#cost of personal chauffeur | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zeltqz · 2 years ago

Note

the ask was for a sanzu x fem reader nsfw and they’re both getting high together in the car and they do the thing where they bloke smoke in each other’s most and one things leads to another. But I thought it would be funny of on the middle of their sesh, ran calls and idk you could decide if he answers or not. Lol

— mile high club

ø contents: smoking, smut, possessiveness, fluff, takeomi slander ish bc i hate the mf, friends to lovers, mutual oblivious pining, akashi brothers' mentioned beefing

o word count : 7.1k.

ø notes: is it even a sanzu fic if i dont include some sort of tension and psychological explanation to do with the neglect he faced from Takeomi? no? ok anyway...

@wenumsmol 🫶🏾

The sun sets over the streets of Tokyo when you park the car in the garage of the Akashi household, having dropped Haru off at home since you’re now his designated driver because his license got suspended for reckless driving.

“We’re here.” The car shuts off when you turn the key, both hands resting on the wheel like the professional, respectable driver you are. “Now get out of my car.”

Sanzu groans from the backseat, laying flat on his back, hand splayed over his forehead, the cold heat from his hands doing wonders to soothe his burning headache.

“Oi.” Over your shoulder, you peek at him, fighting the urge to poke him awake. “I said we’re here.”

“I know.”

“ So…get out?”

“I don’t wanna.”

“You don’t—” You bite your words, stopping yourself to give yourself time to take a deep breath, soothing your bubbling frustration before it erupts. “You don’t want to enter your own house?”

He raises a long, slender finger, pointing insistently out the window. You follow his gaze to the back corner of the garage, Takeomi’s bike perched on its stand.

“Ohhh,” you realise, unbuckling your seatbelt to turn and face him fully. “Well..you can’t avoid him forever.”

He removes his hand from his forehead, eyebrows knitted, forehead creased as he glares at you. “Watch me.”

“I’m serious, Haru.”

“So am I.” He’s sitting up, face stern and serious, you swear his green eyes practically glow in the dark as they catch the edge of the yellow tint garage light.

When it comes to Takeomi, Haruchiyo mainly plans on avoiding him at all costs, dodging him around the house, wearing headphones at full volume just to drown out the sound of his brother’s voice, not coming back home for days on end, rather spending the night at yours or Mikey’s house.

He’s developed different coping mechanisms : talking to Mikey is a big help, though Mikey isn’t one for therapeutic advice, he’s still willing to lend a helping ear and listen to Haruchiyo rant on and on. It’s not much help though, only hearing responses like ‘ hm ’ , ‘ oh ’, and ‘ah’, maybe if Mikey has a little energy left in him, he’d nod occasionally, but that’s about as much help as you’d get.

His second coping mechanism is you, someone he’d befriended a couple months back and kept you by his side secretly ever since, using you as a personal chauffeur and a therapist, but more importantly a best friend. Someone who’d be there for him without judging him and his dirty secrets; someone who likes to be around him not because they’re scared or intimidated, but because they enjoy his presence.

He cannot be in the right state of mind when talking to his brother, not wanting to remember their interactions in the morning, so he relies on getting stoned or drunk to wipe his memory. It’s a potentially dangerous mechanism, but Sanzu enjoys the adrealine rush of trying something new, enjoys the out of body experiences, the fuzzy feelings, the wild imaginations and visions that make his world look colourful rather than monochromatic.

“Haru.” You call his name with that sweet voice of yours, one that makes his heart warm. “You can talk to me about anything, okay? I’m always gonna be here for you.”

He’s looking down at his lap, mouth twisted in a way he always does when he’s deep in thought. You can’t help but wonder just what’s going through that brain of his, knowing fully that up there is a mess of unorganised feelings and emotions he’d never been able to fully process.

“Haru. Is everything oka—”

“You know what I want?” He cuts you off, changing topics with a bright smile.

His decision to switch topics isn’t something that offends you, knowing that he takes time to fully open up and you’re willing to wait as long as he needs. “What do you want, Haru?”

“I want weed.”

“There’s no weed, wait. What are you doin—” He moves quickly, his lean body brushing past yours, balancing a hand on your lap for leverage as he reaches inside the glove compartment pulling out his stash. “What the hell! You stashed your crap in my car?!”

“Of course I did.” He cackles at the dumbfounded look on your face, moving to the backseat. “Where else would I put it?”

“Uh—I don’t know? Your room? Anywhere but my damn car! I got pulled over the other day. What if I had gotten caught and they searched my car?”

“Did you?” He shrugs half heartedly, opening the ziplock bag. Almost instantly the car smells of marijuana, your nose wrinkles as you try to process it.

“Well, no…but that’s not the point!”

“Shhhh,” he shushes you, taking his time to roll his blunt, all the while you’re glaring at him. “Stop pouting. You should be thanking me.”

“For what?”

“This.” He licks the joint to seal it, lifting it towards you like it’s his artistic masterpiece. The smile on his face screams child proud of their school project, diamond scars stretching cutely as his smile only widens. “It’s strong. Try it.”

“It better be.” You snatch it from his hands, holding it between your teeth as you manouevr yourself to the backseat to seat beside him.

His chin is heavy on your shoulder as he watches you light it, wanting to be as close to you as possible not only to get a whiff of that perfume he loves that you practically drown yourself in, but to see your initial reaction to the weed.

The smoke burns your throat before you could fully inhale, coughing violently whilst pounding on your chest to ease it. Haruchiyo grabs water from the front, tossing it to your lap as you erupt in a series of coughs. “What is that?”

“I dunno.” He eyes the joint between his two fingers, looking oddly fascinated by it. “I just heard it was strong.”

“No shit.” It hurts when you talk, still feeling the ghost of smoke searing your oesphagus.

His spare hand hooks onto your legs, and you yelp as he swings them over on his lap, slender fingers rubbing up and down your thigh as he smokes. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t wanna.” You shift upwards on the seats, sitting on his lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to rest your forehead against the side of his face and shoulder. The scent of his cologne is overpowered by the marjiuana, but it’s still visible, dipping your face between his neckline and sighing. “This one is too much.”

“Are my eyes red?” His jaw moves when he speaks, and it tickles as his smooth skin brushes against your cheek.

It pains you to move from your current position, his warmth and scent are soothing to you, but you shift back, turning the car lights on to see better. The corners of his eyes are red, and he’s struggling to keep them fully open.

“Yeah, they are.” The urge to brush his cheeks is tempting, and your fingers twitch and hesitate by your side.

“Hey hey, wanna see somethin’ cool?” When you nod, he shifts upwards, his hand grabbing to hold onto your waist to ground you before you slip off his lap.

The sudden contact had you stiffening, blood roaring in your ears as his strong hand held your side. You watch him perform a trick, his diaphragm contracting as he inhales, lips pursed as he exhales, several rings of smoke following suit. Your brows raise in surprise, ready to praise him when he sucks it all back in with one huge breath, the rings dismantling in the air.

He turns back to look at you, chin high in the air, eyes tinted red gleaming as he grins at you, cheerful and animated. You can’t help it, reaching out to cup his soft cheeks with one hand, tracing over the outline of his lips, the shape of his scars with your thumb.

It’s like he’s frozen stiff as your fingers feel up his face, and he blinks at you as you look at him with those soft eyes of yours. “You’re so cute, Haru.”

His eyes dilate; from the light in the car, or the strong weed you don’t know, can’t tell. What you can tell is that from his silence, his mind is running wild, thoughts bouncing across his brain from left to right, mirroring the way his eyes dart over your face, your lips, and the curve of your nose.

“So are you.” The words spill out from his lips faster than the blush creeps onto his cheeks. He looks away, embarrassed, clearing his throat before smoking from the joint again. “I learnt it from Ran. That useless lazy fucker is sometimes helpful.”

“Ran, huh?” Your fingers find themselves latched to the front strands of his hair tucked into a ponytail, twirling it on your fingertips. “He’s the tall one, right?”

He chuckles, short and amused, voice muffled from the joint between his lips. “All my friends are tall, ya know?”

“Well maybe if you let me around your friends, I’d be able to identify them.”

“You’ll live without ‘em,” he says, blowing smoke in your face, snorting when you cough and swat the smoke away, then try to hit the side of his face, only for him to catch your hand in time. “Your reflexes suck ass.”

You struggle to shift your hand from his grip, frowning at him. “I’m not a ninja.”

“I can teach you to be one.”

“You a sensei, now?”

“I’m anything and everything. Like Batman.”

He smiles when you laugh softly, the sound making him feel lightheaded, paired along with the weed flowing through his veins. “Batman is rich, though. You’re not.”

“I can steal money, all is good.” His hand, warm and hot, slides under the hem of your shirt, leaving a searing trail behind his movements that burns into your skin. “I’ll buy you anything once I get rich. Promise.”

He’s been subtly leaning closer as he speaks the whole time, but you don’t notice until his forehead brushes yours and you’re both staring at each other, daring the other to move closer. “ Anything? ”

Green eyes fall down to your lips, not even trying to look subtle. “Anything.”

Fuck, at this angle you look so pretty, staring down at him with those dreamy eyes of yours, looking at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. He always feels like that around you, another reason why he loves getting high around you. It forces him to be vulnerable around you, letting the feelings he’s been shovelling down refsurface.

Though it’s risky, and there’s nothing more he fears than rejection, he’s always been a risk taker. You make him feel good with your words, your presence, your voice, the silly moments you two share alone in his car, your room, his room.

Your lips are what he favours the most on your face, always glossy with whatever flavour lipbalm you wear that day, and he physically fights the urge to kiss them just to guess it. His eyes are drawn towards your lips like a magnet. The way you bite at them when you’re focused, chew on the skin when you’re nervous, lick them when they’re dry, he notices, and wonders how soft they truly are.

“Do…do you wanna kiss me?” Your question catches him off guard, brows knitting in confusion as he wonders if he’s been speaking his thoughts aloud this entire time, but in truth, he’s been making his intentions obvious as he’s been staring at nothing but your lips the entire time.

“Huh? Don’t be weird.” He instantly facepalms himself mentally, fighting the urge to turn back time to take back his words, but it’s too late when your brows rise, lips parting slightly in surprise before looking down at your lap with a slight frown.

“Oh, sorry. That was weird, wasn’t it?”

“It’s fine.” His heart stings in his chest, he can feel it clenching painfully leaving nothing but a hollow feeling in the depths of his stomach when he realises you’re upset. “Why’d you ask that anyway?”

Maybe he can shift the narrative, find out a way to spin the conversation back to kissing. He still has a chance. “Have you never kissed anyone before?”

“I have!” The pout is back on your face, but not from being sad; he can tell the difference, so he sighs in relief. But still…the way your lower lip juts out slightly has him fighting the urge to tug and bite at it. “I’m not a virgin, idiot.”

He doesn’t bother trying to hide the surprise on his face, and you notice. “What? It’s that hard to believe someone would fuck me? Am I that ugly or something?”

The effects of the weed start kicking in, now you feel yourself getting emotional over nothing.

“I never even said anything.”

“You didn’t need to. I’m not stupid, Haru.”

He flexes his jaw as he glares at you, trying to shovel his anger down. The argument is pointless, so he stays silent, bringing the blunt back to his lips. He inhales it for longer this time, and it can’t possibly be healthy for his lungs, but he doesn’t care.

“What time is it?” you ask, and his hand squeezes your waist tighter, stopping you from squirming from his lap.

“Why do you need the time?”

“Because I gotta get going at seven.”

“...why ?”

“Because…” you chirp, shifting to face him with a huge smile on your face, “I’ve got a date.”

When you bite down on your lip, he can’t even be bothered to look down at it, or notice it. It’s silent in the car as you wait for Haru to be your best friend/wingman that hypes you, ask you for his name, height, age, job, personality, whatever. But he’s silent, face unreadable, and the tension in the car rises thick when he continues to stay silent; your excitement fades along with your smile.

He knows he’s been silent for too long, now everything is awkward, but he can’t find the right words to say. Congratulations? It’s just a date, what do you expect him to do? Find you wedding rings?

His brain isn’t co-operating either, not in the right state of mind to process his words like a filter, so he says nothing before he says something he’ll regret.

“...Anyway,” you have to choke your words out, refusing to show your slight embarrassment, “hurry up and get high, so I can leave and get laid.”

“I am high.”

“Then I can leave.”

“No, you can’t.” He glares back when you glare at him, but he can’t find it in himself to control himself any longer. Maybe it was a bad idea to get high in a confided space with you, on his lap, with your face so close to his.

“Why can’t I?”

“...’cause he’s a loser, and you don’t wanna get laid by a loser.”

You snort. “He’s the only loser available, so maybe I do want to.”

“What if…there’s another loser available?” He goes stiff and still when your eyes flick up to his face, looking concentrated at him eye to eye as if you were trying to decipher his words. “Me. I’m the loser.”

“You?” He simply nods and you do the opposite and shake your head. “You’re not a loser.”

“Yeah, I am.” You shift on his lap when he shrugs, leaning his head back against the headrest, and you watch as smoke leaves his lips as he exhales.

His senses are intensified with the drugs, your fingers tickling their way up his shoulders, along his neck, to behind his head, lacing them between his soft hair. Leaning down, you hold his face in your hands and kiss him.

The moment your lips touch his, he feels like the world paused, and he’s dying to find whoever has control over the remote of his life so they could press play and he could embrace you like he deserves. Or, maybe he’s dying, and whoever is up there allows him to imagine just one night with you before he fades into nothing.

It’s real, all real. The tender slide of your lips against his are real, the sensation of his teeth sinking into your soft plump lips, biting, and nibbling at it is real, the gentle moans he eagerly draws from your lips when his tongue swipes against yours, wet, messy and sloppy is real.

“Fuck—” you whisper along the swell of his lips, pulling away to examine his face.

He looks gone, shallow half-lidded eyes looking up at you with blown wide pupils, mouth half open as if he’s forgotten how to close it.

“Haru, you there?” Your knuckle traces along the side of his face, stopping under his chin, lifting it to look up at you.

“Yeah yeah, ‘m here.”

Your giggle echoes in his ears, and he’s never been harder in his life, cock pressing uncomfortably tight against his pants. “Good, because you look wasted right now.”

“Just, fuck— stop talkin’. C’mere.” He pulls you down for a kiss with a hand at the back of your head, sloppily working his mouth against yours. He tastes like weed, the smell strong but it doesn’t stop you from licking into his mouth, desperate to drive the strong taste away and replace it.

Big, strong hands wander the length of your back, slipping under your shirt, cold hands hugging you tight, tight to his body that you can’t help but arch into him.

A sound that comes from the inside of the house has you pulling away, turning to face the window, and he trails his lips down the length of your neck. His nose pokes into the flesh of your neck as he sucks deep, red hickeys onto the plane of your neck, breathing heavily as he savours the feeling of your soft feeling of your skin.

