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foreverisntenough · 6 days ago

Text

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 1- 'Setting Traps' | 'Aperture'

word count - 11k

It was early August, and an exclusive luxury club in Ibiza was a heaving mess of heat, music, and bodies. Even in the private section your friend managed to secure, the air felt electric and claustrophobic. Normally, you would’ve thrived in this but tonight you loathed it—the crush of too many people, the constant stream of elbows and spilled drinks, and the overbearing mix of expensive overly potent perfumes. But tonight, in the confined chaos, you found yourself pressed up against someone unexpected, and unexpectedly. It wasn’t just anyone, not a complete stranger. It was a friend of a friend. Someone on a holiday of their own linked with the holiday you were tagging along on, who’d somehow managed to make himself indispensable in this moment. You were on a girl’s holiday with Campbell, Delaney and Foster, your closest friends, and a few of their connections through work. The tequila was Clase Azul, flowing too freely, and the world around you felt like a blurred vignette, so softened by the liquor, you couldn’t even make out the blue patterning on the bottles anymore.

A misstep in your impossibly high platform Prada gold heels [ref index] sent you off balance, and before you could catch yourself, his hands were there—steady and firm, finding the bare curve of your midriff in between the multicolored sequined embellished mini skirt and top you were in. His touch burned hot against your skin, grounding you in an otherwise unsteady world. You tilted your head back, your slightly glazed, doe-like eyes locking onto his. He looked down at you with a smirk that could only be described as lethal—lazy, confident, and infuriatingly handsome. His lips, impossibly perfect, curled up into an expression that made your breath hitch. They were that irresistible shade of pink, full and just shy of teasing.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low and edged with a drawl that made it seem like he’d already figured you out. You weren’t sure if it was the tequila or the man holding you, but suddenly, the room didn’t feel so suffocating anymore.

"You have nice lips." The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them, a mix of tequila and the reckless honesty of the night driving your tongue. It almost felt like someone else had said them, that's how uncharacteristic the comment felt. You giggled at yourself, almost embarrassed, but the way your gaze lingered on his face betrayed the truth-you meant it. Every word. They were nice. His lips were distractingly perfect, plush, pouty, and pink, curling into a lazy smirk that only deepened with your admission.

"Yeah?" Trent's voice was warm, teasing, as he tilted his head, leaning in closer. "Well, I've been compiling a laundry list of all the things that look nice on you. I'll throw my lips in there as well, alright?" Your stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the way he was looking at you, what he just said to you. His words shouldn't have had this effect, but combined with his scent-mint laced with tequila and an aftershave that was downright sinful-they melted over you, a heady cocktail of intoxication. It was a gilded cage spun from his cologne, a velvet prison where every breath was a surrender. The air between you was thick with him—amber, dark and smoldering, vanilla, sweet as a whispered sin. His essence clung to your skin, curling around your throat like unseen silk, binding you in something deeper than touch. You inhaled, and it wasn’t oxygen that filled your lungs but the ghost of him, rich, opulent, inescapable. It didn't help that his hands hadn't moved from your waist. Massive on your frame. They were firm but gentle, fingers brushing the soft skin just above the waistband of your skirt. Every subtle shift of his grip sent a jolt of warmth through your body.

“Cheeky,” you murmured, a smirk tugging at your lips as you tried to match his energy. “You’re handsome, though. Is that how you get away with bull shit like that?” Your voice was playful, but the teasing lilt couldn’t mask the fact that you were a little breathless. His dark eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze, unwavering. The club’s lights cast a soft glow over him, highlighting every sharp angle of his jaw, every line of his face. He was beautiful in a way that felt unfair, like someone who should exist in magazine spreads, not in this cramped, dimly lit corner of a nightclub. And yet here he was, holding you steady, looking at you like you were the most interesting thing in the room.

“It’s not bull shit, baby,” he said, his voice dipping lower, pulling you in like gravity. “I’m being serious. If you like my lips so much, they can be yours for the night.” Your breath caught at his words. The confidence in his tone, the way his gaze never wavered, made your cheeks flush. You tried to steel yourself, tried not to let him see how much he was affecting you, but it was impossible to hide the way your body leaned into his without you even realizing it. You, he thought, you were exactly what he wanted tonight. Cheeky, maybe smarter than he was anticipating, quicker definitely but perfect, sexy, beautiful, he’d watched you all night, and as it would go in his world, you found yourself stumbling into his arms, perfectly so.

"Is that right?" you asked, your voice softer now, almost daring, playful, managing to find composure under his spell was near impossible, but you found some fragment. Your fingers moved on their own, sliding up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. You didn't stop until your hand rested against his neck, your nails grazing the base of his scalp in a way that made his shoulders stiffen, just for a moment. The slight hitch in his breath didn't go unnoticed, and it gave you a small thrill of satisfaction. Trent's smirk faltered, replaced by something heavier, something darker. His grip on your waist tightened just slightly, grounding you in the moment, a silent ‘don’t move away yet.’ Unbeknownst to you, you had him right where you would’ve wanted him, though the way his eyes were fixed on yours made it feel like he was the one in control.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me right now," he murmured earnestly, so quietly you almost didn't hear it over the pounding bass of the music. His eyes dropped to your lips again, lingering this time, and you could see the flicker of hesitation there, like he was holding himself back.

"What am I doing to you? You’re the one holding me," you whispered almost tauntingly, the words slipping out before you could think twice. The heat between you was unbearable now, the space narrowing until there was barely anything left. His lips were so close you could feel the faint brush of his breath against your skin. For a moment, neither of you moved, neither of you wanted to, the tension stretching between you like a taut wire. Then his smirk returned, but it was different now, slower, more deliberate.

"You're trouble, you know that?" he said, his voice dripping with amusement and something else-something that made your heart race. This wasn’t what he was expecting, you were much cheekier than he was anticipating but still sexy, beautiful under the lights.

"Maybe," you replied, your own smile teasing as your nails dragged lightly against the back of his neck again causing him to roll his head a little, swayed by the feeling. "But you don't seem to mind." You taunted his clear reaction to your hands on him. And you were right, he didn’t mind this at all, in fact, it was much more fun when someone returned his serve, the rally had him chomping at the bit. For you, you weren’t aware that said rally was even happening but you were beginning to catch on. Although, it was difficult to play when you were so distracted by him. It was almost unsettling how attractive he was. His calm, smooth, and unbothered demeanor only made it worse, disarming you at every turn. There was something about the way he carried himself, as if he already knew how the night was going to end and was simply waiting for you to catch up. Those dark, pooling yet piercing eyes and the pout of his lips could get him out of anything-hell, he could probably get away with murder if he tried. He was too pretty for his own good, and yet, you were already caught, tangled in the trap he'd barely even laid. You’ve seen men set traps before—watched them lay out charm like bait, pull back the spring with well-placed compliments, wait for the inevitable snap of attraction. But him? He never had to set the mechanism. The trap was already armed, already waiting, because it wasn’t something he does; it’s something he is. It was in the way the world tilted ever so slightly for him to have you falling into his arms without even trying. You weren't naïve. You could see the path laid out before you, the one so many girls before you had walked. It was in the curl of his perfect smile, the careless grace of his fingers staying on your ribs- their comfort on a stranger's body, the way he leaned back like the world was his for the taking, if he wanted it. He didn’t chase. Didn’t lure. He simply existed, and they came. Drawn like moths to a flame they swear won’t burn them. Falling victim to his allure seemed inevitable, but for some reason, you didn't mind. If he wanted you to be his prey tonight, maybe you'd oblige.

"And I'm not your baby," you cooed, rolling your eyes with a mock pout, though you couldn't ignore the way the nickname had made your stomach flip when he said it sentences ago, playing a little game of your own, testing if he even knew he was playing his. And then his smile grew again with cheek. The thing is, you didn’t believe in your game though. You didn’t care why he said it, you didn't hate that he called you it. Not at all. Maybe he’d never had to notice the way the traps happen, how the air tightens when he enters a room, how glances hook onto him like fish caught mid-current. Maybe he didn’t even realize that every step he took, every slow blink, long lashes fluttering, every lazy shift of his genetically blessed jaw was a trigger, a silent snap. Or maybe he very clearly did. Maybe he always had.

"Aren't you, though?" Trent's smirk deepened, devilish and self-assured. His hands shifted slightly, sliding lower until they rested just above your ass, pulling you closer into him. "I think you want to be. Actually... I'm pretty sure I'll have you calling me ‘baby’ by the end of the night."

The audacity of him should have annoyed you, but instead, it sent a spark of heat straight through your veins. His confidence was maddeningly attractive, the kind you wanted to knock down but couldn't help being drawn to.

"You sound so sure about that," you murmured, your voice teasing as you leaned in closer, your nose brushing against his. The look on your face was playful, a devious smirk pulling at the corners of your own lips as you tried to keep up with his game.

"I'm very sure," he replied, his voice dropping into something lower, something that made your heart stutter. "So sure that I'll put a wager on it." He taunted.

"A wager?" you asked, your tone feigning curiosity, though you already knew where he was going. He tilted his head slightly, his mahogany eyes that briefly lit a honey hue under a stray strobe light locked on yours.

"Yeah, a wager.” He smirked in a way that was confirmation he was very conscious of his looks, of his effects. “I think I'll have you purring in my ear, wanting more of the lips you think are so nice... if I kiss you." The air between you was thick now, buzzing with a tension that had you gripping onto your resolve like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground. You tried to meet his confidence with your own, though the edges of your composure were fraying fast.

"And what if I don't want that?" you teased, your voice quieter now, though it betrayed the truth-you wanted it more than you were willing to admit. You were losing ground on composure. His smirk widened, dangerously charming as he leaned in just enough to make you hold your breath.

"You do," he whispered, his voice dripping with certainty. He winked at you, then pulled back abruptly, leaving you breathless as he leaned away from you to pick up his glass from the table beside you two. Lifting it to his lips, he took a slow sip, his gaze never leaving yours. He didn't have to say anything more-he already knew he'd won. Dammit, you thought, mentally clenching your fists at your sides in a futile attempt to regain control. He was right. You wanted to kiss him. Badly. Suddenly you were envious of glassware in an Ibizan club being kissed by his pillowy lips.

The moment he stepped back, the absence of his warmth left a void, and in a desperate attempt to reclaim the composure you had lost the second your eyes met his, you pivoted, snatching your own glass off another table. Your body turned sharply, leaning into the cool steel railing of the private section, your eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for someone—anyone—to anchor you back to reality. But you weren’t looking for anyone. You were looking for yourself, for a shred of dignity, for anything to tether you to something other than the pull of him. To not envy a fucking glass of tequila. Even in absence, he lingered—an intoxicant, a slow-burning spell that you couldn’t break so you kept trying to find that elusive dignity. Your chest rose and fell, each breath failing to steady the racing pulse beneath your skin. The tequila in your own grip trembled ever so slightly before you lifted it to your lips, the club lights catching the gloss of your pout as you wrapped your mouth around the straw. You took a slow, deliberate sip, the chilled burn of liquor tracing down your throat, your head tipping back ever so slightly as you swallowed. Unbeknownst to you, every inch of this unconscious display was laid out before Trent like an offering.

The way you bent into the railing, arching your spine slightly, left your already minuscule skirt riding higher, the glittering fabric threatening to reveal the soft curve of your ass. His eyes locked in, laser focused on the plunging curve neckline of your top that strained as you leaned forward, your tits dangerously close to spilling free, rising and falling with each breath you couldn’t seem to control. Club lights flashed in fragmented bursts, kissing the high points of your cheekbones, your collarbone, the delicate dip of your throat as you swallowed more tequila. You didn’t see the way he watched you, but you could feel it—heavy, searing, claiming.

Trent didn’t move. He didn’t have to. He leaned back against the side of the booth, one hand lazily gripping his glass, the other resting at the hem of his shirt as he watched—smug, satisfied, and entirely in control. Confident as he crossed one leg over the other, enjoying his view. The coy smirk on his lips deepened as he took another sip of his drink, dark eyes drinking you in just the same. You, in your reckless attempt to escape him, had only handed yourself over completely. And he knew it.

—

Campbell’s voice cut through the haze of heat and tequila, her arms wrapping around your waist as she stumbled into you, pressing a fresh drink into your hand. You barely registered her words, your head still spinning from the last round, from the smirk that had unraveled you, from the man who had made it his personal mission to toy with your resolve. You flicked the abandoned straw onto the table, deciding you had no use for the pretense of sipping. Instead, you tilted your head back entirely now and downed the remainder of your drink in one go, the tequila burning its way down your throat like gasoline to an already smoldering fire.

Your friend laughed, probably saying something about your reckless pace, but her words were nothing more than a distant hum against the pounding bass and the rush of alcohol in your bloodstream. You smiled back at her, a drunk, lazy grin, pretending to have heard her when in reality, your focus was locked elsewhere—on the heat still lingering over your skin, on the phantom of his touch still pressed into your waist. Then, as if the night hadn’t already conspired against your thin resolve, your friend turned, her face lighting up in pure, intoxicated joy. She saw someone—someone she hadn’t spotted through the crush of bodies yet.

“T!” She yelled before flicking her eyes back to you. “Y/N!!!!! This is my friend T. Have you met? Trent!” Campbell practically screamed, her words absurdly slurred, her excitement cutting through the moment like a knife. You froze. For a second, you thought maybe the alcohol had made you hallucinate, but no—there he was, still, standing right in front of you again, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Mere minutes had passed since he’d pulled away, since he’d left you breathless and desperate for control. But now, he was back, and you’d be lying if you said you could’ve ever forgotten that face after a lifetime. That mouth, those lips in particular. Trent smirked as he leaned in, embracing Campbell effortlessly in a clear platonic yet friendly hug, but his eyes never left you. They remained locked onto yours, unwavering, knowing.

“You have nice lips,” he cooed, a compliment with a past, his voice a slow, syrupy tease, mimicking the very words you had let slip earlier. His smirk deepened as he watched the way your cheeks betrayed you, the flush creeping across your skin before you could stop it. It was like he had a remote control to you, like he could turn you inside out with a mere glance. But you weren’t about to let him keep the batteries.

“Mmm, don’t know if we’ve met,” you mused, turning to Campbell with an expression that was smugly sweet, feigning innocence even as your pulse quickened.

“Really, huh? I thought we had,” Trent interjected smoothly, his voice laced with something dangerously playful. His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate, before his lips curled into something downright sinful. “Well… I thought so because when I saw you tonight, I swore those lips were wrapped around…. a straw,” he paused, the innuendo dripping from his tongue like honey. “Maybe it fell…” His eyes flicked down to your drink—the one Campbell just handed to you that was already dangerously close to empty, the second round of tequila you were using as a shield against the slow, intoxicating pull of him. He knew. He knew exactly what you were doing. He’d rallied with girls on a night out before. He knew you were trying to drown the fire, to blur the sharp edges of the want coiling deep in your stomach. A part of you wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. But an equally strong part of you—one you were trying to silence with every gulp of Clase Azul—wanted to tell him to fuck you instead.

The moment his name was called, something in you clenched—tight, sharp, immediate. You told yourself it was relief, that the sudden break in his attention was a mercy. But your body betrayed you, your pulse thrumming in protest, your skin still humming where his gaze had lingered. He turned toward his friend, pulled effortlessly into another orbit, another trap he hadn’t even needed to set. It was almost laughable, how easily the world bent to him. Perched on the ledge of the booth, his friend gestured for him to come over, their pristine designer trainers pressed against the seat’s velvet, surrounded by girls whose gazes were already hungry, already waiting for him to just arrive so they could fall at his feet. And yet, for the past hour, he hadn’t moved. Hadn’t strayed. He had been locked onto you, circling, pushing, teasing. And that was the problem.

You hated him for it. Hated the way he had unraveled you so effortlessly, hated the way his words coiled inside your head long after they’d left his lips. You loathed the way he looked at you—like he already knew things about you that he had no right to know, like he had seen past the layers of indifference you tried to wear so well. And worst of all? You hated how much you liked it. It was pathetic, really, how deep he’d already sunk into you, how you could still feel the weight of his smirk pressed against your skin, how the mere echo of his touch felt more intoxicating than the liquor burning in your veins. You weren’t the type to fall for men like this—the ones who knew exactly what they were, exactly what they could do to you. You had seen his type before. Felt his type before. And yet here you were, caught in the same web, helpless against the slow, deliberate pull of him. You wanted to prove him wrong. You needed to. You wanted to walk away and never think of him again, to erase the memory of his voice in your ear, his hands grazing your body like he already owned it. You wanted to prove that you were immune, that you were better than the fallen, that you weren’t one of those girls staring at him like he was something divine. And yet, all you could think about was his wager. How, despite everything, you already felt like you were losing.

Campbell’s voice cut through the haze of your thoughts once over, her excitement colliding headfirst into the slow-blooming chaos in your chest.

“Did he just compliment you? Oh my god, I think he likes you! He’s never like that. What the fuck, Y/N?” she practically screamed, yanking you from your internal debrief on a complete stranger—a stranger you were now watching too closely, a stranger you should not be watching at all. Trent was talking to someone new. A girl. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you didn’t care. But something in your stomach twisted all the same. His body language was relaxed, effortlessly magnetic, the way all of him seemed to be. But his hands? They weren’t on her. You hadn’t noticed that, but he had. And that was intentional.

“I’m sure he does,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, shoving the thought of him out of your head before it could sink any deeper. You tore your gaze away, pretending you didn’t see, pretending it wasn’t pissing you off.

“No, Y/N… like, he can be an ass. He goes so quiet. But that? That was not… He’s never like that. That was effort,” Campbell insisted, voice laced with a mix of disbelief and giddy amusement. You turned to her with an exaggerated gasp.

“Wow, thanks Cam! And you were introducing us?” You let a teasing grin stretch across your lips, nudging her lightly. “And effort… please.” You looked at her with a smug grin and a roll of the eyes. Campbell dissolved into laughter, shaking her head.

“No! No! I just mean… he’s actually so nice. Just… reserved. Kind of low-key shy, I think? So people assume he’s rude, but he’s not. Swear. I don’t know. I’ve just never seen him move like that before. To not be distracted.” You hummed, considering her words, rolling them over in your mind like dice. You understood how introverts could be mistaken for standoffish—you’d seen it happen before. Felt it happen before. That’s fine. But Trent? No. That wasn’t the man who had cornered you tonight, who had toyed with you like he already knew the outcome.

Confident. Cocky. Every word precise, delivered with weight and purpose. That was not the behavior of a shy man.

“Hmmm. Interesting.” You mused sarcastically. Your gaze flickered back to him, drawn as if by an invisible thread. And just as your eyes found him, his were already on you. It was unsettling, the way he was watching you—his expression unreadable, dark eyes sharp with curiosity, studying you like he was piecing together a puzzle. A puzzle that had just whispered his name. And then, in slow motion—deliberate, taunting, knowing—he smirked. Just the barest curl of his lips, enough to make your breath hitch. And then came the wink. A single, devastating flicker of his eye, effortless but deadly. Like an arrow loosed straight at your chest. It was playful. It was mocking. It was a challenge wrapped in charm, a silent dare to see if you would flinch. You had mere seconds to decide: Would you let it hit its mark, let it burrow deep where you knew it would linger? Or would you step aside, get the fuck out of the way before the impact knocked you breathless? Either way, the damage was already done, he’d fired it.

