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amethystwrytes · 2 months ago

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Safe. (Part Two)

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Fem. Reader x Lee Minho

Summary: A broke ER Nurse offers up her services to a large crime organization in exchange for much higher pay and benefits that are unconventional, but lucrative. The life proves to be questionable at best, and downright isolating at worst which leaves her feeling unsure, unstable and dangerous.

Warnings: Explicit language. Explicit depictions of sex (some chapters will be more explicit than others sexually). Violence. Blood. Trauma injuries. (Organized) Crime. Emotional manipulation. Medical inaccuracy galore. Smoking. Past addiction. 18+ Only.

Chapter WC: 6.5k

Read Pt. One Here

- PART TWO -

When you wake up this time, unlike the previous evening, you’re on the couch in the living room. You hear whistling and dishes clanking from the kitchen, and the roar of a load of laundry going. You sit up and rub your eyes. You know Hyunjin isn’t feeling well enough to be bustling about your kitchen and Seungmin would never. So, you’re not surprised to see Han Jisung floating around the kitchen, putting things where they don’t go, while he flip flops between whistling and singing random songs.

The scent of coffee is in the air, and that takes precedence over other thoughts. So you lift your stiff body off the couch to greet him.

“Where did my best buddy go off to?” you joke dryly as you grab a mug from the cupboard.

“Oh! Good morning, uh…Seungmin? He and I switched out shifts, I didn’t figure you cared so we didn’t wake you up,” Han explains, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder.

“Thank you for cleaning,” you look around. He’s cleaned everything from last night, the counters, the floors, the sheet you put over the dining table is in the laundry, along with some bloody towels and clothes. The kitchen and dining area look like a normal house again, and not a surgery center.

“Eh,” he shrugs, pouring himself a refill, “I assumed it was a hard night if you passed out on the couch, just wanted to help. Um…how is he?” Jisung asks.

“Let’s go see, besides, he needs to eat here in the kitchen, needs to walk around so that wound doesn’t start healing in the wrong position,” you say, then take a big gulp of coffee before setting it down on the counter.

Hyunjin is awake when you and Jisung walk into the room, he’s got his tongue tucked between his teeth and he’s concentrating hard on an open notebook, a simple #2 pencil seems to be possessed by something as he drags it across the page. For several seconds he doesn’t even seem to notice anyone has walked into the room until Jisung runs into the chest of drawers near the door.

Like a shot, Hyunjin snaps the notebook closed and his face goes from wild concentration to that cool, unbothered demeanor you’ve grown accustomed to with him.

“What are you drawing?” you can’t help but wonder.

“I just like to doodle, it’s nothing,” he says a little too quickly and you get the feeling he doesn’t want you to see his work, fine, you’re not here to argue.

“Up you go,” you stand by his bed and beckon him with your fingers. “We’re going to go eat at the kitchen table, you need to walk around.”

“Uh, pardon? Was it not you that sewed my damn side back together last night? Can’t you just bring it in here?” he asks.

“You have stitches Hyunjin, there are women in hospitals all over the world right now who just had seven layers of their guts sliced open, a literal human being dragged out, and then those guts stitched, cauterized, and stapled back together - and they have to get up and walk as soon as the spinal block wears off - so get your ass up, go sit at the table, and I’ll make you some breakfast,” you instruct, patting the side of his face with a smug smile.

“You’re kind of mean, you know that?” he half smiles.

“I know,” you wave as you walk back to the kitchen.

“Seven fucking layers? I didn't even know there were seven layers…” you hear Jisung whisper as he assists Hyunjin out of bed.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Later in the afternoon Minho pays another surprise visit. You think he must favor Hyunjin, he’s never been this diligent on checking in. Or, maybe he wants to make good on his promise to make you his when there wasn't a man bleeding out on your table. The thought gives you an unhealthy excitement.

“You’re alive!” Minho grins and gives Hyunjins shoulders a shake.

“Yes sir,” he nods, “Gonna take more than some bitch ass blade to take me out.”

“Of course,” Minho smiles, then looks at you, “You did wonderfully love. He looks right as rain.”

“Well, I’d still like to monitor him for infection, though I do have him started on antibiotics, but yes, I think he’ll be back to normal in a few days,” you report.

“Good! Then you’ll both join me this coming Saturday evening,” Minho casually goes to the fridge and plucks a water out.

You and Hyunjin look at each other quizzically. You’ve never been asked to do anything aside from bandaging Minho’s guys.

“You mean me?” you ask, looking around. Jisung is upstairs taking a nap, so there are no other people in the room.

“Yes, I mean you,” Minho confirms. “This Saturday I’m hosting a meeting of sorts with some of our associates. Specifically, I want to ensure they’re on our side of things. The intel on your attack leads to Kim Taehyung. I guess those guys that attacked the three of you were planted there by him. I’ve had just about enough of the Kim organization pushing back lately, after we’ve been so generous in letting them live and operate around the gun sales - but the attack on the three of you last night - in addition to him selling to our clients, that was the last straw,” he explains. “I plan to obliterate their ops, and make sure Kim Taehyung never sees another daylight.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, you have no idea who Minho is talking about but the visions of all the ways this Kim Taehyung is going to pay for what he’s done is overwhelmingly gruesome.

“Anyway,” Minho clears his throat, “Saturday at the Casino, I’ll make sure our business partners and associates are all on the same page, if not then I’ll assume they’re enemies now, but in order to keep the tension down I’d like it to be casual - which is where you come in darling,” Minho looks at you.

“I don’t understand…you need first aid on site or?”

Minho laughs, “No love, I want you there as my date, so to speak, I’ve told the others to bring their wives, mistresses, whomever - it’s a party, and I want to keep it light, I’ll look less uptight if I’ve got something to occasionally hold my attention,” he smiles, then looks at Hyunjin, “I’m sure Kim will have some of his guys planted around the casino and I want them to see you there Hwang. I know they targeted you because of your reputation as my best, and they need to know it was barely a scratch.”

Hyunjin nods, “Of course.”

“Good, then it’s settled.”

You say nothing, still too stunned to speak. You don’t really want to go to his Casino. You don’t want to be seen as his…anything. You feel like you’re being debuted as something you never agreed to, and you’re also sure if you bring it up he’ll brush it off as nothing, that you’re reading too much into his invitation or worse, he’ll be livid for your insubordination. You don’t like this, you didn’t agree to dates, or public appearances. When Minho approached you in the hospital parking lot that morning all those months ago, the parameters were clear: He’ll pay you and keep you supplied with medical necessities if you tend to he and his men. Period.

And yet. On the other hand, you can’t quite explain the flicker of giddiness in your stomach at the thought of having a night out with him. It’s exciting and yet simultaneously makes you hate yourself.

This is your fault. You never should’ve fallen for that face, that misleading smile that conceals the evil within, that makes you think he’s harmless. He’s not, and you climbed into bed with him literally and figuratively, you’ve done this to yourself. You know you’re in too deep even as he looks at you now from across the room and motions up the stairs with his eyes, the excitement pools immediately between your legs and you get up and lead the way, not caring your house is occupied with two other people, not caring about Saturdays Casino night, only caring about feeling good. You’re in too deep, and you don’t think you can pull yourself out.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“So, about Saturday,” you say, pulling the sheets up under your arms, concealing your nudity.

“Hm?” Minho is just out of the shower, he wraps a towel around his waist and sits back down on the bed, picking his phone up to check it.

“I’m just a little concerned…” you trail off, not sure what to say or how to say it.

“If you’re worried about what to wear, don't be,” he says casually without looking up from his phone, “I’ll send Christopher over with dress options and accessories that afternoon for you to choose from.”

“That’s not really what I’m worried about, but that’s nice of you,” you say.

“Then what?” he finally looks over at you.

“It’s just…It’s just that surely there’s someone else you’d rather have with you than me, I’m just for emergencies you know? Medical emergencies,” you clarify.

