feet, with his wooden cup and occasionally smack around a long stick. People pitied the blind demon child who walked about with his stick and cup every morning, afternoon and night. Nobody questioned it either. Not once did somebody bother pulling off the strip of cloth covering his eyes. Wooyoung made a decent bit of coin, but whatever he made went to his parents.

‘Please, take compassion on a poor orphan, descended from King Lucifer himself!’

“Master-”

“-What, Kyra?”

Wooyoung looked up from his sketch pad to see Kyra on his bed. On all fours, the green-skinned demon wore nothing except her diamond collar. The demon behind her, lean and handsome, kept a good grip on her hips as he kept steadily pushing forwards. He took in the scene of them on his bed of red velvet and satin. Such a sight usually pleased him, but not tonight. His shoulders felt heavy, and he couldn’t concentrate on any one thing.

“Would you like me to try a different position?” she asked, seeing his discontentment. “Or perhaps you’d like to do me now?”

“No,” he said, going back to his sketches, “Keep going as you were.”

Kyra’s high grunts and his partner’s low groans became background noise. Wooyoung drew out the long, evening gown one of his clients requested. She told him she wanted something glamorous, alluding to the old starlets of the 1920’s and 30’s. Such a gown would cost more than his family’s old house alone. No doubt she could house ten families and still have room for her decadent fine china collection and four hellcats. Wooyoung, while liking some of his clients, could not stand most of them. As he grew, he’d learned to enjoy tricking, lying, and stealing from these upper-class demons. He still did it from time to time, especially with people like Lady Akura, the she-demon who claimed to bed pharaohs. Wooyoung had the obsidian, gold and aquamarine cat sculpture he’d taken the last time he visited. It astounded him. He could take and take and take from these people, and they didn’t notice.

“Master, please come here. He doesn’t feel as good as you,” she pleaded. “Nobody fucks me like you do.”

“No, they don’t.”

Fashion did not come into his life until much later. He’d taken up working for the gang leader, Lady Madeline, whom everyone called ‘Mad Maddie’ on a count of her violent outbursts. She kept an exclusive group of demon children and adolescents who ran errands in exchange for food and board. Wooyoung recalled Maddie’s main business: her boutique. ‘Opulence’ catered to every style and class in Hell. Wooyoung remembered walking into her workroom after a day in the city and seeing bolts of fine fabrics, designs on her worktable, and the different custom outfits she’d made to order. He’d always find her at her sewing machine or worktable, fashioning up a new dress or shirt for a rich demon somewhere. Wooyoung found her work awe-inspiring. Maddie did things with fabric that he didn’t think possible. A boy from the slums whose worn clothes hung on by threads, even the plainest shirt seemed expensive to him. But, Maddie’s designs stood out amongst the rest. They had style and class. They popped with colors and glittered with gems. She dressed everyone and anyone. She’d made him a few nice shirts and pants when he started working in her shop.

‘A handsome boy like you should look smart, not ragged.’

His slave’s orgasm brought him back out of his head. Wooyoung glanced up from his sketchpad to see her fervently pushing into her partner. Her almond-shaped eyes squeezed tight, full lips parted in every moan, and delicate hands balled into fists in his sheets, she made a beautiful sight. He watched her cum hard around the cock inside her, forcing herself still as the whore he’d bought rode it out for her. The man withdrew when she finished, stroking himself to completion over her round, perky ass. Wooyoung saw streaks of white fall on her lime-green skin, licking his lips when he saw the thick streams trail down to her thighs.

“You may go now, Royle,” said Wooyoung, “Your money’s on the dresser.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the demon, immediately getting off the bed and bowing to him.

Teenage Wooyoung would be stunned to see people bowing before him. This world, this new life he lived, was only a pipe dream to his younger self. The luxury of having his own pleasure slave would sound unbelievable. When Royle left, Kyra remained on the bed. He went back to his design, deciding Lady Crane would appreciate an arachnid approach. From the waist line, he began drawing spider legs.

“Did I not please you, Master?”

“You did well, Kyra.”

“You hardly watched.”

“I heard.”

“You’re barely hard.”

She was right. He found pretending to like someone stroking his ego annoying. Demons of pride typically enjoyed their lovers extolling their beauty and expecting them to be dominant. While Wooyoung didn’t mind being in charge, he grew the hardest when his lovers faked being unfaithful. Kyra was the only other person who knew what he truly enjoyed, and indulged whenever he liked. Wooyoung had asked the proprietor of Scarlet Silk to bring him one of his regulars, but instead he sent Royle. He did not want to risk Royle learning about his kink and whispering it to others.

“It’s one of our busiest seasons,” he said, reaching for an excuse. “Lady Crane says she needs her gown the day after tomorrow.”

“You’ve worked all day,” she said, and he heard the pout in her voice. “You should relax or otherwise you’ll end up burnt out by the end.”

“If I’m burnt out it means we’ve done well.”

As he finished the last leg, he heard feet walk across the soft carpet. She gently took the pad from him, and sat in his lap. The scent of sex and sweat came off her skin, which usually aroused him but not tonight. Kyra cupped his cheek and kissed him softly. Wooyoung did not object to her pulling him from his sweatpants and stroking him. Once it grew harder, she pushed him inside her. Wooyoung let out a low groan at the snug walls encompassing his length. Kyra’s body pulsated around him, already wet from her recent orgasm but slowly yearning for a second one. Wooyoung found the closeness relaxing, rather than tense. Her plump, warm body pressed against his skinny, hard one, arms sliding around his neck. He bit his inner lip when she put his hands on her breasts, the supple mounds filling his hands.

“What do you think of it?” he asked her, nodding to the drawing on the end table.

“It’s beautiful, Master,” she said, looking over to examine it as she let go of his hands.“She’ll love it.”

"I hope so. Lady Crane isn’t as picky as Lady Akura, but I don’t like disappointing. The Passionate Heart Ball is the biggest event of the social season. I want my clients looking their best.” Her walls clenched him tightly, but she stayed firmly planted in his lap. “It’s good for business.”

“Is that really so important?” she asked, hands on his shoulders.

“Yes, it is. If people see how unique and beautiful my designs are, they’ll want to visit the shop and get their own. I need the trendiest, most popular people in the city wearing my clothes, and Lady Crane will wear them splendidly.”

“So will Lady YN.”

Wooyoung grinned at the thought of you. One of his best and most popular clients, the newest Lady of Eden inspired people to ask for 80’s styles. He believed you didn’t understand how important and popular you are in Hell. People loved talking to you. They loved watching everything you did. When you began embracing your floral-side, he had clients ordering floral patterns or jewelry to impress you. Perhaps they hoped you’d get them in with your boyfriends, giving them a boost in reputation.

“Our lovely lady and her boyfriends came up with a pretty good group costume.”

“Oh?”

“Different barbies.”

Kyra snorted, “I’m sorry? Aren’t they men?”

“You think that stops them?” he laughed at her scoff. “She wants to be Disco Barbie, while San is Surfer Ken, Seonghwa is Cowboy Ken, and Hongjoong is Peaches and Cream Barbie.”

“Peaches and Cream Barbie?”

“It’s just an excuse for him to wear a big puffy dress. It’s pretty creative. I liked her designs.”

As Kyra began gradually riding him, he pictured the four nobles in their massive keep. Modeled similarly to the Palace of Versailles in Paris, Asmodeus’s three sons lived in the lap of luxury, yet stayed apart from the rest of the elite. When they initially met, he thought the highest of the high borns considered themselves above the entire world. However, they proved him wrong immediately. Wooyoung thought of Hongjoong laughing at two noblewomen who wrinkled their noses at his sloppy drunkenness; San had rolled his eyes and told them to loosen their corsets before they suffocated on their own self-importance. Seonghwa, he recalled, remarked how they had no reason to lift their noses; he said their husbands were far worse when they indulged too much. Wooyoung realized then that he liked them.

He also did like seeing them undress during their fittings.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she said into his ear, sliding her arms around his neck. “Royle fucked me ten times better than you ever could.”

The words broke him into a shudder. “Did he?”

“He made me cum so hard, and fucked me so good,” she continued, sliding up and down on his length. “All you do is pump a few times and then roll over. It’s pathetic.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, hands on her hips. “I thought you liked it.”