He could get used to this; the weed makes him feel like your skin is ten times softer, or maybe that’s how it generally feels and you’re just perfect, so soft everywhere.

“Tak—take this off.” The words are lost to your neck as he sucks along the column of your throat, rogue hands wandering along your chest, up your shirt, kneading your tits through your bra.

“Okay, okay, wait —” When you pull backwards, he follows, leaning up from the seat, lips attached to your neck by the hip. “Haru. If you want to see me naked, you’re gonna have to let me remove my clothes.”

“Just…wait a min’ longer…” He sucks harder, and you shudder as shivers race down your body at the feeling of his teeth nibbling at the sensitive part of your neck. When he’s satisfied, he pulls away, admiring his handiwork. “You look so sexy like this, fuck.” He’s tugging your shirt off, throwing it behind you, uncaring of where it lands.

Warm hands roam your stomach, your sides, sliding up further to wrap around your throat. “So beautiful ‘n sexy, just for me.”

“You already said sexy.” He hums absentmindedly, obviously not paying attention if the way he’s squeezing the fat of your breasts were any indication.

“You’re sexy times two.” He grins up at you before pulling your bra cup down, and you inhale sharply when it brushes down your nipple. “No, no actually. Times infinity.”

You flush hot at his words, especially when his lips brush against your ears, biting down against the shell. He’s sweating from the heat in the car plus the heat from both your panting bodies.

“Don’t you think we should—ah fuck—” He tugs you upwards on his lap, your clothed cunt grinding against his hard cock, hands curling into fists behind his neck.

“We should what?” His musical chuckle vibrates along your ear, sending cold shivers down your spine, forcing you to arch to chase the feeling away. You squeal when he bites down along your ear once more, smirkingpleasantly at the soft, squishy press of your tits against his chest.

“We should go to your room. I mean there’s not much room in here.” Your neck aches from the angle you’re sitting at, neck bent at an awkward angle to avoid hitting the roof of the car.

There’s not enough space in this crammed car to fit yourself comfortably. Haru, on the other hand, is more than comfortable, seated on the seats like a king that’s blessed the majestic view of your half naked body atop of his.

“I got an idea,” he says, not giving you a moment to wonder what he’s thinking before he’s lifting you from his lap, plopping you onto the seats. Your forearm darts quickly to cover your chest when he pops the car door open, lips pressed together tightly as he walks to the front seat, yanks the door open without a care and readjusts the seats back, pushing it till there’s enough room between the wheel. “This space big enough for ya?”

You tilt your head past the seat, surveying the space with a keen eye. There’s enough room for you to kneel down and take his cock in your mouth without a fuss or a struggle. A bed sounds nicer though, the thought of sinking into his soft mattress as he fucks you crosses your mind, but it’s overpowered when you remember his siblings are home and you’d rather die than let them hear you.

“Seems good,” you shrug, sliding quickly out the car; the cold air from the garage AC hits you smack in the chest, hardening your nipples momentarily.

“Ah, ah wait.” Haru pulls you back before you could climb on top of him. The cute way your tilt your head at him, confused, makes his heart do a triple beat for a moment. “I wanna try somethin’.”

“Okay…”

It’s stressful the way he’s manouevring you along the seat, pressing your back into the front seat as he shifts to kneel between your legs. “Hold your legs up for me.”

You swallow hard, unable to taste your saliva with how fast your nerves are racing. Doing as he said, you bring your hands under your thighs, holding them up as he tugs your pants down, struggling to get them past your bent knees, glaring at you when you choke on your laugh, muttering out a quick apology.

“Don’t apologise now. You’ll be beggin’ for it later, trust me.”

His confidence is over the roof right now, evident in his strong posture, shoulders back as he leans forward, swiping a finger along your folds with ease.

“You’re really wet.” Your slick catches on the tip of his finger, and you want to hide your face between your hands when his pink tongue darts out to lick at it.

“Could you maybe not do that? It’s awkward…”

He hums when he looks at you; now it’s his turn to tilt his head at you. “How else am I supposed to eat you out then?” His hands press themselves between yours under your thighs, and your back aches from almost sliding down the seat in this awkward position. “You want me to skip the prep? Fuck you into the seat right now?”

“I mean—” It sounds like a good idea, but then you remember the length and thickness of his cock through his pants and swallow excessively. “Prep please.”

He smiles at you, the car light reflecting off the side of his face as he dips his face closer, digging his fingers into the swell of your thighs, nose pressed against your folds and sniffs so hard it’s like a vacuum, your clit tingles with the need to have his tongue in you.

“This gonna sound so weird, but I really don’t give a fuck but…” he moans as he licks along your slit, a long, wet stripe from the bottom to the top, “you taste so good, fuck—”

“Haru stop…” He seals his lips around your clit, fingernails digging into your thighs as he sucks hard, numbing your clit with the continous flicks of his tongue moving at rapid speed. “Oh my go—”

Your hands fight the urge to fly to his hair, pull him closer to grind his nose against your stubborn clit, but you remember his instructions, to keep your hands on your thighs, keep you spread open for him.

He’s devouring your pussy like a starved individual, flicking his tongue rapidly, slurping the wetness that drips from your puffy folds. You try to close your legs, try to squirm away from the ticklish feeling of his wet tongue trying to squeeze its way through your cunt, but it’s intoxicating, and overwhelming, especially when his finger tickles against your hole.

It’s fascinating watching it go in and out, and Haru dreads pulling his mouth away from your cunt but he needs to watch your face as his finger slides knuckle deep inside you. His bloodshot eyes twinkle as he watches your slick coat the length of his finger, translucent liquid dripping down his knuckles to the seat.

“You always get this wet?”

“I don’t know…” It’s not often you finger yourself, so the experience is first hand. You’re also partially amazed that your body managed to produce this much slick from a single finger. “Wait, wait, right there. That feels so good—”

“Here?” His finger curls inside you, itching the side of that spongy spot.

“No, no—not there, wait—” Your hips shift to the side a little, then it’s like something switches inside you, hands shaking against your thighs as he spreads you out with a second finger, applying pressure to that spot that has your moans increasing in pitch.

His cock twitches with the need to replace his fingers, sink himself deep inside you, watch your eyes cross as you melt in pleasure. He leans forward, slurping, sucking along the sensitive hood of your clit.

Your body feels numb, voice coming out as breathy pants as you tilt your head back to hit the headrest, giving into the warm, fuzzy feeling deep inside your abdomdem as he fingers you to your climax.

He knows that you're close when your walls cling and squeeze his fingers tight, barely giving him enough room to move them. His own tongue slithers through your folds, lapping up the leftover slick. The taste of you is better than he’d expected, and he thinks he could live between your legs for the rest of his life.

There’s a swell of pride swirling through his chest when he feels you lose yourself on his fingers and tongue, your teeth pressing into your bottom lip painfully as you jolt and sit up from the effects of your orgasm. Your hands forget holding your thighs up, gripping onto his hair tied up loosely in a ponytail and tug him forward, craving the warmth of his mouth sealed around your clit as your world comes tumbling down.

It takes a couple moments for you to get yourself together, still holding painfully onto his hair before letting go. He presses ticklish kisses along your thighs, licking at the wetness spread along them.

“That was—” You swallow, trying to find the words since your brain isn’t co-operating. “That was so good.”

You look all cute when flustered, face heated and flushed, your pretty lips left open as you pant heavily, desperately trying to catch your breath.

“Think I found my new addiction.” He grins up at you, big hands squeezing the fat of your thighs as he kneels up between your legs, wrapping them around his waist and leans in for a kiss.

Your hands cup his cheeks, holding him close to you as he licks into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue, giving you a moment to gather your nerves because you’re going to need it.

“I’m ready,” you mumble into his mouth, feeling the shiver that races down his spine.

“Bet, okay. Hold on.” He draws back, big hands spreading your thighs apart.

You look at him through your lashes as he sheds his shirt, tossing it behind you. His body is lean, capacious, abs faint but visible and your mouth waters, hand flying out to run down his stomach. Your touch is so light, his muscles flinching away from the ticklish feeling. Everything you do to him makes him feel so good.

He grips both your hands, pinning them above the headrest. “Keep ‘em there,” he says, unbuckling his belt, sliding his pants down to his knees. He grabs a condom from his back pocket, ignoring your humourless stare.

“You planned this?” You gesture at the condoms with your head.

“Better be safe than sorry.” He bites the end of the wrapper, pulling the condom out, rolling it slowly down his shaft.

Your eyeroll is cut short when the tip of his cock angles itself at your entrance. He can see the way you’re dripping, the slick smeared along your thighs.

Warmth engulfs the head of his cock as he slowly pushes it in you, and he hisses, biting his lip to stop himself from thinking how good you feel, how tight you’re going to squeeze his cock, how he’s going to cum inside you—

You’re panting, the tip of his cock stretching you out, almost screaming when it pushes past, the thick head making you dizzy it carves a path inside you. “Ah, Haru that—” He pushes deeper, and his eyes roll back when you clench around him.

Haru swears, gripping onto the base of his cock, squeezing it to stop himself from cumming too quickly, pushing through the urge to shove the rest of his length inside you. He stills halfway, needing to take a moment to compose himself, his mind fuzzy and warm, and he feels lightheaded.

He has to close his eyes, knowing if he looks down, seeing his cock between your legs, halfway inside you, he’d cum in an instant.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to wait—I can take it,” you pant, hips desperately trying to rut forward. “Please…”

He takes a moment to swallow, groaning lowly, as he pushes the rest of his cock inside you, trying to ignore the tight suction of your walls. The moment he bottoms out, he’s falling forward, dipping his face between your neck and shoulder and moans, the sound desperate and needy, causing your pussy to clench and quiver around him.

You wrap your legs around his waist, arms wrapping around his head as you hold him closely, enjoying the feeling of his breath tickling your shoulders. “You okay?”

It’s funny how you’re asking him this instead of the other way round, and a part of you feels pride in the fact you could make someone this desperate and needy without effort.

“I’m good…it’s just…fuck , you’re so tight.” He forces himself to inhale deeply, eyes squeezing shut painfully to compose himself. He shivers at the feeling of your nails raking up and down his hair, scratching at his scalp addictvely. “You’re good though, right? It doesn’t hurt?”

You shake your head, smiling softly at him. “Nah. The seats a little uncomfortable but…that’s about it. You can move, Haru.”

“It’s uncomfy? Oh…” You almost want to cry when he pulls out, but he’s lifting you from the seat, switching your positions, slotting you back down on his lap.

“You want me to ride you?”

He nods, biting his lip when you grab onto his cock, seating yourself down on his cock.

“Oh my god—” You feel so full, his thick cock stretches your walls, whimpering beside his ear when he rolls his hips sensually, pressing his cock deeper inside you.

“ Holy shit , you’re so tight.” Your pussy drives him into a frenzy, eyes threatening to roll back at the way your cunt squeezes him so tight, clinging to every inch of him.

He swears, voice low, sounding wrecked as you begin riding him a little faster, slowly lifting your hips up and down. The obscene squelch of your pussy grasping pathetically around his thick shaft has him biting his lip so hard he might draw blood.

“ Haru.” You wail his name, collapsing onto his chest, shuddering when his hands, rough and warm, grab onto your hips to slow your pace down.

“Yeah?” His voice is quiet, like a whisper, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah? What’s wrong?”

“Lemme move—” You trail your lips down his neck in an attempt to soften him, waiting for him to let go of you so you can move faster. There’s a nudging spot inside you, an itch that needs to be scratched. Your attempt to move is shut down again, frustration building up and up the longer you feel his cock twitch inside you. “Haru please…”

“If I let go, you gotta promise to take it slow.”

“But I wanna make you feel good.” You whisper along his lips, tugging at it with your teeth. He groans into your mouth, and shifts for a moment, his cock follows suit, twitching desperately for some friction. “Wait, do that again.”

“This?” He rolls his hips upwards, rolls your hips backwards and forwards, and you drip a little wetter down his leg, wetting his thighs.

“Yes. Do it again.”

He starts a steady pace, steady enough for you to feel the way he’s deliberately aiming at that spot in you that makes you squirm around.

“I’m so close.” He says beside your ear, his voice lingering in your head, clouded by the feeling of his hands roaming your back, scratching at it with every bounce you give him.

“Me…me too.”

He’s tense, gritting his teeth when you clench around him. You shift backwards, unslinking your hands from around his neck to grab at his knees, using them as leverage to support yourself as you roll your hips in circles.

He can feel the energy buzzing between you both, can feel the tingling sensation on the edge of his fingertips, the drugs running through his veins has the regular feeling of sex intensifieid, and he swears he can feel every inch of you.

Everything is so hot right now, the temperature in the car, the feel of your hands braced against his knees, the way your nails dig into the bone, the way your tits bounce in his face as you fuck yourself on his cock.

You clench when you cum, and he leans forward suddenly, grabbing your hips to lift you up, slamming you back down with a loud moan, hips jerking as he cums inside you.

You’re shaking, trembling at the feeling of his cum spurting inside you, the wet sensation is ticklish, cold shivers running down your spine.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles again, holding you down to feel your greedy walls sucking him in further. “Holy fuck, I could stay here forever.”

“I need a shower.” You say once you come back to your senses, groaning softly when you lift yourself up and off his cock, the wet squelch following after echoes throughout the car.

“That’s so hot.” He mutters, eyes wide with fascincation as he reaches out to thumb at your clit, enjoying the way you shiver and let out a soft moan as he rubs it in circles. “Holy shit that’s so hot. You’re so hot.”

“I kno—” It’s distracting when you can feel his cum dripping out from you slowly making you lose your train of thought , the drip of it is anticipating until it forms a small pool between both of your bodies. “I know.”

“You hesitated.”

“I didn’t.”

He removes his thumb, wiping the wetness from it along his tongue, tasting you, and you feel your face flush at the action, burning hot when looks up at you, the corners of his mouth dragging up slowly. “You did.”

“Shut up.”

Sanzu’s reaching towards the backseat for his stash, and you laugh at how his arm barely reaches it, flailing it uselessly around the air.

“You’re not gonna reach it, Haru.”

“Watch me.”

He grunts and groans like he’s lifting heavy bricks, and you start to take pity on him. “Dude, just give up.”

“No.”

If there’s one thing about Sanzu it’s that he’s determined, but not in the way you think. It’s more the stubborn version, always trying to do the impossible, ignoring you when you tell him it’s not possible, then sulks when he fails.

He clicks his tongue, shifting you down on his lap so he has more room and this time successfully grabs at it. “Told you. Always hatin’ on me.”

You giggle, faint and shrill, leaning forward to rest your head against his shoulder, watching him dug through the contents of the bag, his slender, skilled fingers professionally rolling another blunt.

It’s silent in the car again, you two both bask in each other’s presence. Both of you refusing to discuss what happened earlier, not sure if those sudden feelings you felt were because of the weed or if there’s something else deep inside, a false truth you’ve refused to make terms with, or shoved them aside for another unknown reason unbeknownst to you.