The night carried on, and so did you—unscathed, but not untouched. Trent had taken his shot, and while it might’ve grazed you, you weren’t bleeding out. Not yet. Your will was stronger than that, forged in something more unshakable than the way a man could look at you, stronger than the pull of a pretty face and a cocky smirk. But the truth was, it was touch and go, because he was handsome enough to break and snap it in two at any given moment, and that was a dangerous truth to swallow.

You and Trent kept to your corners, circling each other like fighters in a ring, locked in a battle neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. It was a silent war waged between you, invisible to the rest of the world but undeniable in the space that stretched and shrank between you all night. The music pounded through the club, deep bass rattling the walls, seeping into the floor, into your bones, but the loudest sound to you was the echo of his voice in your head. The cocky lilt, the playful innuendos, the way he said your name like he already knew how it would taste.

There were stolen glances all night, ones you both thought went unnoticed. Yours lingering on him when he seemed to forget you existed, a strange ache settling in your chest at the sight of him—relaxed, unbothered, moving on. When he wasn’t looking, when he was draped in the effortless charm that made girls hover close, drawn into the glow of him. You watched, quietly simmering, convincing yourself it was indifference rather than irritation, as if you weren’t keeping count of the times he laughed too easily at someone else’s joke, leaned in too close to whisper something into another girl’s ear. Forgetting you.

His on you when you weren’t aware, when you were talking to another guy or laughing into your drink, lips slick with tequila and carelessness. Something darker lingered in his gaze, something brooding—like he didn’t quite like the ease with which you’d left him behind. The way you hadn’t turned your head to watch him go, something sharp flickering behind his gaze, like the sight of you untouched by his presence, yet he was watching other men leaving fingerprints on you. And that left a wound of its own.

And then there were the moments where your eyes collided, held, and something unspoken crackled between you, across the hazy stretch of the club, across bodies dancing in a drunken stupor, across conversations you weren’t listening to. And in those stolen seconds, something lit behind both of your gazes. It wasn’t tension. It wasn’t lust. It was deeper—raw, unfiltered desire. A recognition that neither of you could explain, and neither of you dared to. Desire, pure and simple, threatening to bubble over. No games, no taunts, no witty remarks to deflect from it. Just the ache of it. It sat between you, invisible but suffocating, until one of you—sometimes him, sometimes you—forced it back down. Swallowed it whole. Let it simmer beneath the surface of your skin, let it coil at the base of your spine, let the moment slip away before it ruined the game you both were too stubborn to stop playing, too stubborn to call it what it was, too proud to let it end in a draw.

And so, the night stretched on. The club pulsed around you, an organism of its own—music thrumming, bodies swaying, drinks spilling over the edges of crystal-clear glasses. But slowly the crowd was thinning, the air less electric. The once-packed club had begun to filter down, the air no longer suffocating but oddly vacant, like open water after a shipwreck. Friends had been lost to the night—some tangled into waiting arms for a night of fleeting indulgence, others already gone in cabs, leaving behind only the remnants of the chaos they had brought with them.

You found yourself on a velvet couch, plush and cool against your bare thighs, your phone heavy in your hands as you scrolled through contacts, half-heartedly trying to organize a ride back to your hotel. You stared at your phone, fingers sluggishly typing out texts. Somehow, you had ended up the most sober of your friends—whether by accident or design, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was the sobering effect of knowing that for all the glances, all the unspoken words, all the tension humming between you and Trent Alexander-Arnold…He hadn’t come after you. He wasn’t going to chase you. And you weren’t going to let yourself wish he would.

But just as that thought settled, just as you started to exhale, your pulse dipped into something traitorous—because you felt him before you saw him. A shift in the air. A presence at the edge of your awareness. And when you finally glanced up from your phone, there he was. Leaning against the railing just a few feet away, drink in hand, watching you with the kind of interest that made your skin feel too tight. His lips curled at the edges. Slow. Deliberate. Something you committed to memory without wanting to. You were alone. You hadn’t left with someone else, and it emboldened him all the more. He lifted his glass in a silent, wordless toast. And just like that—just when you thought you’d get out alive—he knocked you off balance again and back into the ring. You dropped your eyes with a dismissive shake of the head acting as if you were disinterested and solely focused on your phone. Your eyes narrowed and focused attempting to ignore how the air had gone thick again, charged with something darker, heavier than before.

Then within moments, you felt him slide into the seat next to you, his thigh pressing flush against yours, heat licked up your spine. He had finally come to you. His arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, fingers just a breath away from your shoulder—close enough to feel, but not quite touching. Even in his drunken haze, Trent understood boundaries. Or maybe he was testing them, toeing the line between restraint and indulgence. Not that the line was particularly clear anymore. That same scent—amber, vanilla, and something undeniably him—coiled around you like smoke, sweet and sinful. It was almost enough to make you forget why you were actively not giving into this. Almost. But you stayed focused, tapping at your phone with perfectly manicured fingers, trying and failing to string together enough Spanish to confirm your ride. Then—warmth.

“Nah, don’t do that.” A whisper, low and thick, slipped into your ear, lips so close you swore you felt them brush against the shell. A shiver ran down your spine, but you held your ground. His breath fanned across your skin, and God help you, his lips—those devastating lips—felt just as good when they weren’t even touching you, just speaking. You sucked in a deep breath, hoping resilience would come with the oxygen. “Come home with me, baby.” The words weren’t a plea. They were a promise. A slow, decadent offer drenched in seduction, delivered so effortlessly it was damn near unfair. And just as he was about to give in—let himself slip, let himself press a kiss to the column of your neck, to drag you under with him—you turned. He hadn’t expected that. His breath hitched, gaze locked onto yours, the usual lazy confidence flickering with something less certain.

“No?” You rejected him with a quiet, amused laugh, head tilting as you studied him. Trent blinked, processing, caught off guard. The world rarely said to him, this scenario never happening to him. “You were with other girls all night,” you pointed out, brows raising. “And now you want me to go home with you?” The question dripped with disbelief, with challenge. As if he could just shake off the countless drinks he’d handed to other women, the flirtation, the way he had let them get close—only to turn around and expect you to fall into his hands because you’d made the mistake of playing his game. He leaned in, voice smooth as silk.

“Yeah, but you knew my eyes were on you.” His voice, when it came, was a slow, knowing drawl that slid down your spine like warm honey. “You put on a hell of a show, baby.” And, fuck, it was calculatedly smooth. It was too smooth. It was like honey laced with something dangerous, honey sprinkled with cocaine, he was something addictive. The way he looked at you then—deep, dark brown eyes, heavy with intent—you could have drowned in them, let them pull you under until you forgot how to breathe. He smelled like temptation, his lips looked too plush, too kissable, and suddenly, the condensation on your empty tequila glass wasn’t the only thing wet. But you weren’t that girl. Not tonight at least. Your resilience putting in one strong shift in stoppage time.

“That’s a you problem.” Your smirk was sharp, head cocking to the side as you shot the words back at him. He exhaled a low chuckle, shaking his head, but then—he tried again.

“C’mon.” And, fuck, he pouted. He actually pouted. Not in a mocking, exaggerated way, but in a way that was so natural, so devastatingly cute, it was almost cruel. His lips pressed into a soft, plush curve, his big brown eyes slightly drooping, and it was disarming. One second, you’d been curious about unbuttoning his shirt just a little more, tracing your fingers down his toned chest, and the next, you were being guilt-tripped by the single most beautiful face you’d ever seen. Then—salvation. Or, Uber. Your phone pinged.

“No,” you hummed, biting back a grin as you stood. “Sorry, baby.” The pet name dripped with mockery, teasing but not unkind. And as you moved past him, you let your hand trail from his shoulder across his chest, fingertips grazing exposed skin in the V of his half-unbuttoned shirt, Your nails scratched lightly over the material, onto his skin then back to the otherside of material, dragging it open a little more as you pulled your hand across him, just enough to feel, just enough to make him shudder. Trent’s eyes fluttered shut. His head fell back against the wall behind him. And you? You caught a perfect glimpse of his chest, pleased with both the sight and the reaction. As you turned to leave, you sent one final, flaming arrow straight at him—a slow, deliberate wink. It hit. Hard. Trent was glued to the seat, body slumped, fingers gripping his glass a little too tight. You didn’t give him the option to get out of the way. And when you disappeared into the night, his lips parted, head tilting back slightly as he let out the softest, most defeated groan naturally accompanied by a gorgeous smile. The arrow of you had ripped right through him. And yet—he only felt more determined. Maybe deluded. But definitely determined to have you.

Deranged. That was the only way to describe it now.

Trent—Premier League star, England international, double-digit millions of followers, idolized and envied in equal measure—was lying flat on his back in the middle of his Ibiza villa’s king-sized bed, limbs sprawled, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths as he stared up at the ceiling like it held the answer to some impossible equation. It was late or maybe you’d call it early. The club had long since faded into a blur of neon lights and bass-heavy music, the sweat-slick bodies and overpriced tequila dissolving into the background of his memory. The house was quiet now, save for the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore beyond the glass doors of his bedroom. He could hear the rustling of palm trees in the warm night breeze, the distant hum of the city still alive somewhere in the distance. But inside his head? It was chaos.

He wasn’t in shock about why he was alone—he could’ve left with someone if he wanted to. Nicked someone on the way out. He could’ve snapped his fingers and picked any girl from the club, kissed her until she thought she was special, just to wake up and not remember her name. But that wasn’t the fucking point. The point was, he was here. Alone. He couldn’t believe that when he looked up at the blank ceiling he saw you.And when he got tired of staring drunkenly at the ceiling confused by his infatuation with rejection, he shut his eyes and it only got worse. The colors, the sounds, the feelings, the visuals all amplified. His body still thrummed with leftover adrenaline, a heat curling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He was wrecked, but not in the way he should’ve been. Not in the way that came from drinking too much and partying too hard. No, he was wrecked because no matter what he did, no matter how many times he blinked, he couldn’t get you out of his fucking head. It was pathetic. He shouldn’t be thinking about you. He shouldn’t be replaying every moment of the night, every glance, every smirk, every teasing remark that dripped off your lips like honey, ever decision he made that got him here. But fuck, he was. And it wasn’t stopping. And when he closed his eyes, he wasn’t met with darkness—he was met with you.

Every time, he saw you. Your body swayed behind his eyelids like a fever dream, the curve of your ass barely covered as you danced, just enough to drive him insane. He could see your lips wrapping around the rim of your glass, the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed down tequila like it was water, unbothered, unfazed—except for when he spoke to you. He remembered how you felt. God, he remembered. The warmth of your soft skin under his fingers, the way your nails scraped so innocently across his chest when you walked away, yet it felt like you had ripped something out of him. The brief but damning moments of contact, your bare waist under his hands, the soft graze of your hands on his neck marking him worse than any nail-digging scratch ever could. He remembered your scent—sandalwood and crushed magnolia—velvety, intoxicating, still clinging to his senses like you had been in his bed instead of dancing out of his reach all night and now stuck in his head. He should’ve been able to shake it off. He should’ve been able to roll over, let sleep take him, wake up tomorrow with the night nothing more than a passing thought. But instead, he lay there, the memories of you painting themselves across the darkness behind his eyelids, vibrant and inescapable. Even in the loudest parts of the club, he had still heard the hushed, breathy lilt of your laugh. Even among the hundreds of people pressing in, he had still smelled you, the scent hitting him in waves, making his head spin. You were fucking magnetic—and yet, the thing that drove him insane was that you repelled him. You wouldn’t let him in. And now, lying there, frustrated, strung-out, drunk but painfully clear-headed, he felt something he hadn’t in a long time. Want.

It wasn’t just lust, though that was there—fuck, was it there. It was more. It was an itch under his skin, an ache in his ribs, an obsession brewing before he could even recognize it as such. His jaw clenched, his body tensing as he shifted, only then realizing the other problem. He was hard. Of course, he was. Frustration crackled through him like static. The tension coiled low in his stomach, hot and unbearable, and when he finally registered the problem pressing against his boxers, he let out a vicious groan, yanking a pillow over his face like it could somehow suffocate the thoughts of you out of his system. It didn’t work. He prayed another layer over his eyes could blind him from the memories of you but you were everywhere and he felt it, he was completely bricked at the mere idea. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. After a night like that, a night of watching you, touching you, failing to get what he wanted, his body was betraying him.

Trent Alexander-Arnold didn’t win tonight and he didn’t like that. His head hit back against the pillow behind him with a thud, frustration tightening in his chest. He ran a hand down over the pillow covering his face, exhaling harshly into it, willing himself to think about anything else, anyone else. But it was pointless. It was you. Only you.

With a sharp exhale, he yanked the pillow off his face and sat up so fast the room spun. His head was a mix of tequila and longing, swimming in the aftershocks, a heat pressing against his temples that wasn’t from the alcohol alone. His fingers twitched as he grabbed his phone off the nightstand before laying back down because he felt so dizzy. Trent sprawled out in his bed, one arm thrown over his face, the other gripping his phone with a tension that could’ve had his knuckles going white. The room was still spinning, his head buzzing with the lethal mix of alcohol and frustration. He could still taste the night on his tongue—tequila, sweat, your fucking perfume. His chest rose and fell in slow, frustrated breaths, his mind running in endless circles around you. His messages were open. His thumb hovered over the screen. His jaw was tight. He was not that guy—the one who chased, who stayed up obsessing over a girl who had barely given him the time of day. He never needed to be. But here he was, his thumb moving before he could second-guess it, scrolling with a desperation he hated himself for, furiously until he landed on a number he prayed he kept. And then, finally— Campbell.

He hovered for a second, jaw tightening, something like shame flickering in his chest. Here he was, sending a text at an ungodly hour to not even you, your friend, that’s how little you gave him. But fuck that. He didn’t care. The message sent before he could think twice.

'Yo, it’s Trent. Hope you got home safe, Cam.'

Polite. Casual. Normal. Except behind the screen, he was anything but casual. His foot bounced against the bed as he lay there waiting for a response, fingers tapping against his stomach, restlessness clawing at his insides. He was wound so fucking tight it was ridiculous. It took Campbell a while to reply—probably because she was drunk and not a man currently losing his mind over a girl who had barely entertained him. Finally, his phone buzzed. He nearly dropped it in his haste to read the message. Was Campbell confused? Massively. But did she have an inkling? Yeah.

'Home safe… so is she in her room. U good?'

She laughed to herself staring at the unexpected text she received but entirely smug, but she figured she’d give him a little something, a crumb of hope that you were at least in your own room, alone or not, he could think what he wanted. Trent exhaled through his nose, rubbing his free hand down his face. Campbell knew. Of course, she knew. It wasn’t common for them to text and definitely not at this hour. He should’ve just left it there. Should’ve ignored the obvious taunt, tossed his phone to the side, and forced himself to sleep. Instead, his thumbs moved before he could stop them.

'Course. Where you lot staying?'

Blunt. Straight to the point. No room for misinterpretation. Campbell, predictably, ate that shit up. His phone lit up again, and he could practically hear her giggling behind the text.

'Maybe I'll tell you in the morning. Night xx.'

Trent groaned so loudly it echoed in the empty room. He tossed his phone onto the bed beside him and ran both hands over his face, tugging at his curls in frustration. This was stupid. He was stupid. He never did this. Never chased, never sat in bed like some lovesick idiot hoping for a text, not even from you, from your friend, never let someone burrow so deep under his skin after one night. But you had. Fuck, you had. And now he was paying for it. Why did he play a game with you if it wasn’t one he would win?

His body was still buzzing, the tension rolling through him making it physically impossible to lie still. He felt hot, like the club was still pressed around him, like your scent was still curling around his lungs. He rolled his head back onto his pillow, and instinctively let his hand fall to cup his dick over the fabric of his boxers, a natural position but tonight, even so, it was too much. He let out a pathetic frustrated whine at the mere thought of that ever being your hand. He felt like a boy desperate just for a touch, but he wasn’t a boy, he was a greedy adult now, he craved more. He wanted to show you, hold you properly this time, get a do over, dig his fingers into the flesh of your hips and fuck you. He hated how you oozed sex appeal, dangling yourself in front of him tauntingly and yet beautifully, even in your rejection. His skin was tight, his muscles coiled. He needed to do something before he lost his damn mind.

With a sharp exhale, he rolled out of bed, tugging his boxers off and tossing them somewhere in the dark. His feet carried him straight to the en-suite, his mind already set on one thing. A hot shower. Maybe that would help. Maybe it would calm him the fuck down. Steam filled the glass enclosure as he stepped under the spray, his hands bracing against the cool tile as the water pounded against his muscular back. He let his head hang between his shoulders, chest rising and falling as he willed the tension out of his body. It didn’t work. Not when the moment he closed his eyes, you were still there.

Your body pressed to his in the club. The teasing glint in your eye when you smirked up at him. The feel of your fingers dragging across his chest, the ghost of your touch still seared into his skin. His head fell back against the tile with a thud, his breath coming out ragged as frustration curled tight in his gut. He was fucking losing it. And when he finally caved—when he finally let himself relieve the ache you had left him with, his hand wrapped around himself, lips parting in a quiet groan—he hated that it was you on his mind. Not just your body. Not just the way your lips had wrapped around the rim of your glass. But the way you had laughed at him. The way you had walked away, unbothered, untouched, unfazed. The way you had denied him. It made him feral.

When it was over—when he had groaned his frustration into the heated air, his body finally giving in to exhaustion—he stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling, water still cascading over his head. And then, with a shake of his head, he turned the knob, making the water ice fucking cold. Maybe if he froze himself out, he could shake you off. Maybe if he stood under the arctic blast long enough, he could purge you from his system. Spoiler: He couldn’t.

“Fuck!” He shivered, backing into a corner of the shower. It was too cold and he was too hot, goosebumps raised over his skin. When he finally dragged himself back to bed, drops of water still trailing down his back, he barely even bothered to check his phone. He already knew Campbell wasn’t going to text back. And he already knew, with a gut-sinking certainty, that he wasn’t going to sleep a damn bit.

You hadn’t slept well, let's say that. So this morning the bathroom air was thick with steam, the scent of warm vanilla and creamy sandalwood curling into the humid space as you smoothed lotion over your skin, fingers gliding over the curves of your thighs, the planes of your stomach, the dip of your collarbones. You needed a fresh start, and to wash last night away. Your body still held the heat of the shower, water droplets lingering in the hollows of your collarbones, disappearing beneath the barely-there fabric of your lace panties. Your headache pulsed—a dull throb behind your temples that had you closing your eyes for a brief moment, pressing your fingers into the ache. You weren’t sure if it was from the shots of tequila you’d thrown back like water, fueled by the reckless, wild-eyed version of yourself who had existed for the night… or if it was because that version of you had refused him.

The thought made your lips press together, a sigh slipping through your nose as you leaned forward against the counter, letting your weight rest against the cool marble. Had you made a mistake? Your pride said no. Your self-respect said absolutely not. But your body… oh, your body was humming with a different answer. Even in your dreams it purred for him.

Even through the haze of liquor, through the blur of flashing club lights and the deep bass of the music, your memory of Trent was untouched—dangerously clear. You could still see him, still hear the cocky lull of his voice curling around the words ‘come home with me, baby.’ Why the fuck didn’t you go!? You screamed at the pent up version of yourself in your head. The way he had looked at you—hooded gaze, tongue running across his bottom lip, those fucking dimples peeking out even in the low light—had been enough to make your thighs clench again in the en suite now. God, he was pretty. And last night’s version of you—intoxicated, stubborn, righteous in your rejection—had left you with nothing but what-ifs.