“You thought wrong, didn’t you?”

Despite this, Wooyoung bucked his hips into her faster. He’d let you see this side of him in his work room because he knew you’d understand. Living with a demon like Hongjoong, you must have been exposed to all kinds of kinks. While it had begun by accident, he didn’t feel embarrassed by it.

Not with you.

****

“Wooyoung, this is gorgeous! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Lady Crane stood in front of the long mirror on top of a small platform. As he fixed the last spider leg, the willowy woman adjusted the high lace collar and looked pleased. Pride blossomed in his chest at her compliment. A compliment felt good regardless of who it came from.

“It’ll go great with the mask!” she said, nodding over to the mannequin head wearing a black venetian mask. All around the edges near the eyes, the maker painted black ones meant to be glimmering spider eyes. “I love, love, love it!” she beamed down at him when he stood up, clapping along with the two servants accompanying her. “Well done, Wooyoung. Once again, you’ve proved to be a master of your craft!”

“I’m glad you think so, my lady,” he bowed his head.

She had her servants remove the dress, while one of his assistants began packing it up for her. Wooyoung listened to her rave about the costume, and how it’ll be the best one at the ball. While he agreed about the craftsmanship, he knew it’d be far from the best. Examining his work from afar, he felt he could’ve done better with it. The legs, while made of fine materials and detailed, looked stiff and jutted outwards too much. Had it been a client he cared about keeping, he’d suggest keeping it in the shop to avoid damage then work on it quietly. If she said anything, he’d tell her seeing her in the gown inspired him to elevate the look. The elite loved being complimented and told how inspirational they are. He knew because he loved it too.

When Lady Crane left to the front counter, Wooyoung turned to the peacock costume on a mannequin. Lord Byron, as old and decrepit as he is, insisted on being a glamorous peacock. Wooyoung hoped he never looked that way when he aged. Demons aged incredibly slowly, living for thousands of years before falling into a “youthful sleep”. A youthful sleep happened to be the natural state of hibernation for demons. He never witnessed it, but when their body finally gave out, the elderly demon was put into a coffin and left to regenerate back to their youthful selves. Wooyoung knew he’d age one day, but he might just go to sleep early if he became liver-spotted and wrinkled. Fixing gold and blue gems onto the shoulders, he heard his beaded curtain clack open.

“Good Brother in Fire,” he heard San’s voice say in disgust, “What is that monstrosity?”

“Lord Byron requested it,” Wooyoung said, sewing a lightning bolt pin to the shoulder. “His wife is a flamingo. It’s equally ridiculous.”

“I thought you designed the costumes?”

“They had a specific vision they demanded I carry out.”

“Considering he’s on his way to his sleep, I’m not surprised.” He could feel the demon lord walking behind him, looking at the feathery pink costume next to him. A soft laugh escaped San as he touched one of the feathers on the collar “They’re definitely going to be talked about.”

“Are your brothers with you?”

“They’ll be along soon,” he said. “Seonghwa is with YN on a coffee date and Hongjoong is still in the lower circles. I came ahead during a lunch break.”

Wooyoung turned to see him wearing a tan suit with a red tie. The rose and serpent tie pin declared his house right away. When he was younger, Wooyoung wanted to wear the crowned lion of Lucifer, but his mother disagreed. She said only the nobles could wear them, not the common born children. When he grew up, Wooyoung decided to flash it anyway in his subtle ways. Wearing his sigil put him amongst the elite. Today, he wore it from his ear in a dangling earring.

“I’d hoped to browse the jewelry section when I came in,” said San, “But the place was so packed I didn’t bother. I miss the days when I could walk in here and browse at my leisure.”

“You still can. There will only be a few dozen people in the way.”

“You need to move into a new spot,” he said. “This shop is too small for your clientele.”

“I like my shop, thanks. Maddie gave it to me.”

“Mad Maddie, you mean.”

“If she were here, she’d take out your eye with a sewing needle.”

“She could try,” he sneered. “Where is she anyways? Wouldn’t she be awake by now?”

“She retired,” he said, “And went to live with her kids by the river. She gave me the shop before she went to sleep and told me to keep it.”

“And look at what you’ve done with it.”

He finished putting on the last gem, then looked over at San. Golden with broad muscular shoulders and short black hair, Lord San is a dreamboat. Wooyoung saw crowds of admirers fawn over him at the arena showings. They cheered and chanted his name, fueling his adrenaline and ego. Him dressing as a Ken doll made more sense than a Barbie. A physique like his shouldn’t be hidden from the world.

“Do you want to wait for your brothers to start the alterations or go on ahead of them?” Wooyoung asked, already retrieving the three hanger bags from the rack.

“We can start,” San said, loosening his tie. “Hongjoong might be a while and Seonghwa and YN get caught up whenever they’re together.”

He hung up the three bags on a separate rack, and drew out San’s first. “Why Barbie dolls? I thought you’d want to be a mythological god or something otherworldly like that.”

“It’s unexpected,” he shrugged, removing his jacket. “Nobody’s asked for something modern or creative like that around here. Plus, YN really wants to be a Disco Barbie. She says the rough draft you showed her was fabulous, and she’s super excited. You likely have dozens of other guys asking for deity costumes. ”

“You have no idea,” he grinned. He did his best not to notice San unbuttoning his shirt. The last thing he needed keeping him behind on work was a hot demon body. “I have six Zeus, four Hades, three Poseidon, three Apollo, a bunch of Aphrodites, Heras, Persephones, and all the rest. It’s tedious, but I try making them different from one another. It’s why I find YN’s work so refreshing. She never wants to be like anyone else. While other women are going to be wearing the usual Greek and Roman costumes, she’ll have an outfit entirely her own.”

“She loves clothes,” he said. “I don't know why she bothered with a business career. She would’ve made an excellent fashion designer.”

“You don’t get rich quick through clothes.”

Wooyoung removed the costume he’d designed for San. Surfer Ken only came with a pair of swim trunks, a puka shell necklace, sunglasses and a string bracelet. It was by far the easiest costume he’d made so far. Wooyoung turned around and San stood in nothing but his boxers. A lump formed in his throat at the vision of this god-like demon standing half-naked in his workroom. It reminded him briefly of you when you’d last visited. He found himself staring up and down the man’s broad body without

“Um, I have your costume here,” he said, forcing himself to look at San’s face.

San walked over and stood close to Wooyoung. “Nice,” he nodded his approval, seeing the palm tree silhouette painted on the bottom and rising up into the thighs of the orange and yellow trunks. “Very nice. It shows a little, but not too much.”

“I thought you might like that. You work on that body all the time; you should show it off as much as you can, right?”

Wooyoung’s insides fluttered when San laughed. “I do all the time,” he smiled.

He pulled on the shorts, and Wooyoung took in his defined muscles and smooth skin. He briefly thought of you and San entangled in his bed like Kyra and Royle. You’d tell him over and over that San was the better lover. You’d make sure he could see it from every angle, showing him how San’s cock split you open in every thrust. Wooyoung might die from that.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That you and YN did it in here.”

“Yes, we did.”

“How was she?” he asked, fixing the pants around his hips. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it. She’s…different.”

“She said you’re a cuck,” San glanced over at him when he sensed his silence. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody. I think it’s interesting that a demon of pride likes to be degraded. They usually like being in charge and doing the degrading.”

“Um, well…I don’t really know how to explain it,” he said. “I guess I can blame my upbringing for it, but it’s something I’ve always liked.”

San looked him up and down, then turned from the mirror. “Is it just girls or does it apply to guys too?”

“Wha-what do you mean?”

“I mean, can I be your cheating boyfriend or do I have to be the other man for it to work?”

Wooyoung thought about it, unsure how to answer the question. He’d never switched up his fantasy before, exchanging the girlfriend in favor or a boyfriend. “If there’s another guy in the room,” he shrugged. “It feels wrong if you’re my boyfriend and you’re cheating on me with a girl.”

“That’s fine. I don’t mind being The Other Guy,” he smirked. He reached for the diamond crown hanging from Wooyoung’s ear, the light brush of his knuckle making Wooyoung gulp. “As long as I got a chance to show you how good I fucked your girlfriend afterwards, I’m more than fine with it.”

“My lord…”

“What? You weren’t so shy with YN. Why am I different?”