He laughs dryly, “You said you felt lonely here, that you’re not sure how to act normal when you’re not with us, so I figured I’d take you out into our world, that way you don’t have to worry about how to act or not act. It’ll be fun, you’ll get to dress up, have drinks, eat delicious food, and play some games if you’d like. Why are you concerned?” he looks genuinely confused and closing in on irritated.

“People are going to think we’re together,” you blurt, “I mean Seungmin already - ugh, it doesn’t matter, but I just want us both to be clear about things, about this,” you gesture towards the bed.

“I see…” Minho says tightly, “So, you don’t want to be seen with me, is that what I’m getting from this?”

“It’s not that! I mean if you want to whittle it down, completely ignoring all context and nuance then fine, but what I’m actually saying is that I’m just a nurse, when we made this arrangement you never said anything about going to Casinos or being on your arm to keep things casual amongst your associates. You told me that you’d pay me to take care of any injuries your guys get and that’s the position I accepted. Then we started fucking each other, and now we’re going to be playing a couple at your Casino and that’s…a lot,” you explain.

“Right,” Minho looks half amused, half pissed as he gets off the bed and starts dressing himself. You watch in silence as he flits around the room without a word and you grow increasingly nervous. It’s as if the very temperature in the room has dropped.

“Can you say something, please? It’s not my intention to hurt you-,”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. Me coming up here and fucking you a couple times a week is perfectly fine, but suddenly I ask you to do me a favor - which is just to spend an evening out with me at a fucking Casino for God’s sake - and that’s the line you draw? That’s too much?” he looks at you, and you’ve never seen him look that way before, not at you. It chills you.

“I just-,”

“Stop talking,” he sighs, “You’re prettier when you don’t talk.”

Your eyes widen at his words.

“What? This is what you expect of me, correct? The big, bad, wolf? Fine. So here’s how it works now - I tell you where to be and when to be there, and you’re there. I enjoy fucking you, very much, but at the end of the day you can just be my employee. Now, back in the hospital I’m sure that comes with boundaries and scopes of responsibilities but here, all it comes with is: I tell you what to do and you do it. There is no HR complaint box, there’s you getting in the car I’ll send for you Saturday, and smiling and pretending like you’re having the time of your life while I assess the people in attendance to see if I’m going to allow them to live and operate their organizations peacefully in this city, or if I’m going to have a very bloody few months on my hands.”

You shake under the covers, fight the tears that are burning your eyeballs.

“Do you understand? Have I made myself unclear in any way?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Words please,” he stares into you.

“Yes. I understand,” you answer, hoping he doesn’t see the way your chin wobbles.

“Good. Then from now on we don’t have to flirt around what we are or aren’t, since that’s so fucking important to you suddenly. You’ll know exactly where you stand,” he heads towards the door, “Oh, and before you get any bright ideas about running back to your miserable life at the hospital, try to remember you don’t walk away from this life. You don’t walk away from me. There’s not a hospital on this planet that will hire a nurse who sells controlled drugs out of her house.”

“I don’t sell-,”

“Oh don’t you?” he slowly walks back over and leans down close, “Because the cops on my payroll who will turn this house upside down if I ask them to, will write a report that says differently - think of the pharmacy you’ve got going on down there, my goodness. Jail time won’t suit you Kitten, so be a good girl,” he grabs your chin and kisses you hard on the lips.

You watch in absolute horror as he opens the door and steps out, your face hot and wet with tears, jaw clenched so tight in fear that you feel like your teeth might break.

“See you soon baby.”

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“___?”

You hear Hyunjins voice softly call through the closed bedroom door before he gently opens it.

“What are you doing in here?” you demand, not bothering to roll over to look at him.

The room is dark, you’ve laid in the same spot, naked, all day. Your pillow is damp with the tears you’ve shed between cat naps. You’ve no idea what time it actually is but his wound needs to be cleaned and the dressings changed. He’s probably also not had any more medication, and you’ve no idea what his vitals look like but you imagine he’s still dehydrated and weak from all that blood he lost.

“I haven’t seen you all day, I just…I wanted to make sure you were alright I guess,” he says, and you can hear his uneven steps hobbling towards the armchair in the corner of your room.

“You shouldn’t have walked up the steps, you’ll put too much stress on the wound,” you say flatly, though you can’t seem to find it within you to care.

“I’m turning this light on,” he says.

“Don’t! I’m not dressed,” you say, your chest flooding with shame and humiliation, a fresh batch of tears start flowing.

“Hey,” he stands up again and you hear him grunt, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you sob, which only makes more tears because how pathetic is it to say I’m fine when you’re clearly not? “Just go back downstairs - I’ll be there in a minute okay? Please Hyunjin…”

“Okay,” he says softly, “but if you’re not down there within the hour I’m coming back up here and annoying the shit out of you until you get up and eat something.”

“Fine.”

When you come down into the kitchen you say nothing to the two men who sit at the table. Jisung still seems to be on duty and is enamored with some game that’s too loud on his phone. Hyunjin on the other hand, you can feel staring at you as you make your way to the fridge and grab a yogurt.

You eat it standing over the sink, your back towards the men.

“What have you had to eat or drink today?” you ask Hyunjin as you toss the spoon into the sink, the half eaten yogurt into the garbage.

“I’ve eaten, and I’ve been drinking the gatorade and water back and forth. I’m fine,” he says with an emphasis that implies he knows you are not fine.

“Good, let’s go to your room and take a look at that wound, I’ll get your vitals too for good measure, then I’m going to bed,” you tell him.

At this Jisung looks up from his phone, “Haven’t you been asleep all day?”

“Well, considering I didn’t really sleep last night, and honestly the fact that you people keep me from sleeping most nights, I figured I’d fucking play catch up Jisung. Is that okay with you?” you snap.

“Yeah, jeez,” he huffs, “Sounds like you need it.”

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“Ouch,” Hyunjin winces as you peel the bandage off his stitches.

“The wound looks good, it’s a little sticky but that’s normal. Tomorrow we can have you leave the bandage off, let the air get to it,” you say.

“What happened?”

“You got stabbed in a fight,” you answer as if you don’t know what he’s really asking.

“When Lee left and you didn’t come back down I figured you were just taking some time, and then an hour passed and I thought you were just napping or something, but then the whole day went by and I thought he…” Hyunjin trails off.

“Killed me?” you finish for him, hyper focusing on carefully opening the clean bandages.

“I mean…I know that doesn’t make any sense, but yeah, kind of,” he nods.

“Well, I’m not dead,” you say.

“I can see that. Did he… do something else…” he trails off again and his dark eyes meet yours for a split second before he looks back down.

You know what he’s implying and it makes you feel sick. You’ve never done anything nonconsensual with Minho, but that was before his fucking second personality showed up.

“The only thing that happened in that room was me being made painfully aware of what I’ve really gotten myself into Hyunjin.”

“What have you gotten yourself into?”

You sigh, your fingers faltering over his skin as new tears make their way down your cheek, “You know. You know exactly,” you sniff.

Hyunjin takes the pad of his thumb and wipes some of the tears away.

“Seeing you cry kills me,” he says softly, “When we first started bringing the guys here, I thought you were this tough, bitchy Nurse Ratched type, you’d tell us all what to do, what to get, make us tell you what happened like fifty billion times. Then I realized what you were really doing.”

You sniff and wipe your tears with the back of your hand, “What are you talking about?”

“You make us do all those things, you talk us through everything so we won’t freak out. You’re tough, I’m not saying you aren’t,” he laughs, “but you’re sweet to us, to every patient you’ve ever had probably. Like last night when Felix and Bin were freaking, and you asked them about the knife and what happened and made them part of it so they had something to do - that was intentional.”

“You heard all that?” you wonder.

“Well yeah, some crazy nurse had her finger in my guts, I wasn’t taking a snooze,” he smiles.

You laugh through your snot and tears and he smiles.

