#Halo invitation

[rustandsky]

Fancy seeing you here!

[vendettamuses]

" Vi veri veniversum vivus vici ; by the power of truth I, while living, have conquered the universe. "

Howdy! Do you like multifandom roleplay blogs featuring vast assortments of canon and OC muses to interact with? Well you're in luck! We got something for everyone!

⚔️ NAV ⚔️ INTEREST TRACKER ⚔️

[monitorchakas]

.

[crowcryptid]

SPI now please now please now please pl-

What the

[excadrill]

poll what are you putting in your halo halo

[bumpscosity]

gay people that live in my brain (picrew)

[hadersversion]

I. i can fix him (no really i can)

“he had a halo of the highest grade, he just hadn’t met me yet.”

pairing: rafe cameron x innocent pogue! reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ minors dni!! language, soft rafe cameron because my boy just needs some love, slow burn!!

mood board!

“hey,” i said, nudging him with my foot. “hey, rafe, i think it’s time for you to get up.”

i look down at the boy who was passed out on the ground of the beach. his shaved head covered in sand as beer bottles surrounded him. his eyes fluttered open at me, staring at me. “w-where the hell am i?” he said, slowly sitting up.

“the beach, it’s 6:30 in the morning.” i sigh, looking at my watch. “i assume you were at a party here last night and got ditched on the beach by your friends.”

i watched as he looked around the empty beach and groaned, covering his face with his hands and yawning. “fuck.” he mumbled to himself. he ran his hands down once before looking back at me. “thanks, for uh-….”

i laugh to myself. “making sure you were alive? don’t mention it.”

he nods with a smirk. “yeah, that.” we stay there in silence. “i’m sorry, w-what’s your name again? i recognize you from your friends i just…”

“y/n y/l/n.” i nod at him.

“y/n y/l/n.” he repeats back at me, not once breaking eye contact with me.

i feel my face heat up, not knowing what i’m feeling in this exact moment. this is rafe fucking cameron, kook prince and sworn enemy to my friends. he’s not a good person. i know who he is and i should hate him, but when his eyes pierce through me like that…like he knows all my secrets….that’s when i start to question reality. “well, i should get going.” i say, pointing awkwardly to the beach.

“it’s 6:30 in the morning, where could you possibly be going?” he asks, pushing his knees up and resting his arms on them.

i sigh and look around, feeling like i’m in the hot seat. “uh…it’s uh…it’s dumb, you wouldn’t wanna know.” i try to dismiss him.

“no, i wanna know, tell me.” he says, sternly.

i bite my lip and sigh. “towatchthedolphins.” i say in a fast whisper.

“what was that?” he asks with a cocky smile, making me blush. “i couldn’t hear ya, could ya speak up?”

“i’m watching the dolphins!” i say more clearer, looking down at him. “i’ve been waking up early and watching the dolphins. this is like their prime time, so i like to sit and watch them while i have my breakfast.” i admit to him.

i wait there, expecting him to laugh or do something heinous that rafe cameron would do to a pogue. but he doesn’t. he just nods. “cool, i didn’t know that was like a thing.”

did i take one of kie’s edibles this morning by accident? did i actually never wake up to my alarm and i’m still tucked away in bed? or did rafe cameron just have a super normal reaction to something i said to him?

“yeah, right now is the best season for it.” i inform him with a shy smile on my face.

he continues to stare at me with those fucking perfect blue eyes. he rakes over my body once and stands up. did he just check me out? “well, y/n, enjoy those dolphins. i should probably get home before my dad has a bitch fit. thanks again.” he waves goodbye to me before staggering away towards the exit of the beach. my body lets out a breathe that i didn’t even know i was holding and i start to feel tingly inside.

what the fuck just happened?

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

after that, i seem to find rafe cameron everywhere. as i ride my bike to work, go to the beach, hang out with the pogues. he’s clouded up my brain and i have no idea what to do. it’s not like i can tell anyone, i’d be marked with a scarlet T for traitor. but my thoughts can’t stop themself from being infiltrated by him.

“yo, y/n, everything cool?” jj asks me, sipping from his beer.

he snaps me from my rafe cameron brain rot, taking me by surprise. “yeah, everything’s alright. sorry, just a little tired.”

a whole group of us hang out by the beach at the boneyard, the usual pogues, some kooks who we invited in to fuck with, and the vacationers. everything was going alright, until i saw him.

“ain’t no fuckin way.” i hear jj spit.

rafe and his friends stroll up to the party, with a few girls scattered around them. i feel my face goes hot as my friends spit their remarks about him.

“what makes this douchebag think it’s okay to just show up here?” i hear kiara say.

“i don’t know but i don’t like it.” john b adds in.

my eyes can’t seem to leave his figure. he looks just as handsome as i remember from the beach. i know i am staring but i just cannot seem to care. but my brain short wires when he looks up, meeting my gaze with a cocky smirk. shit.

i feel my face get darker as i quickly avert my gaze down to my feet. "uh, i'm gonna get a beer. anyone want one?" but before my friends can even answer my question, i quickly make my way over to the coolers. once i know i am out of their sight, i take a well needed deep breathe and try to ground myself. my brain feels fuzzy with thoughts of rafe cameron but i have to push them down.

i bend over to grab a beer from the cooler when i hear a familiar voice behind me. "mind if i grab one?" i quickly turn my head to see rafe, staring into his blue eyes like they were the goddamn eighth wonder of the world.

he's so close yet so far away, i can smell the expensive cologne he has on. my brain gets off of autopilot and screams at me to put space between us, which i attempt to do. but before i can think, i'm tripping over my own feet, almost falling back. but i feel rafe's large hand quickly land on my lower back, saving me from the tumble.

"woah, there, did you already have that much to drink?" he jokes.

i stare at him, my face probably matching the color of a budweiser can. "i...uh...i..um..." i feel myself babbling on, unable to form a single thought as he has his hands on my body. "s-sorry about that. but i...i've only had one beer, i'm just a total klutz sometimes i swear."

he keeps his hand on my back, i can feel him slightly rubbing it, sending goosebumps all over my body. he keeps looking into my eyes, which seems to be his favorite hobby at this point. "well, i'm glad i caught ya." we stand there in silence for what feels like an eternity, until i remember where i am. who i am here with.

my friends.

i frantically look around, making sure they aren't looking at me dying under rafe’s touch. i pull away from him quickly.

"don't worry they aren't looking." he reassures, grabbing my beer and opening it for me. "i assume it's your friends you are looking for." he hands me back the cold beverage, our fingers brushing against each other.

i quickly snap my hand back and look up at him, he has a small smile on his face as he looks down at me. "sorry, but, i mean...you understand, right? my friends don't like you, you don't like them. if they see me talking over here with you...it'll be a whole thing."

"i didn't peg you as someone who cares about what other people thought about them. i don't know, i mean you did admit to me very easily your love for dolphin watching." he smirks as he grabs a can of beer and opens it. "just saying."

i want to hide away forever. "p-please don't mention that to anyone else. please." i beg with an awkward smile.

"i won't, i won't. don't get so freaked out." he takes a long sip of beer. "it's kinda cute." he says so nonchalantly.

did he just call me cute?

this is a prank, this is merely a big joke to him. it has to be.

i can tell i took too long to process what he just said because he nudges me lightly with his elbow. "did i lose you there?"

i shake my head and laugh. "sorry, i'm all good." we stand there, sipping our beers in silence. "why are you here?" i ask with no hesitation, which earns me a wide-eye reaction from rafe. "that was rude but...like for real, why? you never come to pogue parties. i thought we were too beneath you to ever join us."

"i mean, you have a point." he looks down at me with a smirk, which makes me flip him off. he chuckles at me and sips his beer. "honesty?"

"please." i say.

he sighs and looks around. "i'm here to see you."

i choke on the sip of beer i'm taking, too shocked at what he just told me. i watch as he steps forward in concern and tries to put his hand on my back, but i move away quickly. i cough agressively before turning to him. "i-i'm sorry, what?" i almost laugh in his face.

"i'm pretty sure you heard me, y/n. i'm here for you." he admits.

i stare at him, waiting for him to laugh, admit that it was a joke, or even a ploy to mess with the pogues like some kind of goddamn trojan horse. "you're serious?"

"i think you would know if i'm lying." he shrugs.

i stand there, unable to wrap my head around what he just said to me. "you're so full of shit." i blurt out.

he just laughs. "am i now?"

"you're here to see me? the girl whose name you couldn't even remember a few days ago?" i cock my eyebrow at him.

"is it so horrible to believe?" he questions. i look at him, trying to tell if this is real or fake. he waves his hand in front of my face. "i lost you there again."

"i'm sorry, it's just...i'm me...and you're you. we exist on totally different planets...universes." i tell him.

"yet here we are, right next to each other on planet earth." he says.

he got me there.

"y/n!?" i hear kiara yell.

rafe turns his head to the voice calling my name and then back to me. "that's your cue to leave, i think."

i cannot turn away from him, too dumbfounded about the past 5-minute conversation we just had. "you're not slick." i say, starting to walk away backwards so i'm facing him.

"i didn't think i was being slick!" he says, with his hands up in his defence.

"i see through you and your lies, rafe cameron! i really do!" i yell at him as i get further away.

"yeah, i'd like to see you try, y/n y/l/n!" he shouts back, smiling at me.

i crack a smile back to him and flip him off before walking into the crowd, looking for kiara.

she comes up and puts her shoulder around me. "you all good? was he bothering you?" she asks, looking back to where rafe and i were.

i follow her gaze and see rafe still standing there with that same look on his face. "no, he wasn't. i'm all good, i swear." i say honestly. "just having a small talk."

"with the kook prince? no one ever just has a 'small talk' with rafe cameron, y/n." she says, squeezing me tighter.

"well i guess i'm the first person to ever do so." i shrug and continue to walk back towards the boys, trying to hide the stupid smile rafe cameron put on my face.

[tteokdoroki]

𐙚 🪷 TRUTH OR DRINK katsuki bakugou .ᐟ

⋆˙ᝰ about ! “you love me, you take care of me. that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done f'me." with the release of your husband's newest album and the announcement for his latest tour, the two of you are invited on set to film a special kind of promotional video for newlyweds. hopefully, this married couple leave without a hangover. ( 4.8K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. sfw, fluff, suggestive, angst if you squint, celebrity!au, all characters are aged up to 20s, mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol, drinking, newlyweds, exes, some family issues, long-distance, idol!bakugou, fem + model!reader - not beta read!

aali’s love letter ! happy birthday bakugou! another splendid year for our lord saviour dynamght !! i posted this late boo but its out!! i hope you guys are still able to enjoy <3 ty to @cuntcure for helping out n motivating me !! - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

“fuck, we’re really doing this, huh?”

across from you, katsuki bakugou shifts uncomfortably  — ruby red eyes darting around the plain white set. studio lights glare from all directions, illuminating the slight sweat that beads at the blonde’s hairline. artificial lighting, bright and made to capture everything, refracts of the pearling perspiration and almost creates the illusion of a halo around the crown of your partner’s head. almost as if he’s an angel.

reaching over the small table that the producers have set up between you both, you grasp at katsuki’s rough fingers, toying with them as if to test the waters before you hold them fully — once he’s comfortable enough to accept your physical affection. his palms are warm and a little sweaty, but that doesn’t stop you from giving them a gentle squeeze. 

“it’ll be fun,” you whisper, keeping your voice low and calm as the production crew continues to contrastingly flit around you in preparation for the shoot. “and it’ll be great promo for your album!” lifting his hands, you press a kiss to the blonde’s knuckles as though you’re sealing a promise, ensuring that they’re not empty. you smile reassuringly and bakugou returns it awkwardly, drawing back just a tad when a member of production sheepishly approaches the table to set down three different bottles of alcohol, two shot glasses and a pitcher of pineapple and coconut juice as your mixer of choice. 

glass bottles of whisky, rum, and vodka glit under the white light too.

“we can back out at anytime,” comes your soft reminder once the crew member retreats to check the sound mic and cameras along with some other staff. “i want you to be comfortable.” 

bakugou shakes his head, this time, bringing the backs of your hands to his lips — pale blonde lashes fluttering as he shuts away ruby framed eyes and takes a breath to calm himself. “wanna do it. like y’said it’ll be good. fun.” when he opens his eyes again, he’s looking at you with a toothy smirk that never fails to send a shiver down your spine and butterflies in a flurry through your tummy. “besides, we haven’t been able t’do somethin’ like this together in a while.” 

nothing beats your grin after that and with a few more touch ups to your make up ( the both of you ) — you’re ready to begin filming. 