“Guys are always different for me,” he admitted sheepishly. “Girls are easy to talk to because I already know what they like, but guys just…I suppose they intimidate me.”

“How so? I think it’d be the opposite since you know what guys like and not what girls like.”

Wooyoung looked over San’s face again. He took in his small eyes and mouth, with his tall nose and sharp jawline. A face carved by gods, certainly. How can he be smooth and cool in front of a face like that? All the blood in his body pumped straight to his groin when San moved in closer. His warmth slowly crept onto Wooyoung’s, building up the heat between them. Eyes heavy with lust, San lifted Wooyoung’s chin when he’d turned away and spoke softly.

“How am I intimidating, Wooyoung?” he asked, a firmness behind the gentleness.

“You’re, you know, hot.”

“So is YN.”

“Yes, but that’s different.”

“How?”

“It’s…”

“You’re more attracted to me,” he finished, moving Wooyoung back into his work table. “That’s why.”

“I-I like girls too.”

“I know, and that’s fine, but you find men harder to flirt with because you like them more,” he said. “This cuck fantasy of yours might even be partly because you’re jealous that I’m fucking her and not you.”

“Did you come ahead of your brothers just for this?” Wooyoung giggled, unable to keep the heat from filling his cheeks.

“Maybe,” he smirked. “Maybe I wanted to see how good you fucked my girlfriend.”

“Or you can…” Wooyoung hesitated, trying to hide his growing hardon, “You can show me how you fuck her?” He took it a tentative step further, “I want to see why she keeps going to you when she has me.”

San slipped his hands over his narrow hips, giving a gentle squeeze before bringing him in for a kiss. Wooyoung slumped against the table as the kiss weakened him, easily opening himself up. San’s hands slipped up his sides and around his back, securing him close as their kiss deepened. Wooyoung held onto his bicep, and nearly moaned when it flexed in his hand. With only his trunks on, Wooyoung slid his hands down San’s hard chest and abdomen. His cock throbbed when San’s tongue slipped into his mouth, slowly rolling around it. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He never imagined someone like San would want anything with him. He had the occasional good looking man, but they’re usually pleasure slaves he’d bought for the night, not dukes.

“You’re just as pretty as she is,” San murmured between kisses, feeling underneath Wooyoung’s shirt. “I could fuck you both all day.”

“Have you done that with her?”

“Often,” he said, feeling up and down his back. “She tells me once she starts, she can’t get enough. She has to keep going until she can’t anymore. Not that I complain,” he reached up to pinch one of his nipples, “I could pound her tight holes for hours.” He moved one hand around to grab Wooyoung’s ass, giving him a delicate squeeze, “And I could do the same to yours.”

“If that’s what you want,” he said.

San chuckled, “It is. Why do you think I started fucking your girlfriend, Wooyoung?”

“Because you liked her?”

“Partially,” he started unbuckling Wooyoung’s jeans, “I started seeing her because I wanted you to notice me.”

“What?”

Wooyoung noticed San’s large bulge when the latter tugged down the front of his pants. His mouth watered seeing it poking in his direction, a tiny wet spot appearing at the head. The anticipation bubbled in his lower belly when he drunk in the hands against his crotch. Their fingertips and palms drew closer, making Wooyoung’s cock pulsate. When San slowly tugged down the boxers underneath his jeans, Wooyoung moaned when he stuck his hand inside them.

“I thought if you saw me fucking your girlfriend’s brains out,” San continued, rubbing Wooyoung’s tip with the flat of his palm, “You’d want me to do it to you too.” He wrapped his hand around the shaft, then said, “I thought if you caught me with her in your bed, you’d want to join and I could fuck both of you together. I want to fuck you just as much as her,” he stroked Wooyoung slowly and grinned at his soft groan, “I’ve been dying to play with your cock. Can I do that?” he kissed Wooyoung softly, “Can I play with your cock for a while, Wooyoung? I want to taste it.” He pecked his lips a few times as he pumped him carefully. “I want to suck you off and hear all the pretty sounds you make when I do it. I bet you sound just as lovely as your girlfriend.”

“You can play with it,” Wooyoung whimpered, unable to stay still with the pleasure beaming around inside him, “As long as I can play with yours.” He reached out to the large bulge in between them, hearing San’s deep groan.

“Yes,” he breathed, “Of course you can.”

Wooyoung shuddered at the heat filling his hand. Wooyoung could feel the veins throbbing from the blood pumping through it. Their lips came back together, tongues sliding back over as they fondled one another. He loved how it felt in his hand. He saw the length in every long stroke, and the width in every gentle squeeze. Feeling the slightest bit of stickiness, Wooyoung used it to wet the tip poking from the waistband. He moaned into San’s mouth when he withdrew him from his pants, being relieved of the tightness.

“You have such a nice cock,” San groaned, licking the tips of his fingers to wipe around Wooyoung’s end. “How could she not love this? I know I would, if I were her.”

“I don’t know,” he whined, body fully still as the pleasure mounted. “I thought I had a nice one.”

“You do,” he swiped up some precum and licked it from his hand, “And it tastes delicious. If she won’t suck it, then I’m happy to do it.” He kissed Wooyoung again, moving his hips into his hand as he grew harder, “I’ll take her place any time.” He gave the head a squeeze that made Wooyoung whimper, “I can fuck you. You can fuck me. I’ll be whichever you want, baby. I just want,” he swiped a bead of clean precum from the leaking head, “A mouthful of this.”

Wooyoung moaned as San sucked the drop off his finger. With both of their cocks out, San moved his head away and pressed Wooyoung’s tip to his own. Their cocks touching, it brought on a new sensation that turned him into jelly. He moaned each time San’s thick tip pushed underneath his own, grazing the sensitive wrinkles that drove him crazy. A part of him didn’t want it to stop. He wanted to keep going forever, if possible. When the heat became too much, Wooyoung removed his shirt and tugged down his jeans. San spat between them to add more fluid to the mess forming.

“Upstairs?”

“Upstairs.”

Before the penthouse, Wooyoung used to live in the apartment above the shop. He still kept all the old furniture up there in case he decided to work overnight. Opening a door hidden by purple curtains, San and Wooyoung kissed and fondled one another up the stairs to the second apartment. When the door closed, Wooyoung brought him over to the large bed by the windows. San laid him on the bed and rested on top of him. Straddling his hips, San continued grinding their cocks together as they kissed. Wooyoung’s entire body suddenly became sensitive. He bit his lower lip once San’s mouth found his nipple, the tongue swirling and flicking the peak before sucking firmly. San groaned into it as Wooyoung’s hands grabbed his pert ass cheeks, starting to roll and spread them. Wooyoung would’ve loved to stay hanging up above the teasing.

“How’s this, sweetheart?” San asked, sitting up to gently rub their ballsacks together. He flashed a grin when Wooyoung squirmed at the delicate feeling. “Is that good?”

“Yes,” he whined, starting to stroke San’s cock again. “You look so hot like this,” he said, “I know why she fucks you so much.”

“Oh yeah?” San chuckled breathily, holding himself up to give Wooyoung more to touch. “That’s what I’ve always wanted to hear.”

He spat on his own cock to slicken Wooyoung’s hand, and continued grinding into him. Wooyoung thought he might cum from that alone. The feeling of San leaking in his hand, his heavy balls pressing to his own, and listening to his wanton moans was enough to bring anyone over the edge.

“No, no, no, baby,” San moaned, “Not yet. We just started.”

“It f-feels so good though.”

“I know it does,” he cooed, stopping his grinding and laying back down over him. Wooyoung whined when he went back to rocking against him. “But, I need you to be good and hold it in for me. I can be patient; we’ll take it slow.”

San laid down beside him in an inverted position, putting his cock inches from Wooyoung’s mouth and vice versa. Putting one arm between his legs to hold him there, San slipped him fully in his mouth. Wooyoung cried out at the hot mouth and tongue gently massaging his pulsating length; the arm holding him in place started grabbing his ass at the same time. He returned the favor by plunging San deep in his mouth. Salty precum spilled onto his tongue as things started up. He mimicked San’s moves so he received all the pleasure he was giving. It drove him insane. He tasted so much better than he thought he would, and he wanted as much as he could get.