With an exhale, you pushed off the counter, fingers reaching blindly for your phone. Your headache was mild, your regrets minor, but the ache low in your belly? That was not so easily ignored. You hit next on a shuffle of a playlist, J. Cole’s In the Morning filled the room, the slow, sensual beat vibrating through the air as you moved toward the bed, stretching like a lazy cat as you let yourself sink into the music, into the soft sheets beneath your knees. Your hands roamed absently as you imagined what could’ve been—the heat of Trent’s body pressed against yours, the roughness of his hands on your hips, the deep pull of his voice in your ear as he whispered something sinful, something that made you dizzy, something that made you weak. You sighed, tipping your head back, running your fingers along the tops of your thighs as you smoothed in the last of your lotion, a mix of warmth and frustration curling in your stomach.

And meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, mere yards away, outside your very door… Trent was standing in the dimly lit hallway of your hotel, back pressed against the opposite wall, phone in hand, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. He felt good. Smug, even. He had gotten the hotel name. He had the floor number. All it had taken was a bit of charm, a well-placed dimpled smile, a sprinkle of that Scouse accent, and a reluctant but meddling Campbell.

Campbell, of course, had put up a fight. But Campbell was nosy. Campbell wanted the tea. Campbell wanted to see what would happen and knew you well enough that sober you, was fine if Trent did manage his way. And so, when Trent had texted her again—his persistence a little embarrassing even to him—she had sighed dramatically and dropped the hotel name in his messages with nothing but a laughing emoji and a single word:

'Try.'

Oh, he was trying. And he had gotten this far. The door in front of him felt heavier than it should have though. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly. He’d played in Champions League finals, for fuck’s sake. He knew how to handle pressure. But this? This was different. Because last night, he'd lost. The rejection had tasted bitter, familiar in a way that made his stomach churn. He knew what it was like to feel the sting of a loss he thought he should have won. 2018 had taught him that. He had played in a Champions League final, full of fire and promise, only to watch another club lift the trophy at the final whistle. But the next year? He came back. He played again. And he won. Last night, you had been his 2018 heartbreak. This morning? He wanted it to be his 2019 redemption. His breath came slow, measured, steady as he reached up, knuckles hovering over the door for the briefest second. And then, before he could think twice, before he could talk himself out of it— He knocked. He paused and shook his head to focus before he did a second time. Two, that was normal right? How often do you knock? What the fuck was he doing at your hotel! His thoughts began to spiral. You heard the second knock, brows furrowing as confusion settled into your sleepy, mildly hungover and certainly needy haze. Room service? No, you hadn’t ordered anything. You assumed Campbell was still dead to the world, and Delaney and Foster had all but sworn off movement until lunch—so who the hell was at your door? Gripping your towel tighter, you hesitated, mentally flipping through half-formed Spanish phrases in case you needed them. You mumbled a ‘No, pero gracias,’ under your breath, rehearsing, before cracking open the door just enough to peek out. And that was when your stomach flipped. Because standing on the other side—looking entirely too smug for someone who’d been left high and dry last night—was Trent.

You froze. For a split second, the world narrowed to just him. The sight of him shown through the sliver of the door made your heart just about stop. The cocky slant of his smile. The way his dimple crept in as he tilted his head, dark eyes flickering down, clearly clocking the towel barely secured around your chest. None of it alarming or threatening to you though which maybe confused you the most but then the voice you wished so badly was in your ear a little more last night spoke up.

"You alright, baby?" His voice was syrupy smooth, thick with amusement. Your jaw slacked in confusion as you unlatched the secondary lock and opened the door a little more. Your grip on your towel tightening.

“Erm… hi?” You blinked up at him, skeptical, still caught off guard. “What are you—” Before you could finish, he stepped forward, cutting off your words, guiding you back into your room as if this had been the plan all along, something you two decided last night, like old friends, like this was normal.

“Just makin’ sure you got home safe.” His voice dripped with feigned innocence. “Since you wouldn’t let me do that last night.” You narrowed your eyes at him, fighting back the unwilling curve of your lips.

“So that’s what you were trying to do?” You cocked your head, watching as he strolled further inside like he owned the place. His eyes surveying the room, he shrugged as if accepting the interior causing your brow to furrow because you didn’t ask and you didn’t invite him in either but here you were. And the worst part of it, you liked all of it, every second.

“Yeah,” he said smoothly, plopping down onto your bed, entirely too comfortable. His fingers ghosted over the outfit you’d laid out for yourself, taking in the delicate lace bralette with a barely-there smirk. “Can’t say it wasn’t—you didn’t let me take you home, so how would you know?” He quipped so obnoxiously innocent, you huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you watched his big hand drag underneath the strap of the tank top you’d planned to wear but now you weren’t so sure you wanted to put it on.

“You’re…” You trailed off, searching for the right word. Because it wasn’t something bad, not exactly. But it was something. Something sharp and annoying but so annoyingly attractive, it made you want to drop your towel. Then it hit you. Campbell’s voice rang through your mind, reminding you of the comment she’d made when you first clocked Trent’s game. “You’re bold,” you concluded, smirking as you bunched up the clothes on the bed from beside him, swiping them. “For someone who pretends to be shy.” You elaborated, adding a bit of clarity. Trent only shrugged again, so nonchalant, like it wasn’t an accusation, just an observation he wouldn’t deny. Your jaw dropped in playful shock, an open-mouthed, amused smile stretching across your face. “Oh, so it’s on purpose?” You laughed, raising your brows.

“Dunno what you’re on about, y’know.” Trent leaned back on his palms, looking entirely unbothered. You rolled your eyes because if he was going to act like he lived here now, you were at least going to put on some clothes. You think you wanted to put them on at least. You turned toward the ensuite. But you didn’t really shut the door, not entirely—it was a big room, and it wasn’t like that—but as you peeled off your towel and reached for the lace bralette, Trent got an eyeful in the mirror. His throat went dry. Bare back. Tiny lace thong. Soft curves in all the right places. Memories of last night he didn’t share with you but of you came flooding back. His jaw slacked for half a second, brain short-circuiting, before he swallowed hard and yanked his phone out of his pocket like it was a goddamn lifeline. Focus, man. Clearing his throat, he shook his head, grasping for anything else to say before he lost all composure.

“So, you want some breaky?” He spoke up. The sudden shift caught you off guard. Emerging from the ensuite, you adjusted the waistband of your tiny Magda Butrym shorts, the lace trim peeking out, paired with a delicate gold Miu Miu knit tank.

“What?” You gave him a skeptical glance as you leaned into the mirror, moving to put in your earrings attempting like this interaction was not affecting you. “Did you not go home with a girl last night? Is that why you’re here?” You questioned him. Trent, who had been subtly (or not so subtly) watching your ass, snapped his gaze up, brow furrowing in genuine confusion.

“What?” He blinked. You smirked at him through the mirror, amused at the obvious shift of his gaze's direction.

“I’m just saying, if you're concerned, I won’t say anything about ruining your perfect track record—” You offered him a plea bargain, wondering if he was here merely for reputation damage control.

“My what?” His brows knitted together. You turned to face him, still grinning, but he looked—sincere. Maybe even… offended? So you paused.

“I’m just saying it’s fine you didn’t have to do this… show up here, make amends.” You said more gently, feeling bad that he looked a little taken aback by your call out. “Last night…” You began a sentence but really had no idea of its direction or ending so you hesitated staring back at him. You don’t think you misread him but then again right now, you felt bad with such an assumption.

“And I’m just askin’ if you want food,” he said simply, flashing an innocent smile that made you hesitate. Your mind ran through a mental list of all the reasons this was a bad idea. You had successfully escaped him last night. You had set your boundaries. You had won. But won what? A night alone? Because right now, you were losing again to the same dimpled grin and twinkly brown doe eyed threat you thought you’d avoided. Then you looked at him—his boyish grin, his easy charm, the way he was so annoyingly persistent but never pushy—and before your brain could stop you, your mouth betrayed you.

“…Okay.” As you grabbed the matching knit sweater to your set and slid on your Loewe cream slides, you glanced at Trent. “Pass me my phone?” You asked him with a blank stare. He was still perched on your bed like he belonged there, far too at ease in your space. Stretching one long arm out, the veins bulging, his muscles flexing as he unplugged your phone and tilted the screen toward him—smirking the second he saw the song he’d been listening to this whole time still playing. "In the Morning." His brows shot up cheekily.

“Thinking about something this morning?” His voice dripped with smug amusement, that teasing lilt curling around every syllable. Trent certainly was, that’s why he showed up, he hadn’t slept, so yes tongue in cheek but he was also curious if you’d bite. Instead, you rolled your eyes, stepping closer and snatching the phone from his grasp. Your fingers brushed his—just for a second, fleeting but charged. Not aggressive, not rough. More like… a preemptive escape. Because if you had let him, Trent would’ve held onto your hand. Would’ve used it as an excuse to pull you forward, onto his lap, into that damn bed. And the person you were most worried about in the room, wasn’t him. It was you. You might’ve let him. But no. Breakfast—you could do. Everything else? A catastrophe waiting to happen.

“Oh, hush. Get over yourself, honestly.” You teased, tossing the phone into your bag like the conversation was already done. “It’s on my favorites playlist.” Trent let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back onto his elbows. You meant it as a throwaway comment, but for some reason, it hit him differently.

He was sitting in your bed, still feeling the warmth of where you had been before you got up. He had seen you damn near naked, so comfortable in your own skin, moving through the room like you were a part of it, dripping in confidence without even trying. Radiating a sexiness he wasn’t sure he’d experienced before. He had watched you laugh at him, throw banter his way, roll your eyes in a way that made him want to press his thumb into the soft crease between your brows just to smooth it out. And now this. This small, seemingly insignificant thing, a throwaway comment to you. One of your favorite songs—was one of his.

And sure, the need to have you, to feel you against him, to ruin you in the very bed he was still sitting on—that hunger was still raging, hot and undeniable. But this was something else. Something new. Trent had spent mornings with women before. Hell, plenty. But they never felt like this. Like… something real and you hadn’t even slept with him last night. Like something he actually wanted to stay in, rather than counting down the minutes before he slipped out the door. Which was funny, because in his mind, he could already see a different kind of full-circle moment. Maybe this time, he started out like this—patient, lighthearted, taking his time—and ended the way he actually wanted, with you beneath him, breathless, saying his name the way he knew it would sound dripping from your lips. A long game. Maybe he was good at those too.

But was it a game? Because when he looked at you, now struggling with the hotel safe, brows scrunched in frustration as you tried to figure out how to lock your valuables inside, he didn’t just think about fucking you senseless. He thought you looked… cute.

And that realization nearly gave him whiplash. Cute? Did he just think that? About some girl he was supposed to just be chasing? Why was he chasing to begin with? Some girl he should be focused on getting into bed, not finding utterly adorable while struggling with a safe? What a mess. What a melt.

•

Thank you for reading! Welcome to my new fic 'Aperture' I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 2 - Winnings

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

#trent alexander arnold #Trent Alexander Arnold x reader #alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #taa x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #fie fic #aperture fic

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megamagimugi · 7 months ago

Text

He's-a Gone

Luigi time! To suffer, that is.

(CW: character death)

This is obviously a sort of comlementary piece to I Was-a Too Late. But it's more than just that as it also illustrates a certain fun, dark what-if idea I had. Please keep reading if you're intrigued!

Lore:

Luigi's Mansion, the first game. Everything goes the same as in canon until the final boss fight, when Luigi defeats King Boo in his Bowser costume. After King Boo comes out and Luigi intends to suck him in, the villain laughs and reveals the truth: Mario's painting was an illusion, so was everything Madame Clairvoya saw. All just to mess with Luigi. Meanwhile the real Mario wasn't just captured by the Boos, he was immediately killed by them on their King's orders. The only physical thing that's left of him in this realm is the five items Luigi found - hidden by the Boos for Luigi to find, another part of King Boo's sick game.

Luigi is able to finish the fight despite his shock and grief, fueled by the anger King Boo never expected from him. After getting out of the painting the plumber discovers that it is indeed empty, no Mario or anyone else in the portrait.

Heartbroken and guit-ridden, Luigi goes back to Professor E. Gadd's lab and gives him back the Poltergust 3000. He doesn't even want to stay long enough to see what is going to happen to the ghosts. Of course the Professor tries to offer some semblance of comfort, but we all know it's not his forte.

So Luigi leaves, only taking Mario's five items with him. He notices that the mansion has disapeared without a trace. The reality of it all finally hits him, and he practically collapses onto a nearby tree's large root protruding from the ground, putting down the precious items around himself, only leaving the matching red hat and the letter in his hands. He should have known something was off. After all, the Mario he saw in the painting was wearing his hat and both gloves.

Looking at all these items, to his growing horror he can't help but imagine what exactly might have happened to his brother and what his last moments might have been like. He hugs the hat to his chest and rereads Mario's note several times, knowing that the brief warning was his brother's last words to him.

Luigi can do nothing but cry for the beloved brother he couldn't save, desperately wishing it was his warm, living and breathing body pressed to his chest rather than just a couple of his belongings.

But Mario is truly gone, apparently having met such a horrific fate that not even a single part of his body is left in the physical world.

[Good night]

…I'll leave the rest up to your imagination ;) Sorry if I got carried away with my description. Occasionally even I enjoy being a little dramatic, though I'm no writer whatsoever.

Yeah, I'm not apologizing for making this one - I was nicer to Luigi than to his bro, at least here the Mushroom Kingdom and everyone in it (except for Mario lol) is still okay!

But alas,

You can no longer play as Mario (warning: this is a video with sound)

Rest in spaghetti, funny wahoo man.

@federthenotsogreat I'm tagging you because you said you wanted more Mario art like I Was-a Too Late, thought you might like this one too!

@drones-of-innocence Also tagging you because you were interested in my idea.

Edit: Tagging a few more mutuals who might want to see this based on their reaction to my previous angsty work just in case, feel free to ignore. Or ask me to remove the tag if you want, no problem.

@silenzahra (remember, no rush) @c-lavanda @jell-o101 @stripetkattelalala54-gf

@luigixfanxayjay @itsavee4117

And you @giddlygoat just because you have a Luigi's Mansion AU and I thought you might appreciate this... Also because I'm a fan 👉👈

#please kindly ignore the fact that if the boos are not there anymore the blue fire shouldn't either #i needed it for the extra light source and the atmosphere okay?#let's just pretend it's going to die out right after this pic #the gate is still there because it looks exactly the same when the new mansion is built for luigi #so i assume it just never vanished in the game #maybe it had already been there and the boos were like “oh this looks like a perfect place to put our fake mansion”#anyway #one thing i like about these two angsty pieces is that i mostly used reds in mario's and mostly greens in luigi's #my art #fanart #luigi #mario #luigi's mansion #does this count as an au?#if it does then i guess #luigi's mansion au #more like an alternate ending #luigi's mansion bad ending #poor luigi #cw character death #angst #tragedy #mamma mia #i feel dirty #again #but not as much #forgive me?

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drunk-fantasies · 2 years ago

Text

+18 CONTENT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

🎨PAIRING: friend!sunghoon x fem!reader

🎨SYNOPSIS: posing for your best friend’s painting’s wasn’t something new for you or him until you asked if he could paint you naked

🎨GENRE: smut, fluff

🎨WARNINGS: explicit smut, both sunghoon and yn are kinda a perv, masturbation, oral (both receiving), fingering, handjob, marking, mild swearing, piv, protected sex

🎨WORD COUNT: 5,8k

🎨TAGLIST: @novacontreras, @beomgyusonlywife, @satan-223, @enhaz1, @tobiosbbyghorl, @kshoshi, @woniewonn, @mimizelle-luni, @meiskra, @leeheeheeseung, @parksunghoonsgf, @uuzhanggggggg, @deobitifull, @enhamysunshines, @sunghourly, @danielleismyname, @starggukies, @hellaboredd, @rapmonie2047, @asyleums, @stariszn, @tinkw1nks, @4imhry, @moonlighthoon, @girlwholovekpop, @19-yunalyn

There was something about you people found extraordinary. It could be your mesmerizing eyes, remarkable facial features or just that intense gaze that made many knees bend. Though you never really particularly enjoyed the attention you were getting, yet something was thrilling about intimidating people by just the way you looked at them. It gave you a sense of power, a feeling of being unstoppable wherever you went.

What you did enjoy though was how many students of the Art Department asked you to model for their paintings, offering you irrational money, just for you to stand in one place for a few hours. Those offers were always pretty tempting, but none were enough for you to agree. After a few chances you had given them you realized none of them were able to portray you good enough. Unlike Sunghoon, your best friend. Ever since you met him on the first day of uni, you couldn’t refuse anything he wanted. His paintings were terrific. His style, the way his brush strokes danced on canvas, not to mention he was able to capture your features in such a captivating way, just as good as your mirror could or maybe even better. The unspoken truth was, you wished so badly he looked at you like you looked at him. His gaze was always focused to paint you well, to mirror every strand of your hair perfectly just as every crinkle on your clothes. While you always stared at him with admiration and passion, under false colors of modeling. But when it came to him, nothing was an act. Your feelings burned inside you, fire spreading from your heart to every part of your body, whenever he scanned your face and position to guide you how to pose. He never failed to keep it professional, never touching you inappropriately or making you uncomfortable. And the way he was such a soft-spoken person made it even harder for you to not catch feelings. In contrast to initial shyness you noticed how kind his heart was. Despite his cold look and complete composure you were able to get to know his playful side, which outside of the Art Department’s studio continuously put a smile on your face, even during those hard days. Both of you were rather busy with their respective assignments and uni work, making it pretty impossible to meet regularly. But it only made you wait for the next time he would ask you to model for him even more eagerly.

Your phone buzzed with a notification. Finishing the last sentence of your essay you took your phone from your pocket and read a message from Sunghoon.

🤍: do you think you could be here a little earlier? i need to get something done and need to finish it by 7

you: no problem :) give me like ten minutes

You knew the way to the studio he always used to the point you could get there with your eyes closed. The excitement of seeing him again rushed through your body and you wondered how this recent work turned out. He never let you see the final product until he would be finished with it completely, to the last spot. You entered the studio not bothering to knock anymore and spotted Sunghoon preparing all the utensils he needed, apron already wrapped around his body while the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. Not daring to say a word you watched him while he was too busy mixing paints to notice you. His black hair got a little longer, now almost falling on his shoulders, while he neatly picked the right colors.

“Y/n?” His voice brought you back to Earth. “Glad to see you. Your clothes are on the couch,” he smiled warmly and pointed to clothes you wore for this work.

Without a word you took them to get changed and couldn’t stop thinking about how it turned out. Last time he told you there was nothing much left, just some details of your neck area and some touch-up of your hair. That’s why with anticipation you waited to see the final result. You tried to recreate the hairstyle you had as precisely as you could in a reflection of a small bathroom mirror. When you came back to the studio he was fully ready to start.

“Ready?” he asked and raised from his stool.

Nodding you let him guide your pose in front of his easel. His fingers slightly raised your head by your chin and positioned your head as he pleased. Taking an alone strand of your hair, he curled it on his finger, imitating the shape from the last session. Fixing your shirt he took as step back to check and said: “Okay, you look perfect, it won’t take long.”

Two thoughts couldn’t leave your mind now: “Did he know what effect his words had on you?” and “Will he also capture the blush his compliment created?” It wasn’t hard to keep the pose he wanted you to remain as all your muscles tensed at his gaze and touch. Taking looks at you from time to time his hand created wonders on the canvas, just like always. Everything he painted looked even more beautiful than in reality. The most obscure sceneries or hideous faces were turned into the most fascinating and beautiful ones.