“okay guys!” the director on set claps their hands. “wanna start us off? who are you and what are you doing here today?” 

you give katsuki’s hands one last comforting squeeze before his crimson gaze slinks towards the camera that’s now rolling, fixating on its blinking red light as it matches his stare. “‘m katsuki bakugou ‘nd this is my wife,” he juts his head over to you gently, muttering your name with love laced between each of its syllables. 

you too turn to face the camera, award winning smile settling gracefully on your lips. “and today we’re playing truth or drink!” you squirm excitedly. “we’re really happy to be here! thank you for having us!” 

“i’m not.” 

“katsuki!” 

with a laugh behind the camera, the producer speaks again. “so, you’re some pretty special guests. what do you guys do? how long have you two been married?”

bakugou rolls his eyes at the enthusiasm. “i’m a singer-songwriter slash idol or whatever you wanna call it…and i’m on tour right now. so buy my album or you’re shit.” 

“and i’m a fashion model slash content creator. we’ve been together for like…five years? married for half a year? a year?” musing out loud, you switch your gaze from the camera to katsuki — letting him know with your eyes that he’s doing a great job.

“eight months, three weeks ‘n two days.” he corrects you seriously, causing sweet laughter to bubble up on your lips. 

“sorry, folks. eight months, three weeks and two days.”  you retort jokingly. bakugou rolls eyes ruby framed eyes again.

“okay, so still pretty new. let’s start with a shot, shall we?”

ever the gentlemen, your husband  pours you a decently sized shot using a drink he knows you like without even asking. he even tops it off with a mixer because he knows that sometimes you can’t get past a bitter aftertaste if the alcohol is too strong. once done with yours, he fills up his own glass before clinking it against yours — both of you knocking back the shot with practised ease. 

“god, that shit’s strong.” the pale blonde grimaces. 

despite having a facial expression to match, you somehow make light of the situation. “really puts hairs on your chest, doesn’t it, kats?”

“you like my tits naked and juicy, shut the hell up,” smirking cockily, katsuki slides your shot glasses to the side and toys with the stacked white question cards in front of him. “her words not mine.” 

“anyways…first card please.” 

doing as he’s told, katsuki flips the first card over — skimming the letters written in bold on the other side before he slams it back down. “‘m takin’ a shot.” 

the shoot has barely begun and you already find yourself bursting into fits of adoring, amused giggles. “no! it’s not even your question to answer! you have to read it, it’s the first card!” you whine playfully.

“alright, fine,” flipping the card over again with a dejected air about him, bakugou announces the question to both you and the camera. “when was the last time we had sex and where did it happen?” 

“oh god.” you pinch your brow.

“told ya. no shots, it’s the first card. y’gotta answer it, babe.” bakugou teases as he casts the card aside, leaning back in his chair slow and sexy like while he watches you hungrily. it’s like making you embarrassed has made him forget that he’s on camera. 

sighing through your nose, you pout at the camera and producers who watch eagerly. “on the way here.” 

“on the way to this shoot? oh my god!” 

“yes! omg. shut up, this is so embarrassing. katsuki don’t laugh!” you practically wail as the set bursts out into laughter. “god, okay. it was on the way here and in the back of the SUV with the partition up. don’t ask me how we had time. katsuki always makes time.” 

said katsuki wiggles two fingers towards the camera knowingly and chokes back a raspy chuckle when you frown in response, scooping up your own card. “next question,” your say as your gaze skims the card. “who is your least favourite parent in law? oooh, spicy.” 

“definitely her dad,” your husband points a thumb in your direction without hesitation but mouths his words straight into the camera. “you’re a piece of shit by the way.” 

the producer pipes in. “can we elaborate?”

“my dad was never the most supportive of my career…but claims everything i have is because of him. it sucks, he's a narcissist and we don’t really speak because of it.” you answer truthfully, attempting to shrug the weight of your familial situation off. you know that most girls dream of having their father walk them down the aisle on their wedding day…but it’s just not in the cards for you. sensing your anger, your hurt and your pain beginning to rise to the surface, katsuki takes the card from you and grasps at your hand — eyebrows raised earnestly into his hairline while he checks to see if you’re okay. a small, wistful smile plays at your lips and you give your partner a gentle nod. “it’s okay though, my mum, mitsuki and masaru have been great parents. katsuki’s mum and dad kept me grounded throughout our engagement, pretty much designed all of my wedding outfits. they were all custom.” 

“outfits? as in multiple?” 

“ah yes! mitsuki insisted that i had changes throughout the day.” you beam, a giddiness replacing any negative emotion you once felt. your future mother in law had done everything in her power to make you feel like a princess on your wedding day — to this day it made you feel extremely grateful for your positive relationship with bakugou’s family.

“they still fuckin’ spoil her, ma styles her for a lot shoots,” the blonde scoffs but the adoration dancing in the almost brown flecks of his carmine eyes tell a different story. “no seriously, ma ‘n pa love you so much. you’re like the daughter they never had.” 

“aw, that’s so cute. i’ll cry.” 

katsuki’s turn to pick a card rolls around again, but he doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time — index finger toying with your engagement ring. “what’s was the most stressful part about planning a wedding?” he reads. “oh, definitely the micromanaging from other people. shit pissed me off,” your husband answers almost straight away, already preparing to fix himself a shot when the producer asks him to elaborate. 

he shakes his head and the producer turns to you. “our managers thought that they could have a say in our ceremony since it was like the celebrity wedding of the year,” shrugging, you fix your own shot which makes your spouse grin. “we ended up having one public and one smaller, private wedding to say fuck ‘em. and no, they didn’t fire me for this.” 

“so a follow up, when you announced your engagement to the world what was a difficult thing you dealt with publicly?” someone from behind the camera asks.

pursing your lips, you look to katsuki for an answer. “the fan wars? some of my fans were…are still caught up on my ex and others think the great singer katsuki bakugou is too good for an influencer like me.” 

“they don’t know shit. you’re too good for the world baby, i don’t deserve you.” 

“corny ass,” you snort directly into the camera’s shot. “i’m sure that’s one of his song lyrics.” 

“is fuckin’ not!” bakugou pouts, though he’ll deny that he was later. “pick another damn card.” 

he pushes the pile towards you once more and you cheekily swipe one from the middle to make the video a little bit more interesting for those watching from home when it comes out. hopefully the viewers get a laugh out of bakugou calling you a cheater and you sticking your tongue out at him in retaliation — he pinches it back. 

“ouch! owie, okay! okay, let go!” flipping the card so that the text is facing you, you begin to read it out loud slowly — nearly bursting out into an incredulous fit of giggles at the question printed in thick black letters. “this is so ironic, baby you’re gonna love this one,” katsuki raises a brow, intrigued by the coy smile you’re barely trying to hide now. “i dare you to call an ex and remind them that you’re happily married.” 

a small silence echoes throughout the studio as you stare at one another, waiting and waiting, until a loud, raspy and haughty laugh rips through bakugou’s throat. 

“what’s so funny?”

the blonde sat opposite you, still as handsome as the day you first met him — with glittering gem eyes that sparkle under the studio lights and a toothy smile that never fails to melt your heart, suddenly grows shy. a rose tint spreads its way over the bridge of his nose and his cheeks that have lost their youthful roundness, katsuki blushes softly but laughs with his entire body — only just embarrassed by the secret he's about to reveal to his most dedicated fans and the rest of the world. 

leaning forward on the table, elbows on the edge, while you tuck your chin in the seat of your palm — biting your lip in amusement. “do you wanna tell them or should i?” 

“i wanna take a fuckin’ short first. can i?” katsuki asks, almost innocently. he knocks back a glass of dark, bitter whisky once he gets the go ahead. “she’s my first. my first everythin’. girlfriend, time, wife—“ 

“i sure hope i’m your first and only wife, kats.” you cut him off swiftly, a mischievous lilt layered thick on your tone.

he slings an arm over the back of his chair, waving you off lovingly. “—you know what i mean, sweets.” bakugou shrugs in the direction of the producers. “i don’t have an ex to call.”

“okay, we’ll have your wife call one.” 

at the film crew’s suggestion, your voice raises an octave, notes of surprise littered through out your melodic voice. “me? who would i even call?” you can’t help but snicker, trying to reach for the juice used for mixer so you can plan your escape route out of the dare. 

your husband snatches the bottle from your reach, holding it protectively against his broad chest. “call shindou.” he grunts out low but highly amused. 

“oh no, i’m not doing that. let me take the shot katsuki.” comes your instant response, tone turning slightly serious.

“who’s shindou?”

“her ex.” 

“my ex.” 

the both of you announce in unison, though you’re a little less entertained by your menace of a blonde husband — still guarding the drinks as he chucks the used question card to the side. 

“why not?” 

“cause it’ll be mean? he still hasn’t recovered from finding out i’m dating the idol he used to train with. yanno, the one who debuted over him.” 

bakugou clicks his tongue cockily.  “he’ll get over it. call him. c’mon, it’ll be funny and you love making me laugh.” 

“alright fine but you have to swear you’ll answer the next one.” you turn to the camera. “he’s right though, his laugh is the prettiest in the world.” 

bakugou blushes as you pull out your phone and scroll to the bottom of your contact list, surprised at yourself for not blocking and deleting the number. holding up the sleek device for everyone to view, you jab a thumb into the speaker button and watch with baited breath as it begins to ring throughout the studio.

“hello, yo speakin’,” a voice a little higher pitched than your husband’s filters through the speaker. it’s familiar, but doesn’t hold any of the comfort that bakugou brings. it’s been years since you ended things with your ex, the relationship was rocky and full of miscommunications and mistrusts before either of you skyrocketed to fame. there’s no malice between you both or a reason to cause katsuki why worry, you hope, but talking to yo shindou nowadays is akin to talking to a stranger. 

giving the camera an awkward thumbs up, you reply shyly. “hi shin, what’s up?” 

“oh hey sweetheart, this is a nice suprise.” your ex purrs through the line. you click the buttons side of your phone to turn up the volume — making sure his every word is picked up by the mics in the room. 

bakugou chimes in, clearly looking for an opportunity to show off. “hey asshole, don’t get too excited.” 

“hello to you too kats, what can i do you for princess?” 

“shin, don’t call me that. also we’re shooting truth or drink right now — newlyweds edition with kats. they wanted me to call, tell you i’m married or something… which i’m sure you know by now.” explaining in a rush, you push at bakugou’s forehead, right between arched, dark blonde brows to keep him and his laughter at bay. 

“it’s all anyone can talk about these days, especially when i’m on set. married couple of the year.” 

the producers mouth to you to ask shindou a question, in which you almost miss underneath the sounds of your newlywed husband suppressing snarky jokes and giggles. “they’re telling me to ask you if you’re happy for me ‘n kats. you don’t have to answer—“ 

“i am. happy for you. katsuki, as big as of an asshole as he is, makes you way fucking happier than i ever did. he’s good to you, but you’re better to him. the world wants to see you guys grow old together… i hope it stays that way or else i’ll have to swoop back in—“

cringing along the millions that will be watching in the near future, you slice through his words politely before bakugou can blow a gasket. “thanks, shin. you’re sweet.” 

“anything for you, sweetcheeks—“ 

“alright, alright. you’re pushin’ it now, freak. r’member i’m the one clapping these sweet cheeks and i’ll always be a better fuck than you—“ abruptly, your newfound husband snatches up your phone — growling possessively down the line as if to ward your ex off. 

“okaybyethankyou!” squealing you hang up the phone and breathe a heavy sigh of relief, head banging on the table in front of you as you try to hide your flustered face. “that went better than expected.” 

the blonde before you shrugs nonchalantly as if he wasn’t seconds away from reaching into the phone and tearing shindou’s head from between his shoulders.  “i do love an opportunity to show you off, rub our marriage in people’s faces.” alas, he pours you both a shot, adding a mixer to yours, sort of as a reward for making it through the call. “kay, next card,” he swipes one from the top of the pile once more, carefully murmuring its contents into the studio’s cool air. “can the both of you name one person you would have invited into your marital bedroom on your wedding night? see if you’re both thinking of the same person. easy. on three?” 

“sure! one, two—“ you count, the temperature of the room raising as it awaits your big reveal. “kirishima.” 