“I guess my point is that I don’t know what Lee said to you upstairs, but I do know what you’ve gotten into because I’m in it too, in the thick of it. I’ve killed people ___, but you, you heal them. So if there’s even a shred of goodness in any of this, it’s you. You are the good, and I don’t want you to forget that.”

You smile and look up at him, “Why are you being so nice, hm? I think the entire time I’ve worked for Lee you and I have spoken maybe three times in passing.”

Hyunjins smile falters a little as he looks down at you, “Just because you’re always too busy to notice me doesn’t mean I don’t notice you,” he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear then clears his throat, “And I’m not being nice, I’m being honest. Okay? Forget whatever Lee said to you, we all get chewed out from time to time when he’s in a bad mood but that’s just part of the business. I’ve got your back, okay?”

You nod, and because you need the extra confirmation you look at him, “Promise?”

“I promise.”

You tape his new bandage on and squeeze his hand, “Thank you Hyunjin.”

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

You sleep all night, it’s the first night in a long time that you’ve slept well. Surprisingly. Minhos words haunted you. He had been like a light switch going from light to dark. You had known from the get go that Minho was dangerous, you weren’t that naive, but he’d never made you feel like you were in danger. Well, that certainly was no longer the case. Maybe you slept so well because now there’s no confusion, no guessing about where things stand. He’d said that you weren’t his prisoner, and maybe you weren’t locked up or chained, but in every way that matters you are most definitely his prisoner.

When you walk down stairs you’re disappointed that Jisung is gone, you owe him an apology for snapping at him. Instead Seungmin is back, making a mess in your kitchen and not caring to clean it.

“Are you really necessary?” you groan, smacking his arm and shooing him from the kitchen.

“Meaning?” he frowns.

“Is the security detail necessary? I mean, nothing has happened this entire time and I’m getting tired of you all tracking your shit all over my house,” you gripe as you pour yourself some coffee.

“It’s not your house, is it?” Seungmin sneers, sitting down at the table with the breakfast he helped himself to.

“You’re a dick, you know that?” you smile as you sit across from him.

“And you-,”

“Shut the fuck up!” Hyunjin whines sleepily as he walks into the kitchen from the guest room. He’s getting around better. His hobble from yesterday has turned into a minor limp today.

“Minho says he’s been texting you with no response,” Seungmin chastises Hyunjin before his butt hits the chair at the table.

“My phone’s in the room,” he whines, bracing himself to stand back up.

“I’ll get it,” you say.

You see the phone on the bedside table and walk over to it, Hyunjin has left the notebook he’d been sketching in yesterday on the bed, wide open. You feel bad for peeking, considering he didn’t seem like he wanted anyone to see his drawings, but you can’t stop yourself from looking down at the page.

To your surprise, he’s drawn you. You pick up the book and stare at the lines. It’s good, really good actually, and you start flipping through the pages. Most of them are of you. Standing over the dining room table, sitting on the side of his bed, smiling, sad…he’s drawn you at least ten ways and all of them make you feel so…seen. If anyone ever asked you to describe yourself, you’d never be this kind. Never this beautiful. Never this vulnerable. Is this how he sees you?

“Like them?” Hyunjin asks from the doorway and you drop the notebook back onto the bed.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I should’ve asked to look.”

“It’s okay,” he shrugs, “It’s not that I’m violently opposed to people looking. I mean, Jisung brought it to me yesterday while you were sleeping and I know he snuck a peek. It’s just…” he trails off.

“Personal?”

“Yeah.”

“May I?” you pick the book back up slowly and he nods, limping to the chair nearby and sitting down.

“These are so good Hyunjin, truly,” you tell him as you flip through more images.

Hyunjin seems to have drawn everyone around him to perfection. They could be black and white photographs. There’s Seungmin, whose grumpy, distanced demeanor is so well captured you giggle. Felix's angelic, ethereal face with every freckle included. Changbin’s thoughtful expression that he always wears, like he’s constantly planning his next steps. Jisungs sweet smile. Even Minho, whose eyes are just as dark and wild on the page as they are in real life. Then there’s pages of you, more than the others and you feel your face heat.

“You draw me a lot,” you state quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Like I said sweetheart, just because you’re always too busy to notice me doesn’t mean I don’t notice you. I like drawing you, it relaxes me,” he chuckles. “The lines of your profile, the way your hair falls in your face when you’re working, the expression you wear when you're worried about us,” he looks at you, “I love watching you. You’re so beautiful.”

“I didn’t realize…” you say softly, suddenly at a loss for words, as you place the book gently back on the bed.

Hyunjin licks his lips and shrugs, “That’s understandable, I mean, Lee demands most of your attention since you’ve been around, and when he’s not here you’re usually elbow deep in blood so I just keep my distance.”

At the mention of Minho you’re reminded of the reality of your situation and you take a breath, picking up Hyunjins phone as you originally intended. You walk it over and gently hand it to him, his fingers envelop yours for a moment and he looks up at you wantingly. You remove your hand from his as gently as you can and lay it on his shoulder giving it a squeeze.

“Don’t look at me like that, okay?” you say softly.

“Why not?”

“It makes me want to kiss you,” you say shyly.

“Would that be so bad?” he half smiles and you screw your eyes shut.

“I’m not a whore for you all to pass around,” you say stiffly.

“No, you’re not, is that really the impression you got from everything I just said? That I think you’re the resident whore, here for our pleasure?” he frowns.

You sigh, “No, I’m sorry I just…” you grab his hand again, “I’m scared of him, Hyunjin. Terrified. I’m scared to do anything that will make him angry.”

“He doesn’t have to know, and I’ll protect you,” he whispers, his fingers tracing lines down your arm, he grabs your hand and kisses the back of it.

“He knows everything, eventually, and you and I both know he’s the only person you can’t protect me from,” you pull away again and this time leave the room.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Later that evening you sit in the living room with Seungmin and Hyunjin watching some horror show on Netflix. You’ve not paid a bit of attention to it, though Seungmin is hooked from his favorite recliner. Every few moments you look over to the other side of the sofa and see Hyunjin looking back at you in the darkness, playing with his bottom lip and looking like he wants you so badly it makes your insides clench. You’ve never been so grateful to have Seungmin sitting in your living room, because you’re not entirely sure you wouldn’t crawl over to Hyunjin and take his lips with yours if Seungmin wasn’t there.

Suddenly your phone rings and movie night comes to a screeching halt.

“Hello?”

“Jeongin got shot!” Jisungs voice cries into the speaker and Seungmin and Hyunjin both stiffen up.

Jeongin is the baby, and the other men treat him like their pet. They love him, from what you’ve observed, and you know your every move is going to be watched like a hawk.

“Where?” you ask, standing up to flick lights on in the kitchen.

“At some assholes house, we were there to ask some questions about what happened to Hyunjin and-,”

“Where on his body, Jisung?”

“Shoulder, in his shoulder,” he answers.

You breathe a sigh of relief, you can handle a shoulder.

“We’ll have everything ready, come quickly,” you say, then hang up the phone and get back to work.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“You’re not to use this arm for several days, you hear me?” you look at Jeongin who looks way too proud to have gotten his first gunshot wound.

“Yeah, I hear you,” he smiles, a little dopey from the pain pill you gave him.

“You’re lucky I was able to pry that thing out of you whole,” you remind his smug ass.

“Mmhmm,” he yawns.

“Someone drive this kid home so he can sleep,” you laugh. Jisung rushes to Jeongin to help keep him upright.

“I’ll drive them home,” Seungmin offers.

“Make sure to remind him not to sleep on that side, and keep his arm in the sling while he’s up and about,” you tell them as Seungmin and Jisung help Jeongin out the door.

“Thank you sweet princess,” Jeongin grins like a doped up disney character and blows you a kiss from across the room.