“Have you ever posed?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence that surrounded you.

He never had anything against talking during your sessions, unless the conversations lasted for too long or were too engaging. For some unknown reason, this question almost made him drop his brush.

“What?” He chuckled and spoke after you repeated yourself. “I feel better on this side of the easel,” he said now more calmly.

How you wished he ever accepted anybody’s offer to portray him. Or for him to at least paint his self-portrait. Just like many asked you to model, he got this request quite as often. His features were delicate but still in a manly way. You adored looking at him just like he adored painting you, but none of you had the guts to ever admit to that, leaving many missing opportunities.

As much as you wanted to tell him how beautiful he truly is, your throat didn’t let the words out of your mind. You spent the rest of this session quiet, not daring to say anything else.

“Okay, I’m done,” he announced and you raised your eyes from the palette he held in his left hand. “Do you wanna see?”

“Can’t believe you’re still asking that question,” you said with a beam.

Taking his apron off, he stepped back and you admired yet another piece he created. Every was different and better in its own way, but this one was something else, capturing your features exhaustively.

“What do you think?” His voice was quiet, almost in a murmur that tickled your ear.

“It’s… beautiful. Can’t believe you could become any better, but you never fail to prove me otherwise.” He smiled at your compliment and stared at the fully covered portrait.

“I think it could use one more strand,” he suddenly said and held a brush in front of you.

Staring at it and then at him you took a step back in shock. “Have you lost your mind? I’m not a painter, I’m gonna ruin your work!”

“You’re not gonna ruin anything,” Sunghoon grinned.

He placed the brush in your hand, and held it gently yet firmly in his, while his other arm wrapped around your waist to bring you closer. Your mind went blank at sudden close proximity. You’ve never touched each other, apart from him when he guided you. And here you were, back pressed against his chest, feeling his breath hit your back while your palm was placed in his. With fully relaxed motion he painted a wavy lock just above your left cheek, enhancing your cheekbones.

“Now it’s perfect, don’t you think?” The nonchalant tone of his voice drove you crazy. Things you would let him do stood nowhere near his detachment.

“Yeah,” you managed to breath out at the loss of skin to skin contact with him.

“Thank you once more. Are you sure there’s no way I could repay you with?”

He always asked that question. And you always said you couldn’t take anything from him with a clear conscience, even though there was something in your mind he could do.

“I think I know,” you said before thinking about it.

“Oh? I’m listening then,” he was shocked at first but also eager to return a favor you’ve been giving him for a long time now.

Hesitating you finally said: “Paint me.” Your words made him frown and chuckle, but before he could argue you continued. “And I want to keep it. I want it for myself.”

Not sure if he will agree to this, you waited for his response.

“Okay, I will paint you. Can you come over to my place this weekend? I have all the stuff needed and it’s closer to your place than uni,” he suggested and you nodded, confirming the date and hour. “Okay then. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

You left him alone in the studio and he stared at the canvas for a while, wishing he could convey both your beauty and his feelings for you at least a little better.

Days passed and you seemed to not be able to think about anything else, Sunghoon occupying your mind for whole days. Mainly thoughts of his gentle touch on your waist and hand were replaying in your head. It drove you crazy, the way he had an affect on you, probably bereaved in obliviousness.

But you weren’t the only one going crazy at the moment. He tried to focus on his other paintings but his mind was full of you. His feelings for you were already deep and passionate, but the moment he felt your body that close to his, and how it perfectly fitted his number one priority was to make you satisfied with whatever painting you wanted.

But was that stupid portrait the only thing he wanted to satisfy you with?

Whenever you showed you how to pose he had to compose himself and his filthy thoughts of what he truly wanted to do with you at that moment. He wanted to bring you pleasure nobody would ever do, show you his feelings, his passion you ignited in him. But at the back of his head, he knew his dirty fantasies about you would only stay as fantasies. Because in no world a girl like you would spare a look at a guy like him. At least that’s what Sunghoon thought.

Frustrated at his loss of focus he untied his apron and threw it on the ground with a light thud. He looked at the canvas he tried to fill in with his ideas, but all the faces he tried to paint were yours. Every page in his sketchbook was dedicated to you. Even in his phone he had a seperate album of photos from your sessions, that he took under false pretenses to have a good reference. But his absolute favorite one was the one from the only time when you wore a dress. A tight one, to be precise. He didn’t choose it, all he said was for you to pick an outfit yourself and he regretted that decision almost as soon as you stepped into the studio. It was a tight black dress that showed all your curves off. It hugged your body so perfectly all he wanted was to tear it off it, to see it bare, with his own pair of eyes. But that fantasy remained as one, as he tried his best to stay calm and not let you know of the boner you caused. Keeping it professional he tried not to be obvious with his stare, only looking at your body when he really had to.

He watched that photo with a mind full of memories from that day, that were still alive and fresh, even though quite a long time passed already. Sighing he laid on his bed and helplessly reached to his pants where his dick was already hard like a rock. He pumped himself few times, now basically fucking his hand, while trying not to think about how beautiful you would look with your plump lips or feminine hand wrapped around it.

You on the other hand weren’t very different from him. Dirty thoughts and unfulfilled desires flooded your mind mercilessly. Fantasies of him were no longer satisfying, leaving you hungry for him and his body. Your fingers were deep inside you as you tried to imagine it was him pleasuring you, murmuring sweet and dirty things straight into your ear. But it was all your imagination, he wasn’t here to please you, and all he wanted was to repay you, nothing more. Of all the people, why did it have to be him that seemed to be completely uninterested in you? While all you could think about was to give him yourself, give him your body, let him use it as he wanted. Did he not see how crazy you are about him? Is he testing you?

Is he testing you?

The thought repeated in your head. You stopped pleasuring yourself at the confusion about that one sentence. Maybe he was, but how about now testing him?

You thought for a long time about how to test him and his true feelings for you, but nothing seemed to be rational. You knew that your Saturday’s session would be a great opportunity but how to use it for your own good? You already tried posing in a tight and seductive dress, yet it completely left him unfazed, sparing you only a few glances while taking care of the canvas. It truly broke your heart, the thought of him being completely unattracted to you while you would go on your knees for him.

One last thing you could do was a completely crazy idea you had already thought about, but at the same time seemed like the only option, which was posing completely naked. Being totally nude in front of anybody was a huge deal for you, even though you fantasized about him devouring you in your own glory. But the thing was, you couldn’t expect what his reaction would be. What if he wouldn’t like it at all and would refuse? What if he would laugh at you and your desperation? All those scenarios scared you to your core and almost sent shivers down your spine. But the worst one would probably be him just doing his job and not questioning anything, just doing his job as coldly as always.

Sunghoon waited for you impatiently, though he didn’t have any expectations for today. At least that’s what he tried to convince himself about. After he prepared his easel as well as canvas, he went to the bathroom to check his hair once more and reapply new perfume, hoping you would like it. He even washed his apron so that not even a hint of deepest paint stains were visible on the material. He rolled up his sleeves and went to the studio he arranged in his apartment. It wasn’t big, but rather small and cozy. And the view that spread outside the big window many times was his main inspiration. Or maybe it was until he met you and painted you for the first time?

His mind started wondering why would you want your portrait just for yourself. He wasn’t blind, it wasn’t only him who was obsessed with you and he knew for sure you were well aware of your looks. But at the same time you weren't a selfish person, but rather timid and humble enough to not take compliments that well. That’s what truly made him so drawn towards you. Noticing how everybody wanted you for your looks made him look at you rather shallowly at first. Thinking he had a brush with a girl of a vain heart his surprise was pretty huge when he got to know you. Never had he met such a sweet soul like you. Doubts about your vainglory vanished with almost the same moment you had let him paint you, making you his favorite and practically only subject to portray. Ever since he looked at you like the most precious creature, that wasn’t able to hurt anybody or queen over others. Then why all of the sudden you wanted a portrait of yourself? Was it really for you, or for somebody else?

With a mind preoccupied with concerns and nervousness he prayed you wouldn’t wear anything too revealing. His thoughts were resolved as soon as he saw you. Opening the door for you he noticed your neat and pretty demure choice of clothing, consisting just of a shirt and a pair of jeans. His gaze fell on your exposed neck wrapped by uncontrived necklace and collarbones that protruded through your skin proudly.

“Will you let me in?” you asked, noticing him zoning out yet again. Coming back to reality he smiled warmly, eyes glued to yours. He welcomed you with a gesture and you took off your shoes.

Even though you knew each other for quite a long time now you never visited him at home. Being his introverted self he always stated that his apartment was his sanctuary, his oasis where he didn’t like having visitors at. That’s why you were extremely honored when he suggested meeting at his place.

„Would you like to drink something?” he asked and went behind the kitchen island to take a glass for him and potentially you.

“Water please,” you said and enjoyed the view of his back facing you.

His broad shoulders were enhanced by his slim waist that had an apron wrapped around it. His hair perfect as always, seemed a little shorter than last time you saw him. You wondered whether dropping a bomb would be better than waiting, but what would you even wait for, honestly? You knew what you wanted by now, all those days of thinking only about this day made you sure you wanted to expose yourself to him, both emotionally and physically.

Finally turning around he handed you your drink and watched you drink it.

‘Do you have any concept in mind? Any color palette you want the work to be in? Or do you want me to suggest something?” he asked, leaning on the kitchen island looking at you.

It’s now or never.

“Actually I do have some idea,” you said and tilted your head, creating a moment of suffocating suspense.

“Oh? Well, I’m listening, I wonder what you came up with.” With arms crossed on his chest he straightened his back. He showed you to his studio, and if not for what you had planned to say you would pay more attention to.

“For the color palette I was thinking nude,” you said a little too quickly.

He frowned slightly and observed your clothing. “Okay, but do you have something to change into? The colors of your outfit wouldn’t really suit the nude coloring.”

“Kind of…” Your gaze trailed off to the dried up paint stains on the easel and a mat that covered the wooden floor.

“What do you mean by ‘kind of’?” he chuckled.

“I can do this,” you thought to yourself, closing your eyes for a moment.

You turned around to face him. You stepped as close as your feet let you, almost as close as the last time when he held you. To your surprise he didn’t take any steps back, but looked at you from above, a faint smile still decorating his face. Your eyes traveled from his eyes to neck and his lips, only to finally whisper: “I want you to paint me naked.”

Waiting for his reaction you noticed how his smile slowly faded away.

“Okay,” he simply answered, his calm voice piercing your heart like a dagger. “I’ll prepare the base while you get ready,” he said, already taking care of the new canvas and mixing the right colors.

You watched his back as he silently prepared his utensils. Is this it?

With a completely unbothered expression he turned around after what seemed like eternity.

“Aren’t you going to get undressed?” he asked, pointing to your body with his brush.

“No.”

“I thought…”

“I came here because you wanted to repay me, right? Do your job fully Sunghoon and worry not only about preparing your stupid canvas but focus on preparing me,” you spat, knowing it sounded a little bit too harsh.

He came closer to you with his head tilted, with thought that maybe his deepest fantasies were shared with you. Your gaze screamed just one thing and he couldn’t believe he finally realized that they were saying the same thing for a while now. What a waste of time.

“What do you want me to do, Y/n?” He brushed your hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear softly.

“Undress me. Paint on my body, mark me before eternalizing me on your painting.” Your voice got weaker and weaker as his face got closer with each of your words.

“Is this the only thing you want me to do?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting yours with a faint brush.

“Love me Sunghoon,” you breathed out.

Instead of pulling you in such a desired kiss, he pulled away taking almost a full picture of your form. His hands firmly placed on your waist slowly traveled up to the buttons of your shirt to painfully slowly unbutton them. Your eyes never left his, getting lost in their depth, while he was focused on devouring the moment he wished to last forever. Soon he gently let it fall down on the floor, leaving you in your bra.

“You’re so gorgoeus, Y/n,” he whispered just above your ear.

“Show me, show me how beautiful you think I am,” you demanded.

His eyes darkened and he started taking steps forward while you backed away. You hissed at the feeling of a cold wall hitting your sensitive skin but soon his hot breath warmed you up. His hand once again got a hold of your waist and he raised your head by your chin with the other. You looked not only beautiful, but vulnerable and desperate for his lips to finally fall on yours. Sunghoon couldn’t stop himself anymore, connecting you in a slow and sensual kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck bringing him closer and he cupped your cheek endearingly. The tension in the air made it impossible for you not to melt in his electrifying touch. The kiss started to get heavier, as he started sucking on your lip. Taking a cue of him brushing his tongue against your skin you parted your lips. Not wasting time he pushed his muscle in you and you almost moaned at the anticipation. His hand guided your head as he pleased and like a docile doll you let him do whatever he wanted.

He tapped your thigh and you wrapped them around his waist. Holding your body in his arms he left the studio, the main reason for your visit long forgotten as now his steps were taking you to his bedroom. Gently placing you on his mattress he broke the kiss to leave wet marks along your neck and collarbones, earning a breathy whine from you. Rubbing his back continuously you felt how wetness formed inside of your panties. Sunghoon groped your breasts firmly, giving them a good squeeze before you helped him take your bra off by raising your upper body. He let your tits free but not long after his lips attached to one of your nipples, while his fingers pinched the other one. Tangling your fingers in his thick locks you threw your head back in pleasure his tongue was giving you.

“Sunghoon,” you moaned, making his dick get even harder. Groaning he continued marking you, just like you wanted him to, preparing you for a portrait in colors of nude and purpure.

His fingers rested on your abdomen and traveled down to the waistband of your pants but you pulled him up to feel the warmth of his lips on your one more time, already drunk by the way they sucked on yours. You tucked on the first button of his shirt and he gave you a small nod, letting you undress him. He raised and took it off, revealing his defined muscles and slightly shiny skin.

“Done staring?” he chuckled.

“You’re beautiful, Sunghoon,” you blurted out, still admiring his whole manly silhouette.

Smiling at your compliment he hovered over you, lips brushing yours with no intention of kissing you. Instead he got lower and lower, not breaking eye contact with you, driving you completely crazy. He unbuckled your belt and unzipped your pants. Raising your hips you let him take them off along with your completely drenched underwear. He smirked noticing how desperate you were at your core, making you cover your face with your palms in slight embarrassment. Later you got to know it wasn’t a good idea, as he took you by surprise by licking a long stripe from your whole to sensitive clit. Arching your back, your hand found his head, pulling his hair in pleasure.

His tongue did wonders on your folds and you couldn’t contain your moans anymore, chanting his name like the most powerful spell. The way your voice cracked in whines of bliss he was causing, made him want to waste no time and just pull his pants off to fuck you, so that you would scream his name instead. But his number one priority was to give you the best experience you could think of, savoring your skin inch by inch, taking his time with you. Hugging your thighs he placed them on his shoulders, bringing you closer at the same time. Your taste on his tongue made him lose his eyes as he detached his lips from your pussy, only to wet his fingers.

Watching the scene unfold in front of you, your head once again fell backwards, knowing what to expect next. His finger slowly entered your hole, curling inside at the perfect angle. You let out a choked moan at the sensation of his finger inside you and his lips sucking on your clit. He started pumping his digit in and out of you at a moderate pace, that already left you breathless. Just when he added another finger and increased the speed of his pumps you felt how close you were.

“I’m so close.” You squirmed under his touch and he kept his tempo and intensity of his sucking. Pulling on his hair harder you felt vibrations from his groan and soon released around his fingers. He pumped them a few more times before pulling them out and ostentatiously licking them clean. Breathing heavily you covered your face, knowing that after all of those moans and other sounds you produced your skin would be red from intense blush.

Sunghoon waited for you to calm down and couldn’t stop wondering if this was all you came here for. Even if you did, he was completely fine with that, pleasuring you was something he dreamed of after all. But to prove his concerns wrong you managed to calm down a bit and pointed to the edge of his bed. “Sit,” you ordered, not caring about your tone anymore, urge and desperation to give him your head bigger than your exhaustion.

With slight hesitation and confusion he sat and with slightly parted lips watched as you kneeled in between his thighs, adding to the hardness of his cock. With your eyes glued to his, you ran your palms up and down his legs, getting dangerously close to his crotch with every stroke. His chest raised and his breath hitched as your fingers delicately brushed on his length, feeling how desperation grew inside his boxers. Unbuckling his belt and undoing the buttons of his pants you pulled them down, so they rested near his ankles. His boxers were already full, begging to be discharged but feeling quite in the mood for some teasing you slowly palmed him through thin material. With his mouth still slightly opened he watched as you started leaving chaste pecks on his clothed dick.

Though your teasing didn’t last long as you couldn’t wait to feel him just like he did. Hooking your fingers on the waistband of his underwear you pulled them off and now they joined his pants on the ground. Trying not to stare too much at him you left a few long kisses on his reddened tip still rubbing his muscles. You swallowed it and sucked, earning his head falling backwards. His hand landed on the back of your head and he slightly pushed you down. Without further ado you sank on him fully, hollowing your cheeks for double pleasure. Your nose pressed against his pelvis you gagged around him and cookwarmed him for a while, his hand now only for decoration, as it didn’t apply no pressure. His eyes rolled back when you finally bobbed your head vigorously, eager to get as much reaction from him as he did from you. And he had no intention of disappointing you. His low moans and groans soon filled the room and bounced like your head did on his shaft.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last long, baby,” he admitted though no hint of embarrassment was audible in his voice. Keeping your rhythm you waited patiently to swallow his hot load and bob your head a few more times to ride his high.

He leaned on his hands and heaved a sigh of content, with a genuine grin. Resting your head on his thigh with closed eyes you felt how he cupped your cheek and rubbed your skin softly. Looking up at him you noticed his smile. It wasn’t cocky, nor fake, but full of emotions he felt he held in for too long now. Patting his lap he invited you to sit there. You climbed there from the floor with his help and soon you were wrapped securely in his strong arms. None of you spoke, at least not yet, only looking for answers in each other’s eyes, in complete silence. Both your chests raised and lowered in heavy breaths, too scared to say something. His touch was just like that day in the studio, when he held you close to himself. It said what he was scared to say for this whole time he knew you. If only you realized his feelings sooner you wouldn’t waste time to test him. You remembered all those sessions you admired him and wondered if he did the same while you weren’t looking.

“Y/n?” Sunghoon called your name and you looked at him more attentively. You noticed how he struggled to put his thoughts into words so you interrupted him.

“Sunghoon, I love you. For the longest time now. And it’s okay if you don’t,” you said, hoping and knowing at the back of your mind that his answer is going to satisfy you.

“After what had just happened you still have some hesitancy about it?” He revealed his teeth in a chuckle.

Leaning in, you connected your lips once again, linking them together in a slow and passionate kiss. Not controlling your movements anymore and letting your emotions and feelings take a lead, your hands traveled all along his back and abs, while he just made sure you’re not shifting too much on him. But soon his control was taken over by his desire. Flipping you around he laid you on your back and you wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing him closer. He groaned lowly against your lips as soon as his tip brushed against your hot and still wet core.

“Do you have condoms?” you asked bluntly, breaking the kiss.

Nodding he reached to the drawer of his nightstand. Rolling it on his length he positioned himself between your legs looking straight into your eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking for any sign of hesitation from you, but you nodded your head surely.

“I want you so bad,” you let out a whiny whisper.