“It tastes so good,” Wooyoung moaned against the throbbing head. “I want more.”

“You’ll get more, baby boy,” San moaned, licking the head in between. “You’ll get all my cum soon. Just be patient and enjoy my mouth for a bit.”

“I’ve always wanted to taste it,” he whimpered, licking up a string of precum that threatened to come out. “I want to see why she’s always sucking you dry.”

“Then taste it, sweetheart,” he said, giving his ass cheek a squeeze and burying Wooyoung in his throat. Wooyoung moaned around the dick in his mouth once he felt that tightness engulf him. “Take my dick all the way in there and get all the cum you want,” he breathed when he pulled back.

No longer using his hands, San kept pushing Wooyoung to his throat as he used both hands to grope his ass. Wooyoung went ahead and did the same. He loved the slight suffocation that came with deep throating San’s girth. He loved the feeling of the head pushing against his uvula and choking him. San groaned when Wooyoung’s arms wrapped around him to grab his ass. The round cheeks molded to his fingers in every squeeze; he could feel the natural demon-slick starting to leak from him with arousal. It tempted Wooyoung into touching him there, which had San pathetically moaning.

“Touch it,” San said, hardly pulling Wooyoung from his mouth. “Touch it, please.”

Even with drool and precum dripping from his mouth, his cheeks and jaw beginning to burn, Wooyoung slipped a finger into the fluttering entrance. Rigid walls clenched the digit prodding all the way to the rough patch that made San tremble. This did not remain one sided for long. Wooyoung squealed when two fingers slid deep into his ass. The two of them wriggled and thrusted around for as much pleasure as possible. Neither of them could help the feelings coursing through them as they fingered and sucked one another. When San rolled them over with him on top, Wooyoung planted himself properly over San and rocked into his mouth. San continued doing the same, even reaching down to hold Wooyoung’s head by the hair. Right as Wooyoung started shaking from his oncoming orgasm, San pulled away.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” San groaned, sliding from Wooyoung to end up on top of him. “I need you to stay still like your pretty girlfriend does, okay?” he asked hurriedly, slapping his cock over Wooyoung’s leaking hole.

San hooked their legs together and laid down on top of him, pinning him to the bed, as he slid smoothly inside. Wooyoung’s moans elongated and went higher with the thick, long length finally buried in him. San reached between him and the bed for the dick dripping onto the sheets, jerking him in time with his gradual thrusts. Wooyoung, kept down by San’s body, surrendered to the constant waves of pleasure coming at him. The world became drowned out by all the senses being stimulated at once. In a nearby mirror, he saw their bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces, their asses rippling each time they met. He reached down to touch San’s thigh, wanting to hold onto some part of him as the other subjected him to massive amounts of pleasure.

“You look so good, baby,” San groaned in his ear, catching them in the mirror. “Just as pretty as your girlfriend. Her ass jiggles when I fuck her from behind too.” He made a few fast thrusts just to prove it, and Wooyoung nearly came right there. San rolled them onto their sides, lifting Wooyoung’s leg so they faced the mirror. “You take me so well too,” he said, angling it so Wooyoung saw them connected in the mirror, “Look at that: your pretty wet hole stretched around my fat cock. Does it feel good, honey?”

“Yes,” Wooyoung cried, starting to stroke himself as he watched San fuck him. “It feels amazing. Your cock feels so fucking good. Please, don’t stop. I want you to fuck me how you fuck her. Fuck me how you fuck her.”

San obliged. He knelt up, straddling Wooyoung’s thigh and putting his leg over his shoulder, and pushed deep inside. Wooyoung swore his belly bulged with San so deep inside. His eyes rolled back at the mind-numbing feeling. He never had a dick as big as San’s before, and he won’t want another ever again.

“Fuck, it’s deep,” Wooyoung moaned, eyes rolling back. “It’s so fucking deep inside me.” He felt his lower stomach and huffed out a laugh when he felt a bump, “God, that’s really hot.”

“It is,” San agreed, keeping himself hilt-deep and playing with Wooyoung’s sensitive balls. “I could be up in your guts for ages,” he said, watching his partner contort in the mirror. He smirked seeing Wooyoung slowly spiral deeper into his pleasure. “Such a silly cock slut,” he cooed, giving a few short pumps in and out. “Do you want me to keep going like this?”

“Yes!”

“We’re going to have to-to do more of this la-later,” San said, looking in the mirror with Wooyoung as he kept going the same pace. “I don’t think I can hold my cum any longer. Your ass is fucking milking it out of me.”

“Like hers?”

“Just like hers, baby. Just…like hers.”

“Can I cum too then?” he pouted, feeling himself standing right on the edge of it. He felt San’s tip pushing deep into him every time, the feeling driving him closer to his orgasm. “Please, please, please.”

“Yes, please. I want my pretty baby to cum all over me.”

San withdrew from him and Wooyoung rolled onto his back. The two of them stroked themselves to their orgasms. Each of them painted the others’ chest and stomach in white strings and droplets. Wooyoung thought he might linger there forever, enduring a never-ending orgasm for eternity before it finally slowed down. San let out a few more pumps until nothing else dropped out of him. The two of them admired their work on the other, still softly groaning and touching each others’ sides. When San fell onto the bed beside him, something dawned on Wooyoung.

“Your brothers and YN were never going to come, were they?”

San chuckled, “Not at all.”

Wooyoung could help but laugh with him.

“Um, well, I was going to come on my own anyways.”

The two of them looked up to see you standing near the bed. Arms crossed, you did not appear outraged at the sight before you, nor did you seem aroused. San sat up, groaning from the soreness in his muscles, and looked over at you.

“Darling, you’re here.”

“I am, and you’re here too,” you said, trying not to smile. “You know, when I told you about me and Wooyoung, it wasn’t a suggestion to screw him without me.”

“Hey, I came to see my costume,” San said in defense.

“His outfit needed alterations,” said Wooyoung, slowly coming down from the high. “I was taking his measurements, and you know how that is. One minute you’re taking in his leg measurements, and the next his dick is in your mouth. It’s a lot.” He shut his eyes as he said, “You’re the one who told your boyfriend that I like cuckolding.”

“I didn’t think he’d steal my idea,” you replied.

“Your idea?”

“Yeah, I was going to insist you deliver the costumes yourself and then make my proposition,” you said, “But it appears San went ahead of me.”

“I didn’t plan for it to go how it did,” San glanced over to him with a smile, “But I’m so glad it did.” He gave Wooyoung a soft kiss that could’ve reignited everything in an instant.

“Well, when you two are done, can you help me decide between two mask designs?” you asked Wooyoung. “I drew up some and want your opinion on them.”

“Alright, I’ll give them a look.”

“Thanks.”

San flopped back on the bed as you went back downstairs, a soft laugh escaping him. “She’s cute.”

“You really couldn’t wait, huh?”

“Have you seen yourself, Wooyoung? I wouldn’t have waited for anything.”

“Fucking incubi,” Wooyoung laughed, shaking his head. “Not that I’m complaining, but I did hope for a second round.”

“There will be a second round,” he assured him with a smile. “You can count on that.”

Wooyoung grinned as he watched the demon lord get out of bed and head for the door. Light headed and dazed, he could hardly focus on anything else for a few minutes. His entire body felt rearranged inside and out.

He'd definitely be making that delivery.

***

A/N: I hope you guys really liked this side story for Wooyoung. I sort of let this one go where it wanted, and it landed in some woosan sex lol I do have parts of the regular story coming up, but I have so many side stuff that won't have much YN in it that I still wanted to share them. Reblog and like loves <3

#pirateeznet #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez smut #choi san #jung wooyoung #san attez #wooyoung ateez #woosan smut #woosan fic #wooyoung x san #san x wooyoung

172 notes · View notes

wafflefries13 · 6 months ago

Text

The Consequence of Late Night Calls

Summary: You've been friends with Katsuki for years, and you've always thought it's been just that - friends. But when you get a late-night call, it might just change things.

AN: Last repost! The original post got eaten by Tumblr. I'm still really proud of this one. I wrote it back when I was first starting to publish fanfic and I like how it turned out.

Warnings: College au, drinking, language

The call shocked you out of a deep but impromptu sleep. You jerked up from the noise, a page of lecture notes sticking to your check. It fluttered back to the desk covered in its own mess of loose leaf documents, used textbooks that cost more than a weekend trip to Disney World, and a laptop missing three of its letter keys.