“kirishima.” katsuki says at the same time before smirking cockily at the film crew. “next!”

you join him just as your foot flirtatious slides up his leg from underneath the table. “kats says eijirou is packin’, by the way.” your husband’s smile fades into an embarrassed look, everyone in the room laughing along with you. of course he’s seen it. of course you’ve talked about this before. “anyway, my turn! most romantic thing i’ve ever done for you? c’mon now kats, you can think of something. i’m pretty sweet.” 

reaching for your hand for the nth time during the shoot, bakugou laces his fingers with yours — decadent dark red eyes instantly drawn to the big rock on your engagement ring and the simple gold wedding band that sits above it as he recalls everything you’ve ever done for him. every gesture; every text, every act of physical touch or service. it would be hard to choose just one romantic thing.

the silence as he ponders almost fills you with dread, a nervousness fluttering about in your chest like a butterfly whose wings are beginning to fail them. they’d have to edit this part out if he couldn’t think of anything. 

but then, those plush pink lips that kiss you and call for you, part gently and a soft sentiment escape’s from between them. “you love me,” is all bakugou can say, eyes wide and genuine. “you take care of me. that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done f'me…and, if we’re talkin’ specifics, you remember that time just before my album came out? before our wedding? i was fuckin’ stressed ‘n i was always locked up in the studio, trying to figure out the track list, the final song…” 

you nod slowly, exhaling deeply through your nose. “yeah?”  the background noise from the crew, cameras and mics wither away until it’s just yourself and bakugou in the room — holding hands as though you’re one another’s life lines. 

“it was three am ‘n you were in another city for a shoot but…you still made the drive over to have dinner with me. to make sure i ate,” the tip of katsuki’s rough and calloused thumb brushes over the bumps formed by your knuckles. “just to help me run through things even though i was freakin’ the fuck out and you had a flight to milan the next day. you ate with me and that meant a lot.” he seems wistful as he talks, forgetting that the world will be able to see his heart beating all tender like when the cameras are put away and the footage is polished up.

perhaps he doesn’t care if the world sees him being so vulnerable with the woman he loves on screen. they’ll usually find such openness hidden between the lyrics of his songs. so, perhaps it’s the little alcohol running through his system. nevertheless, quiet love and appreciation seeps from katsuki bakugou’s pours into the quiet atmosphere of the set, the emotions crash over you in waves that you welcome — almost reducing you to tears brewed just for him.

“you asshole,” you sniff, lacking all the spite the insulting nickname carries. “i didn’t think that night  meant so much to you… i just wanted to see my baby. wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

cocking his head to the side fondly, the blonde singer uses the back of his hand to wipe at your free falling tears you hadn’t realised were there. bakugou doesn’t let go of you the entire time. “don’t cry sweets, you know i hate t’see you cry.” 

watery laughter bubbles up on the seam of your lips. “don’t tell me what to do,”

“you said she drove from another city, would you guys say that distance made things difficult for you?” 

“sometimes,” you answer the director truthfully. “while we were engaged we’d plan our wedding across different time zones. when i was awake walking for fashion week he was sleeping in his studio making songs.” you explain, looking to katsuki to confirm.

he nods along with another squeeze of your hand. “it was hard yeah, but we got through it. now she has my ring on her finger ‘n she’s stuck with me.” 

“send help.” you mouth to the camera.

resuming the game, you snatch up a card and secretly hope that the question is a little more light hearted than the previous. “has my line of work ever made you jealous? oooh, good one,” adding the card to the ones already discarded, you squirm in your seat — excited to know your husband’s answer. “no shots! i want you sober and honest.” 

“i’ve hardly had anythin’ to drink!” katsuki snorts. “what’s the sayin’? a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts? let me have something.” 

“no! i want sober words and sober thoughts, that’s the aim of the game, stink.” 

katsuki rolls his eyes so hard you fear they might drop out of his skull. “spoiled brat,” he mumbles begrudgingly, sucking his teeth. “okay before anyone says anythin’, i’m a secure guy. i trust and value my girl’s word above anyone else’s. i love seein’ her on billboards in every country i visit, on magazines at every airport I’ve ever flown from…”

“it feels like there’s a but coming.” 

“wait for it…” you hum gleefully.

“but i hate that one cover shoot you did with that nerd, izuku, for vogue. that’s it. never do that shit again.” bakugou finishes, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

nearly leaping out of your seat, you point at your husband — bewildered. “i knew it! you said it didn’t bother you!”

“of course it did! he had his grubby arms wrapped around you! he stinks.” 

“you did not just call izuku stinky, he’s got a feature on your album!” 

“his feature can kiss my ass,” you know that bakugou is only half serious, the two have written some beautiful songs together and the cover hardly meant anything — izuku models from time to time as well. it just so happens you also work for the same brands. “my turn again, rate my proposal on a scale of one to ten. how good did i do?”

“nine point five.” you nod assertively, speaking to your audience with love bursting through your heart. “he proposed to me at his first sold out concert, like literally stopped singing and apologised to all of his fans because he had something important to say. that’s when he asked me, in front of his entire world. kats’ is real private so it meant so much to me…”

the blonde leans back in his seat but brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss directly to your wedding rings. “only nine point five? cheeky fucker.”

“it’s only ‘cause your genius-self decided to chuck my ring into the crowd?” you scoff. 

“oi! i have good aim, you’re just shit at catchin’ things!” katsuki scoffs back, nudging you with his foot under the table. 

“back to the game love birds.” 

the two of you put your playful little spat on the back burner and you grasp the next card. “how many years into our our marriage do you think we’ll stop having sex—?” 

“never,” katsuki cuts you off, looking directly into the lense as he jabs a thumb in your direction. “i can’t ever get her off my cock. she’s fuckin’ insane.” 

heat flares up underneath the surface of your skin in embarrassment. “fuck you.” 

“right after this shoot, sweetheart.” he winks right back at you before nodding down at the cards. “last two, yeah? did your life turn out as expected?”

chewing on your bottom lip, you give the question some thought. life has an unpredictable nature, no matter who you are or where you come from. if someone had told you a year into your college degree, that you’d be in front of sorts of cameras as a profession for the rest of your life — you wouldn’t have believed them. if someone had told you that you’d find the love of your life shortly after, you would have called them a liar too. your past has been heavy, a dark cloud you never thought you’d be able to escape — hauntingly daunting.

and even though you know that it’s a burden to place the weight of your happiness on someone else’s shoulders — but you know that katsuki has always been your golden, blinding light at the end of the tunnel. he’s something you never expected, but someone you entirely deserve after everything life has thrown at you. 

“no, it hasn’t,” you whisper softly, ever so slightly distinct. your lover leans in, watching you curiously from over stacked question cards and bottles of barely touched alcohol. “i never expected to be so famous so young, that a silly little dream of mine could come true. that i never expected, i still can’t believe it…but, it’s like… meeting you. falling in love with you, on top of all that? it’s like i was destined to be with you, kats. you’re my soulmate. i knew that from the start.” 

just like you earlier, emotion wells up inside katsuki. it breaches the cavity of his chest, slows down the rate of his heart and lungs and brings a slight shine to his beautiful blood red eyes. he sniffs but doesn’t dare look away from you — reading deep into your soul despite knowing the pages of it off by heart. “i feel the same,” he mumbles, reaching over to cup your face even with all of the cameras around. “i never expected to go on tour, sell albums and make music…but i feel like my heart always knew you were waitin’ for me.” quietness fills the space between the two of you, neither of you needing to say much. you cup the wrist of his hand that touched your face, leaning into his palm and pressing a kiss to it. “we’re so fuckin’ corny.” 

“you love it.”  you reply instantly. “i love you.” 

“see?” katsuki asks the production crew as he draws the last card for both of you — holding it out for you to read. “cornball.” 

“it’s cute! she’s cute and corny!”

“what about the rest of our marriage do you look forward to most?” since the video shoot is coming to an end, and you hardly want to cry any more, you both decide to make your answers short and sweet. “i look forward to spending forever by your side, taking over the world one continent at a time.” you gush, meaning every single word, smiling adoringly. 

“ditto, can’t wait to grow old with you, brat.” bakugou mirrors your expression and finally, finally ends the shoot by pressing the ghost of a kiss to your awaiting lips. you feel warm knowing how comfortable he’s grown over the course of filming, even more so at all of the truths he’s given you tonight. 

“that’s a wrap! thank you so much guys!”

katsuki salutes the camera, finishing up for you. “we’ve been the bakugous playin’ truth or drink. buy my album, see me on tour, buy a magazine with my wife’s beautiful face on it. like and subscribe.” all the while, you reflect on everything that you’ve learned about your husband whilst filming — that he loves you a lot more than he lets on, that you have his heart for all of eternity, that nothing in this world and cause his love for you to waver, 

and as your matching wedding bands continue to gleam beneath the dimming studio lights, you only hope that he knows that you feel the exact same way about loving him too.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[xxsabitoxx]

Costume Party | Kinktober

Angel Yuta Okkotsu x AFAB Devil Reader

Warnings: raw sex, jealous Yuta, angry Yuta, costume wearing, creampies,

A/N: day twoooo hehe, this one is a shorter one but still, enjoy!

WORD COUNT: 1.5K

“Yuuuta-ah~” you drawled, fingers digging into the sheets and tugging until the material went taut. The man behind you didn’t answer, brows creasing in concentration as he tried to carry on his “silent” act. You had upset him earlier that day, and now he was determined to “punish” you. The thing is, you were Yuta’s biggest weakness. There were very few things you could do to upset him, and even then it was hard for him to truly stay mad. This time though, this time he was trying his damn hardest to keep the angry act up. 

But, the latex one piece, the red devil horns barely holding on to your hair, the fishnets he had ripped instead of taking off… they were making his resolve crumble, even as his hips were actively plowing into your dripping cunt. “Y-yuta please!” you squealed as a harsh slap was dealt to your already sensitive ass cheek, mascara streaking your cheeks and staining the sheets as he continued to leave your pleas unanswered. The halloween party was the root cause of his annoyance, your couple costume had garnered a lot more attention than he anticipated. 

Angel and Devil, it was a classic – cliche even – costume idea. Yuta went as the angel, his outfit looking oddly similar to the uniform he wore in his years at Jujutsu Tech. A white button up and black jeans, a pair of angel wings and a headband halo. You went as the devil, a red latex one piece that left little to the imagination, red fishnets, a cute black “devil tail” and two clip-in red horns for your hair.  It was simple and easy, and Yuta only did it because you wanted to. He only went to the damn halloween party because you wanted too. 

He had initially been hesitant, it was a college party with kids he didn’t know but you had been invited and were familiar with a good chunk of the attendees. Maybe that’s why some of the drunken morons had the audacity to hit on you despite him being right there. That was the cause of his anger, even though it wasn’t your fault for looking so good, he couldn’t stand the way the other men at that party made him feel. Their cocky attitudes and side glances made him realize that they truly thought they could take you from him if they wanted too. 

Now, he was blowing off steam, and shamelessly punishing you for being “too damn hot”. 

…Though it was killing him to stay silent, still. Especially when your cunt was suctioning to his length, hugging every inch of him and nearly making it difficult to pull in and out. “Yuta! Please… oh fuck please say something… I want to hear you so bad angel.” You felt him twitch, hips stuttering in their brutal pace as you focused your head back to try and look at him. In his haste to fuck you, he hadn’t even bothered taking off his own costume, merely undoing his pants to get his cock out. You had to admit, the sight of your boyfriend all sweaty and bothered with angel wings and a halo on was going to stick with you for a long while. 

Yuta could arguably say the same about you, that sinful costume still half-hazardously clinging to your body was unforgettable. The slightly stretchy material of the latex one piece was pushed to the side, he had no patience to pry the thing off of you. The red fishnets were torn open so he had clear access to your cunt, it was a filthy sight. Something about his desperation set every nerve ending in your body on fire, the fact that he was trying so hard not to make a noise only fueled the flames. “Y-yuta… baby… angel… p-please… fuck I need to hear your pretty moans.” You let out a loud cry as his hips slammed deep, causing the skin of your ass to recoil with the force. 

He stopped all together, dull nails digging into the flesh of your hips as he kept you tightly against him. The head of his cock was pressing tightly to your cervix, creating a pressure that made you want to crawl forward to try and ease. “Y-yuta please… please…” you babbled, unsure of what you could say to get him to speak, or at least make some noise for you. Yuta’s determination was leaving his body with each clench of your walls, squeezing his embarrassingly sensitive cock too good. You whined loudly as he leaned forward, somehow pressing himself into you even harder as his front met your back. 