Your head is racing with thoughts, pictures of Haru wondering where you suddenly felt these emotions towards him came from. The thought of sharing him with anyone else angers you, but it shouldn’t because you’re both friends. The thought of him laying in a car with another girl on top of him angers you, makes you feel bitter and resentment towards this imaginary woman your brain fabricated inside your head.

It’s like your body is working against you.

Stupid weed.

Haru’s gone for the second time today, and for the first time in what felt like ten minutes—in actuality it was only three—you look up at him. He looks like he’s falling asleep, those chubby cheeks of his so promising, so soft, you can’t help but shift upwards, pressing soft kisses against them.

It should be weird to him that he doesn’t question your sudden out of character movements, but then again you both did just have sex not longer than five minutes ago.

His phone rings at the backseat, pulling you away from his neck where you were sucking fresh purple hickeys onto and he groans when your ass brushes aginst his cock. It’s been slightly hard the entire time, still not over his recent orgasm, but not strong enough to maintain itself to stand tall.

“What’re you doin’?” You freeze as your hand hovers over his phone.

“Your phone’s been ringing non-stop. It’s irritating.” The caller ID is Ran, and part of you wants to answer it so you can know what he looks like. It’s been nudging at your brain the entire time, trying to figure out which one of his friends is who, trying to put the pieces of the faceless group of boys together to solve the puzzle.

“Just ignore it—okay then.” You answer the phone away, turning the camera away from your naked body onto Sanzu’s face. You squirm around, trying to find where Sanzu threw your bra and shirt as the two engage in small talk.

“What do you want?”

Ran snorts on the other end, his voice deep, familiar, and husky. “Don’t needa get all pissy, you big baby. Takeomi wants to know where you are.”

“What the fuck does that have to do wit’ me?”

“Call him, or somethin’. I don’t fuckin’ know?”

Haru sniffs, nose wrinkling when the smoke he blows out invades his nostrils. “Tell him I’m busy.”

“Being a fuckin’ junkie?” Ran snorts, petty and bitterly, voice now laced in sarcasm. “So productive.”

Haruchiyo rolls his eyes at the same time you put your shirt back on, reaching under your shirt to fix the straps of your bra. “I’m doing more than getting high, you slug. I’m with my friend.”

You had tuned out the conversation from the beginning, your main priority being your clothes, but at the mention of ‘friend’, he jostles his leg, catching your attention. “Say hello.”

“Uh…hello?”

“Oh? Who might you be?”

“I’m—” Haruchiyo ends the call before you could even get the first letter of your name out. “What the hell?”

He lazily shrugs, tossing his phone into the backseat without a care. It hits the edge of the seat, before hitting the floor with a mild smack. Two noble fingers grasp at your chin, redirecting your gaze from his probably broken phone to his face.

The kiss is passionate, and long, his wet slide of his tongue laving itself inside your mouth. Your face grows hot when his lips wrap around the length of your tongue, sucking the moisture from it, replacing it with his own. It’s messy but you don’t care, happily drinking the mixed saliva from his mouth.

His sharp teeth sink into your lips, stopping you from pulling away, kissing you with fervour as his heavy head spins, and bright flashes of colour appears behind his closed eyes.

“I’m so hungry,” he gasps out when he finally pulls away, wiping the saliva from his mouth with his forearm, giving you back the breath he stole from your lungs with that kiss.

“You want me to drive you to McDonalds?”

He grins up at you, that stupid adorable look on his face that has your heart warming in your chest. “Is this your way of asking me out on a date?”

“It’s my way of forcing some food down your throat before you die of starvation.”

“What if I was thirsty instead?”

“McDonalds sells drinks, dumbass.”

“ Or… ” He places his hands on your hips, pulling you forward on his lap. You yelp at the motion, hands flying to the headrest behind him to stabilise yourself.

What he’s insinuating is lost to you for a moment, only becoming obvious when his hand snakes down to your pussy, thumb nudging insistently at your clit. His eyes dip down to your chest, your nipples still hard and poking through the thin fabric of your shirt, then drags them back up to your face and smiles.

“You’re so horny.” Your eyeroll is fabricated and fake, part of you deep down wants it too.

“You like it though.” It’s true, and he knows it too. The defeated look on your face is all he needs to know when he moves to open the car door, nodding his head outside. “Let’s go to my room now.”

#—tr </3 #sanzu x reader #sanzu haruchiyo x you #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #tokrev sanzu #tr x reader #tokrev #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers smut #sanzu smut #sanzu haruchiyo smut #haruchiyo sanzu x reader #featuring ran #haitani ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #ran x reader

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whoresidentevil · 10 months ago

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Leon and Your Hair

a/n: I haven't written in years so this is very experimental 💀 I'm open to constructive feedback!

Also, I wrote this with the reader having type 4 hair in mind but I tried to make it as texture-inclusive as possible :)

General:

Leon himself takes pride in his hair and appearance in general which is one of many ways you guys relate to each other.

I imagine your shared bathroom would be full of hair products and tools more than anything else, though most of it is yours.

Leon isn't ignorant, he knew how important hair is to your culture way before you got together. Because of this, he respects how much effort your maintenance requires.

RE2:

This man 100% uses all your stuff every time he comes over. You start wondering if these containers have a hole at the bottom of them or something. Eventually, Leon just starts buying the shampoo/conditioner combo you use for himself at home because it's doing wonders for his hair. Plus the scent reminds him of you, it's a win-win.

Leon had nice hair before, but your presence in his life introduces him to products like deep conditioner, hair oils, etc that just elevate it further.

When you get your hair braided or styled Leon always wants to be the first person to see it! He even goes out of his way to pick you up from the salon so he can shower you with compliments right after.

If he has time I can see Leon sitting in the salon with you for however many hours it takes the stylists to be done. He sits there flipping through the hair magazines he took from the waiting area, turning the pages over to you every couple of minutes. "Babe, you should try this next time." with the most genuine smile on his face. Even if it was some atrocious 90's editorial style, you smile and nod at every single one.

RE4:

Once Leon starts going on long missions he's unable to be your personal chauffeur 24/7, so he'd definitely want you to text him pictures every time you get your hair done. He always sets them as his phone wallpaper to have an updated photo of you everywhere he goes.

During his training I doubt he'd have the luxury of technology though, instead opting to get a Polaroid of you every now and then in the mail. He always makes sure to compliment you on something in the letters he sends back and keeps the latest Polaroid somewhere in his pockets while the older ones are tacked to his wall. (poor guy misses you so much)

When he's home with you he realizes how much he missed your silk pillowcases and bed sheets. He didn't think they were actually helping his hair and skin until he had to sleep in crazy locations during training/missions and noticed the difference. he silently thanks you for that.

RE6/ID/DI:

After so many years of being together, Leon knows about all your hair preferences, favorite styles, and even things he hasn't seen you in yet. (our boy is educated 👏🏾).

Sometimes you ask him to help pick what you'll do with your hair next which either ends with him saying "You look beautiful no matter what" or showing you very specific photos he found on Google.

It's been years since you've paid for your own hair because Leon insists on taking care of that for you. It doesn't matter how much it costs, he has no problem with it as long as you are happy.

He'd go into the beauty supply store with you and know exactly where to go and what to get, even reminding you not to forget some things along the way.

Leon has a huge soft spot for your natural hair, whatever texture it may be he's whipped for it. Loves being able to touch your hair (with permission) and probably asks to help you on wash days so he has an excuse to do so.

speaking of which, I can see wash days becoming an intimate thing for you two as you get older. He'd help you shampoo in the shower as a form of affection, or you're sitting in his lap while he helps you detangle when your arms get tired.

If you have locs I can see Leon looking up a tutorial on how to do retwists to help you out. Even if you tell him time and time again that you'd rather have your loctician do it he insists you give him a chance. Turns out he's not half bad at it and you let him do it a few times a year.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #black reader #leon s kennedy #resident evil #fanfic #x reader #x black reader #leon x black reader

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shoyoist · 2 years ago

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𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 : mikage reo.

if there's one thing reo loves doing for you, the one and only love of his entire life, it's using all his money and all his privilege to spoil you silly. for someone so rich and so educated and so esteemed, reo is so incredibly rogueish and sweet. and he saves most of it for you.

he seems to know exactly what you need when you're having a bad day. he surprises you by popping up at your door with flowers and your favourite snacks, often takes you out on late night rides in his car, calls you by the sappiest petnames like 'bunny', 'angelface' and 'sweetie-pie'. oh, and his camera roll is full of dumb pictures he's taken of you. he refuses to delete any of them, because you're just too cute in each one of them.

and he's so attentive, too! always asks you if you're okay or if you're enjoying yourself, and somehow always knows when you're in need of a ride. his chauffeur is your best friend at this point. and he makes time off his busy schedule to personally pick you up from work every day, and brings you both an umbrella and a raincoat when it's raining.

and oh, he loves taking you out on the fanciest and most lavish of dinner dates. the two of you take turns — you take him out on a little picnic to a park, or you introduce him to the delights of hopping between one street-food stall to the other for an entire evening, and the next night he'll introduce you to a fancy restaurant that's even richer than the ones he took you to before.

you tell him tonight, that you feel out of place surrounded by all these filthy rich people, getting served dinner on a set that looks like it costs more than all the furniture in your bedroom combined — but reo assures you that you're perfectly fine.

because you're so fucking beautiful, seated across from him in the pretty satin number he'd bought for you specially for tonight, so cute as you look around awe-struck at the chandeliers hanging above, your lips painted softly to match the colour of your dress, your eyes bright and your hair lovely — reo thinks you look like royalty.

and a restaurant like this one isn't exactly the place for public displays of affection — but reo wants to slide into your booth, press you against the new-leather seat and kiss you senseless.

he pulls himself together though, leaning on his fist and giving you that slow, wide smile of his. "how's it here, bunny?" he asks. "you like this place better than the last?"

"how am i supposed to choose?" you laugh, taking a sip from the drink you've been served. "it's beautiful here, and everything is so — so expensive looking, and the drink is great!"

your eyes soften as they meet reo's, and he thinks he'll melt if he holds your gaze for too long. "thank you for bringing me here." you say, and he can't hold himself back from stretching across the table to give you a little kiss. the inside of your mouth tastes sweet, and he so badly wants to have some more. but that can be saved for later.

right now, he has to admire you. he has to watch how the gentle lighting plays over your skin, how the dress accentuates all your curves and lines, how you close your eyes to enjoy your drink. you're so pretty, reo feels overwhelmed.

the date isn't even over yet, and he's already thinking of where to take you next.

you look up, see him watching you with such a loving look in his twilight eyes, and when your gaze flutters away, your cheeks warm and your lips twitching in a shy little smile, he thinks he could empty out all that he's worth to take you out like this every night and treat you like the royalty that you are to him, just to see you smile like that again and again and again.

he'll never get enough of you. and he hopes desperately that you will never get enough of him, either. a lifetime of you and him together, always in love and always wanting more, more, more — more time spent together, more kisses to eachother's lips, more love poured into your hearts. reo wants that so bad.

he sits there and continues to watch you, wondering if tonight is the night where he'll finally man up and present to you the ring he's been keeping in his pocket for the last two weeks.

maybe. maybe not. he's not entirely sure yet.

the second time you catch him staring, you're more prepared. tucking a stray curl of hair behind you ear, you give him a teasing smirk. “something on your mind, baby?”

and reo feels the way his face colours and heats up, even as he smirks back. “just admiring my pretty bunny. why?”

you laugh, the sound of it like music in his ear, and fuck. you make him so nervous. maybe he'll be keeping the ring in his pocket for another two weeks.

yeah. he swallows, reaches for his own drink and takes a sip from it, never breaking eye contact with you. he'll do it later. you're going to be around for that, no matter how long it takes — aren't you?

“sweetheart,” he grins, eyes sparking with mischief. “do ya love me?”

“of course i do, reo.” you respond seriously, and it warms his heart. you always take that question so seriously. “i love you so much. it’s why i've been tolerating your ass for years now.” he rolls his eyes towards the end of that sentence, and it makes you giggle — but the next sip of your drink was barely down your throat, and it makes you choke.

shit, shit—

reo nearly spills his own drink as he leaps out of his seat and rushes to your side, clapping your back for you and offering you a napkin, shielding your frame from the rest of the room as you sputter into the napkin, giggling even as you're choking and your face is reddening with stress.

“what's so funny?” reo mutters, amusement laced in his voice as he rubs your back and offers you the glass of water a waiter brings for you. you drink from it and cough again, giggling and trying to tell him that he's such a worrywart — and when you finally pull yourself together, you smile at him and say, “you know, you're such a keeper.”

he ignores the feeling of the ring box digging into his hip as he straightens up and kisses your forehead. “what's that mean, huh?”

“hmph.” reo gives you a playful frown, reclaiming his seat across from you and adjusting the lapels of his jacket. “so does that mean you'd say yes if i asked you to marry me, mm?”

“it means you're so caring and sweet to me.” you muse, wiping your mouth with the napkin and setting it down. your lipstick is now faded, and reo makes a note to himself to help you with it once you're both back in the car, so you can mark up this dress shirt of his, too — the way you've marked up every shirt he's ever worn on a dinner date with you. it's a tradition, at this point.

you carry on, unaware of his musings. “you're so gentle and loving — husband material. look how worried you got just cause i choked on some wine!”

“yeah.” your answer is so quick, it stuns him. it's your turn to offer him a mischievous smile. “so?”

fuck, fuck, fuck — he's too nervous. he can't do it tonight. not tonight. so instead of pulling out that ring and getting on one knee for you, reo smiles back and gives you a wink. “so, bunny, i hope you'll refrain from choking on your wine again and keep yourself alive for the near future.”

and when he sees the way your eyes widen as the meaning of his words sink in, the way your shoulders lift and your lips part in a little gasp — reo is sure that despite how nervous he is about this matter, his adoration and passion for you is soon going to overturn his anxiety.

he'll be putting that ring on you soon enough. and then you'll be his precious lover, all for him to spoil silly and wake up next to every morning, forever and ever.

note: i'll be honest — if this makes no sense it's because this is just me rambling about how very deep reo's love runs. how affectionate and passionate he is. how badly he wants to be someone's number 1. how badly he wants to have someone for himself. yeah.

rbs & feedback are highly appreciated! and of course, feel free to send me an ask if you'd like to chat<3 i am very starved of interaction :P

#₊˚ପ⊹ REKHA™.#₊˚ପ⊹ IMERA.#blue lock fluff #reo fluff #mikage reo fluff #reo x reader #blue lock x reader #mikage reo x reader #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #blue lock headcanons #reo headcanons #blue lock drabbles #reo drabbles

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aloneinthehellfire · 2 years ago

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Chapter One: The Day It Rained Fire

Gates Of Hell Masterlist

Word Count: 4576

Warnings: swearing, mutual bullying (?), mentions of death, blood, violence, gore

[A/N: my sweet baby angel of a project (she calls it and it's gonna be her most gore-driven, terrifying attempt yet), i've been working on this for a little while now and I'm so excited to finally share it with you!! a brand new story, no script to follow, i'm scared.]