You dragged your tongue against your teeth, trying to get rid of the cotton feel coating the inside of your mouth. Rubbing stars into your tired eyes, you wondered when exactly you had fallen asleep. Was it somewhere near memorizing the latin terminology for court rhetoric or around reading the case file and trial records you were going to be tested over on Monday? Deciding wondering was basically pointless, considering you had pretty much forgotten all of it anyway, you pawed blindly around for your phone.

“Hello?” You answered, eyes still closed, although it probably came out and more of a mumbled groan than anything else.

“(Y/NNNNNNNNN)!”

You pulled the phone away from your ear, wincing at the sudden loud noise. Blinking bleerally, you looked down at your phone. You had taken the caller ID picture a year ago, at a sorority Halloween party you barely remembered aside from the copious amounts of alcohol consumed followed by an ill-advised scavenger hunt that ended with a call to the police and the dean’s car somehow ending up in the agriculture department’s greenhouse crowded with Jack-O-lanterns. It was a profile shot of Bakugou Katsuki, his mouth opened in a mid-yell scowl, as was his standard expression, and eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. One hand extended to try and block the camera, the other clutching a brown bottle. He was wearing a fantasy barbarian king costume, chest bare to show off the taut muscles he worked so hard for all of high school to get. When he’d shown up in it, or, rather, when Kirishima had dragged him along in his own dragonborn costume, you couldn’t believe he still had it. You remembered sitting in your basement in 9th grade, pricking your fingers with a sewing needle as you and the rest of your newly formed D&D group, Bakugou and Kirishima included, spent way too much time and effort into creating your costumes.

Rubbing at the bridge of your nose in a vain attempt to chase away the headache you could already feel forming, you brought the phone back to your ear. You could hear the low thump of bass heavy music in the background.

“Hi, Suki,” You said, trying not to sound condescending, but it came out like that anyway.

“Hey!” He said sharply. The rest of his reply was slurred smooth. “I told you not to call me that.”

You smirked. “It’s cute.”

“It’s embarrassing! ‘M not cute.”

“No, you’re calling me at-” You pulled the phone away again to check the time. “Katsuki, it’s like two in the morning, what the hell?”

You heard someone shout something on the other side of the line that Katsuki mumbled a reply to. To you he said, “Was thinking about you.”

You felt yourself blush despite yourself. “You were thinking about me?”

There was a clunk and a bump. You could imagine him falling against a wall and sliding down to sit until the room stopped spinning. “Yeah. I don’t like it.”

You ignored the jab in your heart. “Well, thanks.”

“It keeps happening. I’ll just be, like, doing stuff, and then I just think, ‘What would (Y/N) think of that?’ ‘I wonder what (Y/N)’s doing right now.’ ‘(Y/N) would know what to do now. She’s so smart. And her hands look so soft. And her eyes are so pretty.’” He was quiet for a second. “It’s annoying. I can’t stop thinking about you. And it’s worse when you’re here.” There was a shuffling as you heard him try to stand up then give up again. “Why aren’t you here? I want you here.”

You were wide awake now. You clenched and unclenched your hand, trying to process the information your obviously drunk friend had just confessed. Your stomach churned in a mix of anticipation, anxiety, and straight up butterflies.

What the hell did all of that mean? Well, of course you knew what it meant, or you knew what it meant when spoken by a sober person of sound mind and body. But there was no way, you tried to rationalize, that The Bakugou Katsuki, the guy you’d known since freshman year of high school when he’d punched a guy who had flipped up your uniform skirt on the first day, the guy who had surprised just about everyone in home economics when he busted out a three tiered cake like it was no one’s business, the guy whos ego was big enough to have its own gravitational pull, was confessing his feelings to you in a drunk rant at two in the morning.

“Katsuki,” You said in a soft voice. “I-”

There was a retching sound from the other end of the line. Katsuki coughed, tried to say something, then threw up again. “Aw, fuck.”

That headache was back with avengence now. You sighed, looking for your keys. “Katsuki, where are you?”

“Uhh, on campus? At the Kappa Alpha Betta Whatever house. There’s a party. Why aren’t you here?”

“You know I hate all the Greek life bs. Stay where you are, okay? I’m coming to get you. You’re completely wasted.”

“‘M not. I can handle what I drink.” There was another pause before he wretched again.

“Did you just throw up again?”

“...No.”

“Cool. I’ll be there in ten.”

You didn’t wait for him to respond before hanging it. You didn’t think your heart could take it if he kept going on like he had been. Grabbing your keys and heading out of your crowded studio apartment, you hopped in your car to go save your drunk friend from making any other ill advised decisions that night.

You realized that you were probably over thinking the whole phone call as you drove through deserted streets. You couldn’t help it, it was a bad habit you had formed as a kid that now made you obsess over court documents and testimonies in class. But now, instead of helping, it was picking you apart. What did Katsuki’s tone imply when he was talking to you just now? Could you trust the tone of an inebriated person? What did he mean when he said he thought about you a lot? You’d known each other for years now, being involved in almost all the same activities. Wouldn’t it be natural to think about someone you spent so much time with? But you’d known Kirishima for just as long, not to mention the rest of the self-named “Baku-Squad.” You’d never gotten a late night drunk call from any of them. Heck, Katsuki had known Izuku way longer than he had known you, and you were pretty dang sure Katsuki had never called him going on and on about how he always thought about him.

Stopping at a red light, you pressed your forehead into the soft faux-leather of your steering wheel, willing your thoughts to calm down and just come to a rational conclusion already. Expect, you know, a rational conclusion that wasn’t that the guy you had carried a torch for for almost as long as you had known him might actually have feelings for you back.

You turned on to the street lined with sororities and fraternities across from the main campus. You had to slam on your breaks almost immediately to avoid running over a tipsy, giggling co-ed who was stumbling out into the road. She didn’t even look up at you.

You didn’t know exactly which house Katsuki was stranded at, considering you could see at least three different parties all going on at first glance. His “Kappa Alpha Betta Whatever” wasn’t very helpful, either, considering all the Greek letters adorning the houses blended together in your mind at some point. And you really didn’t want to tramp through a bunch of different houses tonight.

Thankfully, you were saved the trouble when you saw Kirishima’s 1969 Chevrolet Chevelle park half off the curb in front of one of the houses. You’d know that car anywhere. Kirishima had dragged your group to various scrap yards and auto-repair stores all summer after he got his license, the first of you all to do so, in an effort to fix up the worn down Chevelle that he’d bought for a hundred bucks and a turkey sandwich.

You parked on the other side of the street then jogged across to the house that was practically vibrating with heavy music and Greek life energy. Stepping over a semi-conscious frat boy laying in the doorway, you scanned around the house for any sign of Katsuki’s pomeranian-puff-ball hair.

You spotted Denki lounging on a couch, a lampshade on his head and a tangle of phone chargers clutched in his fist. His hand sparked every now and then as he used his quirk to recharge the collection of phones.

You lifted up the edge of the lampshade. “Hey there, Pikachu.”

“Heeeeeey~” He said, giving you a thumbs up. You could already tell he was too far gone, although you didn’t know if it was from drinking or the over use of his quirk.

“(Y/N)!” You heard a voice call behind you. A body fell heavily against your back. Sero wrapped his arms around you in a backwards hug. “Where you been? We missed you!”

“Studying. I’m boring, remember? I’m looking for Katsuki, you seen him around?”

Sero snickered. “Bakugou, huh? He’s been looking for you for a long time, right, Denki?”

“Heeeeeey~”

You swallowed hard. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Sero snickered again, flopping on the couch next to Denki. “Can’t tell. Part of the bro code. And he said he’d kill me.”

“That does sound like Katsuki.”

Sero covered his eyes with his arm, head leaning back. With a wide smile, he waved his hand in the vague direction to the back door. “I think he’s out by the pool or something.”

You waved bye. “Thanks, I’ll go check it out. You guys take care of yourselves, okay?”

“Look at ‘em go,” Sero said to Denki as you left. “You think they’ll have a spring wedding?”