You couldn’t think straight, not when his lips were ghosting the shell of your ear, breath labored as he spoke one word. “Apologize.” You felt your own breathing stop, dazed, struggling to figure out why you needed to even apologize in the first place. It took you all of five seconds to comprehend why you were even in this situation, begging your own boyfriend to make noises. He was jealous. Jealous of the men who shamelessly ate you up as you strutted by, arm hooked happily in your boyfriend’s. You hadn’t even noticed them until you felt Yuta tensing. Still, his hips were beginning their brutal pace, cock hot and heavy as it dragged out of you. 

You were too desperate now to even care, “I-I’m sorry Y-yuta please… I’m sorry I’m sorry…” You choked, eyes watering all over again as you sobbed, breath catching in your throat every few thrusts when he dragged over that one particular spot. The spot that had your cunt fluttering around him as the coil in your gut threatened to snap. “P-please! Fuck, cmon Yuta I’m sorry!” you wailed, getting frustrated that he was still holding off. “Please, I don’t k-know what else you want me to say! I was only l-looking at you the whole night baby… please I’m sorry…” You continued your barely coherent babbling, struggling to look back at him with tear streaked cheeks. 

That was enough for him, his resolve disappearing altogether as his shoulders sagged. Yuta’s head fell forward, the halo headband nearly falling off as he moaned, loud and unrestrained. You practically moaned with him, arms growing a little weak as his noises finally graced you. “T-thank you… oh fuck thank you… so pretty… fuck you’re so pretty Yu…” you let your eyes shut, realishing in his breathy gasps as he rutted his hips even faster. “Oh fuck.” was the only intelligible statement he got out, hand pressing down on the latex covering your small back. You gave in easily, sore arms giving out as your chest and face squished into the mattress. 

Yuta was practically climbing on top of you, fucking into you at a deeper angle. His pants and whimpers had the feeling in your gut growing, your mind drawing a blank the moment you felt one hand shakily slipping between your legs. You let out a shaky cry of his name, the rough circles over your already sensitive clit was enough for the coil to snap. You came hard, thighs trembling as you gushed around his length. Not once did Yuta slow down, hips still thrusting into you deliberately hard as he chased his own release. You felt like jello, body melting into the bed below you as Yuta’s hands were the only thing keeping you upright. 

“Let me… oh fuck please let me cum inside.” He choked, face bright red as sweat dripped down his temple, he was close, dangerously close. If you didn’t tell him no within the next couple seconds, he was positive he’d be blowing his load in you regardless. You let out a half-hearted “yes”, too far gone to tell him with more reassurance. Though it didn’t seem to bother Yuta in the slightest, two more thrusts and he was heaving a sigh of pure bliss as he split inside. Silence fell over the two of you, nothing but racing hearts and ragged breathing filling the space. It took you several minutes to get enough energy to speak, your body already feeling tender. “Yu… this costume is going to be a pain to get off now that you got me all sweaty.” 

You smiled a bit when you heard him laugh, pulling out of you slowly and resting your hips on the mattress carefully as he fell onto the bed beside you. It didn't last all that long though, he had forgotten about the damn angel wings until they were digging into his back. “We’ll just have to cut it off of you then.” He said it pretty matter-of-fact, ignoring the way you looked at him as if he had just suggested something terrible. “I like this costume, Yu.” He didn’t care, huffing out a laugh before he spoke “This costume will never see the light of day, ever again. It's for me and me alone, got it?” The possessiveness in his tone had you squirming. “Yeah, I suppose.”

[driaswrld]

🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT

LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *

🪷 dearest gentle reader, what is a princess to do when she's caught between two dashing princes, both of which are her childhood friends? — one her betrothed and the other her past love... 4.7k words.

🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, use of regency era terminology, longing and more longing.

🪷 taglist : (lmk if you want to be added or removed!) @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnabooonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog

CHAPTER ONE. . . ˚ ༘ *

L'INCOMPARABLE.

Talks of betrothal began in the last Spring of your youth.

Under the cherry blossom trees, you sit in silence, fuchsia petals decorating the length of your hair in messy scatters.

Satoru Gojo, crowned prince and heir to the Gojo throne, picks the fallen remnants of flowers from your hair one by one as the nobles watch on.

Whispers of ‘they would make such a beautiful match’ and ‘look how the Prince dotes on her’ echo in the brush of the gardens, women whispering among themselves and the men chortling between swings of their mallets — in a near deathly game of pall mall.

“Don’t hide from me,” Satoru dips his head, breath fanning the shell of your ear. If possible, the whispers intensify, cutting past your ears and you bite back a giggle, stifling down the thought that crosses your mind, attention whore.

“I’m not hiding, your highness.” You counter, shifting to the side, your smile hidden behind a porcelain teacup, swift sips of ginger warming your cheeks.

“It’s improper, you know.” The words linger in the air between soft wisps of wind, flurries of foreign fabrics and bright layers of skirts pass your vision — and yet, all is drowned out by him.

Your anointed Prince, the attention whore.

“Improper to gaze upon my companion?” Satoru scoffs, grinning wide, toothy, dimples.

Childhood found you both tethered like bee and nectar, always close, always coming back.

At first, it was through duty, sharp tongued ten year old Satoru Gojo, a prince born with a halo and the title of the realm’s strongest to his name, meeting you, the humble princess of the Western kingdom, born in valor and sprouted in pride, a warrior’s code.

It was a disastrous first few encounters—

(—but then he was your bestfriend, and you his. )

His dear mother, bless her soul, had taken the time out to host this marvelous garden party to welcome the newest maidens into their debuts – moreso, to marry Satoru off quicker than he could leave for another battle, chasing another war – and yet, he cared not to meet with any of the women or entertain them beyond an inch of his being.

Not around you, at least.

“You shouldn’t jest about these things—!” A snort leaves your mouth, and whereas the ever uppity ladies of the palace court gawk at you in utter disbelief and mild disgust, Satoru finds himself bellowing a boyish laugh.

That was the last time he’d laugh like that with you, before a warm spring of youth turned to a burning summer, hot with passion, scorched with lust.

THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT.

Dearest gentle reader,

As all royal scandals do,

It started with an invitation.

We cordially invite you to the Gojo palace grounds to celebrate the betrothal of our crowned prince Satoru Gojo and his bride to be [name] [name].

This author finds herself compelled and rather . . . intrigued.

What a match made in heaven! Our beloved Prince Satoru and his most dearest childhood friend!

Your fingers tremble at your sides, the aura that is the strongest permeates your very being. The soft hum of piano keys coupled with string and bow becomes near inaudible – the power Satoru Gojo has on you is like a moth to a flame, lamb to slaughter.

But I assure you,

When it comes to matters of the heart —

Carefully, your feet carry you across the crowded ballroom, mass of bodies parting the instant they catch a glimpse of your eyes – that desperation is familiar in young women like you – and they pity you.

You, who should be above them, who should be the next Queen, the current Princess consort to be.

And yet.

“I’ve told you endlessly, I will take no wife!” Satoru’s voice is a staccato, bouncing off the walls of the vacant corridor adjacent to the ballroom, echoing past your ears.

Dare I say, our beloved crowned Prince

Is not the strongest.

“Some nerve you have, boy.”

Satoru’s father, the King, is a stoic man.

You’ve come to know this well in your youth. He rules firm and his word remains law. By no means is he the strongest or possesses any more battle capacity than that of any other noble, but he remains a political stronghold.

And his grip over his family — his subjects, remains unwavering.

“I don’t care for your affairs or your crown,” Satoru’s gaze remains hard, even as he meets his father’s ire in tow, and in such a barely secluded place too. “Let one of your bastards have it, my place is on the battlefield doing what you are too cowardly to.”

Your mind runs rampant, palms pressed against the cold wall concealing your presence.

You wonder what Satoru might be thinking — if he’d be so foolish as to forsake his lineage and do away with his duty, if he’d give up simply because his fate was not his choice — he wouldn’t.

No, Satoru is good and kind, and he would see this kingdom to a new realm of peace just with his bare hands alone.

“And that is all? You wish to do away with it simply because it does not suit your childish desires? I have given you everything! And the one thing I ask of you—”

You still yourself at the near animalistic growl that leaves Satoru’s lips.

“She will never be Queen.”

It cuts through you like blades of grass, familiar, scratching at your skin softly, pinpricks of green drawing blood from your calves.

It reminds you of when you were younger, more naive and susceptible to the follies of men and matters of the heart.

“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”

“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”

“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”

Three months, thirteen days.

Your betrothal has long exceeded and broken the record of engagement wait time.

Most women would be married within the same month of betrothal, the longest and most respectable wait time being a month and a half, only due to cases of overdue dowry payments.

Three million dollars was your reverse dowry.

Paid directly from the royal treasury to your father, and four million dollars paid in return. That was how much yours and Satoru’s hands were worth to your families, a testament to the weight you’d both bear by wearing a crown.

Except, you hadn’t been crowned yet. Or married for that matter.

“—summer solstice hunt!” It’s Yuji who exclaims, voice filled with childlike wonder. Recently knighted by Satoru himself and a renowned protege of the Kingsguard, the boy is eager to please. “Who will you cast your bets on, your grace?”

The confines of Satoru’s private study function as a meeting room for idle chatting — he leaves the letters to his advisors when they are of little importance.

Or discards them entirely when he has company, like now.

You sink deeper into the cushioned seat, Satoru’s arm draped over the back of your chair. A tuft of snowy hair falls over his forehead and he breathes a chuckle, your weight curling in on itself with every rise and fall of his chest.

why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don't you want me

“It’s out of question to bet on one’s self, no?” Satoru chuckles and it earns a cackle from Yuji, who, despite himself, has already casted his own bet on his annointed Prince. “I wouldn’t want to make anyone’s head bigger than it ought to be.”

The summer and winter solstice brings with it two separate ceremonial festivals — the hunt being the most anticipated due to its cutthroat competition among nobles and peasants alike.

That, and the prize.

The winner of the hunt, the man or woman to capture the famed primordial stag — which is really a regular stag trained and bred to elude even the most skilled knights — would be rewarded a grand jewel from the Queen’s vault.

Gentle reader,

The famed jewel for the taking

This summer, is none other than—

“I’ve placed my bet on you,” you comment plainly with a shrug and Yuji beams.

It isn’t unlike you to root for one of Satoru’s proteges, the ones fairly skilled and new to knighthood – you’ve always found yourself cheering for the peonies in a garden full of roses — the underdogs full of potential . . .

Satoru glances over to you, and for a second you miss how his gaze lingers.

“You’re too kind, Princess…” Yuji sighs, near dreamily. “I will no doubt do well now that I have your favor on my side.”

( losing dogs, satoru wants to say. all you ever do is bet on losing dogs. )

“You have her bet, not her favor.” Satoru scoffs dramatically before you can even think to lend Yuji your well wishes. “It isn’t something given, it’s something won. And from a maiden, not a Princess consort.”

She’s spoken for, is all you hear though.

There’s an air of uncertainty that passes between you and Satoru that only thickens with your closeness.

A pale palm curls around the cross rail of the back of your chair and you lean into his touch subconsciously – it’s warm, secure – he’s saying, I have your favor, don’t I? Tell me I do.

—The champion’s jewel,

A wraith necklace fit for a Queen.

The L’Incomparable.

“Nevertheless, you have my good faith.” You interject, followed by a sharp inhale, and you stand abruptly from your seat. Satoru’s hand falls to his side. He knows what you're thinking.

Three months, thirteen days.

You’ve sat by and watched Satoru deny you marriage – his excuse, that he’s waiting for his coronation first – you’ve watched him continue to entertain the women around him like he’s done since he was merely a squire, plastering a smile on his face from this glass castle he calls home.

He’s close, but never too close. Stringing you on then letting you loose— it’s routine.

It’s eerily similar to your childhood.

“Yuji,” Satoru speaks, soft yet firm. The young boy is on his feet immediately and offers a swift bow to his majesty, handing his service in tow to the call. “Leave us.” Satoru commands, and just as swiftly as he came, Yuji is bowing to you and exiting through the study doors.

L’Incomparable.

The largest internally flawless diamond in the kingdom and the most expensive chain sitting in the Queen’s vault currently, worth eight billion dollars alone.

Allegedly, it was handcrafted as a gift from an ancient Gojo king to his mistress — whom he had knighted and sent off to fight in the war at her wishes once their affair had been brought to light and scrutinized.

A gift he only got to place on her corpse.

Even in death, he loved her. More than he loved his own wife and Queen.

And though many attempts had been made to destroy the necklace, it remains near indestructible.