The Day It Rained Fire

Steve couldn’t believe it.

One minute he was minding his business, trying to catch up with his rapidly plummeting grades in time for the finals, and the next he was promised detention after ‘cheating’ in class.

The shit-eating grin Tommy gave him was enough to make Steve’s fists curl. He wouldn’t do anything; Steve never threw the first punch.

The boy had caught his attention with a balled up piece of paper. He was going to try and ignore him first, focus on the class. But Tommy started to hiss at him, and Steve knew if he delayed it any longer Tommy would be making a scene.

He made a comment that Steve didn’t hear, making him lean closer. The clock was ticking loudly, students scribbling down their pop quiz answers in silence, their teacher’s head stuffed into a book. His action cost him when Tommy’s hand shot straight up, alerting the eyes of their superior.

‘Harrington’s tryna copy my answers’ was what he had said. And Mr Holloway wasn’t a man you could reason with. He was given a one-way ticket to detention, much to the amusement of a boy he mistook for a friend.

So here he was, cursing the last bell and trudging his way back to Mr Holloway’s classroom, praying it would be over in time for Steve to get Dustin to the arcade. He didn’t know why he became the boy’s personal chauffeur yet part of him enjoyed it. But Jesus, if he was late he’d never hear the end of it.

Pushing open the door, he immediately gains his teacher’s attention, the man nodding to all the empty chairs in front of him. All but one.

“Oh, great.” You roll your eyes, returning your gaze back to your notebook as he sarcastically grins.

“Shoot me now.” Steve grumbles as he slips into his seat, just a desk away from you.

“Quiet, please.” Your warden ordered, his glasses propped on the edge of his nose. “You’ll both be here for an hour. I expect you to complete any outstanding work in this time. If you do not have any, I will task you with some. No talking, no leaving. Anyone not respecting my terms will-”

“Have an extra ten minutes added to our time for every violation, yeah, yeah, I know.” You interrupt, waving your pen in the air. “Can I start this essay now so I can get home before dinner?”

“Always a pleasure, Miss Hopper.” He sighs, returning to his desk and flipping through papers.

You catch Steve staring at you inquisitively, scrunching up your face. “Stop staring.”

He simply raises his hands, reaching into his bag and setting up his desk. As soon as the lid from his pen was popped, he started scribbling down notes from his History guide book.

“Huh.” You sound after a while and he raises his head, frowning.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You say, striking your paper with a period to mark the end of your sentence. “Just didn’t know you could write.”

Biting his tongue, he tries to ignore your irritating nature, focus back on his lined paper.

Neither of you were exactly sure when it had started. The disgusted glances, annoyed groans, petty feuds. You had both been friends in middle school, kind of. In a way, you simply tolerated eachother, friendly smiles when you passed eachother in town, or laughing at eachother’s jokes when you were grouped with mutual friends. It had all been fine.

Then something changed in high school. You both did. And it had brought an unnecessary rivalry between you both, making it near impossible to sit quietly in a room together. You’d roll your eyes anytime he opened his mouth, he’d yawn whenever you were presenting in class. Little by little it got worse, until you were both trying to publicly humiliate eachother. The last time had earned you both a threat for expulsion, and you had quickly decided to step away from one another. From irritation, to sabotage, to avoidance, no one in the school has ever mistook you for friends.

And now, this was the first time in a long time you had ever shared the same space alone. And you were both hating every second.

“Hm.” Steve sounded after a while and you set down your pencil, glancing his direction. “Sorry. Just realised I should’ve knocked.”

“What?” You scrunch your face in confusion and he smirks.

“I mean, you’re in here so much, you must live here, right?”

Your face drops into utter annoyance, ready to reply when Mr Holloway clears his throat.

“What about ‘no talking’ do you not understand?” He asks, voice at a normal volume. He sounded tired, if anything.

“I want a new classroom.” You announce, and he raises his brows.

“We don’t have any other staff to oversee your detention.”

“Then I want my hour to start after his.” You suggest and Mr Holloway removes his glasses, rubbing either side of his nose bridge. The silver band he wore on his left hand glinted against the light.

“Miss-”

“Or, you know what,” You continue, smiling at Steve. “I’m feeling so charitable today, how about I take his hour and add it onto mine.”

“That’s-” Mr Holloway starts, but Steve scoffs.

“Jesus, you are such a child.” He says, folding his arms. “Can’t even spend an hour in silence.”

“Mr Harr-”

“It’s hard to even think in here with all this hairspray I’m suddenly breathing in.” You glare and Steve grits his teeth.

“Yeah? How about you-”

A startling crash echoes through the hallway, silencing the classroom immediately. Standing from his chair, Mr Holloway sends a wide eyed look to his students. He clears his throat and slips the glasses back onto his nose.

“Wait here, please. I’ll be back as soon as I find out what’s going on.” He announces, collecting his keys and leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Barely a second passes before you’re lunging at the door, trying the doorknob.

“Asshole.” You curse, slumping your shoulders and kicking the door. “Of course he locks us in.”

“How fun.” Steve smirks and you glare at him. “Maybe if you weren’t getting in trouble all the time, you wouldn’t be stuck in here with me.”

“Bite me, Harrington.” You scoff, pushing away from the door.

He wasn’t wrong, though. You were getting in trouble so persistently lately that you were getting closer to ruining your chances for college. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to graduate, you’ll be damned if you never escape this hell hole of a town, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were acting out. No one cared to ask why.

“I mean, if anyone’s gonna know the rules, it’ll be the Chief’s daughter, right?” He retorts and you stop, biting your tongue. “Ooh. I forgot. Daddy issues?”

“Oh my god. Do you ever shut the fuck up?” You groan, spinning around to face him.

Steve doesn’t reply.

“Oh, right. Sorry I forget your hair plugs your ears.” You lean forward, cupping your hands around your mouth like a megaphone. “Do. You. Ever-”

“Jesus, can you just be nice for one in your miserable-”

A loud blood-curdling scream rips into your argument, freezing you both in place.

“What the hell was that?” Steve whispers out, the silence that ensued suddenly all too frightening.

“Probably… probably just some kids, uh, messing around.” You reply, nodding mostly to yourself. Then, as your nerves took over, you started to laugh.

“Why are you laughing right now?” Steve frowns, startled by your reaction.

“The look on your face, I don’t know, it was funny.” You chuckle, feeling your heart beat slowly return to normal. “It’s not the first time someone’s had a screaming fit during detention.”

“Fucking hell.” He breathes, leaning back in his seat. “I see why no one hangs around this place after the last bell.”

“Yep. All that’s left are the stoners, and degenerates.” You quip, leaning against the front desk. “Now, I know you’re not a stoner…”

“Shut it.” Steve clicks his jaw, deciding to just stare out of the window. It had gotten darker outside. Weird, considering you were only just in April. The sun never set this early.

Minutes ticked by, rendering you restless. You were fiddling with your jumper, pulling at loose threads, procrastinating the half-finished essay taunting your eyes. And, after a while, you decided enough was enough.

“Okay, this is ridiculous.” You say, circling the desk and rooting through drawers.

“Did no one teach you patience as a child?” Steve comments, peeling his eyes away from the window to feed his curiosity.

“Did no one tell you that hair can exist without vats of gel?” You retort, pulling open a drawer that jingled with the harsh motion. “Bingo.”

“What?” Steve straightens up, peering over the desk to see you stand, keys dangling from your fingers.

“He always keeps a spare.” You grin, bounding over to the classroom door. This might be the second time you’ve escaped educational imprisonment, and it sure wasn’t going to be the last.

“Really?” Steve holds out his arm, rocking back in his chair. “He’ll be back soon.”

“So?” You shrug, “He always does this. He goes out to investigate something and doesn’t return until the hour’s over.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. The asshole’s probably sat down right now in the break room with some coffee,” You say, turning the key and slowly turning the door knob. “Thinking that those kids he left in detention are suckers-”

You hadn’t opened it merely an inch before another scream bounces off the walls, more distant than the last.

Steve springs up from his seat this time, knocking over his chair. You jump at his sudden burst, widening your eyes.

“Jesus, calm down.” You look him up and down. “Don’t go ruining that hair, it’s the moneymaker.”

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pocket the keys and take a step forward.

“Gonna go see who’s screaming and give them a peace of my mind.” You say, already outside the classroom.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He warns and you raise a brow.

“Look, you can stay here if you’re scared he’s gonna catch you, but I’m not listening to any more screams for the rest of the hour, okay? It’s probably just Phil and his stoner gang thinking that the school’s empty.”

Steve didn’t look convinced and you laugh. “Oh, stop. Don’t go pretending like you care about me when we both know you’re just worried you’re gonna have to take the blame for my disappearance.”

He almost winces. Take the blame for my disappearance.

Fuck, it shouldn’t have made his heart shatter the way it did. Suddenly he’s back in that bathroom, chipped pieces of a future crashing and burning, a slurred voice stabbing him where it hurt. You’re pretending like everything’s okay. Like we didn’t kill Barb.

You frown at how ill he suddenly looked. Something you’ve pretended not to notice ever since school came back from Christmas break. His jumpy nature anytime a locker slammed shut, the nervous excuses when someone suggests he should throw a pool party. You didn’t care, you shouldn’t. But you still noticed.

“Okay, how about this?” You sigh, shuffling back into the classroom and closing the door with a soft click, leaning against it. “I’ll just see if I can spot Holloway. If I haven’t in the first two minutes, I’ll come straight back and we can pretend like I never left when he eventually returns. Good?”

“Yeah.” Steve says quietly, still frowning as he leans against the front desk, palms flat against the surface either side of him.

“Oh-kay.” You turn back around, ignoring that persistent feeling that told you to stay with him. Why? He hadn’t ever done anything for you.

Slipping out of the door, you start wandering down the halls, peering into empty classrooms. You and Steve seemed to be the only students left, excluding whoever was winding up your teacher by screaming across the school.

You weren’t planning on detention today. The first five times were boring enough. But that changed this morning, before you refused to be in the cabin for one more second and stormed out into the surrounding nature, a bad morning to start off a bad day. Detention ensured you had an excuse to stay away longer.

You were sure two minutes passed by as you glance up at a convenient clock, slumping your shoulders. You did make a promise. And Mr Holloway was nowhere to be seen.

Turning on your heel, you were about to walk back the way you came when you thought you could hear something, a quiet humming sound. Maybe you were right and Holloway was making his coffee right now.

In the mood for a little defiance, you head towards the noise. Anything to keep you from going home.

You round a corner, scanning the space and coming to an abrupt halt. Your stomach drops.

Blood marks the floors, red handprints smeared across the wall. It was a crimson path that dragged down the hallways, bending around the corner out of your sight. Any expectations you had of what this hallway would be like were trapped in shock, your skin feeling like fire as your nerves scream at you to leave.

So you turn around, heart loud enough to beat your eardrums.

But what if someone was hurt?

Shit, you thought, looking back, no. No, it’s not my problem.

And then you started thinking that if you left whoever it was now, you could be the reason they died.

Reluctantly, you walk down the hall, dodging the spill. Maybe this wasn’t blood. Maybe it was a prank, or a simple accidental spill of red juice.

The smell didn’t make it seem less so as you grip your sweater sleeves in your hands, that humming sound getting louder by the second.

And, when you finally turn that corner, you feel the breath being dragged from your lungs.

A girl was led on the floor, eyes staring straight at you, arms splayed either side of her. Blood was splattered all over her face, staining her clothes.

And something was eating her chest, ripping into her body.

Tears flooded your eyes, your hand covering the whimpers threatening your throat, feet slowly backing away. There was an emergency exit behind you, just further down the hall. You could make it.

Her dead eyes were looking straight through you, and you couldn’t do anything for her – all that blood. You couldn’t -There was so much blood.

Your eyes stay glued to the monster, cautious steps taking you backwards, until you could slip back around the corner. You needed to get out of here fast.

Steve, you suddenly think, eyes widening. You needed to get Steve. No matter how much you despised him, no one deserved to end up like that girl. Oh my god. That poor girl. So much blood.

Taking a deep breath, something grabbed your shoulder and you almost scream. Covering your mouth with your hands, you glance at whatever creature has suddenly got you in its grasp and prepare for-

A silver ring shone back at you and you sigh in relief. It was Mr Holloway.

“Thank god.” You whisper shakily, turning around. You can just see your startled reflection in his glasses. “There’s a girl back there and this- this thing it’s… it’s eating her.”

You look up to him with watering eyes, choking on your own words, and frown. Something was wrong.

His hair was matted to his head, a crack in the corner of his glasses. There was something black spilled over his chin, dripping onto his shirt.

“Are you okay?” You ask, instinctively taking a step back.

He doesn’t respond.

“Mr Holloway?”

His wild eyes suddenly darted upwards, staring at you.

Then, he pounces.

He’s snarling as he claws at your jumper, pulling you down to the ground with him. In haste you try and push him off of you, but this man was a lot bigger than you, wrapping his hands around your throat and smashing your head into the cold ground.

Struggling against his weight, he rears his head closer to you.

“Stop!” You try, his tightening grip on your neck releasing the word as a strained whisper.

Before the restraint became too unbearable, you had curled your fingers around the keys in your pocket and plunged the metal into the skin of his hand.

He shrieks in pain, scurrying back and finally releasing you. Your breaths are quick and shallow, mustering up any oxygen to pull yourself away from him.

You manage to stumble onto foot, turning around to see him glaring at you, a dripping line of black oozing from the wound you made. He looked scared for a second, cradling his hand. Remnants of him were fading in and out. Like he was possessed.

And then he growled. Something alien, animalistic.

Everything in the world felt distant when he opens his mouth, your breath hitching in your throat. Pieces fell away from it, four sections opening like a flower and exhibiting his rows of tiny sharp teeth. It wasn’t natural. None of it was natural.

Your body reacted before your brain, back hitting the wall as he stalked towards you. He was backing you into a corner, leaving you little chance of survival. You were going to die. He was going to kill you- your teacher was going to kill you.

Something red catches the corner of your eye and you glance over. With little time left, you throw yourself towards it and tug it from the wall.

You swing the fire extinguisher just in time for it to collide with the side of his head as he lunges at you, a sickening crunch of impact driving you backward into a stumble.

The lights above you are flickering out of control as you find your teacher hunched against the wall, still. You had driven him down, hopefully knocking him unconscious. The uncoordinated lights weren’t helping your assessment, hands still gripping the metal canister in fear.

Finally, a flash of luminescence brightens the scene long enough for you see what you had done, a sob escaping your lips. His arms were limp at his sides, neck rolled to the side. And his head was caved in, blood dripping from his mouth.