“Heeeeeey~”

*~~~~*

You managed to weave your way through the crowd of bodies clogging the house to finally spill out into the back yard. You had no idea how people were able to stay this energized this late into the night with this many other people around. You remembered once being stuck at another party, early on in your college days. When it became super clear you didn’t want to be there, overwhelmed by the noise, the crush of bodies, and the suffocation of social enterprise, Katsuki had dragged Kirishima over to you, planting him in front of you as your ‘extrovert shield.’ He’d stayed with you behind the boisterous redhead for the rest of the night.

You wondered if Katsuki remembered doing that, if he remembered any of the small nice gestures he did for you over the years. And now, with his call, with what Sero said, with your over analyzing brain, you were dissecting every interaction you could remember. Was the time he opened a door for you a signal? Was the reason he would ask to study with you for chemistry, when he was way better in practically every subject than you, just so he could be close to you? Were the times he had given you his jacket when you were cold meant to be a more intimate moment?

God, you were going to go crazy.

Walking around the pool, you finally spotted the hot-headed blond. He was sitting slouched over on the end of one of the reclining pool chairs, forearms braced on his knees. You almost called out to him, stopping cold when you saw the girl behind him. She had draped herself over his back, chin rested in the crook of his neck, one had massaging his shoulder, the other conspicuously sneaking under the hem of his shirt to rub circles on his abs.

You clenched and unclenched your hands, worry gnawing at you as a headache at the back of your skull. Had something changed between the time he had called you and now? Had there been nothing there to change at all? Had you been misreading this situation the whole time?

Katsuki looked up, his permanently affixed scowl even deeper. The second his jewel-red eyes met yours, you felt your heart skip a beat. He jumped to his feet so fast the girl behind him fell back against the chair. He tried marching over to you, which was made only slightly less intimidating by the drunk sway to his step.

You didn’t remember him being so tall. You’d just seen him this afternoon. There was a flushed blush across his face, adding a surprising softness. Were his arms always that strong looking? Were his eyes that piercing? Was his jaw that strong?

“You came,” He said, voice rough as whiskey soaking into gravel.

You spread your hands. “Well, you said my name three times, so, here I am!” You laughed nervously, trying to ignore how his gaze pinned you down.

He took another step towards you, hand reading up. “(Y/N), I-”

His cheeks turned from pink to green. Lurching to the side, he vomited into the pool. You tried to help him back up, hunched over and trying to catch his breath. The crowd of people around you groaned in disgust before rolling in to sarcastic applause. Katsuki flipped them off.

“Alright, Suki,” You said, rubbing his back. “Let’s get you back home.”

He grumbled, leaning his full weight against you. You almost stumbled and fell with the sudden shift of balance. Katsuki slid his arm around your waist, hand firmly grasping your hip, as if he was the one trying to prevent you from a drunken stumble. His fingers felt like fire through your clothes.

You decided to go around the house instead of trying to push your way through it. Soon you were making your way across the street. It took some maneuvering to unlock and open the passenger door. You practically dropped Katsuki in where his head fell back with a groan. You grabbed his seat belt and stretched across him to fasten it. It wasn’t until he started petting your hair that your realized your position of half-way laying across his lap. You jerked back, some of your hair getting caught in his fingers. He made a disappointed sound at the loss of it.

You slid back into the driver's seat, trembling hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. You had to take a few steadying breaths before you were ready to start the car. Pulling out of the neighborhood, you glanced over at Katsuki. His eye brows were furrowed, eyes closed, mouth pulled in a small frown.

God, he looked adorable.

You hit the break harder than you meant to at the light. Adorable? Where the hell did that thought come from? He’d probably be furious if he knew you ever thought that.

But…

You risked another look at him. When he let his face relax like this, you could see the slight chub that still clung to his cheeks. Another thing he would hate to know that you thought was how much you loved the softness that it leant him. It was cute.

Almost without your realizing it, you lifted your hand. You were overcome with the sudden urge to poke his cheek. A car horn blared behind you when your finger was less than an inch from his face. You let out an undignified squeak, hands slamming back to the wheel. Katsuki grumbled and turned in the seat, head resting against the window. You could feel the blush burning up your face.

A few minutes later, you pulled back to the apartment complex. You both lived in the same building, Katsuki directly below your own unit. And now you were overthinking his reason for not living on campus.

When you opened the passenger door, Katsuki almost fell out. You jerked forward to catch him then dragged him out. He half woke up, as feeble on his legs as a newborn horse.

You lugged him through the lobby. He was muttering under his breath, but most of the words you could make out were curses. Not unusual for him. You pressed the button for the elevator repeatedly. It just blinked back at you. You sighed in frustration. They had been doing maintenance on your building all week, but now might have been the absolute worst time to do the elevator.

You shook Katsuki’s shoulder a little bit. His head jostled like a bobble-head. “Suki, I’m gonna need your help here for a minute.”

His head lolled forward, forehead coming down to press to yours. In a quiet voice, he whispered, “I’d do anything for you.”

You shoved him upright, face burning. “Then walk up the damn stairs yourself!”

Despite that, you still ended up half-carrying him up four flights of stairs. You were uncomfortably sweaty when you reached the door to Katsuki’s apartment. The two of you had traded copies of your apartment keys when you had moved in. “In case something happens to your dumb ass and I need to come save you,” He had said. He would frequently stop by, usually when you were hours deep into an all-nighter. He’d bring his laptop and work on whatever 12 page essay way due on your bed while you poured over case reports. You’d sit in silence, just together, sharing the same space, content with nothing more than knowing the other was nearby. Or he’d bring you real food to make sure you weren’t just eating ramen all the time. In turn, you’d pull him out for game night with the squad, make sure he’d actually call his mother once in a while, and lend an ear to his semi-nightly rants on whoever he decided to hate that night.

You fumbled with the keys, jamming the key in the lock then pushing it open with your shoulder that wasn’t currently occupied by a half-asleep, full-drunk boy who had at least 50 pounds and ten inches on you.

There was always an expectation with the rooms of single college boys. Greasy pizza boxes, empty bottles of booze displayed like expensive decor, at least one poster of a half-naked girl somewhere, probably a basket of clothes that should have been washed weeks ago. And while you knew plenty of guys who fit that description, Katsuki defied expectation. His apartment was always immaculate. His shoes were lined neatly by the door, a calendar above his desk color-coded with assignment due dates, bed made. Katsuki may give off the persona of a punk, but you knew he was a straight-laced nerd through and through.

With the last of your strength, you lugged him across the room, dropping him on his bed. With a groan, you stretched your arms up until you heard a satisfying pop in your back. Hands on your hips, you watched as Katsuki moaned, burying his face in his pillow and pulling his feet up from the floor. You sat on the end of the bed, tugging his feet to you to unlace his shoes. You let them fall haphazardly to the floor, too tired to care about his level of neatness.

You grabbed a bucket from his hall closet, putting it next to the head of his bed for when he inevitably woke up vomiting in the morning. Checking his bathroom, you put a couple of painkillers and a glass of water on the nightstand with a post-it note saying “Drink Me.”

Brushing your hands off, you looked around and checked your work. Satisfied that he wouldn’t kill himself between now and when you would inevitably check on him in the morning, you decided it was finally time to head back upstairs and get some well deserved sleep.

But…

You turned back at the door. Katsuki was splayed like a starfish, gently snoring with his mouth wide open. You also noticed his blushing red fluffy cheeks.

You tapped the door knob a few times before sighing in surrender to temptation and turnin back. You knelt down next to the bed. For a moment, you just watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful now. You reached out. Your index finger sunk into his cheek like it was a marshmallow. You couldn’t believe you had never done this before. God, he really was adorable.

Your thoughts were abruptly cut off as Katsuki’s hand shot up and grabbed your wrist with an iron grip. With a shriek, you tried to scramble backwards. Katsuki lazily opened his eyes, not at all bothered by your struggles. With seemingly no effort on his part, he tugged you forward. Off balance, you fell into his chest. Katsuki wrapped his arms around you in a bear hug, slinging a leg over yours, trapping you on the bed.

“Katsuki!” You hissed. You squirmed in his hold, not getting any extra room. He just hummed, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You were pretty sure your face was hot enough to start a fire. “Katsuki, let me go!”

“No,” He mumbled. His voice rumbled against your skin sending shivers through your whole body.