The door shuts and you start cleaning up the mess. It was pretty clean, so not as much blood as there was with Hyunjin just a few days prior. You toss the sheets into the wash, and get rid of the bullet you pulled out of Jeongins shoulder. Everything else goes into a steamer for sanitation.

“You did good, taking care of the kid,” Hyunjin says walking into the kitchen. In the rush of things you’d almost forgotten he was here, almost forgotten about the suggestive things he’d said to you earlier. Now you’re alone with him.

“It was an easy one,” you shrug, not turning around, instead you start on some dishes left over from supper.

“I locked up,” he says, voice getting closer, “checked the perimeter outside, we’re all good.”

“Thank you,” you slightly turn your face and give him a soft smile.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers, you can feel him behind you as you splash suds around the sink, you can feel his body heat against your back.

You turn to face him, drying your hands on the side of your shirt, “What are you doing?”

“I’ve never had the chance to be alone with you,” he shrugs.

“We shouldn’t be close like this…” you whisper.

“Why not? Don’t you feel something here? Because I do, and maybe it’s just the stupid crush I’ve had on you since you started, but it feels deeper than that,” he whispers back, his hand falls gently on the small of your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder, “I’m so turned around I don’t know what I feel, or what I want, or what to do with myself.”

“Then let me help you not feel so turned around,” he says, he lifts your chin up with his fingers and brushes his lips over yours softly.

It starts so slow, so soft it feels like kissing a ghost. His lips roll against yours with more and more pressure, your back pressed against the kitchen cupboards. You let your arms wrap around him, being careful not to hurt him where he may be sore and his hand gets buried in your hair, his thumb tracing gentle lines over your cheek as he anchors you to him.

His tongue darts out and you meet it with your own, his urgency more palpable now, his body pressed harder against yours. He makes a soft noise into your mouth and you melt, not a moan, but a plea. It’s not until he attempts to lift you up onto the counter that your eyes pop open and you pull away.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” you remind him breathlessly.

“I don’t care,” he smiles, pressing himself against you again, capturing your mouth once more.

You wrap your arms around him again, but then a familiar pounding hits the front door.

“Minho.”

You both say it simultaneously and leap apart.

To be safe, Hyunjin picks up his gun from the side table before he opens the door, you’ve come to recognize this as standard protocol with them anytime someone opens a door. You wonder if they do this everywhere, or just at the safe house, it must feel ridiculous to have to open your own door armed.

“Where is he? Is he alright?” Minho brushes past Hyunjin and comes in, looking for Jeongin, “I came as soon as I saw the text. I was in a meeting.”

“He was shot in the shoulder, I pulled the bullet out whole, patched him up, gave him something for the pain and sent Jisung and Seungmin to drive him home and get him settled. He’s fine,” you report.

Minho sighs with relief and nods, “Good, thank you.”

The room goes silent, the only noise is Hyunjin sitting down on the creaking couch. You’ve got no idea what to say to Minho, the mere sight of him makes your skin crawl, makes you angry, but most of all makes you scared. You ball your fists up in case your fingers start to tremble.

“I uh, I owe you an apology,” he looks at you, closes some of the distance between you but not close enough to scare, “The things I said yesterday, I think I was a little too harsh with you, I hope you can forgive me Kitten.”

He touches the side of your cheek gently and you fight every fiber of your body not to recoil, afraid he’ll take it personally and hurt you.

“Of course,” you manage, though your voice sounds shaky, breathless. So you clear your throat and look at him directly, steeling your nerves, “Forgotten.”

He smiles and pulls you into him, resting your head snug between his neck and shoulder and you wrap your arms around his waist. Looking beyond into the living room Hyunjin stares at you, your eyes locked in a knowing glance, a sad smile on his face.

“Good,” Minho says gently, then kisses your cheek. He heads towards the living room to sit with Hyunjin while you finish what you were doing in the kitchen.

“How are you feeling, then?” he asks.

“Sore,” Hyunjin shrugs, “Don’t feel much else.”

“How about I drive you home tonight?” Minho suggests and you drop the plate you were scrubbing into the sink with an annoyingly loud crash.

“Oh, I…uh,” Hyunjin looks in your direction, “If the doc gives me the go ahead then sure.”

“Darling? What do you think? I feel like Hyunjin would rest better at home, in his own bed, can you get anything he needs to take with him?” Minho asks.

“Um, sure,” you nod, not really having a better reason and not good enough at lying to think of anything. “He’s been on antibiotics more than 24 hours and there’s no sign of infection or any other issue. The wound will be sore for several more days but you can treat that with Acetaminophen or Ibuprofen. I’ll get your antibiotics and some clean bandages,” you smile. “Oh, but you will need to come back in about a week so I can remove the stitches.”

You gather up Hyunjins things, his antibiotics and stuff he’ll need to treat himself at home. You feel robbed of time with him and it makes you feel ridiculous. You know this is probably for the better. Minho was very plain with you in that he’s not your boyfriend, but all the same, something tells you he doesn’t share well. All Hyunjins crush will achieve is both of you dead or at least very fucked up. Besides, you don’t know what you feel, you’ve not had a spare moment in the last few days to slow down and work yourself out - such a thing will probably take a lifetime you think.

“Here’s a bag of everything,” you hand it to him back in the living room, “I want you to continue the antibiotics twice daily until this bottle is empty. Try to let your stitches air out when you can, but keep a clean bandage on when you sleep, or if anything is going to be rubbing against it. Okay?”

“Got it doll,” he nods, “I’m going to go grab my stuff, be right back.” You watch as he skulks off to the guest room, leaving you alone with Minho.

“I really am sorry, ___,” he wraps his arms around you from behind, “I hope you know I’d never harm or hurt you unless I had to.”

You could pick apart that sentence for a year and still not unpack all the things wrong with what he just said. You want to snap at him, push him off you, but now you know what devil lies under that surface of sticky sweetness.

“Stop apologizing,” you force a smile, “You’ve been under a lot of stress these last few days, and I shouldn’t have even said the things I said. You’ve been good to me Minho, let’s just put it behind us,” you lie to the best of your ability.

“I don't deserve you,” he brushes some hair out of your face and kisses you softly. You try not to think about Hyunjins lips on you just moments ago. “Christopher will be here around one or two in the afternoon tomorrow with your dresses, wear something pretty for me, yeah?”

You nod and smile as Hyunjin walks back into the room, a bag of his personal effects over his shoulder.

“Thank you for everything ___, I owe you,” he smiles and pats your shoulder as he and Minho make their way out the door. You lock it behind them then turn to face the house you’ve been living in for the last few months. You’re alone again.

You couldn’t sleep if you wanted to, so you decide to go strip Hyunjins bed and toss the sheets in the wash. When you pick up the pillow to remove the case you see a folded piece of paper underneath. You recognize the sheet from his sketchbook and frantically unfold it.

It’s a sketch of you, with a note.

This one is my favorite so far. You’re the good in this shit show we’re stuck in, don’t ever forget that beautiful. Love, Hyunjin.

Endnotes:

1. Taglist: @katieraven @linocz @screamobubbles @hpnsfwaddict @simpforleeknaur @the-sweetest-rosie @hyunjinhoexxx @aeri-skzver @mbioooo0000 @seungminindabuilding @moni-logues @shioriyametho - if your @ is in bold then I couldn’t tag you for whatever reason - if you need to adjust settings go do the thang or if I need to do something let me know (I am not technologically competent).

2. Eeek! Part two. I am always so nervous to do multi-chap fics bc I worry people won’t like the direction I’m going and that it will effect my decisions lol also I just typically like working with smaller worlds BUT this fic has thus far been a fun little ride, so I hope you all like it. More to come soon, and as always here’s your virtual smooch😘

#skz fanfiction #hyunjin fanfiction #lee minho fanfiction #skz smut #hyunjin smut #lee know smut #skz romance #hyunjin romance #lee know romance #hyunjin x reader #minho x reader #stray kids #hwang hyunjin #Lee Minho

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writermani4c · 3 months ago

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Wise Man - Willard Russel x Reader

@pizgif

Summary: He waited for her for a long time, but she was much better than his fantasies. A wise man knows when he has found his wife.