And who he is to deny you the pleasure when you ask him so politely, while he lusted after you probably a lot more.

Pushing himself into your hole, you dug your nails into his skin, and he hissed at both the feeling of your walls around him and you scratching his back. Your eyes rolled back once he started thrusting into you, at a moderate pace. Lips brushing against each other, not daring to look at each other. Instead he buried his face into your neck, leaving a few sticky kisses on your favorite spots.

“Faster, please,” you whined and momentarily he picked up the pace but soon you asked once again.

“Then help me a bit and go on all fours for me, baby,” he whispered to your ear and pulled away to face you.

With shaky legs you moved obediently to the position he asked you to and moaned when you felt him entering you a little bit more harshly this time. Getting a firm grip on your waist he controlled your movements and thrusted much faster and deeper, reaching the spot he couldn’t with his fingers before. Not being able to hold your balance on your hands anymore you fell on his pillows, ass still high. He threw his head back at the sight of your arched back and asscheeks bouncing with his every thrust. His bedroom soon was filled with your moans, his groans and the sound of his balls slapping your clit.

All yours and his desires coming true, the painting got long forgotten, much important stuff occupying your minds.

The immense pleasure made you feel dizzy, clenching around him from time to time.

“If you don’t stop clenching around me, I’m not gonna last long,” he panted, trying to keep the high pace.

“I’m gonna cum too,” you moaned with a shaky voice.

Feeling the familiar knot in your stomach you released around him as his cum filled the condom. With last thrusts he pulled out and watched how you collapsed fully, hair completely messy, just like your breathing. He laid next to you, trying to catch his breath, looking at you from time to time. Turning around, your eyes met. He opened his arms invitingly and you nestled up to him with a beaming smile. His warmed-up skin, breath fanning your face and a few loving pecks on your forehead made you feel like you could fall asleep here and there. And just before you dozed off, you heard how he whispered straight to your ear: “I love you, my forever muse.”

a/n thank you for reading! it’s my first longer fic on this blog so let me know what you think!

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enha hard hours #enha smut #sunghoon smut #sunghoon hard thoughts #sunghoon hard hours #sunghoon #sunghoon enhypen #enhypen sunghoon hard hours #enhypen sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x you

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heizlut · 1 year ago

Note

Breeding kink with Razor

this is so fitting for him, i love it! i’m adjusting his speech pattern slightly just so it flows a little better, hope you don’t mind❤️

Instincts

cw: public sex, breeding, biting/marking, ovulation, mentions of pregnancy

tags: switch fem!reader, switch!razor, he’s literally 18 so scroll away if you have an issue xoxo💋

nsfw under the cut

m!list here

⚡︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓃦⚡︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓃦⚡︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓃦⚡︎

You and Razor had a bit of an odd relationship. He came across you months ago, spying behind a tree in Wolvendom when you made your first appearance there. He was wary of you, not sure if you were friendly or there to hunt the wolves he called family. Once he saw you were only there for the wolfhook each time you came, he started to gain the courage to get closer.

In truth, you had started going there because you had heard about him through the Knights of Favonius and wanted to see him for yourself. You knew he was watching, but you didn't want to startle him, so each time you came you only gathered some wolfhook and went on your way. Each day was the same routine, until one day he approached you, still a little wary of you, "...Nice?"

Those were his first words to you. Your eyes landed on him and you smiled brightly, "I am." You were captured by the way he looked; toned muscles, scars across his body and face, long thick silver hair, and crimson eyes. He was better than you had imagined, even if his manner of speech was a little strange. After letting Razor smell your neck, he smiled at you telling you that you smelled like a flower.

Every quirk he had was so cute to you. Weeks passed and each day you would visit Razor, getting to know each other and he grew to trust you immensely. You even had been helping him speak in more proper sentences, although that was still a work in progress. You would be a fool to miss the way his gaze lingered on you and the way he would get as close to you as he could without outright being on top of you.

You looked to him, only to see Razor had already been staring at you. He tilted his head a little as you studied each other in silence. You were the first one to break it, "Do you want to be with me?" The look of confusion on his face made you giggle, "Am with you now, no?" How cute and innocent he was... You shook your head still laughing, "I mean romantically."

Razor's eyebrows scrunched as he repeated the word back to you, clearly unsure of what it meant. You didn't think words would help you out with this, so you reached up and turned his face to yours, pressing a kiss to his lips. He knew what you meant now as he melted into the kiss. Ever since then, you two were inseparable. Which bring us to the present.

The sun was setting, low in the sky, when you made your way to your usual spot. Before you could even call out to him, Razor pounced on you, knocking you both to the ground and making you squeal, "Razor wha-" Your words are cut off when you feel something hard press against your core and his nose lightly grazing your skin as he takes in your scent, "You smell...Different. Good..."

Your cheeks immediately heat up. You were ovulating and he could smell it. Did he even know what that meant? Razor's nose trails down your body til it reaches your cunt, his nose pressing against your clothed clit, making you suck in a breath. He nudges it again, then his eyes flick up to yours, "Here. New good smell... I want more." He doesn't wait for your response before he starts tugging down your pants.

"Razor wait! We're outside... What if someone comes?", your voice came out a little breathy, feeling an aching need at your center. Razor tilts his head, "Why care? No one comes." He was right. People usually avoided coming to Wolvendom. Besides, you were more needy and sensitive than usual because of your ovulation. You just wanted to be filled. You end up lifting your hips slightly to help Razor who continued to tug at your pants.

The warm breeze brushing against your exposed pussy made your scent even more potent to him. Razor immediately begins lapping at your cunt, drawing a sweet moan from within you. The way his tongue circled your clit and lapped at your arousal made you tug his hair. He practically growls when you do so, not wanting to separate himself from something so new and delicious, so he latches on to it. Razor’s lips suck your clit into his mouth while his tongue continues it’s lashings. Your head falls back against the soft grass as you come undone on his tongue.

The taste was even more divine than it smelled, making him continue and overstimulate you. Your legs shake hard and you tug his hair hard with a soft cry of his name. Razor glances up at you curiously but annoyed you wanted to pull him from this. His mouth open and tongue still against your clit. “Come here…” your voice is shaky as you try to get him to listen. Thankfully, he finally does, crawling up and caging you in with his body, “Why? Wasn’t finished…” You roll your hips up making your bare cunt grind against his bulge, “I want you inside me.”

Razor lets out a deep groan as you grind up into him, “What in where? Help..” You knew he was legitimately clueless but him asking you to be so specific sparked something inside of you. It turned you on. “I need your cock in my pussy. Fill me up. Breed me.” Those last two words did it. Oh he knew what that meant alright. Razor fumbles with his pants, wanting to free his throbbing length. You almost laugh at how hard he’s trying and you take over. Catching him off guard, you roll the both of you over, you now caging him in. You smirk when he looks up at you with surprise, “Let me do it.”

Razor almost pouts but stops the minute your hand wraps around his cock, his eyes goes wide at the new sensation and at a loss for words. He has so many questions but they’d have to wait because now your were slowly sinking yourself down onto his dick. He grips onto your hips as though you would disappear from him any second and his eyes almost roll back, “Good…. So good…”

Once you were fully seated on top of him, you begin to move slowly. You grind against him and then begin to move yourself, letting his cock drag in and out of your walls at a brutally slow pace. Every time his cock went back in to the hilt, Razor felt he was going insane. So much so that now he flipped the position yet again, leaning down to lick at your neck, and he growls, “Too slow.” Before you can even ask what he means, he begins thrusting inside your tight wet cunt as if this would be the first and last time he ever got to fuck you. You cry out, digging your nails into his scarred back, your legs wrapping around his toned waist to keep him close.

The growls and grunts that fall from Razor’s lips sound so primal, as if he’s just running in instinct at this point. And he really truly is. Every since he smelled that delicious scent, his instincts were telling him he needed to fuck you so full of his cum and make you swell with his children. The sounds coming from both of you and from the way his balls slapped against your ass and the way your pussy squelched with each hard thrust was so incredibly lewd. Razor leans back down to your neck, biting hard enough to break skin as he growls once more, “Mine.” This brings you completely over the edge, your sweet pussy pulsating around his cock as you cum.

It’s not long til Razor follow suit. He latches onto the mark he gave you, letting out a muffled, husky groan as he fills you with his potent load. The way his cock throbs inside of you makes you feel overstimulated for the second time that day. Razor stays still for a moment, not wanting to pull out. Not wanting to be done. He wanted to see your breasts grow bigger and your stomach swell. He wanted to make you his for life. The thought alone makes his cock begin to harden inside of you once more and he looks into your eyes, “Again.”

⚡︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓃦⚡︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓃦⚡︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓃦⚡︎

a/n: this makes me want to write knotting/omegaverse fics😭

#razor smut #razor x reader smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin razor #genshin impact razor

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withleeknow · 1 year ago

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quiet. (m)

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluffy-ish, suggestive content; unedited. minors dni. word count: 0.6k note: SO we had an evening of obsessing over lino yelling and being loud as fuck in general and it... might've awakened something in me so here ya go lol k bye

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

The second you walk into your bedroom, Minho's hands are on your waist, holding you with your back against the door.

"Hey," he says, voice dropping lower. It doesn't help your dilemma at all. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Why?"

"I don't know. You've been kinda quiet since earlier. Were the boys too much?"

It was yours and Minho's turn to host game this week. All of his friends came over and wherever that group goes, anarchy follows. They were beyond chaotic, but it wasn't anything you couldn't handle. At the end of the day, those goofballs are still some of the most lovable people you've ever met.

"No," you say, "everyone was fine."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I promise." It's cute that he seems genuinely concerned about this, that he thinks something must've happened to upset you in some way when it couldn't be further from the truth. You lean forward to press a quick kiss against his cheek, before you shrug, asking him, "Do you remember when Hyunjin kept interrupting you and you yelled at him to shut up so you could speak?"

"Yeah?"

"I thought it was hot."

Minho takes a moment to stare at you, and you watch in real time as the worry in his eyes slowly dissipates to make room for something else as the realization dawns on him. Twinkling amusement.

Then he chuckles, shoulders slightly sagging with relief, before he pulls you closer to his body, shortening the gap between your face and his before he lets his lips brush against yours. Not quite capturing your mouth with his. Just a ghost of a kiss.

"Is that why you were so quiet?" he mumbles against you. "You got turned on?"

"Hmm."

"Silly. Got me all worked up over nothing." Another chuckle, and suddenly he's bypassing your lips, much to your disappointment. Minho moves to kiss your cheek, then along your jawline before he starts trailing down your neck. "You liked my voice that much?"

"I always like your voice. You know that."

"Then what's different?" he asks, pressing his mouth against that spot that he knows you love. It makes your breath hitch instantly. "You liked that I was mean to Hyunjin? Want me to yell at you like that?"

You laugh lightly, baring your neck for him to mark. "I don't know. It just felt like you were... authoritative. It was hot."

"Yeah? You were thinking about it while everyone was there? You were thinking about me?"

You could tell that your admission strokes his ego, judging by the way his hands slowly drift southward to grab your ass, holding your hips flushed against his.

"I thought about a lot of things."

"What else?"

"Thought about what it'd be like if you were more like that with me," you say, but then you feel a stupid need to clarify what you really mean. "In bed."

Minho detaches his lips from you in an instant, though his hands are still on your body. He looks down at you with darkened eyes and mischief swimming in those beautiful irises. His gaze flickers briefly to your lips before he asks, "Do you want me to?"

For some reason, you feel a hint of shyness prickling at the edges. You asked for this, quite literally just now, but maybe it's the way that he's looking at you that's making you a tad nervous, like he's a predator and you're his prey.

"Yes," you confirm after a minute. "I want you to."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, he takes a step back from you. The switch up is crazy, and coupled with the way his tone turns sultry in a blink of an eye, it's enough to make your head spin.

"Get on the bed," he tells you, palpable temptation dripping off every syllable.

"Minho..."

"On the bed. Don't make me say it again."

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know smut #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #skz #lee know #lee minho

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rafecamerons-national-anthem · 3 months ago

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FORBIDDEN TERRITORY-RAFE CAMERON

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕤𝕞𝕦𝕥

The night was quiet, save for the occasional chirping of crickets and the soft crash of waves in the distance. You shouldn’t have been there, alone, in Rafe’s bedroom, while the rest of Tannyhill slept.

The Pogues would never forgive you if they found out, and you weren’t sure you could forgive yourself. But something about Rafe was magnetic, undeniable. He was a storm you couldn’t help but walk into, even knowing you might not come out unscathed.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice hushed as you stood in the middle of his room, arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe leaned against the doorframe, shirtless and wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His sharp blue eyes roamed over you with blatant hunger, making your stomach flutter despite your better judgment.

“Then why are you?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. You didn’t have a good answer. The truth was, you couldn’t stay away, not from him.

Rafe smirked, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but here you are. In my room. At midnight.”

Your pulse quickened as he came closer, his towering frame making you feel small in the best way. “I…this doesn’t mean anything,” you stammered, taking a step back.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Doesn’t mean anything?” He stopped in front of you, so close that you could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. “Is that what you tell yourself every time you look at me like you’re about to let me ruin you?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “You’re delusional,” you muttered, though the words lacked conviction.

“Am I?” he murmured, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. The touch was light, almost tender, but it sent a jolt of electricity through your body.

“Rafe-”

“Tell me to stop,” he interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper as his fingers trailed down your cheek to your jaw. “If you really don’t want this, yeah?”

You should have said it. You should have walked out of that room and never looked back. But instead, you grabbed the front of his sweatpants and pulled him closer, crashing your lips against his.

Rafe groaned into the kiss, his hands immediately finding your waist and pulling you flush against him. The kiss was desperate, all teeth and tongue, as weeks of tension finally came to a head.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, his hands sliding down to grip the backs of your thighs. “You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted this.”

You gasped as he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed. He laid you down gently, his body hovering over yours as his lips trailed down your neck.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his hands sliding beneath your shirt to grip your waist.

You arched into his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Rafe,” you breathed, your voice trembling.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough as his hands roamed over your body.

“Rafe,” you repeated, and the way his name rolled off your tongue seemed to push him over the edge.

In one swift motion, he tugged your shirt over your head, his eyes darkening as they raked over your exposed skin. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, leaning down to capture your lips in another searing kiss.

His hands worked quickly, sliding down to undo your shorts and toss them aside. You were left in nothing but your underwear, and the way Rafe looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered, made your cheeks flush with heat.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice full of reverence as his fingers trailed up your thigh.

Before you could respond, his hand slipped beneath the fabric of your underwear, his fingers teasing your entrance. “You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Rafe, please,” you whispered, your hips bucking against his hand.

He smirked, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “Patience, baby.”

But he didn’t make you wait long. His fingers slid inside you, curling just right as he watched you fall apart beneath him. Your moans filled the room, your body arching off the bed as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

When you finally shattered, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, he groaned, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice rough with possession as he slid your underwear down your legs.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Rafe smirked, tugging off his sweatpants and positioning himself between your thighs. “Damn right you are.”

The feeling of him filling you completely stole the air from your lungs, your body trembling as he began to move. His rhythm was slow at first, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every moment.

“You feel so good,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours as his pace quickened. “So fucking perfect.”

You could barely think, let alone respond, as waves of pleasure rolled through you. Your nails dug into his back, leaving marks that only seemed to spur him on.

“Rafe,” you moaned, your voice trembling as you felt yourself teetering on the edge again.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice rough as he thrust deeper. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

His words sent you over the edge, your body shaking as you cried out his name. Rafe wasn’t far behind, his movements growing erratic as he chased his own release.

When he finally stilled above you, his breathing heavy and his forehead pressed against yours, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths.

“I hate how much I want you,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against his cheek.

Rafe chuckled, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Good,” he said, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Because you’re not going anywhere.”

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 @nicholaschavezslut69

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jjjjeonww · 25 days ago

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What are performance's units, "I Don't Understand But I Luv U"? (dino's part~!)

genre - angst angst angst! (just ur regular yuna !), and hints of fluff at the end!! shout out to my one and only @hanniescookie for helping me!! imagine if i say i'll be working on dad!jeonghan soon, that would be crazzeee...(👀) plsplspls fill up my dms w anything, as long as i get to talk to you <3 (saying this on every part btw.) obviously inspired by "I Don't Understand But I Luv U" !! part 1 - Lee Jung chan tags!: @kwonienana, @hanniescookie

˚ ༘ 🦖𖦹⋆｡˚ dino ⭑.ᐟ

dino's "I Don't Understand But I Luv U" is ... language barrier!

dino's lyrics!: "The guitar's melody, makes my desires desperately bloom again." "The waveforms of my emotions, increase with my desire. You know there's something more important between us than words." "You know that I don't believe me, but you still believed me. I'm a flower only blooming inside you. Spread, Flames." (italic words are meant to be said in korean! ..ykwim?) (bold words are meant to be said in english! ..ykwim?)

your fingers drifted over the guitar strings, the haunting melody filling the air between you and dino. dino listened, his heart swelling with a bittersweet ache, the music speaking volumes more than any words ever could. though a language barrier separated them, the emotions behind the notes transcended the need for translation. your eyes met his, and in their depths, he saw a reflection of his own longing, his own desperate yearning for connection. he sang, his voice a throaty whisper, "The guitar's melody, makes my desires desperately bloom again." your pulse raced, your skin prickling with goosebumps, understanding his sentiment even if you couldn't grasp every word. he reached out, his calloused fingers intertwining with yours, the warmth of your skin ignited a fire within him. "The waveforms of my emotions, increase with my desire," he murmured, his voice rough with feeling. "You know there's something more important between us than words." finally. you could understand a sentence he had said. your eyes shone with unshed tears, a soft gasp escaping your lips. you knew exactly what he meant. your bond, your love, was something that couldn't be expressed through mere language. it was a silent understanding, a soul-deep connection that needed no translation. "You know that I don't believe me, but you still believed me," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm a flower only blooming inside you. Spread, Flames." dino's heart clenched, a fierce surge of love and desire coursing through him. he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around your waist as he captured your lips in a searing kiss. in that moment, the language barrier melted away, and you were simply two souls, lost in the flames of your all-consuming love. no words were needed; your bodies spoke the truth, your hearts beating in sync as you lost yourselves in the passion and promise of their embrace. the guitar's melody drifted on, a haunting soundtrack of the forbidden love story, a testament to the power of connection that knew no boundaries of language or reason. you and dino were trapped in a dance of desire, emotions intertwined, hearts and souls inextricably bound. and in that dance, you found a love that needed no words, a love that would endure against all odds.

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hoshigray · 2 years ago

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Only You Can Tie My Hands | K. Nanami

Hear me out: Nanami returns home from work to his loving partner, and you happily welcome him. Taking off his blazer, led him to the bedroom, giving him a "massage," doing all the things to help ease the poor blonde of stress. But what does a "massage" entail, and why does it involve his necktie?

A/n: Although it may seem like I only write for Toji because most of the stuff I put out is about him (bc I'm his one and only domestic wife outside of his late one whom I respect), don't get it twisted!! Some of these JJK men can make me swoon just like him (Choso and Nanami, my darlings~~~), so I'm writing yet another lil something in honor of one of them! This draft was an option for a poll but wasn't picked for a drawing. However, that doesn't mean I can't post it at all sooooo you get a win, Nanami stans :D

Cw: slight dom! reader x Nanami - the reader is androgynous or gn! bc I wrote pretty ambiguously in this piece - slight bondage (you tie up Nanami's wrist with a ribbon cloth) - sex with a blindfold (using Nanami's tie) - sensual touching - kisses on the body - handjob - ball massaging - blowjob - pet names (Nanami calls you beloved, darling, love, sweet pea; you call him "babe" and "honey") - throatfucking kind of (??) bc you go at your own pace.