“Something troubles you.” Satoru murmurs the moment the door clicks shut. His gaze remains strained forward on your form, from where you fiddle with the frayed hem of your gown, back turned to him.

“I simply think of the prospects of the hunt,” you retort. “There are many promising young competitors traveling to partake— I fear my Prince would simply be. . . thwarted, is all.”

L’Incomparable is not a jewel of love.

It's a sickening story of a woman who loved a man who could not love her back in the way she deserved.

A woman who took what she was given, secret meetings, hushed whispers and fleeting gazes.

And when he did, finally love her back wholly and ardently, unable to bury it behind a locked door in the dungeon he called a heart — she was already gone.

“You doubt me?” Satoru’s voice is closer now, and you wonder when he even stood up – if he'd been taking small steps toward you the entire time.

“No.” It leaves your mouth like a prayer, an oath, worship. Every ounce of confidence you have is in him. He has protected you, kept you, safeguarded your sanity and treated you with grace— “Never that.”

( —he is your friend. nothing more than that. )

He exhales, and you hear the faint sound of a swallow, the click of his tongue. Your ear feels hot with the proximity, yet, he inches closer still.

“Will you give this to me, then?” He whispers, faint, uncertain — almost desperate.

And you turn, faces inches apart, breath mingling. “What is it you wish of me, my Prince?” Your pupils dilate.

“Your Prince,” Satoru repeats, like it knocked the wind out of him. It's a common way to address the monarch, you’ve said it before as have others. “. . . asks for your favor in the upcoming hunt.”

He keeps his hands folded behind him, curled into fists and trembling. Your Prince. Yours. Yours.

He’s a gentleman. He was raised right.

This urge—

( you’re his friend. his advisor. his confidant. this is not what he wants. )

The urge to strip you down to nothing but your chemise, lay you on his desk and hike your legs over his hips, show you things you’ve only seen in dreams or read in books — like he’s done to so many women before — he promises himself he’s not a rake, he’s just a man, but when you look at him like that and say his title so softly—

( it will pass. )

“Then,” your breath slows as he steps forward, so easily leaving you pressed back against the hardwood desk, caged by him. “I will grant my Prince my favor.”

Satoru watches in earnest, places his hands on either side of you on the desk as you remove one of your gloves.

Pure white, pearl decor, lace trim.

He would've laughed if he wasn't so enthralled by such a simple thing. Satoru wants to pull the other glove off with his teeth.

“I’ll return it to you,” he says, a promise. He takes the glove as you hand it to him, leaning forward and chasing the remnants of your fingertips against his once you pull away. “When I win.”

( and maybe then, you’ll understand i am devoted to you, wholly and utterly, if only in these moments and never again. )

There's a knock at the door, brief and soft. A maid, come to drop off another stack of letters.

And just as quickly as Satoru had found himself against you, he’s across the room, opening the door.

As if you had never been there.

The only evidence that he had even touched you is the lace cupped in his palm, middle and index tracing over a minute pearl.

L’Incomparable is a jewel of longing.

Morrow brings with it the beginning of joyous festivities.

You woke to another trousseau. This time, from a distant cousin in the Easternmost kingdom.

Attached was a letter of the newest development in her love life – said development being a defected knight nonetheless.

It made you giggle.

The palace corridors are bustling with life.

Servants and attendants eager to welcome early visitors who have come for the summer solstice, robust back and forth on decorations and food and gossip and many a’ things outside the realm of possibility to be discussed in one sitting.

Your lady in waiting, Areta, whom you’ve known since your youth, creeps into your room with a grin as wide as a war banner – you immediately assume the worst, mischief is your pastime but you fear the poor girl takes ‘eavesdropping on court gossip’ to another level.

“My lady, you would not believe—” Areta huffs, journeying to sit with you on the balcony, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from her brow. “The things I’ve heard today!”

“You hear things everyday, I fear.” You indulge her, as always. And she begins to talk your ear off, all in good faith of course.

Down below in the courtyard, is the sound of smacking wood and the occasional chorus of baritone conversation.

Satoru, who should be attending treaty meetings with his father, bides his time sparring on the cobblestone with the other men of the Kingsguard – the noise wakes you most mornings.

“—talking to Julietta, you know? The girl who attends to the countess? And she said—”

You hum along to Areta’s words, eyes peering over the edge of the balcony, gaze fixed on the crown Prince.

His snowy hair is damp with sweat, Victorian style dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, every swing of his wooden sword causes a commotion — muscles in his back flexing under the sunlight, so easily seen beneath the thin white fabric.

“—that her lady told her that she heard from a cousin-in-law who works at the docks that—”

You wonder what expression Satoru has as he pummels through his underlings playfully, hardly sparring but more play fighting. You imagine he’s grinning wide, crystalline blue eyes shimmering with glee—

“—that Prince Geto is coming for the hunt!”

You choke. Audibly.

Areta is quick to shut her mouth and lend you a concerned gaze. “Princess, are you—”

“I’m alright.” You wave a hand, catching your breath. Prince Geto. If you think about it too hard, you fear your chest might burst open and spill out your insides.

Oh, fair reader, it seems

Our dear protagonist has come upon

A treasure trove of memories.

“You were, ehem, saying?” You twirl your index finger in the air as if to prompt a rewind. “About. . .”

Areta raises an eyebrow, but nods slowly. “About Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law?” The girl questions, dim.

“No!” You interject immediately, twirling your finger in the other direction. Fast forward. “The other thing— the thing you heard!”

“Oh, about Prince Geto!”

Dearest reader,

Suguru Geto enters.

A man of great mystique,

the northern Prince.

And striking opposite of

our beloved crowned Prince Satoru.

“Yes! About him—”

Suguru Geto.

In many ways you could say he was Satoru’s best friend, his greatest rival and worst enemy all at the same time.

Through solstice events, formal gatherings and other royal duties, the same way you met Satoru, you met Suguru through him.

“Well, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law works at the docks,” Areta begins again, regrettably. “You know? The private harbor where all the spirit and wheat shipments come in, but that's besides the point—”

( suguru was your bestfriend too. in every way it counted. )

“Areta.” You coo, coaxing her to get back to the main point. Why was Suguru coming for the summer solstice hunt? After being away in the North for so long, why now?

The only correspondence you’d had with him was a few letters years ago. And then he stopped writing.

“So, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law saw the Geto family's ship dock in the private harbor!” The girl exclaims hushedly and you hum to yourself, curious.

Rightfully, you’d hold a grudge about never hearing from Suguru.

But in this moment, you feel no resentment or hurt. Instead, excitement that you might see your old friend once more.

And maybe, you, Suguru and Satoru could spend the summer solstice together— just like old times.

( and that’d be enough to get rid of the heat in your chest when satoru gets too close to you. )

Faithful reader,

she could not have been

more wrong.

Four days remain until the summer solstice hunt.

Satoru is scarce around the palace in preparation for his coronation coming soon and treaty arrangements.

You, on the other hand, have exhausted all your hobbies, biding your idle time helping the other ladies at court pick their gowns for tomorrow's feast — the first of seven nightly ones during the solstice.

Another trousseau is delivered to your chambers when you wake.

This time, you’re taken aback.

Instead of an elaborate stack of gifts, a box of jewelry or even a scandalous collection of seductive corsets and nightgowns to remind you of your predicament—

There's a long wooden box, coupled with a sealed parcel.

Inside the box is a beautiful gown, deep burgundy and shapely. Fitted with a low bust cut and short sleeves. It's a mouth watering dress, one you would've bought yourself if you even knew it existed.

But you've never seen a dress designed like this before, down to the intricate details of the underskirts and the hemming.

It's almost intimate.

When you finally open the parcel, you expect a note, but there's none. Instead, inside is a pair of black silk gloves, so smooth it melts in your palms – your mind immediately goes to Satoru and the glove he still holds hostage for you.

You don't think twice before telling Areta that this is what you’ll be wearing to tomorrow’s feast.

( you ought to thank satoru for this gift by wearing it, no? )

˚ ༘ *

The lights in the dining hall are dimmed perfectly to match the moonlight.

When you slip in from the adjacent corridor, greeting visiting nobles and residents of the palace court alike, a sense of nausea floods the pit of your stomach – what will Satoru say when he sees you? Will he like how the dress looks – or rather how you look in it?

Wait, why do you even care?

You’ve never really cared for these things— it must be the tea you had earlier. You nearly feel faint.

Darling reader,

it was in fact,

not the tea.

Your thoughts don't get the chance to linger very long, as the soft hum of music slows to a halt, and everyone begins journeying to their assigned seats.

Naturally, you fiddle with your gloves, not wanting to sit down at the second table yet.

One, it would be very impudent of a lady of your caliber to be seated without a proper escort by a gentleman.

And two, even though you did decline the few men who asked to escort you, you can't help the anxiety that floods your veins when you begin to realize that so many people are sitting already and you're not!

Sure, you're a Princess, but can't a girl be a little shy?

( not that you were waiting for satoru or anything of course. )

Devoted reader,

our protagonist

is in denial.

“It pains me to see such a beautiful lady left unaccompanied.” A voice flits past your ears, so close you can taste it on your tongue — incense, sandalwood.

( oh god, no. )

Your body turns in an instant, almost too quick, and your underskirts almost trip you as the weight sends you wobbling forward.

“Easy—” Suguru Geto’s arm darts out to curl around your waist, steadying you.

“You're here—” “You’re still clumsy—”

The both of you lock eyes at your shared unison of speech, then chuckle to yourselves.

You let your eyes wander over his features, how much he's grown over these past years.

He’s still as ethereal as the royal painters would describe. Prince Geto, the joy to paint, once in an era type beauty, born to be depicted in art, they’d say.

You don't doubt that.

“You look well,” you say. Suguru glances down at you and shakes his head, as if that is too much of a compliment for him to take. “No, honestly— I don't tease, you look very. . . stately.”

“Are you trying to call me old in a polite way, my lady?” He feigns offense, tilting his head to the side a little. You cover your mouth to laugh.

You don't miss the way his eyes linger on your gloves.

( oh, the gloves ! )

“Your highness,” leaves your mouth in a whisper, half teasing, half regal, and you give a brief curtsy, which he counters with a swift bow. “Would you do me the pleasure?” You grin, extending your hand to him.

Suguru — never Prince Geto, not to you at least — had been your solace, your comfort and your refuge.

The greatest friend you could have asked for in your youth.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Suguru whispers, taking your hand in earnest, escorting you over to the table and pulling your chair out for you — settling himself in the seat across from you, on the other side of the table.

( what a coincidence. )

˚ ༘ *

Time passes in waves.

People are whispering, no doubt. As they always do about you. No matter how hushed, you always hear them.

‘Look at the poor Princess consort, sitting beside an empty chair.’

‘You’d think she’d refer to herself as Lady now instead of Consort—’

‘To think even a Princess is not immune from such things. . .’

‘These things happen when you're sold off to a future King.’

“Bitter.”

Your head snaps up at the sound, dessert fork halting mid stab into your slice of cake.

Suguru’s eyes meet yours, as if he’d been looking at you the entire time, like he reads your thoughts as his own.

The people sitting at the table alongside you both fix their attention on him, the whispers halting.

“The cake,” he leans back in his chair, shrugging strands of his hair out of his face, looking down the length of the table at the spectators, nonchalant. “It's terribly bitter.”

You think you’d open your mouth to scold him a little, to not joke about what people say, royals should never engage in such petty gossip – but instead, you smile in gratitude.

( bitter. everybody's so bitter in this place. )

“That's quite unfortunate.” A familiar voice rings out, your fork sliding out of your hand to rest on the edge of your plate. “I hoped it would be rather sweet tonight.”

When you look over your shoulder, Satoru is already at your side, bending a knee and outstretching an open palm to you. “My Princess.”

He looks. . . disheveled.

Not completely out of order, it's something so small — so minute that only those who know him well would be able to point it out. From the crease of his vest to the shaky rasp in his voice—

And the woman in your peripheral stumbling back into the dining hall from the garden entrance on shaky legs. . .

( so that's what he was doing. )

“Your grace,” leaves your lips in a whisper and he kisses the back of your palm before sinking into his seat.

The way he presses his middle finger against his bottom lip like he’d been burned by the silk makes you raise an eyebrow. Does he not even have the common courtesy of pretending to like the gloves he gifted?

“I’m pleased you took time out of your busy schedule for us regular people.” Suguru chuckles, and Satoru’s mother, sitting near you all at the head table seems far from pleased.