Warnings: English is not my first language. Not the second or third, I'm sorry. I'm just a Brazilian woman with Bill Skarsgard fever who likes to write to relieve tension. I hope you like it and that the BIG mistakes don't bother you while reading. With love, me.

It's romantic, kind of fluffy (if you like men who are madly in love) and with a slight spice of obscenity. Carefully follow along.

She smelled like lilies when she walked into the cereal aisle.

Every man prepares for that moment. The moment when your life will be turned upside down, all because of a peculiar smell that makes you turn your neck without any concern other than finding its source, then you come face to face with a woman. Your girlfriend, your wife, the mother of your children, the warm hand on your shoulder after a dog day, the smell of lilies on the pillow on the other side of the bed, the soft voice that will say “honey, is that you?” when you get home or “why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” in the morning.

Willard was waiting for her. Even though he didn't like to admit it out loud, he hoped there was someone like that in that strange, inhospitable hole in the world. And when she turned the corner, holding a bag of flour and some eggs, smelling of lilies, with dirt-stained fingernails and a yellow dress that had seen better springs, he knew that this would be his wife.

She looked up only subtly, acknowledging his presence because he was tall enough to block the view of some items on the small shelf, but not tall enough to notice that he was losing his breath at her handsome face.

Beautiful eyes.

Her eyes burned into a particular corner of his brain, coming into his dreams like two headlights. Willard never liked sleeping, seeing it as necessary as eating and pissing, but much more boring. He slept and felt paranoid about being so vulnerable. But when he started dreaming about her eyes, sleep became a pleasant escape.

Small town, people talk. They said that her father had left early, so it was just the mother and daughter in a house falling apart. The mother was sick and the daughter took care of keeping them alive and fed, took care of the family garden and sold flowers to the local flower shop, also repaired worn-out clothes and cleaned some houses. Willard brought shirts and she took them like treasures, pressing them to her chest before thanking him for thinking of her for the service. She didn't know that he himself cut some holes in his shirts and stopped buying some items for the house to have an excuse to see her. It was worth it when your shirts came back sewn and smelling of fresh earth, tulips and daisies.

Someone needed to take care of her. Someone needed to keep her warm at night and scare away the strangers who followed in her footsteps when she make your purchases.

Most of them started to cower when she started waving at Willard when she saw him on the street. He almost chickened out himself, thinking about what chance she had of seeing him with some affection, and took a while to return the wave, which gave her the confidence to do so more often.

'Good morning, Mr. Russel' and ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Russel’, always with a sweet voice and a small smile at the corner of his mouth, that corner that made him want to lean over her, hold her face and run his index finger across her lips, because they were beautiful, they looked soft and smooth. He told her to cut the formalities, but she always called him that, changing to her first name only when he went to her house with clothes to mend.

─ You have a lot of clothes to sew." She smiled and Willard thought she might know.

She was beautiful in a disconcerting way. She had that face that made the day seem less depressing, with a smart smile and sparkling eyes, and that body that made him wish ─ and then feel even slightly guilty for letting his thoughts go so far ─ that he could travel with his mouth, kissing her curves. as he breathed in the scent she must have had beneath her clothes, that skin as smooth as silk at his mercy. She wasn't stupid, though.

─ It's as if termites do their damage whenever I take my eyes off them. Sorry for bringing you so much trouble.

─ No, you don't need to apologize for that. But you spend a lot of money on me.

─ It's money well spent.

─ I… ─ She breathed in, batting her eyelashes as a gentle rebuke to whatever was in her brain. Without meaning to, Willard took a step forward. Don't beat yourself up, my blossom, that's what she wanted to say, but she stopped herself from taking that step inside the screened-in porch of her house. ─ You…

─ Willard.

─ Willard. ─ He waved with a resigned smile. ─ I don't want to be rude.

─ Please be. Be rude all you want, I won't care.

─ Do you want to stay for dinner?

His heart became a nearly dead muscle beneath her words, only to start beating full force again, skipping beats like a runner in a marathon. He couldn't believe it. A huge smile spread across his face. It would be the first time she invited him in. This gave him hope. He gave him a duty.

─ I want it.

Once inside her personal space, the place where she lived, he felt enveloped to the core, because the entire house smelled like her. Soft earth and flowers.

Her couch was warmer and more comfortable. The table at home, although small, was warmer and the chairs were comfortable. The smell of his food made him feel a dormant, wild hunger, something that was more inside his head than his stomach, roaring and digging with sharp nails into his flesh. He went to the bathroom, with the window facing the backyard. A small window, but one he could sneak through, and he left it open from the inside.

That night, he had dinner with his future wife and her mother, a lady so laughing and talkative that she filled him with questions full of ulterior motives.

If he was married, which he gladly answered no, looking at the flush-cheeked girl at the other end of the table. If he intended to get married, he said yes. What he worked with, whether he drank, whether he was baptized, whether he was up to date with his church obligations. Willard maintained a helpful smile because he knew she heard all his answers and, somewhere, evaluated everything he said.

Later, when they said goodbye, she walked him to the door.

─ Thank you for staying. We don't receive many visitors.

─ Thank you for dinner. No one has cooked for me for a long time.

─ You can come when you want to be questioned over a plate of food.

Under the yellow light of the screen porch, the world seemed very small and very simple. There was nothing but him and that woman. Nothing but the way she looked at him, her face lifted to meet his eyes, and the way she breathed, how she filled her lungs all at once and emptied them more slowly. Her cheeks were warmer in the yellow light, the glow in her eyes was like the gravitational force making him yield to her, and the flutter of those eyelashes stirred Willard's heart once again.

He waited for her, but he couldn't believe that reality could be so good.

His right hand touched hers, gentle but lewd, and he leaned in, consuming the air between them, to kiss her left cheek.

He didn't apologize or look back before walking through the balcony door, hearing the thud as it closed behind him. He walked through the garden and disappeared into the darkness, but he didn't go away. He watched her touch her cheek with her fingertips and take a deep breath, then a smile spread across her face.

Every night for two months, he climbed in through that bathroom window in the middle of the night and walked silently around the house. He touched the notes she signed by hand, her grocery list or some reminder on the refrigerator door, ran his fingers through the clothes on the line at the back of the house and went through her things. He defiled her space because he felt a certain comfort in it, in walking through the house and pushing open her bedroom door, watching her sleep peacefully in the narrow bed. She looked peaceful and carefree, as she should be. She looked fragile, small (and that had nothing to do with her height) and defenseless against all the dangers of that land, a little sparrow that he wanted to hold in his hands and keep, because flying around would get him into trouble.

Every time he was invited to dinner, which started to happen more and more frequently, he allowed himself to leave a kiss as a farewell.

A kiss on the cheek, on the back of her hands, on her knuckles, on her forehead. It was like a small dose from a bottle that he hoped he could take a bigger swig of. Holding her face and bringing his lips to her temple, breathing in the scent of her hair as he enjoyed the feeling of his own lips on the skin of the one who stole his heart, because he couldn't take her mouth and, by the good Lord, no part underneath that yellow button-down dress.

One night, when he turned his back, she followed him outside.

─ Willard! ─ The urgency made him stop in place, but it took him a while to turn on his heels, finding her outside with him, away from the yellow lights.

Outside, the world was different.

The darkness of the night was infested with dangers and evil men. The world smelled not just of soft earth and flowers, but also of gunpowder and blood, ambition, power and unbridled pleasure, suffering and bitterness, things that didn't feel like her but were familiar to him. She came after Willard and he waited for her because she was too small to be alone. She didn't need to be alone. Never again.

─ What was it?

─ I don't know.