You killed him.

A throbbing ache was building in your head, the back of your skull feeling all too hot. Removing a hand from the extinguisher, you delicately pat the surface and wince, feeling the damp collected on your scalp and hair. You were bleeding.

And, just for a second, you were distracted.

A sharp, searing pain strikes your ankle, causing your one-handed grip on your only weapon to falter and it crashes onto the ground with you, slipping from your fingertips. You watch as it rolls away when the thing tugs violently on your leg, pulling you backwards as you scream into the empty hallway.

The floor was sticky, blood covering your clothes and any bare skin. You were sure it was smeared across your cheek as you cry out for help, fingers slipping against the ground as you tried to find some friction.

You knew it was the creature you had seen before, the cause of the blood you were currently being dragged through. You were going to end up like that girl, bloods mixing into the paste of victims ripped apart. Dead, alone. Prey.

Your hands slip against a door frame before it all stopped too suddenly. You weren’t outrunning it, you had to accept that. You curled up, tears streaming down your face as you prepared for the inevitable. It was going to split you apart, have you feel everything. An endless amount of pain for a terrifying ending.

But you didn’t want it to end.

No matter how many times you argued with him, you didn’t want your father to lose another child.

When it made the first brush of contact against your back, you flipped onto your back and drove your leg hard against it, catching sight of the dark bloody keys glinting in the flashing bulbs just outside of the room. You must have accidentally dragged them with you. And now they were your only hope.

With a yell, you slide the metal between your fingers and curl into a fist, spinning around and moving quickly to stab it before it could kill you.

“Woah, woah, woah! Woah, it’s me!”

You barely manage to catch yourself, stumbling back with wide eyes. You were blinking against the blinding pattern of artificial lights, arm still raised.

“It’s me! Steve!”

It all finally came back into focus and you lower your fist, a shaky breath of relief, as you observe the boy in front of you. His hair was a little wild, chest rising heavily as he clutched your lost fire extinguisher in his hands, black blood marking the bottom and rising along the metal in splatters, matching his face.

At his feet lay the creature that attacked you, its mushy face enough to settle that it wasn’t getting back up.

“Shit.” You finally drop the keys, lowering to rest your hands on your knees and catch your breath.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, but as he looked at you, he already knew the answer.

When you left the classroom, Steve had felt uneasy about the whole ordeal.

From saving Jonathan from the Demogorgon to fighting those demodogs for the kids, he had been on edge for what seemed every day of his life. Any bump in the night, any twig snapping in the forest, it all rushed back to his head in a throbbing blur of reasons he’d never be able to sleep again.

So, when the second scream had rung out and you had gone after it, Steve could only fear the worse.

He had convinced himself it was nothing. That he was just being paranoid.

Then the overhead lights started to flicker, flashes of colourful bulbs and Nancy’s panicked yells replaying in the horror of his mind. Something was wrong. He knew he should always trust his instinct.

And then, one last scream. Your scream.

He dumped everything where it was, taking off out of the classroom in a rush that almost had him barrelling through the wooden door. He didn’t care if you hated him, if he hated you. No one deserved to die. And he couldn’t live with himself if he knew he had left you.

His feet rounded the corner so quickly he almost slipped on the slick floor. He glanced down, heart racing until it burned his throat with bile. Blood.

I’m too late, he thought, dodging a body laying against the wall. It wasn’t you, the build all too different to have him second guess.

He clocked an extinguisher that had rolled into a wall, grabbing it as he sped past. He was seriously missing that bat right about now.

Steve almost missed it, set on getting there fast. But he saw it, a demodog of his nightmares dragging something into an empty classroom.

You.

Not wasting any more time, he lifted the extinguisher and jumped over you, landing just beside the creature biting at your foot. With as much force as he could muster, he drove the dull edge of the metal can down hard, knocking it off of you completely.

As it snarled back at him, pouncing, he met its sharp mouth with the can once again, bludgeoning it over and over until he was certain it stopped moving, faceless head flattened against the shine of the school floors.

Relaxing his shoulders, he moved to check you’re okay, that he really wasn’t too late. Your curled up body on the floor hadn’t relaxed him. Neither did the sudden pain to his leg as a sole makes contact with his shins, surely leaving a bruise as he staggers back.

And then you’re spinning onto your feet, lunging for something in the dark and turning to face him in the light, fist raised, fear in your eyes he hadn’t seen before.

He really wished you had just stayed in that classroom. And you looked like you did too.

“Shit, are you okay?”

You look up at him through knotted brows, blood staining your skin. You looked like hell.

“No.” You exasperate, holding back a sob. “No, I am not okay!”

“Right.” Steve nods. He felt stupid even asking the question in the first place. “Sorry.”

Rather than say something snarky, a retort Steve became accustomed to, you simply place your hands on your head, looking down at the monster dead by his feet.

��What the fuck is going on?” You ask. Your voice was merely a whisper, terror coating your words.

Just as Steve opened his mouth to respond, a growl echoed through the corridors, raising goosebumps along his skin. You look down the hallway you stood out in with a darted gaze, faded silhouettes dancing against the walls.

“We need to get out of here.” Steve moves towards you and holds out his hand, silently begging you to take it.

You look down at it, frowning. You had no idea what was going on, how to even continue after the experience you just had. Every possible fibre of your being just wanted to curl up and hide, to admit defeat. You were terrified. And this boy in front of you was offering his hand like it was normal, face set as if he knew what he was doing. How could he possibly be calm?

“You’re gonna have to trust me on this one.” Steve says, eyes unwavering from yours. In a normal circumstance you would have said no, told him where to shove his trust.

But this wasn’t a normal circumstance.

And in this moment, you trusted him completely.

You shoved your hand into his and he grasped it tightly, pulling you with him into the hallway and letting him guide you out of the school, away from the building echo of snarls behind you. You’ll cringe about the fact you were holding hands with Harrington later, when you were sure you had made it out alive.

You thought it could be over, just a freak accident in the school that would be swiftly taking care of, leaving you with scars but a sound mind knowing it was finished. The emergency exit had other ideas.

Steve throws himself against the exit, pulling you with him onto what you hoped would be safe grass. He lets go of your hand to slam the door shut behind him, backing away and finally releasing that shaky breath building in his chest.

Running a hand through his hair, he turns to you, expecting your confused and scared expression to con him into spilling the truth about the creatures. But your eyes were fixed on the sky, a numb expression instead.

Steve follows your stare, heart plummeting with it.

The atmosphere was dark, pieces of burning sky spiralling down in black ash, red lightning clashing against the charred clouds. One in particular was menacing, like a shadow.

The shadow wasn’t a cloud.

It stretched across the buildings, hauntingly built like a spider, invading the sky with its thick body. It looked like it was glitching, its shape buzzing on its outer corners like it was…

dust.

Chapter Two: Harsh Reality ->

taglist: @manyfandomsfanvergent . @sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose . @palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear .

let me know if you want to be added/ removed from the taglist!

#stranger things x reader #stranger things #fanfic #steve harrington #stranger things reader insert #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington series #apocalypse au #st2 #stranger things au

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melanieph321 · 1 year ago

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Ruben Dias x Reader - Try Me Part 5/6

Y'all are not ready for this. Not at all actually! 😝

Summary - A six part series where reader is a very passionate football player and Ruben is her new and equally passionate football coach. However, the two of them can't seem to get along.

Enjoy!

You didn't sit with Ruben on the bus ride home. He sat up front, you in the back and Hannah in the middle. He was on your mind though, the fact that he probably rubbed one off to the video you sent him.

It was wrong of you to lie to him like this, yes. But telling him the truth now, how would that go? The best thing to do was to let your conversation thread on tinder die, stop replying to his messages all together.

"Here you go."

"Thanks."

You were the last person off the bus. Ruben helped the chauffeur unload everyone's bags.

"Do you need a ride home?" He asked, as the two of you were the last ones to leave the stadium parking lot.

"I..."

You probably shouldn't. You definitely shouldn't.

"Yes, Ruben. Thank you."

It was a quiet car ride home. Still, you enjoyed it, being near Ruben. With him you felt at home, more than in your own home.

"I'm home!"

Stepping into the apartment, the stench of alcohol hit you like a punch to the gut. The floor was sticky beneath your feet. You discovered your dad and his friends sprawled across the living room, unconscious and inebriated. You clenched your fists, struggling to control the fury welling up inside of you. How could he put his own selfish desires before his family?

"Dad?" You tried calling, but he only grunted in response.

"Dad, I'm home?"

You approached him, stirring his limb body. That seemed to do it.

"Y/N?" He said groggy, eyes slowly coming to. "What are you doing here, where have you been?"

You frowned. "Dad, I told you that..."

You paused, hearing a faint cry coming from your room. Wasting no time you sprang forward, heart pounding in your chest. You swung the door open to find Mimi, standing there with a stranger. The man's unsteady steps and glassy eyes revealed his intoxicated state.

What was she doing here? She wasn't supposed to be here.

"Y/N!" Mimi cried out, relief washing over her face. "I'm scared, he won't go away."

Panic struck within you. Your protective instincts surged forth like a tidal wave. Fury intertwined with concern, you stepped between Mimi and the stranger, ready to defend your sister. You surveyed the situation, noticing the man's unkempt appearance and the smell of alcohol emanating from his breath. Anger burned within you, fueling your determination to protect your sister at all costs, scooping her up in your arms, gathering her things.

With your voice trembling, you returned to the living room, Mimi in your arms.

"How could you?

You spoke directly to your dad, hoping he could hear your last words to him, even in his stupor.

"How could you leave us like this, vulnerable and unprotected? You were supposed to be our role model, our support." Tears welled up in your eyes, voice cracking. "We deserve better than this."

Regret briefly flickered across his face before it was replaced by the numbing effect of alcohol. You knew that your words were being swallowed by the void of his addiction. However it didn't matter anymore, he didn't matter anymore.

You rushed downstairs, to Amin and his family, knocking on their door.

"Y/N, are you okay?" It was Amin who opened the door, his eyes widening at the sight of your tears.

"Can we stay here please?" All the emotions seemed to well up inside of you, years of suffering spillning over uncontrollably.

"Y/N..." Amin sighed. His wife appeared behind his shoulder, they both looked tired.

"Like I told your aunt when she tried to drop your sister off at our doorstep, my family and I can't put up with this no longer. What your father is doing, we want no part of it, I'm sorry."

"Wait, who was here to drop off Mimi?"

"Your aunt?" He said. You understood that he meant Mimi's aunt. She too had abandoned Mimi, without telling you.

"Fuck!" You said, sprinting downstairs.

Amin and his wife called after you but you ignored them. It was just you and Mimi now, you were on your own.

********************************************

Ruben must have been ready for bed because he did not look dressed to leave the house anytime soon.

"Y/N."

He opened the door, frowning at the sight of you with Mimi curled up in your arms.

"I...I..." You choked on your own words, your whole body trembling. "I didn't know where else to go."

He rushed you inside without hesitation, unhanding Mimi from you. To your suprise she neither fought or screamed at him, she just settled in his arms, clinging onto his neck as he carried her inside.

God what had she been through? You could only think of the worst.

"I should call my uncle." He said, returning from the guestroom where Mimi was put to sleep.

"No." You protested.

"No?" He frowned. "Y/N if I could decide I think we should call the police. The least we could do is call my uncle, he will know what to do."

"No." You repeated, rubbing the side of your head where you felt a headache coming on.

"Y/N, please. I think..."

"Ruben stop." You put a hand up, preventing him from coming to console you. It may look like you were crying but it was more so out of the trembling rage you felt within. "I'll figure this out myself, I always do."

"Y/N, you don't have to go through this yourself."

You shook your head. "You don't know anything about me."

You hated it, how he looked at you with pity in his eyes, as if you were a helpless little girl like Mimi.

"Y/N." He whispered, continuing to approach you with slow steps.

You shook your head, but it was getting hard to hold in the tears.

"Come here." He whispered and that did it for you, his gesture of stretching out his arms, welcoming you into his safe embrace.

Your forhead knocked against his chest, your arms wrapping around his large frame.

"It's gonna be okay, don't worry I'm here for you. It's gonna be okay."

Maybe it was his comforting words whispered against the top of your head, or his strong arms around your body. Maybe it was all of it, that made you perk up and surprise him by pressing your lips against his.

He flinched, his arms letting go of your body.

"Y/N?"

You stood watching him, how his eyes searched your face trying to make sense of it all.

"I'm sorry, I..." He shook his head objecting your actions. "I'm sorry we can't. You're my...I'm your...Y/N you're upset."

"I'm not, I'm angry."

"Your sister...she needs you, no?"

Despite his protests you could tell that the kiss had its effect on him.

"She's asleep."

"Y/N." He sighed. "You don't want me, you're just upset."

"How do you know?"

You stepped up to him, making his muscles clench with the closing gap between you.

"Maybe I've wanted you all along."

You thought of the fake Tinder profile, about the video you sent him last night, the video that made it hard for him to go to sleep, literally.

"I...we can't." He sighed.

"Ruben."

You were close enough to touch him now. You were touching him as he sat slumped down agsinst the armrest of the living room sofa.

You stood between his legs, your hands pressing down on his thigs.

"I should have figured that it was you." He chuckled.

"That who was me?" You bent down, forhead knocking against his.

"Christina 25." He muttered.

"You knew?"

Ruben raised his head, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Well, you told me that you found my tinder profile didn't you? I figured that you and the other girls were having a laugh about, that's something like creating a fake profile would appeal to you. Christina appeared around the time that you and I were having probles in training, no?"

"Are you upset?" You were still standing close to him, your hands on his thighs.

He shook his head. "Upset, no. Angry, a little. I could lose my job you know, for the stuff I've sent you. But somthing tells me that this is what you want?"

"No."

He chuckled, "No?"

"No."

"What do you want from me then?"

You felt his hands on your hips, slowly railing you in. Soon you stood pinned against him, his hands resting on the curve of your ass.

"Ruben I..."

You gasped when the smell of him and the feel of him all came to you at once. He had bent down to kiss your neck, the flat of his hand pushing up against your shoulder blades.

"Ruben." You cried.

He was lost. His mouth exploring the line of your jaw, moving on to lick your bottom lip.

You hands cupped his face, resisting the way he was lunging forwards, eager to have you, to taste you.

Your shirt came off as his fingers curled at the hem of it, pulling the fabric over your head.

He stood, forcing you to tilt your head up and look at him.

"Ruben."

His eyes were dark, with a glossy vail, making it impossible for you to know what he desired from you.

"Bedroom." He grunted. A hand on your shoulder ordered you in the right direction.

Closing the door behind him, Ruben gathered you in his arms, your back pressed to his front, his mouth latching onto the crook of your neck. His hand then slipped downwards, past the flat of your belly, his fingers slipping between the gap of your pants.