“Well, a small act of kindness goes a long way.” Satoru parries and you force a smile, stabbing your dessert once more. “Especially for someone as regular as you, Prince Suguru.”

If you had initially thought this would be a quaint rekindling of an old childhood friendship, you never felt more wrong than in this moment — the air settles thick between you three.

“Isn't the future King Gojo just so kind?” Suguru addresses you, and you swallow, stifling your laugh.

“I pray for your marriage. . .” One of the Dukes seated at the table jests, to which you fiddle with the hem of your dress, the burgundy falling over your palms as a chorus of laughter ensues.

Marriage.

Suguru notices your gaze on him – or rather far away – and he smiles to snap you out of it. “Lady name?”

Just then Satoru’s hand reaches for yours under the table, halting your fiddling with the fabric, his grip steady and soft.

“Princess Consort.” Satoru interjects with a flat lipped smile, which could be perceived as kind, but to Suguru. . . “She changed titles.”

When was the last time someone called you by your name and not Princess consort? Always that. Not even Princess name.

“Pardon me,” you mumble beneath your breath, your grip on your dress going slack. You shrug your hand free from Satoru’s grip, abandoning your seat in an instant.

Satoru rises from his chair only four seconds afterward.

“Name—” he calls to you, following you out of the dining hall and down a vacant corridor.

Your footsteps evade him as he chases after you wide steps.

But he stops dead in his tracks when he hears you slam the door to an empty side room shut.

My dearest reader,

brace yourself for the

next publication.

Your kind author

bids you farewell.

[space-cowgirllll]

Crush

a/n: soft jackson ellie ily.

not proofread, if you see any mistakes look away lol.

She couldn't stop staring. Sitting on a cold bench in front of Jackson's little schoolhouse, she hides behind the astronomy book she'd recently found while out on patrol. Frozen fingers flip to the next page every couple of seconds, far too fast to actually retain any information. She watches you lead Joel to a particular part of the fence that has clearly seen better days. The wood is rotting and splitting apart in certain spots. No longer safe for the children who play nearby. You nudge the post with the toe of your boot, eyes widening when it topples over. 

Her eyes follow the curve of your neck as you throw your head back, laughing at something Tommy said. Your smile lights up your entire face, sending a flutter of giddiness through her body, almost as if it had been directed at her. She bites her lip, averting her eyes when you crouch down to inspect the damage. Where you found jeans that fit you like that in times like these she'd like to know. One more quick glance and she contemplates walking away, leaving Joel to get dinner by himself.

"What are we looking at?" A familiar voice whispers behind her, causing her to almost drop her book. She clutches it to her chest.

"Nothing!" She whips her head around to find Jesse and Dina behind her. The pair plop down on either side of her watching while the two men try to make the broken piece work until Joel can come back and replace it later. You stand off to the side chatting, not wanting to get in their way. Ellie marvels at how pretty you look under the street lights. Your hair a messy halo of waves, making you look angelic. 

"So," Jesse knocks his knee against hers "Are you ever gonna actually talk to her?"

"I talk to her!" Ellie scowls. "She comes over to Joel's for dinner once a week."

"Oh, we know." He interrupts "We've been invited."

"It was brutal."  Dina winces. 

The couple quietly tease Ellie, reminiscing over that night a few months ago. She had begged them to come and serve as a buffer between you and her. They spent the whole night watching Ellie try and fail to not make a complete fool of herself. Stumbling over her words and cracking lame jokes that left her screaming into her pillow later that night in embarrassment. Jesse's foot kicking her under the table when she stared for too long. Ellie listens with a pout on her face. 

"You guys are the worst." She groans. Her eyes travel back to where you stand, widening a little when she sees you already staring. There's a tiny smile playing on the edge of your lips. Heat rises to her cheeks when you send her a little wave. Sorry, you mouth, gesturing to Joel and Tommy.

Dina's giggle seems to catch your attention. You shift from Ellie's flushed face to the brunette beside her. The two of you share a look, seemingly having a conversation with just your eyes. There's a sly smirk on your face when you finally look away. Her brows furrow in confusion. In that moment, Ellie wishes she spoke girl better. 

"You know what? Surprisingly, I think she might like you too." Her best friend pats her thigh as she stands. "Do something about it before she finds someone else who will actually make a move." 

She grabs a confused Jesse by the hand, leading him in the direction of her house. The two whispering as they go. 

Ellie digs the heel of her sneaker into the ground, the thin layer of snow crunching underneath her foot. Most of the people in her life knew about her little crush. The way she offers to take your patrol shifts if it was too cold. Always on the lookout for things that would brighten up your small classroom. Volunteering when you ask for help with random little tasks during town meetings. She isn't as subtle as she thought. There's no way you don't know she's spent the past year and a half pining after you and haven't said anything. 

Not only is she ridiculously awkward, Ellie speculates your disinterest also comes from the three year age gap between you two. At twenty four, you probably see her as a little girl with a crush. 

She can see how much you enjoy spending time with Joel, especially after your grandfather's passing. She would hate to ruin that for you. It's better for everyone if she keeps her mouth shut.

____

It isn't until a week later that Ellie sees you again. She's shirtless in the middle of her makeshift home in the garage just feet behind Joel's house. There's a small pile of discarded tops sitting at the foot of her bed. She huffs, trying to find one that nice enough, but doesn't make it look like she tried too hard.

You stopped by the stables in the morning, making plans with Joel for dinner and a game of poker. Ellie hid behind Shimmer, trying to think of a way to get out of tonight when a look from Joel told her she had no choice. She fumbles with the last couple of buttons on the flannel, too lost in thought to hear the sound of the door opening. 

"Ellie, food's read- oh!" 

"Shit!" She spins around to find you standing in the doorway, eyes fixed on her panicked face as she pops the last button open. Ellie shoves her arms into the sleeves of the maroon flannel she'd borrowed from Dina, knowing it probably matched the color of her flushed cheeks. At least she'd thought to put on a bra.

"In my defense, I knocked twice." You state as you slowly make your way around the room, pausing to inspect the posters hung on her walls. She watches you pick up the comic she'd thrown on the coffee table earlier. Your eyes light up in recognition. "Oh hey! My grandpa used to read these to me. I think I have some you're missing if you ever wanna see them." 

Her breath catches in her throat at the prospect of spending more time with you. "Really?" She grins. "I'd like that."

You nod, walking slowly towards her. Your footsteps loud in the quiet room. Ellie watches the way your piercing gaze roams her face, slipping to her exposed torso for just a second before locking eyes with her. She hopes you didn't hear the embarrassing way her breath hitches when you replace her clumsy fingers with yours. Ellie basks in the warmth radiating from your body as you button up her shirt, your warm breath hitting her temple. 

"Cute." You smirk looking down at her. "Really makes your eyes pop." Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, you step back towards the door. "Don't make us wait too long."

Ellie stands frozen, heart pounding in her chest, listening to your retreating footsteps wondering what the hell just happened.  ——

After another slightly awkward dinner, she was shocked when you showed up at her doorstep again that night, this time waiting until she opened the door. Giving her a shy smile, you'd held out a box full of old comics, letting her know there was no rush on returning them. Ellie still remembers the grin that bloomed on your face when she'd invited you in. 

The two of you rarely left each other's side after that. Your friendship blossoming in the months that followed. It helped that you liked to talk and Ellie liked to listen to you talk. Most nights were spent together, either at your place or hers. She loved it when you read to her while she drew in her sketchbook. Some nights she would attempt to teach you how to play some of her favorite video games, enjoying how cute you looked when you were pouting after losing to her. The two of you had even started growing a dvd collection, always fighting over what movie to watch (she let you win almost every time.) 

She couldn't believe how quickly you'd become such a big part of her life. Ellie still had the urge to pinch herself on the mornings when she'd wake up to you sleeping soundly next to her. And on the nights where she'd stay awake, late into the early hours of the morning, memorizing every inch of your face, the magnitude of her feelings for you scared her. She'd do anything for you. 

Which is how she finds herself standing in the corner of the room nursing a drink, doing what she does best - watching you. You've been looking forward to the winter dance for weeks, begging Ellie to come with. The sweet look on your face when she walked through the door sent a rush of excitement through her.

You stay by her side all night until one of your friends pulls  you to the makeshift dance floor, managing to get Ellie out for one song before she quickly retreats back to where she was despite your protests. You're glowing under the twinkling lights, dancing and singing your way around the room. The navy blue sweater she'd gifted you for Christmas last month fits you like a glove.

"So where's your girl?" She looks up to find Jesse standing there, his face covered in a thin sheen of sweat from dancing. Dina's laugh sounds off from somewhere behind him.

Ellie chokes on her drink "She's not my girl." She says through a nervous chuckle. 

"You mean to tell me you follow her around like a lost puppy and you'll sleep in her bed but you won't tell her how you feel?" 

She shifts nervously from one foot to the other. "We're just friends. I sleep over at Dina's all the time."

"You don't look at Dina the way you look at her." He sighs looking out at the crowd of dancing people. "All I'm saying is it's only gonna get worse the longer you ignore it. Are you prepared to be her friend while she dates someone else?"

Ellie's eyes follow to where he's currently staring. Bile rises in her throat as she watches you dance with someone else. Twirling around with another woman, her hands where Ellie's had been just minutes before. Her hand grows clammy around the glass. The blonde kisses you. Her lips far too close to your mouth for it to be friendly. Before she knows it, she's pushing past her friend and rushing out the door. 

The chilly January wind bites at her face as soon as she steps outside. Blood rushes in her ears as she quickly walks back towards her house. She's mad. Mad at Jesse for being right. You for leaving her standing there alone. But mostly she's mad at herself. What had she been thinking? That she would just get to know you more and not fall even further? Her cold palms press into her eyes, trying to alleviate the stinging sensation. This crush was going to ruin her. 

She stops just feet from her door, digging into her pocket for her key. Footsteps that are not her own pound on the snowy pavement behind her. "Ellie!" 

Her eyes squeeze shut, regretting not walking faster. She wants nothing more than to freak out while buried underneath her covers. For the first time ever she doesn't want to see you. 

Your hand grips her bicep, spinning her around to face you. "Els what's wrong?" 

"Nothing 'm jus tired." She mumbles shrugging you off and taking a step back. Your lips pull down into a frown at her actions. 

"Why didn't you tell me? We could have come back together."

She scoffs. "You seemed a little busy. Didn't wanna bother you." 

"Ellie-"

"Caroline's great." She interrupts. "Word around town is she has quite the crush on you. If you wanna go back don't let me stop you."

"Oh my god shut up." In the blink of an eye she find herself up against the wall, your body caging her in. Your hands fly to the back of her head, fingers tangling in the short strands of her newly cut hair. You tug gently, forcing her to look up at you.

"She kissed you." Ellie whispers looking like a kicked puppy. 

"And if you had stayed long enough you would have seen me brush her off." You cup her face, slowly dragging your thumbs across her cheeks in a soothing manner. The tenderness in your eyes will forever be ingrained in her mind. "There's only one person I want to spend my night with and she's right here."

"Really?" You nod, brushing the tips of your noses together.

"I don't want to be just your friend Ellie," You whisper against her lips, your breaths mingling together. Her ears ring at your confession, and she hopes you can't hear the way her heart is pounding. "and I know you don't either. I've been waiting for you to make the first move, but I'm real tired of being patient baby." 

Your lips press against hers in a soft kiss. It's hesitant at first, giving her the option to pull away. You see her eyes flutter shut, shaky hands wrapping around your neck. She whines quietly, wanting more. Her fingers slip down and hook onto your belt loops, pulling you in and deepening the kiss. Your tongue is soft and warm in her mouth, sliding against hers as you press her further into the wall. She shivers when your cold hands caress the warm skin of her lower back. 

Ellie's head goes fuzzy at the feeling of your thigh slotting in between her legs. Her hips seem to have a mind of their own as she slowly rocks back and forth on it, the seam of her jeans giving just enough friction to provide some relief. 

Her soft mewls and the wet sounds of your mouths fill the air. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realizes you two are still outside, where anyone walking by can see. You need to go inside. She just can't find it in her to care at the moment. 

Hands slide from their place on your hips to cup your ass, squeezing harshly, drawing a groan from you. "Hmm. Do you wanna know how many times I've caught you staring at it?" You ask as your mouth pulls back to kiss down the column of her throat. Teeth nipping the soft skin there. Ellie laughs breathlessly in response, somewhat lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. The dazed look in her eyes sends a jolt of heat through you. 

"Ellie?"