─ Yes, you know. ─ She needed to know, because the wait wasn't just exciting. It was heartbreaking too. Each night watching her from afar, unable to run his nose along the delicate curve of her neck or cover her when she moved in her sleep and made the blanket slide, slipping away to reveal a pair of breasts covered only by a soft nightgown. The things he did to himself imagining having those breasts in his mouth... ─ It's dark out here. Whatever you say will remain in the dark.

─ What if it’s bad?

─ Nothing good is said in the dark, my dear, that's why we only talked alone on your balcony.

She nodded.

She was barefoot. Most of the time, she stayed barefoot inside the house, limiting herself to wearing lace-up boots over socks when she needed to go into town.

─ I want to be your darling.

─ You are. Always has been, ever since I laid eyes on you.

─ No, not like that. I want to be more than I am now. ─ She took a deep breath. ─ I want you to come and have dinner here every day and not have to pay for me to fix your clothes, because it gives me great pleasure to do so. I don't want you to have to leave after you kiss me.

─ Be my wife then, darling.

That time, she was the one who held his hand. Her fingers were smaller than his, knotted from working with the earth and sewing threads, and that only made her more perfect. She intertwined her fingers with his and leaned forward on the tips of her toes, seeking him with that warm, inviting mouth, her breathing quickened beneath her dress.

Willard married her twice.

The second time was in the church where she was baptized, with God's blessing. He gave her a white dress and a veil, only to move it away from her face and kiss her when the priest gave him permission. Few people went to the ceremony and neither of them cared, they didn't have a party, they just went home and he carried her to bed.

The first time, however, was in the dark, outside the house. And it smelled like soft earth and lilies.

Willard married his wife the moment he lay on top of her, hearing her soft giggle as she hugged his waist with her legs, squeezing her thighs around him as the tip of his cock entered the folds of that tight, wet-as-hell pussy. heaven should be. He wanted to give her a good bed, but they didn't need that while they were numb with passion, their lips locked in a kiss full of voluptuousness and promises.

You'll never be alone again, he promised as he ran his fingers over her face, removing the strands of hair stuck to her sweaty skin, hitting that pussy.

You'll never be afraid, he gasped, because she was holding him tight and moaning against his neck, trying to contain herself. I didn't want her to have to hold back those sly, tearful, sweet sounds, but I didn't want her mother to suspect that he was between her only daughter's legs, so she whispered, between smiles, so that she would make less noise, and she would also smile, but he couldn't contain himself.

You'll never have to worry about anything in the world, he slid his hand between their bodies, while he felt his dick invading her, and he slid his finger over her folds, on that pulsing beam. He rubbed it just for pleasure and indulgence, watching her squirm, biting her right hand to keep still, as beautiful and ethereal as angels must be. Then he brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting her on his tongue.

Every day and every night, my blossom, I will be the devil that guards you, her taste was like the best of drinks and the best of drugs. An addiction he would maintain with devotion.

She ran her fingers through his hair, tugging as her walls clenched so tight it was unbearable. He let her cum, kissing her neck and collarbone lovingly, running his hands over her soft breasts. Every day and every night, you will be loved like a goddess and a slut, my blossom, because you are mine.

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgard fanfiction #willard russell #willard russel x reader #the devil all the time #x reader #fluff and smut

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roach-works · 3 months ago

Note

Hey, hope this isnt too random, but i absolutely love your "lesbian picnic quilt" and ive been wanting to make a quilt for my partner and i out of old ties, but couldnt find the right design until i found your quilt. Would you maybe be okay with me making a quilt off of yours? I totally get it if you dont want to!!!

hi there! im not sure where you got the idea that you're not allowed to use quilting patterns you see other people use without their express permission, but quilting is a traditional craft, and a huge part of passing along traditional crafts is in repeating the projects of those who have done the craft before you. not only do you not have to ask my permission, i have no right whatsoever to tell you not to do it, and if i was angry at you for doing it, i would be the asshole in that situation, not you.

if you see a quilt you like, you can make one of your own. you can copy it down to the color choices. you can lift patterns from books and shops by screencap and photocopy. you can go to a quilt museum and take pictures and go home and do it yourself. imitation has, for most of human history, been the best way of doing things.

quilting is a magnificent artform with some of the most brilliant and skilled artists working in the field that i've ever seen, but it's also the practice of making cool blankets out of scrap fabric, and a lot of the core material and techniques have been done and redone by decades, if not centuries, of women. you are not a thief or an intruder in this art, you are the next set of hands in line. do what you want forever.

anyway the pattern i used i took off this blog:

the fabric i used was 2 charm packs of "Homemade Homespuns" by Kansas Troubles Quilters for Moda Fabrics, which was a 2021 run that is unfortunately hard to source now because the pattern was woven right into the cotton and im gay for that.

but for a tie quilt, you should be alright sewing the fabric edge to edge then squaring it up into 5" or 6" blocks for the nine patches.

good luck!

#art #craft #quilting #you can't steal what should be free #whatever space you're in that taught you to be this scared of doing traditional art in a traditional way can suck it

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wafflefries13 · 6 months ago

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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

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

Text

Sweet Like Candy 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Thor, Bucky Barnes (Professor AU)

Summary: the new school year proves to be hectic. (short!chubby! reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all.

Professor Odinson ends his first lesson. You’re still copying down the nouns he wrote on the whiteboard as the rest of the class packs up, already chattering about their next lecture or what kind of drink they’ll get from the campus cafe. You scribble quickly, resigning yourself to deciphering the scratchy print later.

You just have a few more lines... gosh, you can hardly make out whether that’s a j or a g.

The rows continue to empty and Professor Odinson’s low drawl wafts up as he speaks with a few students about the weekly quizzes. You’re especially nervous about those yourself. As you get to the last set of nouns, he blocks your view with his large body and picks up the eraser.

“No, wait--” you call out and pop your head up.

It’s too late, he swipes right through his own writing. You groan and drop your pen in defeat. You cringe as he turns to look up at you. You roll the pen to the middle of the book and shut it. You stand and start to pack up.

“I didn’t see you up there,” he calls up. “Apologies.”

“It’s okay, professor,” you throw it all in your plush bag. The soft fabric is nice to cuddle and calming. “I’ll just use the textbook to finish.”

You had a look at the textbook. The print is smaller than any book you’ve ever seen. Maybe that’s why it was the cheapest. You hide your dismay as you come to the center aisle and slowly descends.

“Cherry, was it?” He says, “no, no, Cerise.”

“Yeah, that’s me. You remember,” you stop on the bottom step and grin.

“How could I forget? Oh, so lucky you’re here. I meant to inquire, those strawberry candies, what was the brand? I’ve not been able to find any with that particular wrapping.” He says.

“Oh, er, I have some more,” you reach into your bag. “I get them down at the K-Store. They sell all sorts of Korean imports,” you take out you little sack of candy and loose the ribbon drawstring. Primrose sewed you it over the summer. She said it would keep the chocolates from melting into your laptop fan. Again.

“You are too kind. I’ll just have the brand and treat myself--”

“It’s fine! Lots to go around,” you pick out a handful of the strawberry candies. “Here.”

“Thank you,” he holds out his large hand to catch the candy. “You are too kind.”

“No problem,” you grin. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Thursday,” he agrees. You have class twice a week since it’s a language course, and you’re sure you’ll need both periods to get it down.

“Have a good one! Gotta go.”

“You have a class?” He wonders, and you stop before you can skip off.

“Not exactly. My friends are meeting me at the library.”

“Friends, mm. Well, have fun.”

“Enjoy the candy,” you chirp and spin away, “buh bye.”

You rush out and sweep into the hallway. For once, you’re not running behind. Heck, you might even beat Primrose to the library, although you might pick a table she doesn’t like.

As you reach the front doors, you stop short at the odd breeze along your bum. You reach back and groan. No! Your skirt is rumbled up above your but, tucked into the underside of your panties from squirming in your seat. Gosh, you must’ve put on quite the display as your thigh highs do little to cover your ass. Literally.