"Ruben please."

Your head fell back against his shoulder. He groped you blindly, grunting in your ear as you squealed whenever his fingers curled somewhere below, sliding between the wet folds between your legs.

"Ruben please!" You gasped, almost losing your footing as your legs trembled with the creeping orgasm.

"Fuck."

He kept on pleasing you until you slumped down against his chest, sighing in relief of your first orgasm. You turned around to face him, unsure what his stiff expression meant. Perhaps he was regretting where this was going. He kept up this persona until you supported yourself against him, descending to the floor to sit on your knees.

He watched your every move, his jaw clenching as you pulled down his sweats along with his underwear, his leaking erection now staring you in the face.

"Fuck." He wheezed. As your hand clenched around his stem, welcoming his dinasaur into your warm mouth.

He grunted and groaned, with the swirling your tounge did around his tip. He too struggled with his footing as your head moved vigorously, desprerate for him to feel as good as he had made you feel.

"Y/N."

He wouldn't let you finish though, his hand cupped your face to raise your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye.

He smiled down at you, his thumb stroking your cheek. You tried taking him into your mouth again, however he really would let you.

"Ruben." Displeased, you pouted your lips.

He chuckled at this.

The smell of him warmed your insides as he knelt down beside you, bringing you to lay down on the floor. There he would go on to strip you of the rest of your clothes.

"Oh, so we're doing this here?" You chuckled, as his weight got on top of you pressed your back against the cold floor.

"I want you to feel my cock in your belly." He groaned.

You moaned, unprepared for what that actually felt like.

He heaved his body over you, placing himself between your trembling thigs. Your ass slapped against the hardwood floor as his hips thrusted against you, his dick digging deeper into you than you could've imagined.

"Fuck Ruben."

He silenced your muffled cries by putting his mouth against yours, kissing you deeply, to the point where you had to gasp for air.

"Ruben, I can't..."

His thrusts were aggressive. Increasing in pace as you tried to hold onto somthing, anything. But there were no bedsheets on the floor and so you clinged onto Ruben's shoulders, nipping at his skin with your teeth as you slipped under, letting him penitrate you to the point of his cum dripped down your inner thigh.

"I'm not upset, I'm angry." These were the only words that could describe the way Ruben fucked you that night. Like a man upset, but not angry.

Whatever that meant.

Tagslist:

@kathb59

@alexisquinnlee-bc

@husherstan

@rikirikiloml

@cinderellawithashoe

#fanfiction #man city #football imagine #manchester city #ruben dias #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #smut #football angst #football x reader #football

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beckhoffman · 14 days ago

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THE SCANDAL WAS CONTAINED/THE BULLET HAD JUST GRAZED/AT ALL COSTS KEEP YOUR GOOD NAME/YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME YOU FEEL BAD

{ mikey madison, 20, woman, she/her } Is that REBECCA “BECK” HOFFMAN? A SENIOR originally from NEW YORK, they decided to come to Ogden College to study DANCE. They’re THE NEPO BABY on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance.

pinterest/spotify tbd

basics:

full name: rebecca "beck" hoffman

age: 21

date of birth: september 12, 2004

zodiac sign: virgo

hometown: new york, ny

gender: cis female

sexuality: bisexual

languages spoken: english, russian

PERSONALITY:

positive qualities: self-sufficient, talented, observant

negative qualities: aloof, blunt, critical

skills: ballet, listening, reading the fine print

character parallels: michael bluth (arrested development), caroline channing meets max black (two broke girls), beth harmon (the queen's gambit), david rose (schitt's creek)

relationship to greer: unlike many others in their social class, beck was not unused to having roommates. the student housing at the ballet academy was spartan and cramped and there were generally four to an apartment. it wasn’t exactly the babysitters club - the women were intensely competitive and generally consumed with their own inadequacy. the environment wasn’t exactly conducive to friendship. and beck is embarrassed to think back to how she had hoped she might find that friendship in the dorms of ogden.

there might have been a veneer of friendship at the start provided by a shared social circle. but beck feels greer never really warmed to her. beck’s idea of a fun night was a shared joint and an argument about sylvia plath, while greer’s involved harder drugs and less clothes. she always had the sense she had disappointed greer by not living up to her expectations. but beck was used to not meeting people’s expectations. their roommate relationship was cordial at best, violent at worst, with both girls having a penchant for silent treatments and wars of passive aggression over petty misdemeanors. by the time greer disappeared, beck was more than ready for her to go. and yet; many would say they had never heard beck speak a harsh word of her. some twisted sense of loyalty kept beck’s mouth shut and greer’s secrets safe.

bio: you’ve heard stories about rebecca on a late-night talk show before - gordon hoffman tells one every time he promotes that series of superhero movies he directs (you know, the ones with too much cgi and too much spandex), and mary hoffman always finds a way to bring her up when she’s on a red carpet for some prestige drama miniseries or oscar-bait period piece. the one you’ve probably heard over and over is this - when beck was young, just an infant, her parents realized on the eve of some buzzy awards show they had failed to secure a babysitter. rather than scramble, they simply brought her along and wheeled her stroller under the table for the duration of the night, where beck slept so well and so soundly that their tablemates were shocked when they pulled her out at the end of the night. ‘what a little professional’ , they all cooed. beck knew from a very early age the best way to please her parents was to stay out of the way.

she was a perfect little professional when she came to set for a cameo on her mother’s show, a solemn six year old who had perfectly memorized her lines. she was a perfect little professional every day in ballet class, diligently stretching and without a hair out of place in her bun. she was a perfect little professional as she signed her own field trip forms and reading logs, organized her own schedule with the family chauffeur, packed her own brown-bag lunches. in fact, beck was so professional, sometimes her parents forgot she was their daughter and not someone they employed to play her.

her parents had often thought they had the perfect family arrangement. beck was at an elite ballet school that conveniently housed and fed her, leaving them free to flit between los angeles and new york and wherever else their projects may take them. they hardly blinked when she decided to go to college instead of joining a company - beck parented herself quite capably. but after a public freakout ended up splashed across the tabloids, gordon and mary are at a loss. beck is sullen, unresponsive, and uncooperative. what do you do with a professional who isn’t performing? you fire them - so the family credit card has been cut off this year. her first discovery? apparently you have to pay for drugs.

fun facts:

beck's family refers to her as birdie

since she was essentially raised by russian ballet teachers, she's picked up their penchant for cigarettes, head scarves, and tolstoy, as well as the language.

loves bob dylan and gothic novels

her childhood crush was kim possible

she thinks of herself as very practical and down to earth but she still has weird blind spots (she did do all her own paperwork for college but doesn't know how much a banana costs)

wanted connections:

book club: pretentious book club!! maybe with a potluck component!! (beck is a pretty decent cook)

crush: beck is at her heart a Piner and a Yearner and i would love to write some kind of friend pining plot!!

childhood friend: beck isn't one who's always had a lot of friends, but i would love some connections from childhood who would be able to see how much she's changed recently

bad influences: beck hasn't exactly been a fixture of ogden's nightlife scene, but now that she doesn't care anymore, this person is more than happy to introduce beck to the wonders of not caring.

#did u guys miss my janky graphics #don't look too close. i got lazy.#anyways YAYYYYY new MUSE

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alex51324 · 1 year ago

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Hello! I figured you were the person to ask, so: do you know where I could find more info on Edwardian gender segregation laws? Like, the maids aren't allowed on the men's corridor, but what if you are a young maid who wants to visit the chauffeur's cottage because you want to ask the chauffeur's sweetheart about being gay because you are a small lesbian? Is Peter leaving the door open good enough? Would they have to find a bench somewhere on the estate gardens? Asking for spin-off fic purposes. (Also, I am sending you good vibes and will pray for you at shul.)

Hey! So, I'm not sure about sources, because a lot of this stuff wasn't written down at the time, but I'd say you're probably fine with having her visit the cottage. (I think I've had Anna visit them there, haven't I?)

First, visiting a whole separate dwelling with plenty of Stuff That Isn't Bedrooms would be generally less suspicious than going into the Corridor That Consists Entirely of Men's Bedrooms.

A key thing to remember about Victorian-to-Edwardian mores was that it was a lot more about the appearance of impropriety than what would actually, logically, give two people an opportunity to have illicit sex. Bedrooms and darkness were to be avoided at all costs, even in a house stuffed full of people; a parlor in broad daylight has an air of innocence even if the house is otherwise empty.

Second, if it's a spinoff, it's after the war, and The War Changed Things. In terms of the upper classes, chaperonage basically disappeared, and a woman calling on a man in his home during the day isn't necessarily something you would absolutely need to make sure that there's another woman present in order to do. (Although if you made a habit of it, that would be Noticed.)

For the working classes, things were even more relaxed; at this point, thanks to changes in mores and increased employment opportunities, you get people in the employers-of-servants classes complaining about how you pretty much have to allow your maids to have "followers" (boyfriends) these days, if you don't want them quitting the job after a few weeks.

Third, it is pretty much an open secret that Thomas and Peter are Like That, so that's probably going to slide them into the same category as, say, visiting the vicar or a man old enough to be your father--it doesn't really count as Visiting A Man, in the capital-letters sense.

So yeah, if they're in the front room with the curtains open, that should be fine--although if the maid makes the mistake of trying to avoid being seen going into the cottage, that would contribute to an appearance of impropriety.

There's some wiggle room to adjust it up or down depending on what you're going for--if you want it to be totally on the up-and-up, have her invent/volunteer for some errand, in the middle of the day; if you want an air of scandal, have her do a bit of lurking in the darkness (like that time canon!Thomas did outside of Anna and Bates's place).

#downton abbey #thomas barrow #halo effect

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sad-sad-detective · 2 years ago

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Random Ghoul headcanons to start the week.

Mountain is the only one in the pack who has hooves, though it's not an uncommon thing for ghouls as a species.

Dew is clumsy. You'd say, he has Dexterity -1. He runs into doors or slips on the ground and blames it on his shoes. The others pretend they believe him.

Both Rain and Dew are dyslexic but in different degrees.

Swiss has an online blog where he posts book reviews. His favorite genre? Romance. He also claims to be a fan of the Brontë sisters but the only book he’s read so far is Wuthering Heights.

Besides the bass, Rain also plays ukulele.

Aether is the best cook of the pack. Sunshine cannot cook but she often helps with cutting vegetables etc. Swiss, on the other hand, is strictly forbidden to even approach the stove.

Dew is a decent cook too, but he never learnt to use the coffee maker. He usually asks Aether or Rain to make him coffee.

Swiss is the only one who is allowed to (and can) drive. He often works as Copia's personal driver and enjoys it quite a lot. A while ago, he watched a video for Sting's "Desert Rose" and was greatly impressed by the chauffeur there.

The ghouls LOVE tabletop games. Cumulus is an absolute champion in Munchkin, but Mountain beats them all in Snakes and Ladders.

They are also gamblers and even have a bet jar. They mostly bet on events in Copia's personal life.

Cirrus is the band's chiropractor. Copia avoids her at all costs.

#nameless ghouls #nameless ghoulettes #ghoul headcanons #the band ghost #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #mountain ghoul #swiss army ghoul #sunshine ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette

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hahyoudontknowwhoiam-blog · 2 months ago

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Black n Blue

A Gojo Satoru love story w. mild nsfw content ahead mdni, a love story mostly |

wc 11.7k

"My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep. The more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite." Romeo and juliet.

Brief Synopsis: Gojo Satoru, born into a life of privilege and duty as heir to a powerful Gojo clan, knew love was not in his destiny …But one girl seems to have cast a spell over his six eyes.

Torn between the expectations of his family and the magnetic pull of his growing obsession with Amara, Gojo becomes consumed by the desire to possess her body, mind, and heart…surrender to the shackles of duty or risk everything.

In a tale of passion, power, and the cost of desire, Gojo discovers that in the pursuit of love, he may lose everything that once defined him.

author's note. Written as a POC AFAB ,but it’s hardly a central point throughout the book.

Amara also is the name chosen, as it’s used across cultures and the meaning itself fits the the theme of the book Meaning:Everlasting; Grace; Immortal; To love; Bitter" (from google), but can happily be switched out for a personal POV.

Yet again hardly any smut but there a few juicy scenes…Enjoy!

It was a crisp autumn afternoon, the Tokyo skyline illuminated by the various tall buildings, the sun was beginning its slow descent over the horizon, the Sakura leaves having fallen months ago, casting a almost heavenly golden hue over the playground.

The playground, usually a place for laughter and playful shouts, was today home to something more intense. By the swings-where he found solace from the coldness of his family life, two kids were wrestling, their feet kicking, mouths hurling insults that he couldn’t quite make sense of .

The boy was larger, his body engulfing the other girls frame like a shadow. She was smaller but no less determined, it burned behind her dark eyes like the hot coals on the flame, her long black hair was pulled up into a style he’d never quite seen before, various colourful accessories adorning the wild locks, her brown skin glistened with sweat from the sheer effort she was exerting . Her face was set in a fierce concentration, eyes narrowed, full lips pressed tight with focus. Despite the size difference, she wasn't backing down.

From the polished leather seat of a sleek black Bentley, a pair of piercing blue eyes watched. They belonged to Gojo Satoru, the soul heir to the Gojo fortune, the only inheritor of both six eyes, a young man who had grown accustomed to luxury, ease, and the predictable rhythms of his world. At just twelve, his life was already a series of well-structured schedules, from functions with the elders, and various dates with prospective female suitors- to carry on the Gojo clans legacy. He'd been raised to be poised, to hold himself with an air of superiority, yet something about her made him feel inferior, made his heart pump blood, like it was the first time it was beating.

Gojo’s eyes widened, his unruly hair, as white as snow, falling slightly over his forehead as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the edge of the car window. His chauffeur, a tall man in a crisp black suit, glanced at him in the rearview mirror but said nothing.

"Stop the car," Gojo said suddenly, his voice a mix of command and awe. His breath caught as he continued to watch the girl. She had a natural grace that no wealth could buy, a blend of strength and beauty that was so different from anything he had seen in the girls arranged to be his wife, trained to be the “perfect wife” but to him they look more like obedient pets with no sense of self.

The larger boy stumbled, and the girl took advantage, using her agility to pin him to the ground. Gojo watched as her face broke into a triumphant grin, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of victory. Her expression was fierce, yet there was an undeniable charm about her, a magnetism he couldn’t explain. She wasn’t just beautiful in the conventional sense; she had a raw, unrefined allure that seemed to transcend the standards of high society.

“Who is she?” Gojo murmured, his voice soft with wonder. His eyes remained locked on the girl as she stood, brushing the dirt from her hands, her chest rising and falling with exertion.

“Sir?” the chauffeur asked, looking back at him with a puzzled expression.

“That girl,” Gojo said, his tone firm now, as if making a decision. “I’m going to marry her.”