Wc: 2k

It was a difficult day, but that's usual for Nanami Kento.

Today he had meetings after meetings with many of his sorcerer subordinates, had to go on two missions, and, of course, had to deal with the ever-annoyingly casual Gojo Satoru.

Nothing he couldn't handle, but the poor blonde man would be a fool to say he wasn't exhausted. All he wants to do is be in his space, his home. He can practically feel the soft surface of his bed.

It's all he's thinking about when he opens the door to his apartment and crouches to take off his shoes.

"Kento!"

Okay, that was a lie. There was something else he's been dying to see once he left work. Something more precious than his bed.

Then comes you walking from the corner, and your bright smile was the first thing that captured him. It was filled with such a glow that his fatigue almost vanished there and then.

He offers a small smile and straightens himself to greet you. "Hello, my love."

Your smile beams harder. It was a good thing Nanami wore his goggles before removing them. You rush to kiss him, and he hums into your lips. Then your gleeful glow is substituted with instant worry. "Oh honey, what happened to you? You look as if you didn't eat anything!"

"I didn't," Nanami admits as you unbutton and take his tan blazer. He follows you to the bedroom, where you hang his suit in the closet while he flops onto the bed.

"Kentyyy~" You use his nickname before you lecture him. A smile quirks up on his lips because you're the only one who refers to him with said name, and he prefers to keep it that way. "You're so lucky I cooked up something. You know you have to eat!"

Nanami hums, readjusting to lie on the pillow and headboard. His eyes follow your figure sit beside him, a warm hand coming up to stroke his cheek. "I know, darling. I was just caught up in too much, is all."

And you know he's telling the truth. It's the fourth day in a row that Nanami comes from work looking way more exhausted than he'd allow. But it was worse yesterday when he returned from past daylight hours, surprising even him. His face still looks the same, but you can make out slight depictions of dark circles forming under his eyes and muscles tensing, not from lack of sleep but because of his body being worn out.

Despite your worry, all he asks is for you to stay safe and smile. And you do just that with a willing heart. Thank goodness it's a Friday.

"Well. since the weekend is finally upon us," a brow is drawn upwards from your building excitement. "I cooked your favorite: chicken alfredo. But!" You cheekily stop him from saying something because his mouth opens, yet no words dare leave until you finish your sentence. "With a bread bowl! And yes, the pasta isn't ribbon."

A chuckle is well-received as you smile harder. "Oh, really? Is that what you've been working on all day?"

"Uhh, of course!" You proudly huff as you lightly pinch his cheek. "You've been working too hard this week, so you deserve to be spoiled by me!"

"You spoil me already just by living with me, my love." He leans in to kiss you, which you gladly reciprocate. One kiss leads to two, and two leads to three.

You break the kiss when you feel a hand finds its way behind your head, giggling at his sneaky action. "Aht aht aht, can't go having dessert without a meal."

"Oh, I know," his forehead gently lands on yours, "but wouldn't you be so kind as to let a tired man like me have a little taste?"

The way his mocha brown eyes survey yours, practically begging you for any sign of yielding to his request, it almost has you drop your guard down. But something else comes to your mind, and you can feel your grin go from ear to ear.

"Perhaps I have an idea to relieve you from your stress, Mr. Nanami." You lightly push his back onto the headboard, your eyes silently commanding him not to move from that spot. He indulges as you get up and grab for something in the closet. You come back to the bed with a smooth ribbon fabric. "Please put your hands up above your head."

A brow is raised, yet Nanami continues to oblige your wishes. With grace and patience, you wrap the fabric around his wrists and tie them onto the headboard. Nanami now voices his thoughts. "Something tells me you're going to get more out of this than me."

You only giggle as you untie his necktie from his blue dress shirt. "I wouldn't say that when I haven't even started yet, Kenty." You then tell him to close his eyes and wrap the dotted material around them.

Completely vulnerable in his line of sight, Nanami feels the weight of your body dent the bed as you move from the side of him down to where his legs are. He feels your hands slide down from his chest in tease, fingers delicately tracing his abdomen after you unbutton his shirt to reveal his well-built physique. You sensually kiss his body as your hands roam to his tan pants.

His breathing goes uneven when you spread his dressed legs apart, leaving his clothed groin in your line of vision. He hears you hum in loving anticipation. Oh, you're definitely getting a kick out of this. The sound of the zipper on his trousers alerts him, and he'd be a fool if he denied the titillation brewing inside him.

As for you, the image of his hard cock in his briefs has you swooned. The urge to pounce him beats your head like a drum, but that will have to wait for later. Because right now is meant to be a moment for him to relax and possibly give you something to do after cooking all day. The groans from Nanami when you stroke his member through the underwear are so hot to the ears that your ass sways from side to side to ease the heat growing south.

When his length is set free, your breath hitches at the marvelous sight. Even after all this time being together, you can't control the arousing pulsation of your core that manages to creep up whenever you see his dick. It's good that Nanami's blindfolded because how you liked your bottom lip would've baffled him.

Speaking of him, the blonde isn't used to this. When it comes to intimacies, looking at you is the highlight. Watching you ride him while his rough hands propel you down to his cock, how your body struggles to take his fingers drilling inside your sensitive hole, or the beatific expression on your face as you beckon him to come close for a kiss as he drives himself deep within you.

Just looking at you as he does whatever with your body can drive him crazy. Take that away, and Nanami feels like he's in an uncertain territory where you do what you want with him. It's a rarity and totally out of routine...That doesn't mean he doesn't like it, though.

How can he, when he silently gasps for air when he feels a wet muscle slide along the underside of his shaft? Or when your lips place teasing kisses on the beautiful veins that decorate his dick? And, oh Lord, when your tongue laps around the tip, causing the man to bite down on his lip?

You laugh at his attempt to suppress himself. "It's alright, honey, no need to limit yourself. Let it all out." You coo at him as your hand snakes up to his dick as the other massages his inner thigh. Pretty fingers slide up and down the length, and the pads of your fingertips rub against the sensitive tip, causing the poor blonde to groan through gritted teeth.

"Haaaah, haaah—Hnngh!" You could listen to his whimpers all day. "Aghhh—Y/n, my beloved, you're so..." The way he slightly ruts his groin towards you is telling. You smile at him even when he can't see it, but he knows you are. He knows you're watching and listening to him dissolve into a mess.

"I know, babe. I know just how to make you relax, huh." The hand on his inner thigh moves to his sack as the other strokes the base. Nanami jolts at both your hands, sculpting his dick simultaneously as his mind runs in circles at the pleasurable torture.

When he senses your plump lips faintly kiss the tip of his cock, he knows he's too far in. He curses the restraints on his wrists and eyes because he only wants to see you take his length to the base right now. Now those thoughts are challenged as your lips take in the pink tip of his member and slowly inch downwards.

Your jaw relaxes while you take in all of him at your own pace, his cock sinking further into your mouth until your lips almost brush his pelvis. His penis pulsating inside your mouth and throat has you under a euphoric spell. You slowly bob your head up and down, putting your hands on his thighs to hold him down before he starts thrusting and screwing with your slow tempo.

Nanami does all he can to maintain his composure, but God, the feeling of your throat on his shaft is doing wonders. Not only do the inner walls of your oral cavity feel so warm around him, but the blindfold has him using his imagination of how you look right now. He can just picture your pretty hooded eyes looking up at him, gauging his reactions as your ass rocks to and fro, tolerating the neediness between your legs.

It kills him that he can't physically see and touch you; however, your fleshy touch, paired with his creative fantasy, is doing just as much. That is, until a hand returns to massaging his balls, urging him to hunch further. He's now close.

"Hnngh!! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," If you weren't so full in the mouth, you'd giggle at the blonde's curses. "I'm about to—Mhmm! Oh God..."

You decide to help him in his release, slowly withdrawing his cock from your mouth and going for the head, your tongue lapping and licking in his most sensitive glands. Your hand on his sack kneed presses down harder, and Nanami wastes no time shooting his load to you. You happily take in his cum with your mouth, none going to waste as you're licking in any excess amounts.

Once he's done ejaculating and you're done drinking his essence, a pop leaves the mark as your lips leave his twitching head while you sigh blissfully.

Nanami breathes heavily in euphoria, "I thought you said...dessert shouldn't come before a meal."

"Don't question the methods of a cook, babe." you climb on top of him to undo the ribbon cloth on the headboard, your pants mixed with his. "So, I hope that helped ease some stress of yours."

"No."

No??

And it was at that moment you realized you probably shouldn't have untied his wrists first. Because one moment you're above him, your back sinking deep into the mattress the next. His hands pin you down by the shoulders, and a leg is positioned between yours, a knee rubbing against the aching sensation between your pants.

Nanami takes off his tie to free his eyes, brown orbs now cast with the intoxicating guise of lust and want. Your blood runs cold. Oh, I'm in danger.

"N-Now, Kenty, we shouldn't be doing this now," you try to plead before he does anything rash. "You have to take a shower and freshen up before dinner or else—"

"No, sweet pea. I don't think it's fair you get to have a piece of me, but I'm subjected to wait afterward to do the same." He removes your pants in seconds and sets your legs on his shoulders. Heat spreads around your face when his face draws near your opening, and you already have a hand grab for his hair in anticipation.

"Dinner can wait, darling. Right now, I just want you."

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tinytinyblogs · 1 year ago

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Can you write something about Yandere Bang Chan?

Home

Home is supposed to be a place where you feel safe, but not when he is there with you.

⚠Yandere theme⚠

Stray kids masterlist here

💌Hi, thank you for your request. I'm sorry it took a while for me to respond. My brain hasn't been working very well lately, so I hope this story is okay. If it's not, I apologize.

Tears silently stream down your cheeks, your red face flushed from trying so hard to hold back your sobs. The cold floor beneath you and the night breeze wafting in from the nearby window seep into your body, making you shiver. "Home?" His deep voice breaks the silence, his words sending a chill down your spine. The huge room where you and Chan are trapped feels like a suffocating prison, the air thick and heavy. It's hard to breathe and move, as if you're chained in place. The clock ticks loudly in the otherwise silent room, adding to the sense of chaos and unease. Your life is in turmoil, and you feel completely out of control.

He rules everything, especially your life, and you have no choice but to submit. You've told him you hate him, you want to go home, and you don't love him like he does, but those words only serve to anger him further. Your body is covered in wounds, and his face is twisted with anger. "Don't be stupid, Y/N," he says. Is this really love? He keeps bombarding you with the word love but his love tastes like poison. To Chan, you're just too stupid to understand. He's delusional, to the point of insanity. In his own little world, you're the main character, and he's dedicated his life to you.

He believes what he wants to believe, and he believes that you will love him as much as he loves you. He thinks you're just too shy to admit the truth. How dare you want to leave him? Don't you see how hard he works to be with you, to possess you? Don't you know how many people he's eliminated, how he watches your every move? And yet you still say you hate him? No one in the world could love you as much as he does. He places his hand on your chin and lifts your face to meet his eyes, ensuring that you have no choice but to look at him. "This is your home, Y/N," he says. "Our home. You don't need to go anywhere."

You thought you were living your best life, but in a blink of an eye, everything changed. Now, all you can see is him and his sinister smile, greeting you like you're the perfect couple, even though you don't really know him at all. You cannot describe the feeling of fear that coursed through your veins at his touch. The flower path he had given you felt like a prison, and you felt like you were walking on broken glass. You knew you shouldn't give in to him, you shouldn't listen to whatever he had to say, but you had no choice.

His power was too much for you to resist, and you were forced to remain silent and listen to his every word. Chan hates the idea of hurting you, because you are his precious diamond. But he believes you need to learn the truth. He needs to show you who you need the most in the world—only him, and no one else. "You will love me," he says. Call him crazy or insane if you want, but who do you think made him this way? It was you, from the moment he first saw you. His heart screamed that he needed to be with you, no matter what. From day one, you have been his, even though you have made it difficult for him by not letting anyone else get close to you. "No," he says.

"You should love me as much as I love you." Your mind is blank, your mouth is too heavy to speak, and you are too weak to move away from him. "No one could love me as much as I do, Y/N," he says. The thought of being trapped with him for the rest of your life makes you want to scream. What kind of monster is he, and why do you have to face him? Why you? Chan sees you as different. No one else in the world is as interesting to him as you are, and you have captured his attention. He believes that you owe him something for this. "No one." You could hear the rain falling outside, its sound filling your ears.

You kept your whole attention on Chan, just as he wanted. "You don't need anybody else," he said. But how could his voice still be so clear to you, even though he didn't raise it above the sound of the rain, which was getting heavier and heavier? "No, I'll never let anyone steal you from me." Chan feels like he's on top of the world with you by his side. This moment is one he'll cherish forever. He's won the game he created, and you're the loser. He has all the power and has destroyed the wall of freedom you once had. Nothing could be better than knowing he'll have you by his side forever, to spend his life with you doing all the things lovers do.

"You're mine," he says. "Remember that." His heart pounded so loudly in his chest that he wondered if you could hear it. Your own heart raced as well, but not because of happiness. You hated this moment, and you were terrified of the man in front of you. he doesn't care what you feel right now. He touches you, he kisses you, he hugs you, whispering words of love in your ear. He doesn't care if you believe him because happiness hitting him like a truck and he flying like there is no gravity. "Got it right?" He smiled his anger melted away, replaced by a goofy smile as he thought about you and your future together, the kind of smile that made people think he was kind-hearted, sweet, and angelic. But he wasn't.

He was far from it. The real Chan was a devil in angel's clothing. "Give me a word, Y/N." Closing your eyes, you nodded your head aggressively, surrendering all that you should have had in life to him. Chan glares at your wounds, believing that they are enough to make you submit to his will. He is convinced that you will fall for him, even though you have told him that you hate him. You are on the edge of a cliff, and Chan is poised to push you off into the abyss, into his perfect life. He is determined to have you, no matter what the cost. You crawled to him, just as he had instructed. The headache pounded in your temples, but you didn't speak a word. Your nod was enough for him. He understood perfectly and was beyond satisfied with your response.

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castieltrash1 · 2 years ago

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Blade runner!!!! Please!! Anything will do but I'm thirsty and need it to be quenched! Can you provide?

officer k x human afab!reader; smut, breeding kink (roleplayish?), pre-2049 events, dom!k, overstimulation, dirty talk

K’s rough, calloused fingers spread out against your lower stomach, an area of your body he’s taken more interest in recently than ever before. “You’re really gonna let me?” he asks, the tone of his voice so weak and desperate you wonder how he’s managing the strength to hold himself above you right now, baby blues boring into yours. “Say you will, please,” he adds, as if your answer will make a difference, that your words will defy the undeniable truths of the world you live in.

But you dig your nails into the nape of his neck, urging his flushed face closer, closer, closer, until his shuddering exhale hits hot against your upper lip. “Do it, K,” you plead, almost gasping at the way he instinctively twitches inside you, his cock buried to the hilt. The evidence of your earlier orgasms paints the inside of your thighs, easing each of his movements as he rocks into you. You hold his unwavering gaze. “I want it.”

You know if sheer desire were enough, his wish would already be granted. “Yeah?” he breathes, growing more confident from your reaction. “You want me to breed you?” The word is sharp on his tongue, too animalistic for his synthetic imitation to capture, but his determination never falters. He’s too human for you to comprehend. “I’m…” His pupils jerk erratically across your face, and you know he’s searching for words that have never occurred to him before now. “I’m gonna knock you up,” he finally decides, and the shiver that runs down your spine at his choice of verbiage only urges your body closer to his.

“Cum inside me,” you beg, overcome with something feral clawing at the inside of your chest. You can’t breathe and the lack of oxygen leaves you lightheaded, your vision blurring and darkening at the edges. Framed in a fuzzy vignette, K soothes your hunger with a gentle smile, rolling his hips achingly slow. He barely eases an inch or two of himself from you at a time, always letting your warmth pull him back in.

When he hits the most sensitive spot inside you, your heaving gasp is hushed by his soft lips lingering against your cheek. “Shh. I’ve got you, baby,” K reassures, scruff tickling your soft skin. “Gonna give you what you need, I promise.” Maybe it was your fantasy all along, stifled shamefully somewhere only he could reach. “Just say please.”

You force what little control over your body you have left into squeezing him, clenching so tightly he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to. “Please.”

He trembles above you, mouth parting to release a breathy “fuck” that barely escapes before his release does, shooting inside you with a thick, hot pulse. “S-shit,” he gasps, instinctively pressing closer, his body desperate to meet its mark. His eyes squeeze shut and your own roll back in pleasure at the feeling of him finally filling you the way he’s been promising to all night. The sensation is so perfect, you could completely forget it isn't real.

K’s chest brushes yours as he lowers himself, using the last of his energy to shift you both to your sides. He doesn’t pull out, his firm hand on your waist ensuring you don’t let him either. “Well… If anything’s gonna work…” His lashes flutter as he gives you a lopsided grin, one so content you think he’s started to believe it himself. “What do you say?”

The world has surprised you before, but that’s not a sure enough answer. You stick to what you know.

“I love you, K.”

In the dim light of your apartment, he whispers it back.

gosling sleepover sunday (no longer taking requests!)

#blade runner 2049 #officer k smut #officer k x reader #officer k #blade runner #blade runner smut #blade runner 2049 smut #ryan gosling #t: writing #answered #anonymous

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hearts4jean · 1 year ago

Text

‎♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

- jean - art exhibition - modern au -

synopsis: jean makes an art exhibition based off of you; his muse ♡

Think of the relationship between an artist and muse. It is common to assume that the muse’ purpose was to serve the artist as they play a pivotal role in said artists work. This is far from the truth as muses often have great power over their artists they have inspired. The significance a muse stands as for the artists includes bringing emotional support and never-done-before creativity to achieve the artists objectives.

Jean, a struggling artist struck with everything but a hint of inspiration has been stumped with being unable to come up with any art pieces for an exhibition he was commissioned to create and curate; until he met you that is. He got the type of spark that every artist does when they find a specific specimen they desire to be included in their work and further explore and understand it. This first sighting is what made him to be infatuated with you.

While dating, he doesn’t ask if he could draw or paint you, much rather he does it in secret as his art isn’t something he enjoys to blatantly show off. Not only this, Jean is caught up in the fear that he’ll “mess you up” and does not want to deal with the embarrassment of showing it to you; he is fine with the pent-up frustration instead.

On multiple occasions, this has caused him to feel discouraged in his work as he does not to desire to make anything else in his artwork but you. How was he supposed to be the Alfred Stieglitz to your Georgia O’Keefe if he couldn’t even properly capture his accurate perception of you in his work? At least Stieglitz was a photographer, he would’ve had no issues with that. Jean would mainly work in oil and acrylic, ceramics if he feels like it. Any medium except pastels, over his dead body he’d opt for pastels; he says to himself. He takes a wide interest in love stories between artists and their muses as he likes to think that is what has happened with you and him.

This was the case until you found him in the indoor garage in his home he calls his ‘studio’ (which you were not aware of until this very moment), hands and knees on the cold concrete facing a ridiculously large canvas of an incomplete piece. You watch the man express his pent up frustration in spilling a string of cuss words in French, surrounding him a wooden paint palette with a pool of various hues, squeezed and almost finished paint tubes. You examined the space more and pinpointed the scattered photos of you and him together from past dates, you were able to make connections to those photos to the elephant of a canvas. It was you. To Jean, it was not. Not an accurate presentation at least that is up to the young artists standards.