You just hope Professor Odinson didn’t notice.

You fix your skirt and shake your head at yourself. You shouldn’t have worn the cropped denim jacket, you should’ve brought a shacket. Ugh, you always choose wrong!

Your phone vibrates as you come down the steps onto even ground. You unlock it with one hand as your bag bounces over your hip. You have the font set to a size bigger than before. It's helping.

Sigh. Primrose beat you to it. She’s always such a stickler. You reply that you’ll be there shortly and Olive echoes the sentiment, warning that she might be a few minutes late at her studio class. Good, it’ll take some heat off of you if you’re a bit behind the clock.

You stop at the library cafe. They have a smaller selection than the campus cafe but you get an apple cinnamon muffin and a cider to match. You’re living your best life.

As you come up the library entrance, you tuck your muffin into your bag, angling your arm awkwardly to do so. Your elbow hits something behind you and a grunt startles you. You drop the muffin and it misses your bag, the paper bag crinkling as it hits your foot.

You bring your arm down as you look to your feet. The paper bag is scooped up by a large hand and you follow the arm up as the man stands straight. You gulp as you recognise him. You think. You squint.

“Professor... Barkley?” You utter.

“Barnes,” he growls and holds out the muffins.

“Oop, I’m sorry,” you say as you take the bag, “thanks.”

“You should be careful,” he says.

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to--”

“And watch where you’re going,” he growls and sidesteps you, giving you no opportunity for a response.

He struts into the library and you turn to stare after him. Well, you weren’t exactly paying attention. You’d been more concerned about balancing your treats. You head in after him but are sure to turn in the other direction.

You get your muffin safely in your bag and take out your phone. You ask Primrose where she is and she tells you she’s up on the second floor. You do your best to follow the other directions but you don’t get there before Olive.

You sigh as you come up to them and set your paper cup down, “sorry, guys. I got a bit lost.”

“And you got cider,” Primrose remarks.

“I did,” you shrug as you sit.

“It’s fine, Prim,” Olive tuts. “We’re just studying.”

“Just studying,” Primrose shakes her head. “Not me. This professor. He gave me less than a day for my first lesson and now he’s sent back a grocery list of revisions, all while saying no more than a full sentence to me.”

“Sounds like a butt!” You blow a raspberry. “My professors are pretty chill.”

“That’s good,” Olive smiles, “mine too. But physics... I think it’s going to do me in. I haven’t taken it since Grade 12.”

That’s not—oh,” you catch yourself.

“Been a while,” Olive chuckles. “No worries, I know I’m old.”

“Sorry,” you grab your cup and sip.

“Cerise,” Primrose interrupts. “I can help with your Norse homework. I took that class last year. It’s a lot of work.”

“Oh, thank you! Do you still have your notes? I kinda... didn’t get it all.”

“Brought my binder,” she reaches for her bag. “I’ll hand it over if you go grab me one of those.” She taps your cup lid with her other hand.

“Deal,” you agree. Thank god! This might not be as big a disaster as you feared.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #thor x reader #series #drabble #au #sweet like candy #professor au #avengers #captain america #mcu #marvel

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bevanne46 · 3 months ago

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Nordic Mini Quilt Along - Tutorial

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vafibrearts · 7 months ago

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Hello Friends!

Apologies for the silence over the last few weeks, my sister came down for a visit and though I had planned to take a break from the blog, I forgot to mention it anywhere. Whoops!

Seems I still have a ways to go as far as communication is concerned, but I'm still learning and will continue to learn and do better as time passes!

In that time, I've continued working on my Ice Cream Soda quilt! I wanted to share my favourite block from last week, and sometimes it's fun to check out the seams too!

I'll be sharing the rest of last week's blocks tomorrow in another project update, can't wait to see you there!

#quilt #quilting #quilt blocks #icecreamsodaquilt #quilt along #hand piecing #hand sewing #prepared edge piecing #bee quilt #fibre arts #made by va #va fibre arts

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sweetbutpsychobutsweet · 7 months ago

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Knock Before Entering

Chapter 13

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: Thorin will have to exercise a great amount of restraint to not maim Kili and Fili, and when it comes time to grace the Wandering Widow with an encore performance you will have to find a way to take the stage with the rest of the company being none the wiser.

Warnings: no use of y/n, angst, 18+, NSFW, minors do not interact, brief descriptions of bloody wounds/injuries, mentions of sex work if you squint

Author's Note: This chapter ended up being waaaaaay longer than anticipated so I've broken it up into multiple sections. Which means the next one is already mostly done🥳 Thank you all so much for the love for the previous chapters and the cockblocking nephews😂

Word count: 2505

“Sooo,” Kili tries to suppress a smile as you pull the last shards of glass from the cut on his hand. “How long has this been going on?” He looks over his shoulder at his uncle, who is sitting in a chair across the room. Arms crossed over his chest and a scowl etched on his face, Thorin hasn’t said a word since you were cock blocked by his nephews. Instead, he elected to just pull his shirt back on and remain in the room, brooding in the corner while you patched up Kili.

Fili still remains in the doorway, refusing to step foot in the room as if that will help save him from his uncle’s simmering rage.

“You know I have some sewing supplies,” you remind Kili. “If you irritate me enough I could decide this wound is in dire need of stitches.”

“He only wants to know whether we won the bet or not,” Fili sighs from the doorway.

You lift a brow in question, not lifting your gaze as you continue cleaning his brother’s wound. “The entire company placed bets on how long it would take the two of you to jump into bed together.”

Your head snaps up, immediately looking over at Thorin. He doesn’t meet your gaze, he just tips his head back to the ceiling with a heavy sigh.

“When did this happen?” you scoff.

“In Bag-end,” Kili winces when you start to apply the salve to his palm. “The others will be relieved to hear the wait is over.”

“The others don’t need to know,” you warn him as you reach for the roll of gauze beside you. As you do you catch Thorin’s gaze. Finally falling back on you, his eyes are filled with an emotion you can’t quite place.

You had expected him to agree with you. But instead, he looks…surprised. Like he hadn’t expected you to be so adamant about hiding your complicated relationship from the others.

Everything is still so messy and new. You don’t even know what you would call it yet.

You’re certainly not courting. Thorin could never be formally involved with someone from your background. He is a king. And a king is meant to marry a proper lady of good standing. Not a rebellious half-dwarf such as yourself. If there’s one you know, it’s that you are not meant to be his queen.

So does that make you… lovers? The term makes you cringe. It implies a much longer relationship than the situation will allow. This will only last as long as the journey to Erebor. Thorin will marry another and you will be on your way with the mountain at your back once again. This is all meant to be a temporary arrangement. If anything, it feels more like you have stumbled across an alternative way to tolerate each other’s presence.

These days it feels like the two of you only get along when you have your limbs are tangled together in secret.

And Thorin hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to make your relationship known to the others. He isn’t the kind of person to indulge in any kind of public displays of affection or to insist on putting a label on whatever it is the two of you have. Perhaps you misinterpreted his desire for privacy as an agreement to keep your relationship a secret.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost say Thorin looks hurt that you want to hide it. The look he gives you brings a stab of guilt into your chest. Tearing your gaze from him, you busy yourself with binding Kili’s hand. Whether you misread things or not, Thorin still takes your side regardless.

“What either of us do behind closed doors is no one else’s business,” he grumbles at his nephews. “Let this be a lesson to the both of you on the courtesy of knocking before entering.”

“Did uncle knock before entering you?” Kili whispers with a smirk and Thorin jumps from the chair so quickly it clatters to the floor. Fili leaps from his place in the doorway fast enough to block his path to Kili.

You quickly tie off the bandage and rise to your feet, inserting yourself between Fili and Thorin before they can start throwing punches.

“That’s enough,” you hiss at the both of them. Thorin still has murder in his eyes as he towers over you, glaring at his nephews.

“He was only joking,” Fili defends his brother, who’s now come to stand at his shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear either of you speak about her in such a manner again,” Thorin growls at them.