The two of you rip apart at the sound of Joel's voice. He stands just outside of his back door, the concerned look on his face vanishes when he spots you and Ellie off to the side of the garage. 

"You two alright out there?" 

You want to laugh at the clear discomfort and amusement in his voice. "Fine Joel, just walking her home."

"Uh huh." He doesn't sound convinced. "Well, best get inside before the snow picks up."

"Right. Good night!" 

Ellie rushes to unlock the door, pulling you in and slamming the door shut. 

"How did you know?" She asks, playing nervously with her fingers. Her freckled face deliciously flushed. A love bite peeking through the collar of her hoodie. 

"You weren't good at hiding it. I had my suspicions." you giggle, intertwining your fingers with hers. "Dina also might have put in a good word. Said I would love you if I just got to know you better."

"And?"

"She was right."

[vendettamuses]

Howdy! Are you’re interested in writing with various canon and OC muses from media like Bioshock, Cyberpunk, Dead By Daylight, Disney, Fallout, Far Cry, Grand Theft Auto, Mass Effect, Resident Evil, Pokemon, Stranger Things, Stray, Studio Ghibli, and more? Then give this promo a like/reblog and check out @vendettamuses​!

⚔️ 18+ Selective Multimuse for Canon + OC Muses ⚔️

⚔️ As remembered by Mun V! ⚔️

[monitorchakas]

I just want to know if the rumors are true

Is Mendicant Bias in Epitaph????

You don't understand my obsession with him back in highschool 2007

[crowcryptid]

Reorganized my bookshelf

pls ignore the cat hair.. I have 7 cats.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Two Can Play That Game.

You’re cheating on Patrick. You’re not proud of it, but it just… happened. Patrick’s cheating on you, too. He never meant for it to happen, but it just… did. Imagine the surprise from both of you when you find out that Art Donaldson is caught up right in the middle.

pairing - art donaldson x patrick zweig x female reader (college era)

warnings - smut. cursing. cheating.

word count - 3.5k

authors note - every dynamic in this film is so fucked up and I love it. i’ve thought about this movie every single day since it came out, so it was about time I put pen to paper… i’m about to write so many fics with these two (and tashi). get ready. yeah.

masterlist. inbox.

It was an accident, the first time it happened. You swear.

Art had turned up at your dorm room one evening, with your tennis racket in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other.

He’d claimed he’d accidentally picked up yours when you were practising your serves together earlier in the afternoon - he’d only realised when he’d got back to shower and change. You’d opened up your bag, and sure enough, there was Art’s racket. Laughing as you handed it back, you invited him in.

“What’s with the booze, Artie?”

“Wanted to drink. Didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Fair enough.”

You couldn’t find any cups, so you took turns swigging from the bottle. Laying across your bed, the two of you talked about everything, from college classes to childhood summers.

It wasn’t unusual for you to hang out. You’ve been good friends since the very first day at Stanford, meeting each other at orientation and deciding to stick together. You found out that you both played tennis, and decided it was an instant connection. Easy.

“Patrick’s coming this weekend. Did he call you?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, handing the bottle back to him. “He wants to watch you beat Carson.”

“He has a lot of faith in me,” he’d laughed, taking a swig.

He gets this glint in his eye, when he’s a little tipsy. It usually signals mischief and carelessness, two things he doesn’t have while sober. It’s charming.

“We both do.”

Shaking his head, he held the bottle out to you.

“You’re good, still? You and Patrick?”

You nod, ignoring the way the rum burned your throat as you swallowed.

“Yeah, we’re good. Miss him, though. He’s not good at calling.”

“I know. He’s always got that phone in his hand, but he’s shit at using it.”

You’d chuckled, taking in the way the lamplight made Art’s hair glow like some sort of halo.

“Hey, Art?”

“Hmm?”

“It isn’t weird for you, is it? Me dating Patrick?”

“I mean, it’s a bit late for this conversation, isn’t it? You’ve been dating for like, nine months or something.”

“Dude, answer the question.”

“Nah, it’s not weird. Was a bit unexpected at first, sure. But you’re good together. Makes sense.”

You nodded, putting the bottle down on your bedside table. You leaned your head sideways, resting it on Art’s shoulder where he lay.

“If it ever gets weird for you… you know, college friend and childhood friend, your two worlds colliding… just let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

You stayed in the comfortable silence, both slightly buzzed and a little warm. Eventually, Art sat up, looking at you seriously.

“If he ever… if, I - I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a dick.”

You sat up to face him, urging him to continue.

“Just say it, Art.”

He took a deep breath, chewing on his bottom lip.

“If he ever doesn’t treat you right, or tries to fuck you over… just tell me, okay? He’s not exactly known for being a model boyfriend.”

“He’s been good so far, but… thank you. I’m not stupid, Art. I know that boy has a reputation for being a slut.”

Art had laughed, then, all bouncy and unexpected. The sound of it lit you up.

“Understatement of the fucking century.”

You shook your head, but couldn’t quite wipe the grin off your face. You moved your legs to sit cross cross apple sauce as Art did the same, facing each other.

You’re not sure what possessed you, but you reached out gently to move a stray curl from his eyes. He caught your wrist, pressing a careful kiss into the bone. Your breath hitched, at the action and at the feeling of his rough fingertips against your soft skin.

To this day, you still don’t know who moved first. All of a sudden, he was kissing you, or you were kissing him, lips melding together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle sliding into place. Art tasted like rum and spearmint gum, lips soft from the chapstick you bought him the week before.

His hands cradled your face as yours tangled in his hair, pulling him as close as possible. You’d climbed into his lap, tiny shorts doing nothing to separate the two of you.

You knew it was wrong. Both of you did. But maybe the thrill of it is what turned you on. Shirts thrown onto the floor, bra caught on the lamp, panties shoved into the pocket of Arts athletic shorts. It was a perfect picture of infidelity - and in that moment, you couldn’t have cared less. Neither of you could.

Art had fucked you slow and deep, spurred on by spiced rum and the sugary sweet noises spilling from your mouth. Sweat slicked skin slid together, groans and whines reverberating through the air.

You came three times before Art eventually did, babbling and muttering nonsense into the crook of your neck. All you could make out was the word Patrick.

He’d pulled the duvet over the two of you, falling asleep instantly with limbs intertwined.

Almost as if you hadn’t betrayed someone you both loved.

Almost as if it hadn’t felt inexplicably good to do it.

Almost as if you both knew you’d most likely do it again.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

They didn’t mean for it to happen, that first time. They both swear.

Patrick was crashing in Arts dorm room, both of them planning on hitting up some Stanford frat party. They’d been on the courts all afternoon, smacking balls at each other as hard as they could, keeping the other person on their toes.

Art never laughed with anyone else like he did with Patrick. All day, they’d been giggling like kids, undoubtedly pissing off everyone around them. But this is how they are. They’re the most themselves, when they’re together.

You were supposed to go to the party with them, but you’d knocked on the door last minute and told them that there was a situation with your friend that needed to be dealt with. She’d been broken up with, suddenly and without reason, as most college breakups happen. According to you, she was devastated, a real mess of emotions. You’d vowed to stay in her room that night so she wasn’t alone. Both Art and Patricks hearts had constricted at your kindness. They’d never met anyone like you.

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning and we can still go out, spend the day together. Okay, babe?”

You’d leant up to press a sweet kiss to Patrick’s lips, laughing when he pulled you in to deepen it.

“Okay,” he’d agreed eagerly. “Text us if you need anything, yeah?”

“Will do. Have fun, boys!”

And then you’d left as quickly as you’d arrived, in a cloud of Victoria’s Secret perfume mist and vanilla scented body butter.

“Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, Art.”

The blonde would be lying if he said he minded. He didn’t. He liked you a lot. But he liked Patrick more.

✵

Hours later, they stumbled back into Art’s dorm, drunk and babbling about the events of the night.

“She’s hot, Art. And she likes you. Clearly. How often does that happen?”

Patrick yelped when his best friend shoved him over, hitting the floor with a thump.

“Asshole. I’m not interested in her, like I told you eight thousand times tonight.”

“I just think Mackenzie-”

“Mallory.”

“-Mallory could be could for you. You’re not getting laid in college, Art. Do you know how lame that is?”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’d tell me.”

They looked at each other carefully, neither one daring to break the tense silence. Eventually, Patrick rose from the floor, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his jeans.

“I’m not sleeping on the ground tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’ll kill my back. And I have a match coming up.”

Art rolled his eyes, climbing into bed in his little boxer shorts.

“Where else are you gonna sleep then, huh?”

Patrick grinned, all white toothed and gleaming, before jumping right into bed next to the blonde, pulling the duvet up and over them.

“Right here.”

“You’re the fucking worst, Patrick. You know that right?”

“You love me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Art has never been able to argue with that stupid smirk. He rolled over, trying to put distance between them on the tiny university issued bed, acutely aware of how Patrick’s legs were tangled with his. It was all too intimate. The worst part was that he didn’t mind one bit.

“Missed you,” Patrick mumbled into the dark. “Don’t like that you’re not at home with me all the time now.”

Art half thought he was dreaming. All the sudden vulnerability had his head spinning, dizzy with affection.

“Miss you too,” he’d croaked out, quiet and afraid. “Wish you were here. We could have shared a dorm, played tennis together every day.”

“That sounds fun.”

Patrick was still speaking in hushed tones, as if he was scared he’d spook Art, send him running for the hills. They weren’t usually like this - so tender with each other. It had both of them reeling.

Both of them turned to face the other at the same time, trying to make out shapes of features in the dim light.

“I like the two of you together.”

Patrick knew Art was talking about you without him having to say it explicitly. It had always been like this with them. Easy, unspoken communication. Conversations without words.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Genuinely. I like her.”

A deep breath. Some quiet.

“I know you do.”

More quiet.

And then Patrick was propping himself up on his elbow, leaning over his best friend in the darkness. Art didn’t dare move an inch, unsure of what he wanted to happen next.

They say they don’t know who made the first move. All of a sudden, their lips were pressed together, gentle but insistent. Art could taste the liquor on Patrick’s lips. The history too.

It was more tender than either of them thought it’d be, when they’d dreamt it, imagined it, got themselves off thinking about it. They touched each other with almost careful hands, worried they’d spook the other person and send them sprinting down the hallway. Underwear was thrown across the room, duvet kicked to the end of the bed, pillows strewn across the floor.

They were gasping into each others mouths, sweat dripping down toned backs as their hips moved in tandem. Art silently thanked his lucky stars that his roommate was at his girlfriend’s for the weekend when Patrick groaned lowly into his ear, the sound reverberating through both of them.

One of them gasped I love you when they both came at the same time. Neither of them knows who it was.

It doesn’t matter either way.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You’re sure?”

“Very sure, sweetie. He left last night. Been talking all week about how excited he was to see you and Art.”

“Okay. Thanks, Mrs Zweig. Appreciate it.”

“Of course, honey. I want to see you soon, okay? Carve out some time for us in your next break from school. We’d love to have you again.”

“I will. Thanks again. I’ll see you soon, maybe.”

You press the red button on your phone, confused. Going back through your texts, you find the one you’re looking for.

From: Patrick

can’t wait 2 c u on fri. thinking bout u. <3

It’s Thursday. You’re not technically expecting to see your boyfriend until tomorrow. Except, you could have sworn you saw the back of him in the cafeteria earlier, and now he’s not answering his phone. In a panic, you’d called his home landline, where his Mom had picked up and told you he’d left for Stanford last night.

So where the hell is he, and what the hell is he doing?

You decide to go to the one person who should know - Art Donaldson.

Marching down the hallway in your flip flops, you hold Art’s spare dorm key in your hand. You figure that if no one answers, you can just open the door and peek your head in to see if Patrick’s stuff has been dropped off.

Which is exactly what happens when you get there. Your knocking goes unheard, and so you turn the lock and swing the door open, expecting to see two empty beds and the usual mess on the floor.

Instead, you see Art.

And Patrick.

In bed.

Together.

They’re tangled, completely intertwined, momentarily unaware of your presence. When you kick the door shut, they both jump - Art hitting his head on the wall as Patrick almost falls off the mattress.

“Well, well, well.”

They’re both blushing furiously, avoiding your eyes on purpose.

“How long has this little rendezvous been going on, huh?”

You should feel nothing but rage. You should be boiling up inside. You should be outraged. Should, should, should.

Instead, you feel… even. Validated, almost. No one is saying anything, so you continue.

“Art. Fucking. Donaldson,” you laugh. “I did not think you had it in you. Damn.”