After this coming across this sight, you then find yourself on that same cold concrete in front of Jean with his head buried in your shoulder as you cradle him. He was non-verbal for the time-being. He was embarrassed that you had to see him in such a state but also relieved that you were there with him.

“Please don’t look at the canvas” he utters.

“I won’t, but why?”

“Just don’t.”

“I never knew you were an artist.”

He scoffs. “Some artist I am. I can’t even paint you right.”

You continue paying all your attention to your lover rather than the dreaded canvas he won’t allow either of you to glance at.

“Say, how about you explain the hidden art talent to me later. Right now, do you mind explaining what this canvas is and why you refuse for me to look at it?”

Jean slowly lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you normally. Even while you both are leaning he is taller than you, only now his posture is slouched more than usual.

“I was commissioned by an art gallery to make a collection they would like to display at their venue in the next year, and the only description they added in with it is if was able to make it personally significant to myself on an emotional level. I asked if that meant that I could do it about someone that was personally significant to me rather than merely basing it purely on myself. They said it’s fine as long as it fits the stated criteria. I wanted to create the pieces based on our relationship. Well, based on my love for you basically” He felt his face getting hot.

“Jean-“

“Will you allow me to make you my muse?” He says with a stern look in his eyes.

“Well, of course. I mean, I’d love to if it’s so important to you.”

You watch his eyes light up. “Really? Oh my god thank you, love”

“No problem, but why am I finding about this whole artist thing just now? You seem very passionate about it all” You state with a short glance at his previous works hung up on the wall like trophies.

“Yeah, no one really knows except my mother and with exhibitions and stuff I go by a code name. Connie and Reiner knew I liked art in high school but those assholes made fun of me for it. I guess that stuck with me and just made me not wanna be able to freely speak up about it. I was planning to tell you eventually but I just..” He sighs.

“Just what?”

“I just wish you didn’t find out this way, especially with a piece I’m not proud of. I mean, look at it. It’s not doing you justice at all.”

You laugh. “You grant me permission to be able to look at it again?”

He laughs back. “Yes, I grant you permission to look at my shitty work”

You both look at the unfinished work for a second. It is a hyperrealistic acrylic painting if you want to get specific on its qualities.

“It looks fine to me-“

“Yeah no, it’s pure shit”

“Jean!”

“That wasn’t towards you, rather it was towards my poor skills of not being able to capture your righteous appearance in my work.”

“Either way I’m not letting you insult yourself like that”

“…”

It goes silent between the two of you for around 20 seconds until he lets out a sigh and returns to his original place of his face being buried in your shoulder again. You don’t mind it at all. It’s a type of habit he has when he’s upset or just simply fatigued.

You speak up. “You know, this could still be presented in the exhibition but maybe in a different manner?”

He looks up again. “How so?”

“You could have this as some type of statement piece, like displaying this whole scene from the dirty white sheet to the worn out brushes scattered in front of the canvas. It could like display your pent up frustration on attempting to perfect this exhibition. It can be called “The Failed Muse” or something along those lines. You can have a little plaque beside it explaining it all.”

He looks at you with a deadpanned expression. “Are you saying I’ve also failed with painting you with that name?”

“OH! No! I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to sou-“

You’re cut off by his laughter. Oh how you adore it.

“Kidding, kidding. I know what you meant. I’ll keep that in mind actually.

For the rest of that time on that cold concrete floor, the both of you discuss the other works that should go into this exhibition.

You were both able to come up with a few together.

The first artwork he plans to create is another portrait of you that will hopefully succeed in accuracy to your appearance unlike the last one. Assuming it will, it would’ve been because you were there in his presence, and you being there gives him some sort of reassurance that it will turn out fine. Alongside the words and actions of affirmation (little kisses and telling him that he’s doing great) that he will receive from you during the making of it. The way that he intends for this work to be sighted is that it is the first thing he wants the viewer to look at. Jean wants it to have that same captivating aura as the Mona Lisa; you just seem so attached to it and you don’t know why. Similarily to the Mona Lisa, it will be displayed on its own seperate wall that is a diluted version of your favourite colour to make the connection between you and the painting stronger.

The exhibition would also include specific monuments of your time together.

For instance, he would do is something related to your favourite flowers. Since flowers are not man-made, it’s hard to display them in an exhibition setting due to the bugs living inside them and they are considered a threat to the other works displayed. He would instead make wire-works of your favourite flowers as an alternative. Flowers are especially symbolic to your relationship with Jean as he gives you a bouquet every chance he gets. I think we have already settled that he is a huge giver.

Something you personally share together is your music taste. It is one of the things that first drew you closer to one another. In the exhibition, he would have a table set up with a record player and vinyls of albums you enjoy listening to together. The collection would be a mix of his own and a few borrowed from his parents. For instance, The Smiths; give or take.

One of your most treasured moments with him is when he tried to teach you French back when you were still in high school. A table and 2 chairs would be perched up. On the table there is a range of French dictionaries and literature. He will attempt to make it as accurate as possible to your memories of his moment, even down to the very positioning of the books and how they were stacked up on one another.

Another idea you were able to to come up with each other is a sculpture of two figures hugging each other; reenacting your “First Embrace” with one another in which is what the work will be called.

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limitless-haven · 8 months ago

Text

Those Ocean Eyes

Synopsis: When you’re called upon by Tokyo Jujutsu High for an opportunity to study under the renowned Shoko Ieiri, you gladly accept the offer, leaving behind your old school. Here you start your new adventure, excited to learn and see where this life will take you, but what you don’t account for is that here is also where you truly fall in love for the first time.

Satoru Gojo is a charismatic enigma that captured your heart right away. As time goes on, you come to truly understand the pain behind those ocean eyes of his. The scariest part? His truth doesn’t terrify you like he expected it to. If anything it makes you fall more intense for him. You want to help shoulder the burden of his pain for the man you’ve come to love.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: MDNI. Heavier flirting/lusting, description of a car accident, mention of blood, depiction of death

A/N: ***This is a slow burn. Eventually, there will be some spicy scenes but I will give a warning beforehand.

***This story does contain elements, scenes, and dialog from the manga/anime.

***This story was influenced by the song Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish. Every time I hear the song, I can't help but think of Gojo and what a complex character he is. He is such a lovable character who deserves the world.

***This is also posted to my AO3 account under the name “kookie0807”

Chapter 2: Catching His Eye

Your throat feels dryer than normal and that causes you to swallow hard, licking your lips trying to bring some moisture to your mouth. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by the man sitting in front of you. He just sits there, staring at you. Waiting for you to finally say something to him. But you can’t seem to get your mouth working, your tongue feels heavy, and your head feels light, all of this from a simple question..? ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ You ask yourself. Your eyes snap down to your feet. You can’t believe that it is this difficult to answer him. To say you're completely enamored by this man is an understatement. Your knees feel weak, like at any given moment they will give out on you. You feel your cheeks starting to heat up again. What is it about Satoru Gojo that’s got you fawning over his simple words?

He can’t help but find your reaction to his very, in his terms, subtle flirtatious way of questioning you, very adorable. Getting you all flustered over just calling you a ‘pretty girl’ has him wondering just how you would react if his comments got a little bit more suggestive, a little bit more vulgar. He grins a toothy grin. ‘She’s pretty cute when she’s all worked up.’ He thinks to himself.

“C’mon pretty, I just wanna know your name.” He says with a coy smile.

‘His voice is so hot. Oh god. It’s so hot!’ You think to yourself and that makes you blush a tad bit more.

“M-my n-names (Y/N) sir..” You say shyly. Your eyes haven’t left your feet yet. You’re afraid to look at the man. He makes you feel like you're back in high school with a silly little crush. Let’s face it, you’ve just met the guy and you’re already crushing so hard on him. But he’s supposed to be your teacher? Can you have a crush on your teacher? You are twenty-six, after all, so it’s not like this is morally wrong or anything. You’re an adult, he’s an adult so what’s the harm right? It’s just an innocent little crush on your very attractive teacher.

He chuckles and underneath his blindfold, his eyes are scanning your body from head to toe. He can’t lie to himself and say that your little flushed cheeks don’t stir something up inside him.

“Sir, huh?” He gives you that shit-eating grin again. “Haven’t done anythin’ to get ya to call me that quite yet pretty, jus’ call me Satoru. Please I insist.”

The suggestive nature behind his comment has your heart pounding in your chest, if it’s even possible for your cheeks to blush harder, they are. You can hear the blood rushing around in your ears. How can he say such sexually charged things so freely? This man hasn’t even done anything to you and yet here you are squirming under his gaze and simple words. ‘Pull it together!’ You demand to yourself.

He smiles at your reaction. He loves the way a simple provocative comment makes you squirm under his gaze. He likes how innocent you seem to appear. He wants to see just how far he can push you before you snap...

“S-sure thing…Satoru.” You stammer out. He can probably feel the embarrassment radiating off my body right now.’ You think to yourself.

He smirks at you. He can’t lie, he absolutely loves the way his name sounds coming from your pretty little lips.

“C’mon, pull up a chair so we can talk s’more.” He says as he gestures for you to grab a chair from the desk. You do so and sit down in front of him, it kinda reminds you of how an interview would go. “There ya go. Now, the ol’ geezer informed me that you're a Grade Three and it just so happens that ya have the same technique as Shoko. That true?”

Now this is a conversation you can have, as long as he’s not throwing out flirty little comments or making seductive ones, you're fine! All he had to do was keep that big mouth shut but you wonder how long that would last. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, look up at him, and begin.

“Well yes, but I haven’t been able to do such phenomenal things like Shoko. I-I can only heal some wounds and maybe fix a bone or two before my cured energy is drained..” You tell him, this time looking him in the face. This is something serious that you want to work on, something you’ve been dreaming about mastering to eventually save someone who might come across with injuries like your father did. You believe you owe this to him. He would have been so proud to see how far you’ve come. After all, he was the first person who taught you about the jujutsu world.

Satoru nods his head as you talk, he puts his hand under his chin as if he’s deliberating. Of course, Yaga made him read your file before he sent Satoru out to find you. He can’t lie, your file is pretty basic. Not much in hand-to-hand combat training, super basic defensive teachings as far as he’s concerned, you rarely went on missions at Kyoto, but you do possess the very rare ability to heal others and that is something even the strongest sorcerer can’t do. Healing himself is like second nature to him. He does it without even thinking about it at this point but he’s always wanted to know the secret behind using such a technique to heal others. Being able to heal others like that should have put you in a Grade One class like Shoko but he guesses because you haven’t been able to unlock the true power behind your technique, that old bastard Gakuganji stuck you to Grade Three. God, he hated the higher-ups with a passion. Here you were, you had such potential for great power, yet Gakuganji was holding you back. Knowing that if you somehow managed to perfect your technique, that would just make you more trouble for them. They were all cowards in Satoru’s eyes.

“I see,” he says. “Gakuganji’s hold in’ ya back. Fuck, I hate gramps.” He says as he sighs loudly and throws his head back so it’s resting on the back of the chair. He then continues “I can’t teach ya how to unlock the power of reverse cursed techniques or the doctor part, that’s more up Shoko’s ally. But, what I can do, is teach ya how to better regulate the flow of your cursed energy, makin’ it stronger and lastin’ way longer. I’ll also be in charge of your hand-to-hand combat trainin’ per the geezer's orders but have no fear, I’m excellent at martial arts. Some might even say the best.” He says as he leans back up off the chair and grins at you.

You smile at him. You appreciate him even taking the time out of his day to help you with such basic things other sorcerers were without a doubt better than you at. When trying to heal someone, you run out of cursed energy rather quickly so being able to control it for a longer time to heal more significantly is ideal. Also, learning how to kick some ass doesn’t sound half bad either. “Thank you, Satoru.” You say as you fidget with your uniform skirt. “C-can I ask you a question though?”

“Duh, I’m your teacher after all,” he says with a sly smile.

“Why do you hate Principal Gakuganji so much?” You ask. You didn’t miss the way he said he hated him and referred to him as ‘gramps.'

Satoru chuckles. “I know my methods are the best plus those old heads are too conservative for the future of the jujutsu world. Just take, for example, Yuji. He’s Sukuna’s vessel and Gakuganji wants him dead right now. Why do ya ask? Because he believes makin’ exceptions to long-standin’ practices is wrong. Whereas I say to let me handle it. I will beat Sukuna and save Yuji’s life.”

You’re stunned by his confession. You didn’t know that Satoru cared so much for his students, then again, you don’t know him at all. Hearing him talk so passionately about his determination for a new jujutsu world as you know, is refreshing. It’s refreshing to know there are still some sorcerers out there willing to fight for the younger generation. Back in Kyoto, the topic of Sukuna was strictly off-limits. You knew of him of course. How Ryomen Sukunan was a jujutsu sorcerer who lived over a thousand years ago and somehow has managed to traverse through time by transforming himself into a cursed object and somehow managed to split his powers among twenty fingers that have been scattered all around Tokyo.

“Wait..the kid with the pink hair? He-he’s Sukuna’s vessel?” You ask rather perplexed.

He gives you a baffled look, and his blindfold lifts on his forehead from raising his eyebrows. Did you actually not know anything outside of what that old bastard Gakugunji told you? Shit, you honestly were pure, it was invigorating to Satoru. He can’t help but let out a snicker. “Damn, princess. They really were keepin’ ya in the dark over there, huh?” He says as he tilts his head, glaring at you. “Megumi was sent to Yuji’s old school to retrieve one of Sukuna’s fingers. In the process, some curses get released and attacked them both. Megumi get pretty roughed up so Yuji ate the finger in an attempt to save him. And what do ya know? It worked!” He exclaims. “Now the little brat can switch with Sukuna at will.”

You stare at Satoru like he has three heads. WHAT THE FUCK? Why would Yuji ever eat a finger? That cant taste good at all, better yet….how the hell did he get it down? ‘Don't ask, don’t tell, I really don't want to know.’ You think to yourself and giggle a bit. “Wow, I guess I was left in the dark about that.” You say and rub the back of your head. Then like a freight train, it hits you. Did he just call you princess? God damn it, you feel your cheeks flush again and you're getting shy. “D-did you c-call me princess?”

Satoru cant help but find your reaction to his comment so fucking cute. He was starting to take a liking to you. He loved how you reacted to his flirtatious banter with you, he loved watching you squirm under his gaze, something about you demanded his attention when he was with you. Not that he was complaining, you're a very beautiful girl, with a toned body, shorter than him by so much that he towers over your small frame. He hums, but it sounds more like a slight groan. “I sure did. But if ya want, I could call you my princess. Would you like that better (Y/N)?”

This is the first time you've heard him say your name and it shot a rush down your spine. It felt like fireworks were going off inside your stomach. He’s so hot. His voice, his looks, his flirty personality, this man knew just how irresistible he was. Your cheeks are now a bright pink. You're so embarrassed right now, you can't believe just hearing him utter your name has you reacting like this. How the hell is it? That's your name and what he’ll be addressing you by and it has this monumental effect on you? Jesus, you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You can't bring yourself to look at him any farther so you put your head down and look at the ground and try to take some deep breaths. You see his other foot come over his leg and be placed on the ground. And before you know it his feet are getting closer to you, indicating that he’s walking towards you. You can feel him right next to your ear. Your sense of smell is instantly overwhelmed by him. You catch a whiff of his cologne. It smells like sandalwood but with a hint of sweetness to it. It exudes expensive.

“I like watchin’ ya squirm. It's very temptin’.” He says as his voice drops an octave almost sounding like a growl.

You almost gasp but bite your lip just in time. What the hell was he doing here? Does he understand how this is coming off to you? “S-Satoru, p-please-” You almost sound like you're pleading for him, in a very suggestive way. You can’t say anything more, your throat feels dry when you swallow, it feels like sandpaper.

This makes Satoru smile wickedly. He's delighted to see his effect on you because honestly, you're having the same one on him right now. He can no longer deny the fact that you've piqued his interest in more ways than one. More ways than a ‘student’ should. He snickers next to your ear. “Mmm, that’s even more temptin’ (Y/N). Careful now or I may jus’ want you to beg for me s’more.”

You feel a rush of arousal go through your body and straight between your legs. Does he mean that like you just took it? Your heart is beating so fast, you can feel it everywhere in your body. Did-did he just turn you on with a few words no less? Oh, this was going to be testing. How were you supposed to learn anything from the man when he said such sexually driven things like this to you? But before anything else can be said between you too, the door to his classroom slams open. And in walks a girl you’ve never seen before. She's pretty short, just like you. She has mid-length brown hair that covers the right side of her forehead, orangish eyes, and very long eyelashes. She spots got two immediately. She raises an eyebrow at Gojo.

“Ew dude...Don’t tell me I walked in on you trying to screw the new girl?” She says and from the sounds of it, she doesn’t put up with Gojo’a antics much.

Gojo just chuckles and stands up from beside you to his full height, tilting his head back, his delicious-looking neck on full display. Clearly, he’s been affected by the sexual tension in the room too. “Kugisaki has anyone ever told ya, you got shit timing?”

“Whatever Gojo. I’m here for her, not you. Thank god you transferred here. I was about to go stir crazy with all this testosterone around!” She exclaims as she walks over to you and holds her hand out. “I’m Nobara Kugisaki.”

You look up at her, still seated on the desk chair, and shake her hand. “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). It’s n-nice to f-finally m-meet the other first year!” You stumble over your words. You too are still affected by Gojo’s words.

“Same girl. God I can’t stand being around these boys all the time, finally I’ll get to do some shopping!” She says and it looks as if she has hearts in her eyes. It makes you giggle. She seems like she’s going to be a lot of fun to have around and well, you do love a good shopping trip too. “Just promise me one thing, yeah?” She’s then looking between you and Gojo. “Please, please, don’t screw him.” She says looking directly at Gojo, giving him the nastiest side-eye.

If your face could get any redder, someone might mistake you for a tomato. God, was it that obvious how much you too were flirting just then? You start to breathe more rapidly. You don’t think your heart has beaten at a normal pace for…well ever since you laid eyes on Satoru really. You look down again and fidget with the hemline of your skirt.

Gojo places his hand on his chest dramatically, like a Victorian man who just saw a woman’s ankles for the first time. He lets out a little gasp too. “Kugisaki! C’mon, don’t be a cock-block now.” He then lets out a childish laugh.

Nobara just rolls her eyes at him. “Ew. Come with me (Y/N), let’s go get some food.” She puts her hand out for you to take it. When you grab her hand you hope she can’t tell just how affected by Gojo’s words you still were. You were shaking so badly. Did he want to sleep with you? You two just met today. Oh no, this was going to be a nightmare. Can you keep your feelings in check around him? Or will something end up happening between you two?

As you exit the room, you can’t help but hear Satoru laughing a little. Norbara pulls you along with her to the dining hall.

—————————-

At the dining hall, you spot Megumi and Yuji. You wave at them and then get in line to go get something to eat. Honestly, you were so shaken up by you’re interacting with Gojo that you didn’t know if you could eat or not but we weren’t going to say no to getting to know the others. You grab a slice of pizza and a bottle of water then follow Nobara to the table to sit with the boys.

Yuji is the first to speak to you. “Hey, how’d everything go with Gojo-sensi?” He asks, totally unaware of the sexually charged interaction you just had with said man.