“Please forgive me,” Kili looks at you with a genuine nod of remorse, before stifling a laugh when he whispers “auntie” under his breath.

Thorin goes to take another step towards him as the two start to snicker. You bring a firm hand to his chest before he can make it past you. “Quit it,” you hiss as you shoot a warning look his way. You can feel the barely suppressed growl in his chest beneath your fingertips, but he does as you say and remains planted firmly in place. Keeping your hand on his chest, you turn to look over your shoulder at the boys.

“We’re done here, so you’re both going to go back to your room and go to bed.” You instruct. “And neither of you will breathe a word of this to anyone. Otherwise, those eagles will send you back to your mother in pieces. Understand?”

They both nod their heads grimly. Knowing better than to test you when you’re this close to resorting to violence. They silently turn to leave.

You walk them out. Latching the door firmly closed behind them and sliding the lock in place.

Letting your hand linger on the rusted metal, you dread turning to face Thorin now that it’s just the two of you again.

This time being alone together doesn’t carry the same implication. The moment has officially passed. The previous mood dead and buried.

With a steadying breath, you turn to face him. And just as you predicted Thorin is looking at you with an expression you’re all too familiar with lately.

“Care to explain what that was about?” he crosses his arms over his chest again.

“You’re the one who didn’t lock the door,” you deflect as you brush past him to the bed. Beginning to pick up the discarded supplies and tossing them back into your bag.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he grumbles. “Why didn’t you want them to tell the others?”

“Why is that so wrong?” you turn to face him again, a hand on your hip. “Are you obligated to keep the company informed on everyone you sleep with?”

“No, but I don’t feel the need to go out of my way to hide it.”

“If you want to be the one to answer the endless tirade of questions about us, be my guest Thorin,” you roll your eyes. “Questions that I’m not sure either of us even have the answer to.”

“Only because we haven’t discussed it,” he reminds you.

“Is that really how you want to pass the time now that they’re gone?” you set a hand on your hip with a scoff. “Talking?”

He clenches his jaw, taking a step closer to you.

Your breath catches in your chest as you look up at him towering over you.

“I can’t help how much you infuriate me,” he growls, bringing a hand up to run through your hair. “No one drives me as crazy as you do.” His hand slowly comes to the side of your face, caressing your cheek.

“Every time you open your mouth I lose control.” He starts to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, watching in awe as you wrap your lips around the digit, beginning to suck. He growls as you gently scrape your teeth over his skin.

His other hand wraps around your waist, beginning to pull you in closer to him. You bring your hands to his chest, sliding them up the hard planes of his pectorals.

As your hands slide up, his starts to slide down. He grabs a handful of the soft flesh of your ass, eliciting a moan from you around his thumb.

Knock knock

You both groan and turn to glare at the offending door yet again.

“Not now,” Thorin shouts but the knocking persists.

Reluctantly stepping away from you with a huff, Thorin stalks over to the door. Unlatching it and yanking it open roughly.

Gandalf stands in the doorway. “Apologies for the interruption,” he says. Not looking the least bit sorry as his gaze bounces between the two of you in a knowing look.

“Can this wait?” Thorin grumbles at the wizard.

“I’m afraid not,” he replies, “we need to discuss the path we’re going to take for the journey ahead. The others are already gathered down in the kitchen for supper.”

“Very well,” he huffs, looking over his shoulder at you. “Shall we?”

“Actually,” Gandalf raises a hand to halt you both before you can head out the door. “Your assistance is needed in the tavern.”

He gives you a pointed look and you sneak a glance out the window behind you. The sun is already going down. You had promised Bertram you would put on your encore performance at sunset tonight.

“Ah yes,” you clear your throat, “I…promised one of the barmaids I would help her with some… lady troubles.”

Thorin raises a brow in confusion. “Can’t it wait? You’ll miss supper.”

“Oh, I’m afraid lady troubles never wait. I’ll join you all later.”

You shoulder your way past the two of them, Thorin looking confused at your abrupt departure.

You shoot Gandalf a pointed look as you head for the stairs and he gives you a small nod in understanding. You can only hope that he fulfills his promise to keep the company occupied long enough for you to secure the night's lodgings

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re late,” Bertram grumbles from behind the bar. “The crowd’s starting to get antsy.” He nods to the restless patrons filling the dimly lit room. The musicians are already tuning their instruments and drunken folk from the nearby towns gather around the stage impatiently.

Considering it was on such short notice, you’re quite impressed word traveled this quickly. You already recognize many regulars in the audience from when you would take to the stage on a nightly basis.

“Apologies,” you mumble while pulling up the sheer fabric at your chest yet again. “I had some wardrobe troubles.”

Either you’re misremembering how uncomfortable the costume was or it’s somehow become tighter and itchier since the last time you wore it.

There are several loose layers of fabric over your hips and chest that are meant to be removed with a flourish throughout the performance. But it’s the pieces underneath that cling tightly to your body. They cover the only parts that will be left to the imagination so you don't want to risk them slipping off.

“Pretty sure this is the only profession where wardrobe malfunctions work to your benefit sweetheart,” he scoffs nodding to the musicians on stage to signal your arrival.

“Now break a leg, and make me some money,” he waves you off and you saunter away towards the stage.

The musicians begin to strum the opening of a familiar melody and the crowd starts to hoot and holler as you slowly climb the steps to center stage.

Blowing a kiss and waving to the crowd your feet tread a familiar path as your hips start to sway, seemingly of their own accord.

Muscle memory kicks in as you let yourself get carried away by the music. Swaying and twirling, smiling and winking as the onlookers cheer.

The music rises to a crescendo and with a roll of your neck and a flip of your hair, you begin to ever so slowly slip the fabric off of your shoulders.

It flutters to the ground, leaving nothing but a long strip of fabric covering your upper body.

Everyone cheers, and you lift your arms above your head with a dazzling smile. Maintaining the pose just long enough for them to drink in the sight.

Continuing your path across the stage, familiar patrons start to clamber closer to the edge of the stage. You’ve done this routine so many times they know the grand finale is drawing near.

With another spin, you quickly slip the tie at your hip free. Holding it taut in your hand your eyes quickly scan for a volunteer.

A big burly man with a long beard calls out your name with a cheer, holding his drink high overhead in a toast. You extend the piece of fabric out to him and he gladly accepts.

“Hold on tight,” you instruct with a wink and he does exactly that. Holding the end of the fabric in place, you begin to twirl away from him in a whirlwind, the skirt unraveling around you as you do so.

The crowd goes wild as the rest of the fabric disappears, sliding down your legs to pool at your feet as you strike another pose showing off your now bare legs.

Gingerly stepping over the pile of fabric you resume your dance, twirling to the other end of the stage.

Your next move is to reverse the movement and travel in the exact opposite direction. But before you can, a strong pair of arms reach around your waist from behind, dragging you backwards off the stage.

With a shout, you are abruptly set on your feet in front of the absolute last person you want to see right now.

“What are you doing?!” Thorin growls, keeping a firm grip on you as his eyes take in the very small amount of fabric in such a public place.

“I’m a little busy right now,” you hiss. The crowd has already started to shout in protest and the musicians have stopped playing, looking at each other in confusion.

You’re more than a little pissed they let someone just grab you from off the stage but that’s a conversation for another time.

You try to pull yourself from his grasp, if you get right back up there and finish the performance you’re sure you can remedy the situation.

Bertram is already pushing through the crowd, red in the face with his sights set on you.

Thorin’s grip only tightens on your arms, a muscle in his jaw tensing. He releases you for a brief second, and you foolishly think he's letting you have your way. But before you can climb back on stage, he is suddenly wrapping his cloak around your bare skin and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"You and I are going to have a little talk," he growls as he carries you out of the tavern kicking and screaming.

Taglist:

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@lyl1pad @bruhk @eri-s-big-sis

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