The chauffeur blinked. He had heard many strange statements in his years of service out of the pretentious boys mouth , but this one was different. “Sir, you’re not even-”

“I don’t care,” Gojo interrupted, a gleam of resolve in his eyes. He pressed a finger to the glass of the window, his gaze unwavering. “She’s different. I’ve never seen anyone like her.”

The chauffeur, ever the professional, nodded without question, though he was no less surprised. It was rare that the young master spoke with such certainty about anything, especially when it came to people who weren’t of his circle.

Gojo’s eyes followed the girl as she walked away, mumbling something at the disgraced boy that nodded his head fearfully, her posture strong, her head held high. She seemed unaware of the world around her, lost in her own thoughts as she headed toward the gates of the playground.

“I’ll find out who she is,” Gojo muttered to himself, a quiet promise. ---

The next day, Gojo couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. He could still see her face in his mind, the way her eyes had sparkled with a fiery determination, how her thick lips curved into a smile as she won the wrestling match. He couldn’t explain it, but something in him had shifted the moment he saw her. It wasn’t just her beauty, though that was undeniable. It was her strength, her confidence, the way she moved through the world as though nothing could stop her.

As his tutors rambled about the responsibilities he faced as ‘the most powerful sorcerer of this age’, and tried to school him on fundamentals of the world, it seemed to fade away like white noise, none of it held any weight. He found himself distracted, his mind drifting to the girl from the playground.

And then, as if the universe was listening, a name surfaced: **Amara**.

Gojo wasted no time. With the help of his family’s connections, he secretly learned everything he could about her. She was the adoptive daughter of Christian missionaries , her adoptive mother was also an artist, who worked with local galleries showcasing her various techniques she picked up across cultures to paint Japan in various lights, many of the profits being used to help victims of gender based violence both domestically and internationally . Amara herself was a student at a nearby school, involved in nearly every extracurricular club, some he’d never even believed to exist, some set up by her herself. she truly was a wonder. Her parents clearly had worked hard to provide for her, her adoptive mother coming from a broken family fighting to follow her dreams despite the setbacks life threw at her and Amara, it seemed, had inherited her mother’s grit and strength.

As Gojo stood in the mirror, adjusting the belt around his silkened kimono in preparation for yet another gathering of sorcerers , he thought of her again. Amara. A girl from a world so different from his own, yet one he was certain he was meant to be a part of.

That evening, Gojo found himself walking through the same park where he had first seen her. He knew she might not be there, but he couldn't help himself. He was drawn to that place, as if it held some answer to the strange longing in his chest, but his solace was no longer a rusty set of swings, it was the girl with the fire burning beneath her dark eyes.

And then, there she was sitting alone on a bench, sketching in a notebook, her legs tucked under her, lost in her art.

Gojo approached cautiously, his heart thudding in his chest. For a moment, he just watched her, mesmerised by the way the fading light seemed to halo around her, casting her in a soft glow.

Amara looked up, sensing his presence before she saw him. Her eyes locked with his, and Gojo's breath hitched, a light flush blooming on his pale cheeks. He couldn’t explain it, but it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

“Hi,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically shy.

She tilted her head, studying him for a moment before responding coolly, “Hi.”

“I’m Gojo,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I-uh-I saw you yesterday, at the playground. You were amazing. The way you handled yourself… I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

Amara raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curving into a smirk. “Is that so?”

Gojo nodded, his eyes earnest. “Yes.… I think you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever seen, and despite my age… I’ve seen a lot ”, there was a long silence that he couldn’t help penetrate. “So what made you decide to beat that loser into oblivion?” he chuckled, kicking his shoes on the ground, dirtying his perfectly polished shoes, palm slick with sweat as he nervously glanced at her, awaiting a response.

Amara looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing his words. Then, simply said “I don’t like bullies, and I certainly don’t like racists”, she turned her attention back to her sketchbook, a quiet challenge in her gaze.

Not entirely understanding what she was on about Gojo earnestly replied, “Maybe I’ll see you again,” ,figuring he was not going to get much more out of the spirited girl, though his heart still raced.

She didn’t look up, but her voice carried a quiet note of amusement as she replied, “Maybe.”

Gojo smiled to himself, a toothy smile, a real smile that no one has ever seen grace his face, as he walked away, already knowing that this was just the beginning. He had seen something in her that no one else could touch, even his six eyes knew this to be true, and he was determined to find out just how deep that connection went.

“I’m going to marry that girl,” he whispered again, this time to no one but himself.

Every other day, Gojo found himself at the park. At first, it was casual, a simple desire to see her again, to catch a glimpse of that fierce determination, the quiet confidence that had captivated him from the moment their eyes met. But over time, it became more than that. The park, that bench, her. She was his obsession now.

He never approached her right away, not at first. He’d wait until he saw her sitting there, drawing or reading, with her legs crossed, her hair braided in a unique style foreign to him, a few stray set in a waved pattern (edges😂) framing her face in the soft, golden light of late afternoon. He’d watch her from a distance, hidden behind a tree or sitting on a bench on the other side of the park, pretending to be absorbed in a book or his phone, though his attention was always on her.

And every time, without fail, his heart would race. It was the same rush, the same excitement he’d felt that first day. But this time, there was a new plan in mind.

He wanted to impress her.

One afternoon, after seeing her sketching in the same spot as usual, Gojo walked up to her, trying to seem casual. He was determined to make her notice him, not just as the entitled brat he appeared as, but as someone who could make her laugh, someone who could be… different.

“Hey, Amara,” he greeted, flashing her a cheeky grin. “You know, I’ve been practicing my wrestling moves.”

She didn’t look up at first, but then the tiniest smirk tugged at her lips.

“You?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Wrestling?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I think I could take you on. Maybe we could have a rematch?” He dropped his voice in mock seriousness. “I’ll warn you, though. I’m not as easy as that last guy.”

She chuckled, glancing up from her sketchbook with a mix of amusement and skepticism. “I highly doubt that.”

But Gojo wasn’t deterred, fully aware that in combat he was far superior . He loved this, the challenge, the fact that she didn’t care about the aura of wealth and entitlement he seemed to portray, with his chauffeur always near by and his flashy kimonos and suits he adorned. Determined to follow through with the promise he made himself.

For the next few weeks, Gojo showed up at the park again and again, each time with a new attempt to capture her attention. Sometimes he’d bring a bag of candy, acting like a clueless, overly eager kid and offering her some with an exaggerated wink. Other times, he’d “accidentally” drop his phone in her path, just so he could kneel down and ask for her help always with the same goofy grin, the same eager energy.

“Here,” he said once, handing her an oversized bouquet of roses after she had rolled her eyes at him a few too many times. “I thought you might like these. Or, uh, maybe you’d prefer a cactus? I don’t know, I’m still figuring out this whole ‘romance’ thing.”

Amara stared at him, half irritated, half amused. “You’re strange, you know that?”

He shrugged, a sheepish smile on his lips. “I try.”

To his surprise, she didn’t throw the bouquet in his face or walk away in exasperation. Instead, she took them, her lips curling into a reluctant smile. “Fine. I’ll take your flowers. But only because they’re not a cactus.”

He left that day grinning like a fool. Even the smallest victory felt huge. She had accepted the roses. She had smiled.

But the more he showed up, the more he became aware of her guarded nature. At first, she barely acknowledged his gifts, tossing them aside or leaving them behind at the park. She made it clear that she didn’t need-or want- anything from him. But Gojo, with his unrelenting optimism and charm, didn’t give up. He bought her a scarf one day, a handmade one from a boutique his mother frequented. He brought her a book another time, one he thought she'd appreciate based on the scribbled titles in her sketchbook. He even took her out for ice cream once, knowing exactly what flavours she liked, his six eyes finally coming in handy, earning a raised eyebrow from her.Her not knowing if she really was predictable, or that this man paid attention to all her minute reactions.

Each time, she would look at the gift, then at him, as if weighing her options. And each time, she’d either refuse or ignore him, but Gojo never backed down.

“You really don’t have to do this, you know,” she said after he gave her a necklace one winter. “I’m not some charity case.”

“I know,” he said softly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “But I want to.”

She looked at him for a long moment, the usual guarded expression in her eyes softening just a little. “You're stubborn, you know that?”

He nodded. “I’ve been told.”

It was in moments like this, when she didn’t immediately brush him off, that Gojo knew there was a crack in her wall. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him coming back.

---

As the years passed, Gojo’s obsession only grew. His feelings for Amara were no longer about impressing her or winning her favour. He had long since stopped seeing her as some unattainable ideal. Now, she was the centre of his world, the only thing that mattered, his future wife.

He loved the way she challenged him, how she never let him off easy, how she didn’t care about his outer appearances and perceived wealth. Her sharp wit, her fierce independence, the way she could take on anything with a calm confidence, these were the things that made him fall deeper and deeper, almost to the point of obsession.

He would wait outside her school sometimes, just to see her walk out, to catch a glimpse of her in the crowds. He’d offer her his arm on the rare occasions they went out together, both because he loved her warm touch on his skin, and to ward off any competition, but she’d always decline with a teasing smile, telling him to stop being so “pretentious.”

The whole process becoming increasingly more difficult as he entered jujitsu high, having to be more discrete with his actions so they didn’t alert higher ups, or worse Geto who would want a swift introduction. But this was his goddess, her radiance shining like the constellations, entirely out of reach, him being one of the blessed few to bask in her glory, he would not let her eyes be swayed by any man, even if Geto was his dearest friend.

Still, he continued to lavish her with gifts, expensive handbags, rare books, tickets to shows,, often sending out others to ‘suitors’ to deflect the eyes of the elders to his true intentions, but finally after years of rejecting or accepting reluctantly, she began to take them with less resistance. Perhaps it was his persistence, or maybe, just maybe, she had begun to see him in a different light. Not the spoiled kid he’d once been, but a young man who had never given up on her, who had always stayed true to his odd, goofy self despite her resistance.

One afternoon, when Gojo showed up with a painting of a place they had once talked about visiting together, she didn't even raise an eyebrow. Instead, she took it from him with a gentle smile.

“You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” she said, her voice soft.

“I suppose so,” he replied with a grin. “I’m not ashamed of it.”

She studied him for a long moment, the years between them suddenly seeming to close in an instant. “You know, Gojo,” she said slowly, “you’re not as bad as I thought.”

“Is that a compliment?” he asked, his heart thumping.

She hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. I think it is.”

He couldn’t contain his smile, though it was more of a relieved grin than anything else. For the first time in years, Gojo felt as if he was finally seeing some daylight between them. The girl he had been obsessed with for so long, the girl he had chased with his gifts, his goofy charm, his relentless persistence was finally seeing him for who he truly was.

And for once, Gojo felt like he had finally won.

The next week was his birthday, a day he was content basking in the presence of his one and only obsession. He approached her with the same goofy smile he has for years, but before he could utter a single word she beat him to to it. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, I know it’s your birthday, you wouldn’t stop reminding me.” She giggled “And it feels silly, but I’ve never given you anything. Not really.”

“What is it?” He asked, curiosity rising in he is chest.

Her soft hand grazed mine, “Close your eyes” she giggled in that sweet voice of hers.

Knowing I’d do anything for her I listened, like a pet ready to jump for its master, then I felt it. Her lips were soft and quick, a gentle brush against mine that made my heart stop and my whole body go numb. I sat frozen, barely processing what had just happened, while she pulled away with that mischievous grin of hers. “There,” she said, as if it was nothing. “Enjoy Romeo. happy birthday!” She giggled, standing to walk away, leaving me sitting there, utterly speechless and blushing, cheeks flushed as if I had burst into flames. My mind raced, trying to make sense of it, but all I could focus on was the warmth of her kiss lingering on my lips and how, for a moment, it felt like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t invisible to her after all.

And the same words I thought of all those years ago flashed in my mind. “I’m going to marry this girl” as I stood up to chase her.

---

It wasn’t until a few years later, when Gojo was 19 and Amara was 18, that she confessed.

They were sitting together in the same park where it all began. The bench where she’d first noticed him. The same place where Gojo had once declared he was going to marry her, the same place she had kissed him.

“I’m falling for you, you know,” Amara said quietly, her voice almost shy. It was strange to hear it after all this time of playing hard to get, of deflecting his attempts to win her over.

Gojo’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re… really?”

She looked at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Yeah, you’re kind of impossible to resist after all these years, even with your sweet tooth and downright insufferable humour .”

“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” he chuckled , his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I know,” she replied, the smile growing as she reached for his hand. “And I guess I’ve been waiting for you to stop trying so hard… just to be yourself.”

Gojo leaned in closer, his heart full, not just with love, but with the knowledge that, for once, something in his life had gone exactly the way he wanted.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter how much he had changed over the years, how persistent or goofy he’d been. He had finally won her heart, and that was all that mattered.

---

They were silent, content just to be in each other's presence, the quiet comfort of being together speaking volumes more than words could. The evening air was starting to cool, the kind that felt refreshing after a warm day. Gojo and Amara sat on the same park bench where it had all started, just a short time ago. The sky was painted in soft shades of purple and pink as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a gentle glow over the park.

Gojo turned to her, his eyes reflecting the fading light as he studied her face. There was a softness in her expression, something vulnerable, but beautiful in its honesty. He reached for her hand, gently pulling it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles.

“Amara,” he said, his voice low and filled with warmth, “you know, I’ve spent so many years trying to win your heart, to make you see me for who I really am… and now that you’re here, beside me, I don’t want to waste a single moment.”

Amara smiled softly, her heart fluttering at the sincerity in his voice. Her fingers tightened around his, the connection between them deepening.

“I’m here, Gojo,” she said, her voice full of quiet affection. “And I’ve always known who you are. All of you.”

He leaned in slowly, his breath mingling with hers. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered, “wanted to do this properly”

And then, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of them, their lips met, soft at first, a slow exploration of all the years of longing, the years of teasing, the years of waiting. But soon, it deepened, both of them losing themselves in the kiss. Gojo’s hand found the back of Amara’s neck, pulling her closer as she responded with equal fervour. The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the rhythm of their hearts and the warmth of their bodies pressing together.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Amara’s eyes were bright with the same emotions he was feeling. She smiled,”that was definitely much better than our first” then her fingers gently brushed his cheek. “I think you finally got through to me, Gojo,” she whispered. “I’m yours.”

The following month, on Amara’s birthday, Gojo had planned a day for her, one that was deeply personal, carefully curated with all the things she loved. They spent the month prior basking in each others love sharing passionate kisses that spoke promises of the future. And from the moment he picked her up in the morning, he was determined to make it a day she would never forget.

First, they stopped at her favourite bakery, where Gojo had arranged for a special cake, a light, layered masterpiece of chocolate and fresh berries, just for her. He smiled as he watched her eyes light up, the joy on her face making everything feel worth it.