“It was fine.” You say shortly and chug your water.

“The scrawny creep hit on you didn’t he?” Megumi says as he rolls his eyes and takes a bite out of the chicken breast on his plate.

“Sure did. Walked in right before he could snatch up his prey.” Nobara says nonchalantly as she takes a bite out of a watermelon chunk.

You’ve got to change the conversation quickly before you die of embarrassment. “Anyway, I heard from Satoru that you’re Sukunas vessel?” You ask as you look at Yuji.

He lets out a little laugh and rubs the back of his head. “You heard right! But to be honest, I’m not really fond of the guy. He's a pain. When I first arrived at the school he grew a mouth outa my hand and threatened to kill Gojo. But I know Gojo-sensi would beat him. After all, he is the strongest.” He smiles a wide toothy grin.

You blink slowly. “He can just grow mouths on your body?”

Yuji laughs. “Yeah, he can. It’s super weird.”

Megumi adds, “Downright disgusting if you ask me.”

You can’t help the laugh that comes out. You like this group so far. They seem to mesh well with one another despite their clear differences in personalities. You all finish your meal while chatting about all kinds of topics like favorite foods, what your techniques are, favorite games and TV shows, and so on. It felt good to be surrounded by kids with such potential, it reminds you of when you first entered Kyoto. You had a close group of friends there but as time went by you all went your separate ways. Some became teachers at Kyoto and some became full-fledged jujutsu sorcerers exorcizing curse after curse.

Once your dinner is over, you all get up and head towards the dorms. So far your analysis of the group is that Yuji is the most playful of the group, a little naive but thoughtful nonetheless. Nobara is a confident, beautiful girl who you can tell just by the little interaction you’ve had with her so far, has an unshakable character about her. And then there is the reserved Megumi. He’s very aloof and outwardly stoic. But somehow, deep down you can see just how much he cares for the kids he calls his friends.

OH SHIT! You forgot Shoko said to meet her in the medical lab when you got done with Satoru. Panic sets in. You’re not starting on a good foot by trying to impress Shoko and showing her you’re serious about learning from her. ‘Shit, shit shit.’ You think to yourself.

“Hey, I completely forgot Shoko wanted to see me in the medical lab after I got done with Satoru.” You say panicked.

“Oh. I’ll take you over to her then.” Megumi says very nonchalantly.

You smile at him and head off for the medical lab. The walk with Megumi is almost peaceful. Once you arrive at the lab, he nods at you and heads the other way back to the dorm areas. You let out a big breath as you push the doors open. This is what you have been waiting for. When you enter, you're greeted with almost the same lab equipment as the Kyoto schools. There are some machines that you haven’t seen before, but that’s why you were here. You’re so beyond thrilled to be able to train under such an extraordinary doctor like Shoko. You notice her in the corner of the lab, she’s got gloves on and she’s holding some test tubes. They look to be filled with blood, she starts mixing some liquids into the blood and then puts it into the centrifuge and it starts spinning. She throws her gloves away and looks up at you with a smile.

“Oh hey, there you are. I was starting to worry Gojo got you” She lets out a laugh.

Got you? What the hell does that mean? Your cheeks flush a little as you think back to your encounter with him in his classroom.

“Is he always like that?” You ask a little shyly as you watch the centrifuge spin.

“Cocky? Arrogant? Oh hell yeah, Satoru’s always been like that ever since we were teens. Flirty? Sometimes, it just depends on how much he likes you.” She lets out a snort of sorts. “Sorry hon, you seem to have caught his eye.”

You’ve caught Satoru Gojo’s eye? You knew he was being a little too flirty! WAIT...YOU'VE CAUGHT HIS EYE? FUCK! There goes your face again, bright red. You turn around so Shoko can’t see you but it doesn’t help matters as she only lets out another laugh.

“I like you already (Y/N).” She snickers and then adds “Well apparently not as much as Gojo.”

Great, was Shoko hitting on you now too? You can’t seem to catch a break around this damn school! Does everyone like to tease you? But you know she doesn’t mean it in the way Satoru does….but wouldn’t that be something?

When you calm your flushed cheeks down a bit you turn back to Shoko and give her a sheepish smile. “Please, enough about Satoru. I don’t think I can take any more teasing. I might end up on the embalming table next.” You joke. Shoko gives you a big laugh and smile. “What are you doing with that blood?” You ask, tilting your head at the centrifuge spinning around.

“Oh just creating some PRP. Quiz time. What is PRP used for?” She asks, genuinely curious about where your medical knowledge stands.

Without a skip of a beat, you answer. “It can be injected into a patient's injury to try and help reduce pain and improve recovery speeds.”

Shoko raises her eyebrows and smiles. “Not bad hon.” She compliments and you can’t help but smile brightly. This right here is fulfilling a dream of yours. Hearing the Shoko Ieiri give you praise? You wish your mother and father could be here to hear this. They would be so, so proud of you.

“But this is nothing compared to what we’re going to eventually get into. I want you on par with me (Y/N).” She says with a very promising look. “We’re going to make a doctor out of you before I’m done!”

“I would love nothing more.” You say honestly. You want to heal as many people as you can. You want to save all of those who come to you for help.

“Great, before you leave, I want you to take a book and start brushing up on your knowledge of the machines and tools in here. In the meantime, we’ll work on your reverse cursed technique.” She says. “But first tell me about it in your own words. Start from the beginning please.” Of course, Shokos already read your file, she knows about what you can and can’t do but she wants to hear it explained from the actual sorcerer, not a piece of paper.

Oh man, how do you even begin to explain this? “It all started I guess when I was young. I remember my father was teaching me how to ride a bike. I told him I wasn’t ready for him to let go, but you know how dads are sometimes.” You laugh at the memory. Your father loved spending every second he wasn’t at work with his family. “Anyway, he let go and I fell off. I banged my knee up pretty good and had a huge gash in it. There was blood all over my hands and running down my leg. He ran over to me as I was lying there, holding my knee. I remember my hands started to tingle when I made contact with my knee like I’d had some kind of allergic reaction, they kinda itched in a way.” You remember this day very vividly. This was the day you, your father, and your mother found out that you were capable of using cursed techniques. “And then it started to burn like I’d stuck them straight into a fire. There was this white, hazy glow over my hands. My dad just stared at them in shock. When the glowing finally stopped, my hands stopped burning too.” You look down at your hands remembering the searing hot, white pain of that day. “When I pulled them off my knee the gash was gone, almost like it never existed. And then I collapsed on the ground.”

“Got it. So you’ve been able to heal yourself since childhood.” Shoko says taking in all the information you just told her. “When did you realize you could heal others?” This is what she was most curious about.

You let out a sigh, remembering this day vividly too. “Well, my friends and I went to a party off the Kyoto school grounds, I was about eighteen. I left early because I didn’t want Principal Gakuganji to be upset with me. My friends stayed behind and ended up getting into a pretty serious car accident. One called me and told me what happened so of course I headed back out there .” You remember how smashed up the car was, how there was blood everywhere. One of your friends managed to escape with just a few cuts and scrapes. But your other friend suffered a broken femur and multiple lacerations. “The friend that called me managed to squeeze out of the car and we pulled the other girl out of the rubble. I remember her femur was sticking out the top of her thigh. It was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point in my life. Panicked out of my mind, I grabbed her leg and applied pressure to try and stop the bleeding. As soon as I made contact with her wound, my hands started to burn again, the same violent, scorching burn came back. But I couldn’t afford to let her go, she was bleeding everywhere, I didn’t want her to lose too much blood.” You look back down at your hands, rubbing them together. “Just like before, a white hazy glow started to appear. After a couple of minutes, we looked down and her leg was completely fine. No more bone sticking out, but there was still quite a bit of blood everywhere. When I removed my hands, I remember feeling so exhausted that I collapsed on the ground again.”

Shoko nods her head at you. “From that, you unlocked the power of healing others with your reverse cursed technique.” She says. “You said you collapsed both times after, I’m going to go out on a very reasonable limb and assume that’s because you exhausted all of your cursed energy.” She says. “It also seems like these traumatic events, no matter how big or small they seem, trigger something inside of you.”

You agree by nodding your head. “Yeah, you’re right. Those first two times really wore me out. But as time has gone on, I’ve gotten a little better at not collapsing so often, although the greater the injury, the more likely I am to.” You lightly chuckle. “Now that I think about it, you're right. I was under immense distress both times my technique was triggered.”

Shoko hums to agree with you. She knows her next question is touchy but she needs to know, this is vital information needed to help her understand you. “When I read your file, it said that you were on the scene when your father was brought back after his battle.” She speaks slower as if to gauge how you are feeling. “Do you mind telling me what happened there?”

Your eyes start to get teary thinking about the worst day of your life. Shoko places her hand on yours and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry hon, if it’s too much please don’t. We can always talk about it some other time.”

But you shake your head at her. You came here to overcome this stupid block in your technique. “It’s okay Shoko. Honestly. I would be doing a disservice to my father if I never figured this out.” You let out a shaky sigh. This is the day you dread the most. “When-when they brought my father back, he-he was c-cut in half...I rushed into the morgue as fast as I could. That was the most amount of blood I’ve ever seen. His-his organs were lying on the embalming table beside him. My mind went blank and it was like I was moving on autopilot. I— remember grabbing both parts of his body and just-just-just praying to someone, anyone to help me. I held onto him and cried so hard I felt like I was going to vomit…” A single tear starts to roll down your face but Shoko hands you a tissue. “My hands n-never started burning like they always did. T-they were stone cold. So I pushed him together, I put his organs between the halves and pressed my hands over the gap but...but nothing. No burning, no white hazy glow. Nothing but utter failure…”

Shoko gets up from her chair and comes over to hug you. You lean into her embrace as puts her hand on the back of your head to bring you into her shoulder. You try your best not to cry but a couple of tears trickle down your face. You stay like that for a minute, just letting her hold you. You can’t help but think that Shoko holds you like your mother does. Shoko has such a pure soul and such a motherly touch. When you’ve calmed down you pull away and smile at Shoko. She gives you a soft but saddened smile back.

“I’m so sorry (Y/N). Thank you for sharing that with me, I can’t even begin to imagine how heartbreaking that must have been.” She grabs the tissue from your hand and dabs the little tears on your eyelashes away.

“No, it’s fine, really Shoko. You needed to know about how my abilities came to be.” You tell her, and you try to convey just how okay you are to her by giving her a glossy-eyed smile.

“I promise, if it’s the last thing I do, we’ll unlock that reverse cured technique fully for you,” Shoko says with a warm smile. That smile alone lets you know you can trust this woman with your life. There is no ounce of doubt in them. “It may take some time, but we’ll get it.” She reassures you.

You give her a small nod and take the tissue to clean up your face. After that, you're back to normalcy, no one would be able to tell that you’d been crying. It feels kind of good to be able to be so vulnerable with Shoko, you've never really experienced that before outside of your mother. Yeah, you had friends back at Kyoto but none of them understood the pressure of being expected to heal someone and the true physical and mental toll it took on your body. Every comrade that you lost chipped away at your confidence in your ability to save others. Being weak in the Jujutsu world was not an option. You had to save them, you had to try harder.

“Well, I think that's enough for your first day. Again, I’m sorry for making you relive that but I appreciate you being so open with me. Trust me, I know firsthand the strain of being looked up to for saving people feels like. Of course, there are going to be failures along the way but don't let that break you, just think of how satisfying it's going to feel once nothing can hold you back!” Shoko says to you as she walks over to the stack of books on her desk. She flips through the titles and picks one up. “Here, take this.” She says as she hands it over to you. “Well start light with getting you more used to my lab equipment. In the meantime I want you to work on how to get your cursed energy under control, in simple terms, you need to control your emotions when put in high-level stressful, anxious situations.”

You nod and couldn't agree more. Come to think of it, you did start to feel very jittery when someone's injuries needed to be healed was hanging over your head. “Right, you know best Shoko!” You say skimming through the book.

“You’ll be in Gojo’s hands for that part, I also heard he’s going to be training you to better your hand-to-hand combat skills?” She questions.

“Oh yeah, he told me about that earlier.” You say with a light giggle, your cheeks blushing a dusty pink at the mention of his name. “Principal Gakuganji told me that I wouldn’t be going on very many missions so there was no point in getting good at hand-to-hand combat like that.”

Shoko stares at you. “You know, I’m starting to see Satoru’s point about him more and more. Why the hell would you not need to know how to defend yourself?”

You just shrug. “I never questioned his approach to my sorcerer education but from the sounds of it, I probably should have.” You let out a light snicker.

“Oh for sure. Yaga will never let you leave this place until you’ve got the skills to survive on your own. He may be a hard ass but he cares about all the students who pass through those entrance doors.” She tells you.

You nod at her. You’re excited to see what Principal Yaga and the others here at Tokyo can offer you. You're like a sponge, ready to soak up all the knowledge and experience they have to offer.

—--------------

You say goodbye to Shoko for now and head back to your room. While walking to your room you decide to skim through the book she gave you. You see some equipment you recognize like a centrifuge, incubator, microscope, test tubes, and hot plates but there are some that you don't know. Nonetheless, you are excited to move forward in your lab knowledge. After all, once you had a grasp on the lab equipment, you could move into the surgical side of things and then into the world of the mortuary. Your walk to the room is very quiet but serene. It has you thinking back to when you first entered Kyoto. You were so excited to become a sorcerer and make your father and mother proud but little did you know the road to being one would be so heartbreaking. Some days were better than others but when the bad days happened it made you want to throw in the towel. It made you want to have been born ‘normal.’ Reflecting on everything that's happened, you have to push the bad thoughts to the back of your head and move forward. You make it to your door and open it to enter. ‘Shit, I’ve got a lot of work to do.’ You think to yourself and start unpacking. You put up the majority of your clothes and you hang up some fairy lights on the wall behind your bed. You put up some pictures of your family and friends. Before you know it, it's pretty late. The sun has gone down completely, leaving behind the peaceful glow of the moon. These dorm rooms are a tad different than the Kyoto ones because you're lucky enough to have your very own bathroom! ‘I’m living the high life right now!' You think to yourself. You enter the bathroom with your pajamas, makeup, skincare, and hair products. You set everything up how you want it and hop in the bath. You just lay there for a bit relaxing in the hot water. After a while of scrolling on your phone and chilling you decide to get out. You get changed into the ‘pajamas’ you brought into the bathroom with you. You put on an oversized shirt and some underwear, the shirt comes down to your mid-thigh like a short sun dress would. What can you say? You like to be comfortable when you sleep. Plus no one is going to see you so what's the harm? You brush your hair and sit on your bed. You start to put some lotion on your body when you hear a knock at the door. Who could that be?

You walk over to the door and open it to find a very tall, white-haired man standing there. He looks down at you and grins. He likes what you're wearing or well, lack thereof. He's looking you up and down underneath his blindfold. He starts at your plush thighs, loving how they are on full display, how your shirt just barely covers your tiny body. His eyes roam further up and he notices your perky tits next. ‘Fuckin’ hell.’ He thinks to himself. Your body looks so soft and he wants nothing more than to run his large hands from your thighs all the way up to your tits and fucking squeeze them, he wants to watch your nipples get hard under his touch. He wants to suck and lick on them and hear those pretty little lips moaning for him, moaning his name. He lets out a strangled groan. He's getting too worked up with his imagination right now. “Hi pretty, ya miss me?” He says as he looks down at your tiny stature.

You're starting to go pink in the face with the way he's just standing there grinning at you. What is he doing here? At this time no less? You look up at his face. “H-hi Satoru, what are you doing here?” You ask curiously.

He licks his lips, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. He leans against your door frame now, crossing his lengthy arms over his well-built chest. “Jus’ came to talk to my new neighbor.”

NEIGHBOR? SHIT! You totally forgot this wasn't like the Kyoto dorms at all. At Kyoto, you were divided into the boy's hall and the girl's hall, so you never interacted with boys around your dorm room. It seems here, that you are divided by age groups. Since Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara are around the same age, they are all in the same dormitory hall. That leaves you, Shoko, and Satoru to be on the same dormitory hall as well. Your face goes red as you realize how you answered the door. “Ah-a-a.” You stutter out before you stumble back into your room. When you catch your balance, you look up and see that Satoru is now standing in your room and the door is closed behind him. He has a smug grin on his face.

“Easy princess, wouldn’t want ya falling over. I might get a little show if that happens.” He says as he licks his lips again. “Not that I’d complain.”

Your body feels hot, your face is too red. You look down and grab your shirt, pulling it down to cover your exposed thighs. Your hands are shaking, your eyes are closed shut, and you've never been this embarrassed in front of a guy before. “Satooruuu.” You whine out.

He continues to smirk. He loves how you try to hide your body from him. He loves how those pretty little lips whined out for him. God, he wants nothing more than to push you back onto your bed and have you whining underneath him. “I told you earlier, I like watchin’ ya squirm pretty girl.” He says as he takes a step forward. He then leans down so he is at eye level with you. “I really like the way you say my name.”

‘PLEASE LET ME METEOR HIT THE EARTH AND KILL ME NOW!!’ You beg in your head. You open your eyes and see he's right in front of your face, close but not too close. You start to wriggle around with the bottom of your shirt. “Haahhh-please Satoru.” You squeak out.

Satoru can't help but chuckle at your response, he knows what he's doing to you. He can clearly see it by your body language. “Please what (Y/N)?” He asks.

There he goes again saying your name like that. It sounds too sensual coming from his lips. It sounds too good to be muttered. The way he says your name is the most arousing way anyone has ever said it before. You want to grab his face and kiss him until he’s breathless. Before you can answer him, he speaks.

“Please…tell you that I’m here to let ya know that we're gonna start training tomorrow.”

Right, training. You totally forgot about that part. You weren't really good at fighting, the best you could do was maybe hip-toss someone and throw a punch. Now how powerful that punch was is another story. You're toned but don't have a lot of muscles, you'd rather do some yoga or go for a jog than lift some heavy ass weights. When you did go on missions with the sorcerers at Kyoto they were told that you were to be protected at all times meaning you had never been in a physical fight with a curse much less a human being.

“W-what…?” You stumble out.

Satoru nods his head at you. “Ya heard right princess. You, me, alone in the sparing room.” He's got that shit-eating grin again, his pearly white teeth showing. “I can't wait to get my hands on you.” He almost groans out.

You stare at him, your face feels like it's on fire. Why does he say things like that? Does he want you to keel over!? You can’t move, so you just stand there looking at him.

He stands back up, towering over you. “Goodnight (Y/N), I hope you have some really, really sweet dreams.” He says and he turns around and goes out the door. You let out the biggest groan of frustration ever. Suddenly the door is opened back up and he pops his head inside. “About me of course.” He says, giving you one last smile, and then he’s out the door for good and going down the hallway to his room.

You throw yourself on the bed at lightning speed, grab your pillow, and proceed to scream into it! That man was so infuriating. Why did he have to be so insufferably cocky and handsome? You just sit in your bed for a couple of minutes, trying to calm yourself from well, today in general! ‘I’ve got to get ahold of myself around him! Starting tomorrow, I won’t let him get me so flustered!’ You think to yourself. After a couple of minutes of deep breathing, you grab your phone and call your mom. She picks up after just 2 rings.

“There’s my baby! How was your first day?” She asks excitedly.

“Well, Mom it was-“ You then proceed to tell her all about your first day, of course leaving out that a certain man loves to tease you mercilessly...

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #smut #gojo smut #angst #slow burn #gojo x reader smut

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