“Katsuki!”

“You can’t leave. If you leave, you won’t come back.”

You stopped struggling. “What are you talking about?”

He squeezed you tighter. “I’m loud. I get angry real easy. I fight a lot. And you…” He trailed off, his breath catching and rattling in his chest. “You’re so much better than me. You’re nice and smart and talented and pretty and caring and… and…” You could feel the hot tears landing on your skin. He was starting to shake. His grip had loosened enough for you to get out, but instead you brought your arms up and pulled him in closer. “If I let you go, you’ll see how much better you are than me. And you’ll leave. You’ll leave me because you’re better and you deserve so much better. But I’m a selfish bastard and I just want you for myself because I love you so damn much.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You wiggled your hand up, threading your hand into his hair and tilting his head to look up at you.

“I love you too,” You said softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Katsuki crushed you to his chest, letting out another loud sob. You could feel hot tears pressing against your eyes. You had no idea Katsuki felt this way about anything; about you, about himself, about your relationship.

But one thing you knew for sure: You loved Bakugou Katsuki.

~~~

The first thing Katsuki noticed when he woke up was the head ache. His head felt like he had a railroad spike jammed through his temples. God, what did he do last night? There was the party at Kappa Alpha Betta Whatever house. It’d been fine for a while, hanging out with the guys, playing beer pong, winning some extra cash from freshman in poker (where did he put that money anyway?). And then…

And then someone had said your name. He’d heard it across the room, an amazing feat in and of itself, but his ears were trained for any news of you. He’d jerked up right when he heard it, missing his shot at the beer pong table. He gladly took his drink and went prowling through the house. Who had said your name? Were you here? Were you coming?

It might have been selfish, he knew how much you hated loud crowds, but damn it, he wanted you here. He remembered the last Greek life party you had been at. He’d lost you at some point between getting into an argument with that damn Deku and pulling Denki down from a keg stand. He’d finally found you huddled into some back corner, looking like a rabbit about to dart from a hungry fox (he wouldn’t mind being that fox, honestly, he could eat you right up.) You’d lost the color in your face, hands shaking as you clutched your red Solo cup almost hard enough for your nails to pierce the plastic.

He snatched Kirishima by his collar as he carved a path through the room. He planted the extroverted red-head in front of you, creating an extrovert shield between himself and the love of his life you. He’d spent the rest of the night talking to you. Nothing special, he couldn’t even really remember what about. But he did remember the relaxed slope of your shoulders, the spark in your eyes, the smile that played on your lips at whatever lame joke he had just made.

Back in the present (or last night, whatever), he was still stalking through the halls looking for whoever had mentioned you. He heard it again, the tail end of your name, coming from the living room.

“-(/N) never had it so good.” There he was, lounging along the bottom stairs with a smug look on his face as he regaled the small crowd he had attracted. Katsuki recognized him as one of those legacy kids, the one who showed up to the first day of orientation in a sleek black Bugatti and took up three parking spaces, talked in almost every one of his classes when he even bothered to show up, and was, without a doubt at every party on or off campus.

And now he was telling a story about you. What were you ever doing with an asshole like him?

“You would never guess it from how she dresses, you know,” The guy continued, lazily waving his half-empty beer bottle. “But she is stacked.”

Katsuki tensed up, his heart jumping into his throat. He pushed aside the crowd until he stood right in front of the bragger on the stairs. “What did you just say?” He asked through clenched teeth. “You're talking about (Y/N) (L/N), right?”

He lazily swept his gaze up, grinning wide when he saw Katsuki. “Yeah, (Y/N)? You know, she comes across as a frigid bitch, but let me tell you, she’s an incredible lay.” Katsuki’s vision went red. The crowd started to subtly shuffle away, feeling the cold change in atmosphere. “Not much besides that, honestly. Thank god her tits and ass are amazing, cause her face sure wasn’t doing it for me. Super boring, too, heard she’s failing her classes. Oh, well. Hey, I could use a side-piece when I’m running my own firm, you know?”

The asshole never saw it coming. In the span of a heart beat, Katsuki had grabbed his designer jacket and hoisted him off the stairs, pinning him to the wall so his feet kicked to try and reach the ground.

“You listen to me, asshole,” Katsuki hissed. “You never talk about (Y/N) again. You never look at her, you never talk to your shit-stain friends about her, you sure as fuck never tell another lie about her, or so help me, you’ll get to find out what color your liver is.”

Katsuki was half-way sure the jerk had pissed his pants. He dropped him in a heap, landing in the puddle of spilled beer on the floor. He brushed his hand off on his jeans, eager to get whatever germs the gossip had off him.

He was almost out of ear shot when he heard the rich kid spit and say, “Fine. She’s probably crawling with it if you’re dicking her down.”

The kid’s head made a dent in the wall as he richoched back from the impact of Katsuki’s punch. He would easily have a black eye and a broken nose, the chipped tooth would just be a bonus.

Katsuki’s head was fuzzy with rage, stalked through the house, bee-lining it to the nearest source of inebriation. How dare he? How fucking dare that absolute ass-wipe ever even think of saying such horrible things about you? He wasn’t even worth knowing your name, much less saying it. Not to mention the fact he must be blind to think you were anything less than stunning. Ever since he had known you, you had been nothing but kind and smart and caring and funny and…

“Baku-bro, you doing okay?”

Katsuki didn’t realize how tight he was holding his fists until he relaxed. His nails had made half-moon indents in his palms, his knuckles brushed red from the punch.

Kirishima had his mouth pulled down in that stupid puppy dog pout. “I’m fine,” Katsuki brushed him off. He grabbed a beer out of an iced cooler, twisting off the cap in a single motion and chugging half the bottle.

“Well, that’s good, cause I don’t think Tim Flood is making it out of here without a few stitches.”

“Good.” Katsuki finished the beer and chucked it into a recycle bin. He grabbed another and stalked out of the room. Everything felt too hot, too tight. His head was pounding. If you were here, you’d get a bag of ice and press it against his forehead. You’d probably call him an idiot for getting into another fight, that he needed to learn how to manage his temper better. He’d call you a dumbass but let you lead him away somewhere dark and quiet, away from all the other more insufferable dumbasses. You’d find some pain killers, get him some water, because that’s just the kind of caring person you were. Maybe you’d bring him upstairs, lead him to an unoccupied bedroom. The two of you would sit together on the bed, maybe just a little too close. You’d hand him the water, his hand would brush against yours. You’d look down, shy, blushing cutely. He’d lean forward, thread his hand through your incredibly soft hair, angle your face up to him. Your plush lips would part slightly and he’d lean forward and -

“Are you sure you’re good?” Kirishima asked, abruptly cutting off Katsuki’s impromptu fantasy. “Cause you don’t look so good.” Katsuki bit his tongue. “Is it because of what that guy said about (Y/N)?” Katsuki whipped around, glaring daggers. Kirishima smiled and put his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, bro, it’s okay! No one believed him, anyway.”

Katsuki scoffed, taking a swig of the beer. “(Y/N)’s too good for him anyway.”

“I bet you think (Y/N)’s too good for everyone here, right?”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need to hurry up and tell (Y/N) you like her!” Sero shouted, jumping in out of nowhere.

Katsuki dropped his bottle, Kirishima catching it just in time, and grabbed Sero by the front of his shirt and lifted him up. Sero just grinned his stupid, wide grin.

“Come on, Katsuki,” Denki said, slinging an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders. “We all know you’ve had a thing for (Y/N) since high school. Why don’t you just put us all out of our misery and tell her already?!”

Katsuki felt his face heat up. “I don’t- I haven’t - Fuck you!” Katsuki couldn’t remember why he was friends with these three idiots as they all burst out into laughter.

He snatched his bottle back and pushed through the crowd. He needed some air. He heard Sero yell after him, “You have to tell her eventually!”

And… That was mostly it. Katsuki’s memories of last night sort of started to trail off after that. He knew that he drank, he drank a lot. At some point he ended up by the pool. And maybe he’d called someone? Oh, hell, he hoped he hadn’t called someone.

His eyes snapped open at the soft groan. There you were, just inches away from his face, fast asleep and tucked in his arms. You were pressed close, breasts pushing against his chest, legs tangled with his, one hand clutching his shirt. Your lips were parted ever so slightly, breathing heavy and even.

And you were so fucking close.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His arms tightened around you and he tensed. How the hell did this happen? Did you actually come to the party last night? When, and why? What had called you down there-?

Oh. Oh, the call! He had called you last night? Some time in his drunken haze he must have figured out to bypass the timed lock he had put on it specifically to avoid calling people with a too-honest tongue. But had you…? Nervously, he looked down. He sighed in relief. You were both still dressed. At least that was one mistake he knew he hadn’t made.

Alright, that was one problem. Now, on to the next one: How was he going to get out of here without waking you up? Craning his head around, he checked out the room. Wait, this was his room. He was in his apartment! A picture of last night started to form in his mind. He’d called you, blabbering God knows what, and then you’d been a good person (why were you such a good person?) and had come to get him, to make sure he was okay. And then what? He’d somehow seduced you into his bed? No, it was more likely you had stayed to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit, maybe sat on the bed because it was the middle of the night and you were exhausted, and then… This.

Okay, okay, no, this was fine, he could fix this. He could slip out, let you keep sleeping. He’d make some breakfast in the kitchen and then you’d wake up, wander in rubbing the sleep from your eyes in that cute way you did when you pulled an all-nighter studying. He’d chastise you for lugging his drunk ass up here, for being out so late at night. You’d wave him off, compliment his cooking, tell him to take better care of himself, and then smile up at him with that blindingly beautiful smile and sparkling eyes.

“Morning.” Katsuki yelped at your greeting. He stared, wide-eyed, down at you, as you look back up at him lazily with those sparkling eyes. “It’s kinda hard to breathe here.” He realized then just how tight he was holding you. He jerked backward, his shout of surprise cut off as he fell off the bed. He rubbed his sore hip, looking up when he heard your giggle. You were leaning over the bed, smiling shyly when he caught you staring.

He gulped hard, feeling his face burning up. “Hi.”

You tucked a loose threat of hair behind your ear. “Hi.”

He should say something. He needed to say something. God, why wasn’t he saying something?

“I-“ Katsuki stopped with an incomplete thought in his mouth. He suddenly felt uncomfortably hot, his stomach clenching and throat going dry. Your face dropped as you lunged forward, dragging a bucket in front of him (where did that even come from?). He surged forward, clenching the sides of the bucket in a white knuckled grip, and threw up.

You slid off the bed and knelt next to him. You rubbed small circles in his back, whispering small comforts as he coughed up bile and alcohol and who knows what else. You reached over behind him and grabbed a glass of water from his nightstand.

“Here,” You said. “Rinse and spit. Don’t swallow or gargle, it’ll just mess with your gag reflex.” Rubbing the spike of pain growing in his forehead, he did what you said. When he caught his breath, he accepted the pain killers you had and dry swallowed them. You really had prepared for everything, huh?

Katsuki shoved the bucket away with his foot, leaning back against the bed. “Fuck…”

You hummed in response and scooted to sit next to him. “So,” You said.

“So,” He said back.

“I don’t suppose you remember much from last night?”

He clenched his jaw, mouth going dryer than it already was, if that was possible. He tried to laugh, but it sounded forced and strained, even to him. “Hey, we’re both still wearing pants, right?” You didn’t laugh back.

“So that’s a no then?” The seriousness with which you said that made him pause.

“I, uh, think I called you?”

“MmHmm. You didn’t sound too great, so I came to pull you out.”

“Huh. Thanks for that.”

“Yup.” You paused for a second. “Do you remember… anything else you said?”

Fuck.

“Uhh, I owe you breakfast?”

You looked away. “Is there anything you maybe told Sero that you wouldn’t want him to tell me?”

Double fuck.

“If this is about Halloween last year, Mina was the one who brought the Ouija board.” He smirked at you, waiting for you to laugh with him. Instead you didn’t even look up, staring a hole in the carpet with the intensity of your gaze.

You let out a sigh through your nose, pushing off your knees to stand. “I’m gonna head out,” You said, rubbing the back of your head and still not looking at him.

Katsuki jumped up, immediately regretting as his head began swimming. “(Y/N), wait-“ He cut himself off with another surge of nausea and lurched towards the bucket.

“Katsuki,” You said, sounding frustrated. “Look, I…” You sighed, running a hand through your hair and turning back to him. “We’ve known each other for a long time now, right? And for all the time I’ve known you, you’ve been stubborn and pig-headed and aggressive and just, you know, you. But still, in all that time, despite everything, I still…” You pressed your lips, looking for the right words. “I’m happy when I’m around you, Katsuki. I feel at ease, I feel protected, I feel like I can be better at anything. And I’ve thought about this a lot, so much that it makes my head spin and my heart hurt, but through all the trouble I still think it’s worth it. Because at the end of the day it means I still get to be with you and sometimes I just feel like that’s enough, but now I…” Your lip was trembling, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. Katsuki wanted nothing more than to take a big step forward and wrap you in the biggest, tightest hug of your life. Finally, you sighed in defeat. “But if you can’t say it, if the One and Only Katsuki Bakugou can’t say it, then how the hell can I?”

Your voice broke on the last word. Katsuki was so stunned and suddenly pinned with guilt that he couldn’t move when you spun on your heels and rushed out of his apartment.

Oh, fuck.