Patrick looks completely lost, so you sit yourself down on the edge of the bed where they still lay, toeing off your shoes and making yourself comfortable.

“Patrick, my lovely boyfriend. Let me tell you a story,” you grab his hand in yours, sickly sweet expression painted across your face. “Actually, I can’t be bothered. The bottom line is - Art has been fucking me into the mattress like, once a week. For a while.”

The brunette has the nerve to look shocked, glancing back and forth between you and the blonde next to him as if he’s watching a tennis match.

“You fucking snake,” Patrick jabs, but there’s no malice in it. He sounds… amused. “And you, Miss Goody Two Shoes. You’ve been fucking my best friend while I’m away, and then fucking me when I’m here?”

“Best of both worlds, baby.”

He grins at you, at the absurdity of it all. Art’s too busy blushing so hard he might pass out to process what’s happening.

“And you, you little fruit,” you poke Patrick’s chest, giggling. “You always told me you and blondie were just friends. Bet this has been going on for years, huh?”

“Not years.”

The sound of Arts voice surprises you both, two heads snapping around to face him.

“Months, maybe. Not years.”

“Who was first, Artie? Me or Patrick?”

“Idon’tknowit’salittleblurry.”

“Hmm? What was that?”

“I think he said-”

“Shut the fuck up, Patrick. Let the whore speak.”

They’re both stunned into silence, but they can’t take their eyes off you. They don’t dare.

“I don’t know,” Art chokes out, voice hoarse. “It’s a little blurry.”

You laugh, all maniacal and entertained, and the boys don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Holy shit. Damn. Was this your master plan all along, Art? Get us both into bed? Live out your bisexual fantasies and hope no one finds out?”

“No.”

“No? It’s what it looks like to me.”

“No, it’s - I just…”

“Cat got your tongue, blondie?”

You surge forward and capture Arts lips in a bruising kiss, licking into his mouth all filthy and debauched. Patrick watches on with his jaw unhinged, blush on his cheeks and tent in his boxers. After a minute, you pull back, cool as ever.

“Well, your tongue still works, Art. So, spit it out. Who. Came. First? Me, or Patrick?”

“Why does it matter?”

His voice has gone all small and tinny and afraid, and you’re not proud to admit how much it turns you on. He’s pathetic, in this moment, and you’re living for it.

“Call it curiosity.”

“You know what that did to the cat, right?”

Patrick’s voice surprises you, considering he’s been a spectator for the duration of the last conversation.

“What’s your game here? You wanna figure out if I cheated first, or if you did?”

“Maybe. Doesn’t matter either way. We both did it.”

“Yeah. We did.”

The three of you sit suspended in time, both of them slightly scared to move out of line or speak out of turn.

“So what now?” Patrick asks eventually. “We gonna sit here all night?”

You think for a moment, looking at both of them carefully. You’re all sat within touching distance on the bed, so close but so far.

“Show me.”

“Hmm?”

“I want you two to show me how you touch each other when I’m not here.”

Art’s eyes go wide as Patrick’s lips curl into a lazy smirk.

“Yeah, babe?” your boyfriend asks, clearly unphased by the request.

“Show me what you do when you think you’re being slick behind my back. I want to see.”

When the blonde doesn’t move, his best friend pinches his thigh.

“You heard the lady, Art. She wants a show, so we’ll give her a show.”

You scoot backwards so you’re perched right at the end of the bed, giving them their space. Patrick sinks to his knees on the floor, pulling Art’s hips to the edge of the mattress as he goes. You realise, suddenly, that both boys are completely naked while you’re still fully clothed. That thought gets you hot under the collar, the power dynamic going to your head.

You watch as Patrick kisses up Art’s thighs with practised precision, nipping and biting at the spots that make him squirm. You chuckle, realising that both you and Patrick have learnt the same things about Art’s body and the way he reacts. He seems to have the same realisation, looking up through dark lashes to smirk at you.

Art is none the wiser, lost in the way Patrick’s tongue feels swiping across his toned muscle. He’s rock hard and leaking, begging to be touched in any way he can get. You squirm in your place, determined to stand your ground and make your point but desperate to relieve the ache between your legs.

Patrick takes Art in his hand, squeezing gently as he rubs his thumb over his tip. He writhes into him, whining like a puppy eager for attention. He’s panting, chest heaving as if he’s just finished a tennis match.

“Tease him but don’t kill him, Rick.”

“Fine, fine.”

Your boyfriend takes his best friend in his mouth suddenly, taking both of you by surprise. You watch as he sucks him within an inch of his life, all messy and wet and utterly debauched. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been this turned on.

There’s no handbook as to what you’re supposed to feel, watching your boyfriend suck the dick of his best friend. There’s a thought in the back of your mind that maybe you should feel shame, or embarrassment, or rage. Instead, all you feel is excitement. It’s fun, getting to peek into their dynamic behind closed doors, a show that usually has no audience. You feel… special, almost.

Art is wriggling on the edge of the bed, hips jerking upwards involuntarily, making Patrick gag. The sound of it is so erotic, you worry for a moment that you’ll pass out. You’re lightheaded, dizzy with it all.

“You look so pretty, Art. So pathetic, but so pretty.”

They both groan in unison, Art’s head dropping back in bliss. His stomach contracts as Patrick hollows his cheeks, and you can tell he’s getting closer and closer with every swipe of his best friend’s tongue.

You lean forward, running the back of your knuckle over Patrick’s cheek where it’s stuffed full. He makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whine, and you laugh cruelly. Art’s hand tightens in the sheets, so you tangle your fingers into your boyfriend’s hair and yank as hard as you can.

“What the fuck, babe?”

“No, please. So close.”

You chuckle, running your thumb over Art’s bottom lip.

“Whores don’t get to come, Art.”

He goes to protest, but you cut him off sharply.

“Keep whinging and you won’t come for a week.”

They both shut up, silence swirling through the air. You take Arts place, moving him over so you can sit on the edge of the bed. Spreading your legs, you look down at your boyfriend where he’s still kneeling all pretty.

“Now’s time for your redemption, Patrick. Get to work.”

He slips your shorts and panties down to your ankles, pulling them off and throwing them onto the floor.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper into Art’s jaw, sucking a bruise there. “You’ll get your shot at redemption, too.”

They’re looking at you like guard dogs, ready to comply to any demand.

“You underestimated me, boys. I mean, what did you think was going to happen?”

Nothing can be heard except for the two of them taking desperate, heaving breaths.

“Two can play that game. Or, three, in our case.”

@nymphetkoo @diorrfairy @bobo-bush @amorisxx @imawhoreforu @luiise @raekensluver @ever1ongg @melancholicmelanin @munson-blurbs as promised <3

[ja3yun]

I was wondering if I could make a small request? I've been thinking of making out with sunghoon. Like his lips are so perfect for kissing and biting/nibbling, and I can't help but think about straddling his lap and making out softly and then intensely and becoming so aroused from that. I don't know if you can work with that or add anything to make it better, but I need it, please. If not, I'm sorry to bother you.

warnings: suggestive, kissing obvs, slight biting

w.c: 1.1k

a/n: hope you like it babe! i hope it's what you wanted. i wrote this during my lunch break so it might be a bit messy, sorry.

----------

Opening your bedroom door, you see your boyfriend sprawled across the bed, his back against the headboard as he scrolls through his phone, waiting for you.

Leaning against the doorframe, you allow yourself a moment to drink in the sight before you. His eyes, half-closed in a relaxed expression, seem to hold a thousand unspoken promises. Every line of his face is softened, a striking contrast to the usual meticulous façade he presents to the world.

The dampness of his hair creates a delicate halo around his head, catching the light in such a way that makes him look both tender and enchanting. He always looked the most beautiful like this, barefaced, his natural charm shining through

You feel a warmth spreading through you, an appreciation for the rare beauty before you. And you get to call him yours.

Your gaze drifts to his lips, which look velvety smooth and inviting. The natural plump, pink pillows stand out against his skin, and you can't help but be mesmerised by their softness. The way they part slightly as he breathes, the delicate curve of his smile, all combine to create a sight that is utterly captivating.

Slowly, you push off from the doorframe and make your way towards him. His eyes meet yours, a small smile playing on his lips as he watches you approach. “I thought you drowned in there,” he jokes, locking his phone and giving you his full attention.

You climb onto the bed, crawling over to straddle his lap, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you settle in. You lean in closer, breathing in the clean, fresh scent of him, and feel a sense of contentment wash over you.

“I just took a really long shower today,” you sigh, tone slightly deflated.

The shift in your demeanour doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, who crunches his thick eyebrows as his expression paints a worried look. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” he asks softly, his voice full of genuine concern. His gaze never wavers from yours, and in that moment, you feel the full depth of his care and attention.

You shake your head slightly, trying to dispel the lingering feelings of weariness. “Nothing serious, just a bit tired,” you admit, resting your forehead against his. His presence, so calming and reassuring, begins to lift the weight from your shoulders. Your hands splay over his chest as you feel his taut muscles under your fingertips.

He gently tilts your chin up with his pointer finger, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss that seems to communicate all the love and understanding words could never fully capture.

Sunghoon’s lips are soft and inviting, their texture silky smooth against your own. As the kiss begins, it’s gentle and exploratory, each movement delicate and thoughtful. You can feel the subtle brush of his skin against yours, a light caress that sends shivers down your spine. His lips move slowly, moulding with yours like he was tailor made for you. You can taste the faint hint of mint on his breath, mingling with his own flavour.

As the kiss deepens, his lips press more firmly against yours, their warmth spreading through you like a soothing balm. His hands tighten slightly on your waist, pulling you closer, his fingertips tracing small, comforting circles on your skin. You can feel the gentle pressure of his mouth as he tilts his head, adjusting the angle to better align with yours. The sensation is electrifying, every touch a promise of more to come.

With each meld of your lips, his teeth nibble at your lips, dragging them and as he looks at you with a lust filled gaze before licking the slight wounds, giving you the perfect balance of pleasure and care.

Your own hands move up to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt as you lose yourself in the kiss. His lips part slightly, inviting you to further the connection, and you respond eagerly. The kiss becomes more fervent, a passionate dance of tongues and lips that leaves you breathless. Each movement is infused with a sense of urgency and longing, the soft sound of your breaths mingling in the quiet room.

His hips buck up into you instinctively, making you gasp in arousal, allowing Sunghoon to explore your mouth deeper, his wet muscle marking it’s territory everywhere it can reach.

The sensation of his tongue gliding against yours is both tender and intoxicating, a blend of sweetness and pure desire. You meet his movements with equal enthusiasm, your tongues entwining in a sensual rhythm that heightens the need between you. Each caress of his tongue sends a thrill through your body, the taste of him filling your senses.

Kissing Sunghoon is like nothing you could ever put into words, it’s passionate, raw, loving, and lustful. He knows by your earlier statement that you need to just lose yourself in his touch, give your mind a rest and breathe in his adoration.

Pulling back, you catch the air back in your lungs, chest heaving against his. But Sunghoon doesn’t rest, instead he attached his swollen lips to your cheek, nose, forehead, jaw, and neck, peppering loving kisses all over you.

“I’ll kiss away the tiredness for you,” he smirks, portraying his desire, yet his eyes are soft and brimming with affection as they meet yours.

You smile, feeling the warmth of his affection with each gentle kiss. His lips linger on your skin, their touch both soothing and electrifying. Each kiss seems to chase away the remnants of weariness, replaced by a burgeoning sense of joy and contentment. The tender graze of his lips against your neck sends a delightful shiver down your spine, making your heart swell with a deep, comforting love.

As he continues his tender ministrations, you can’t help but laugh softly, the sound of relief and happiness. “You’re going to spoil me with all these kisses,” you tease, running your fingers through his damp hair.

He chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “If that’s what it takes to see you smile, I’ll keep going,” he replies, his voice laced with sincerity and a hint of mischief.

“Then, yes, keep kissing me, please,” you pout your lips out, patiently awaiting him to envelop yours once again. The lightheartedness in your voice makes Sunghoon’s heart flutter with glee, your body a tiny bit more energised and hopeful than before.

“Anything you want, baby,” he pecks your lips in quick bursts, the sound of smooches and your heartbeats echoing the room.

A sly grin etches on your face. “Anything?” You wiggle your eyebrows and Sunghoon gets your insinuation instantly and grips your hips roughly, moving your hips against his growing erection. A moan slips past your lips as your eyes close, enjoying the feeling of his lips on your neck and bulge running effortlessly over your clit.

“I think anything is reasonable.”