~~~

“Idiot,” You murmured to yourself as you fled up the apartment stairs, furiously wiping at your eyes to get rid of the oncoming tears. “Idiot, idiot, idiot.” By the time you reached your apartment and slammed the door behind you, you weren’t sure if you were talking about Katsuki or yourself.

You felt sick. Anxiety gnawed at your mind like a starving coyote. Had you really just confessed your feelings to Katsuki? Had you really just confessed your feelings to Katsuki like that? Would he ever speak to you again? Would things just become too awkward that you’d be edged out of your friend group? They had known Katsuki much longer than they had known you, after all. God, what if he was calling Kirishima right now and telling him about the disaster of a morning, after you had taken advantage of his blitz out state and slept in the same bed with him?

Well, no. Kirishima was probably still knocked out from his own night of heavy imbibing. Not to mention that even he, the most kind-hearted and patient person you knew, would have to draw a line at listening to Katsuki rant while dealing with a massive hangover.

And no, Katsuki wouldn’t do that to you. Despite his rough deminor, his abrasive personality, and his profane tongue, Katsuki was actually a sweetheart deep down. Maybe really deep down, but still. He wouldn’t be so intentionally cruel, even if you told him that you shared all of his baby pictures of him playing in his All Might onesie online.

So then why were you still huddled on a heap on the floor, back pressed against the front door, crying? Why was this pit of loneliness blooming in your chest?

You yelped at the sudden banging on the door. Who could be here so early in the morning? You had paid rent this month, right? You sniffed, rubbing your eyes and smoothing out your clothes. You hoped your cheeks weren’t the blotchy red they got whenever you were upset. You took a deep breath to steady your voice for whoever was outside.

Opening the door, you looked up at a wide-eyed Katsuki, panting hard with determination set on his face. You groaned internally.

“Katsuki,” You began,” About what I said, I’m sorr-”

Without waiting for you to finish, Katsuki surged forward. You tried to take a step backward, almost falling, but he caught you, a strong grip on your shoulders. Without waiting for you to get your bearings, Katsuki leaned in, smashing his lips against yours.

It wasn’t a graceful kiss, all clashing teeth and urgency rather than romance. His eyes were screwed closed. He stayed pressed against you, not moving, grip so tight on your upper arms you thought there might be a mark later.

Just as suddenly as he had come forward, he jerked back, but kept his hold on you. You both breathed heavily, eyes locked. Your mind whirled, a hundred voices shouting at the same time. For once, you decided to ignore them and let your body do what it wanted.

You reached up, wrapping your arms around Katsuki’s neck and pulled him back in. This kiss was controlled, soft and sweet. His hands dropped from your shoulders to wrap around your waist. He pressed in harder, adding desperation in the kiss, as if he thought you would vanish any second. When you both pulled away this time, he leaned his forehead against yours, noses bumping into each other, sharing the same breath.

His voice was rough. “Sorry,” He said. “I had to brush my teeth first.”

#bnha #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou x reader #reader insert #fanfic #bakugo x reader #wafflefriesfic

371 notes · View notes