After a leisurely breakfast, they made their way to the art gallery Amara had always dreamed of visiting. It was a small, intimate space in the city, known for showcasing emerging artists. Amara’s eyes sparkled as she stepped inside, breathing in the scent of fresh paint and canvas. She couldn’t help but admire the work on the walls, and Gojo, always so attentive to her every need, was content to just watch her.

He didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. Watching her immerse herself in the art, seeing the way she was drawn to pieces that spoke to her soul, made him realise just how much he had learned about her over the years. He’d paid attention to the small details the artists she admired, the colours she loved, the moments she shared with him about her own creative passions.

After their stroll through the gallery, Gojo led Amara to a secluded corner of the city park, the very spot they had talked about visiting together one day. It was quiet here, with only the sound of the leaves rustling in the breeze and the distant hum of the city. There was a bench, but this time, they chose the soft, grass-covered hill nearby, where they could see the sky stretching wide above them.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Amara murmured, her voice soft. “How did we get here, Gojo? From all the teasing, to this?”

Gojo chuckled quietly, his lips brushing the top of her head. “I think it’s all been part of the journey. Every moment led us here. And now… we’re here.”

Amara smiled, closing her eyes, feeling the warmth of him beside her. She had waited for so long to feel this way, to be seen, to be loved for exactly who she was. And now, with Gojo beside her, it felt like everything was falling into place.

“I’m happy,” she said, her voice full of contentment. “Happy to be here with you.”

He kissed her forehead, his voice thick with emotion. “Me too, Amara. More than I can say.”

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting its golden warmth over the park. Gojo and Amara lay side by side, their fingers intertwined, the soft rustle of the wind through the trees the only sound that broke the tranquility. The world felt miles away in this moment, as if they were the only two people left in it. Amara's head rested on Gojo's chest, her breath steady and calm. She had always loved the feeling of being close to him, of existing in the quiet spaces between words.

"You know," Gojo said, his voice low and playful, "I think I’ve got one more surprise for you today."

Amara smiled, her eyes still closed as she tilted her head slightly to listen. "Another one? After all the surprises already?"

Gojo chuckled, the sound vibrating in his chest. "I promise, this one’s worth it."

He gently squeezed her hand and pointed toward a distant window on a building across the park. The window was bathed in a soft, almost ethereal blue light, as though it were holding some secret just for her. “That’s where your final birthday gift is," he said, his words laced with anticipation.

Amara raised her head, squinting toward the window. “That’s... odd,” she mused. “What’s in there, hopefully not a wrestling ring?”she giggled

“It’s a surprise,” Gojo replied with a wink. “But I think you’ll love it.”

Amara sat up, brushing the grass off her clothes. Gojo helped her to her feet, and together, they started walking toward the building. Gojo kept his pace slow and steady, clearly enjoying the moment, enjoying the way Amara’s laughter filled the space between them. Every so often, he would do something, twist her around in a playful spin, make a silly face, that made her giggle, and he basked in it. He adored that sound, the sound that told him he was doing something right.

As they neared the building, Gojo led her up a flight of stairs, and Amara noticed the small touches: balloons, tacky and blue like his eyes that she had fallen so in love with, scattered across the landing. They were nothing like the surprises she had imagined, but there was something undeniably endearing about them.

“Are you sure this is it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at the balloons. "Are we really going in here?"

Gojo nodded, his grin widening. “Trust me.”

He unlocked the door and gently pushed it open, revealing a room bathed in that same soft, blue light. It felt as though the air itself was infused with warmth and possibility. The walls were adorned with paintings, paintings she’d talked about for years. Scenes of sunsets, abstract swirls of colour, portraits of people she admired. Each one a reflection of her dreams, her passions, her creativity. Amara’s breath caught in her throat as she took it all in.

“Gojo… how did you-?” She couldn’t find the words. This wasn’t just any apartment. It was a space that spoke of her, of everything she had ever wanted, of everything she had shared with him in those quiet moments when she let her heart spill open.

“I listened,” Gojo said simply, his voice warm, full of love. “All these years, I’ve listened to you talk about what you want, what you need, and I wanted to give it to you.”

The room was hers, her own sanctuary, her own canvas. There were art supplies everywhere, brushes and paints, sketchpads and easels. Every detail had been chosen with care, every corner carefully curated to reflect her spirit. The blue balloons, though a bit out of place, added a lighthearted touch, a contrast to the depth of everything else.

Amara turned to him, her eyes wide, her lips trembling as she fought to hold back the tears. “You did all this… for me?”

Gojo nodded, his eyes shining with a quiet joy. “For you. Because I love you.”

He stepped forward and gently took her hand, leading her into the heart of the room. He showed her the windows, the view of the park where they had first met, and how the light played in the space at different times of day. He walked her to the corner where an easel was set up, a canvas blank and waiting. “I want you to fill this space,” he said. “Whatever you create, whatever you dream, it’s yours. I just want you to be free here.”

Amara’s heart swelled with emotion. “But this isn’t just a space… it’s… it’s everything.”

He smiled softly, leading her toward the bedroom door, a small, unspoken invitation in his gaze. "There's one more thing," he murmured, his voice tender.

Amara followed him, her heart racing. As the door opened, the room was even more intimate than the rest of the apartment, soft lighting, a large bed covered in linens she had always dreamed of. The walls were decorated with sketches she had shown him in passing, pieces of her soul captured in charcoal and ink.

“Gojo, this... it’s too much,” she whispered, overwhelmed by the depth of his love.

“It’s not too much,” he said gently, pulling her close. “It’s exactly what you deserve.”

And in that moment, with the world outside forgotten, they stood together in the quiet of the room, surrounded by all the things that meant something to her, all the things that meant something to them. He had listened to her every dream, every wish, and he had brought them to life.

And as Amara finally let herself cry, not from sadness, but from the purest form of gratitude and love, she knew that this, this was home. Not just the apartment, not just the blue light, but the way Gojo had made her feel seen, heard, and cherished in ways she hadn’t even realised she needed.

He had given her more than a gift. He had given her a place to be herself, to create, to grow, and most importantly, to be loved. And she knew then, that this man possessed her heart.

With her in his arms, Gojo's obsession with Amara had reached a boiling point, and tonight, he was determined to make her his. Her dark, sultry beauty had ensnared his heart and mind, and now, he yearned to possess every inch of her being. As he stood in the dimly lit bedroom, his hypnotic blue eyes fixed on her. He could see beyond the physical realm, delving into the depths of her soul, laying her bare before him.

Amara, felt a tingle run down her spine as Gojo's intense gaze traveled over her body. She was a vision of voluptuous perfection, her features becoming more beautiful over the years he pined for her, her curvy figure accentuated by her smooth, dark skin. Her full breasts rose and fell with each breath, she looked up to him in a way she never had before and sauntered her way towards the bed, her seductive hips swaying with each step.

Gojo's heart raced, his desire for her becoming almost painful. With slow, deliberate movements, he approached her, his eyes never leaving her face. "You are exquisite, my Amara," he whispered, his voice deep and raspy with want. "Tonight, I intend to worship every inch of you."

A shiver ran through Amara's body at his words, a mixture of excitement and nervousness. She had felt Gojo's gaze on her for weeks, sensing his desire, but tonight, something felt different. There was an intensity in his eyes that made her feel both vulnerable and incredibly powerful.

Gojo reached out, his pale, strong fingers gently brushing against her cheek. "May I?"he asked, his voice hoarse with need, the same nervousness that he felt on that bench they first met thrummed through him. Amara nodded, her breath catching in her throat as his hand moved to the back of her neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there.

With a gentle touch, he guided her towards the bed, his eyes never wavering from hers. As they reached the edge of the mattress, Gojo's hand slid down, tracing the curve of her shoulder, making her tremble. His touch was electric, sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

"Lie down, my love," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "Let me undress you, body and soul."

Amara complied, her heart pounding as she felt the soft sheets beneath her. Gojo's fingers worked at the buttons of her satin blouse ,with each he revealed more of her creamy skin, his eyes feasting on the sight. The top slid off her shoulders, baring her ample cleavage, and Gojo's breath caught in his throat.

"So beautiful," he whispered, leaning down to place a soft kiss on the swell of her breast. Amara arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips as his lips trailed kisses along the curve of her neck, down to the sensitive hollow of her throat. His hands roamed freely now, exploring her body with reverence. He cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her hardening nipples, eliciting a gasp from her. Purring sweet praises into her ears his voice thick with desire.

Amara could only nod, her eyes fluttering shut as his mouth claimed one taut peak, suckling gently. His free hand slid down her body, fingers teasing the waistband of her skirt. With a swift motion, he lifted her hips, sliding the skirt down her thighs, revealing her lacy black panties.

Gojo's eyes darkened at the sight of her barely covered sex. He inhaled her scent, a heady mix of desire and arousal. Growing intoxicated by her very being. "Let me taste you." He groaned, words forced out in laboured pants. Amara looked deep into his eyes as if giving him permission to do anything with her body.

With that, he hooked his fingers under the elastic of her panties and slowly slid them down her legs, his eyes never leaving her glistening core. Amara's breath came in short gasps as he exposed her completely, her dark curls glistening with her arousal.

Kneeling between her thighs, Gojo leaned forward, his breath tickling her sensitive skin. "So beautiful," he whispered, his warm breath fanning the wetness between her thighs. "I want to taste every part of you." His tongue darted out, tracing the slit of her sex, making her jerk against him. Amara's hands clutched at the sheets, her body arching as he laved her with long, slow strokes of his tongue. He explored her intimately, his mouth suckling her most delicate parts, his long fingers delving into her wetness, seeking out her most sensitive spots. He was determined to know her body the same way he knew her.

Amara cried out, her voice hoarse with pleasure. Her hips bucked against his mouth, seeking more of his delicious torment. He held her thighs firmly, his tongue delving deeper, his fingers working in perfect rhythm.

As Amara's pleasure built, Gojo's own desire threatened to consume him. He wanted to be inside her, to feel her tight heat surrounding him. Be consumed by the fires of the girl he sought to marry. His tongue flicked and teased, his fingers stroking her in a relentless rhythm.

"Come for me, my love," he urged, his voice thick with need. "Let me feel your sweet release."

Amara's body tightened, his words controlling her body like a conductor, she hovered on the edge of ecstasy, inching towards oblivion . Gojo's mouth and fingers worked in unison, driving her higher and higher until, with a cry, she shattered around him, her body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through her.

Gojo held her through the storm of her climax, his mouth never leaving her sensitive flesh. He savoured her taste, her essence, as her body quivered and relaxed beneath him. Slowly, he withdrew, his eyes dark with passion as he gazed down at her.

"You are mine, Amara," he growled, his voice filled with possession. "Body and soul."

Amara, still breathless from her orgasm, looked up at him, her eyes hazy with desire. "Yes, Gojo," she whispered, "I'm yours."

With that, he positioned himself at her entrance, his thick length throbbing with need. He pushed forward, slowly invading her wet heat, groaning at the tightness that enveloped him. Amara gasped, her eyes widening as she felt his size filling her completely.

He whined pitifully , his hands gripping hers as he began to move, withdrawing almost entirely before slowly bullying his length back into her. Whispering words of praise, breath shaky as he succumbed to the pleasure he knew that only Amara could bring. the woman who had captured his heart many years ago.

Amara cried out, her body adjusting to his invasion. Gojo's pace was relentless, his hips snapping forward, driving into her again and again. His breath was hot against her neck, his lips trailing kisses and bites along her collarbone."You feel so good, Amara," he panted, his voice thick with pleasure.

She sang out in response, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as he pounded into her. His thrusts were deep and powerful, hitting all the right spots, sending sparks of pleasure through her sated body.

He claimed her with each thrust, his words echoing in her mind, declaring his ownership. "You're mine, every inch of you," he whispered , his hips snapping forward, his balls slapping against her.

Amara's breath came in short, sharp pants, her body flushed and glistening with sweat. Crying out the words he always aimed to hear. "I'm yours, only yours."

As her words spurred him on, Gojo's control slipped further. His thrusts became wilder, his need to possess her utterly consuming him. He wanted to brand her soul with his pleasure, to leave her marked by their passion."Cum for me again, my love," he almost begged, gliding his thick length into her. "Cum with me deep inside you."

Amara's body tightened around him, her muscles clenching as she soared towards another climax. Gojo's name was a chant on her lips as she shattered, body convulsing in pleasure. He held himself deep within her, his own orgasm building to an unbearable peak. With a final, powerful thrust, he unleashed his release, filling her with his hot essence, his body trembling as he surrendered to the ecstasy.

In the aftermath of their passionate union, Gojo collapsed onto the bed beside Amara, his chest heaving as he fought to regain his breath. He pulled her close, her dark skin contrasting against his pale body, and kissed her deeply, “Happy birthday, Juliet" he murmured against her lips, his hands stroking her hair. "I've never felt this way before."

Amara giggled, her eyes sparkling with memories of past days. "You're pretty incredible my Romeo," she replied, her voice soft and lighthearted.

As they lay entangled in each other's arms, their hearts still racing, Gojo knew one thing for sure: no matter what the future held, he and Amara had found something real, something lasting. And that was all that mattered.

—-

Months passed, and Gojo and Amara were woven into the fabric of each other’s lives. It felt as though they had stepped into a world all their own, a world where their love burned bright, constant, and unyielding, a life free from the shackles of the world he was born into. They spent their days wrapped in the warmth of each other's company, indulging in the things they had always dreamed of. Every moment felt like a gift, and together, they filled their time with the kind of joy that only comes when two souls are perfectly in tune.

Amara had become his teacher in ways Gojo hadn’t expected. She taught him how to paint, not just with brushes, but with heart. She’d guide his hands, coaxing out the layers of creativity he never knew existed inside him. At first, Gojo had been stiff, unsure of how to express himself on the canvas, but with each stroke, with each colour, Amara showed him how to let go of the world outside. He learned to see beauty in the smallest moments, to trust the art that flowed through him. And as he painted, he felt more human than he had in years, alive in a way that only came from being seen and understood.

Her laughter filled the apartment, the sound of it threading through the air like a melody that Gojo had longed for but never realised he needed. Amara made him feel light, not weighed down by the expectations of a world that had often felt heavy and unforgiving, that had caused him to lose everyone he’s ever cared about, not weighed down by the expectations of the clans.

And he adored her for it, for the way she brought him out of the shadows of his own self-doubt, the way she helped him feel free.

They would spend long, lazy evenings talking about their childhoods. Amara’s days ignoring his endless attempts to capture her heart, hours spent doing the most ludicrous things to see a smile grace her lips, dreaming of the day he could call her his wife. They would laugh at the stories of their awkward teenage years, the cringeworthy moments they shared in their youth. Conversations often end with one of them pulling the other into a lingering kiss, and falling into the bed were the passions were laid bare, slick skin and heavy breaths, whispers of devotion as they laid claim over each others bodies.

But still he faced the pressures of his responsibilities as the head of the Gojo clan, juggling between living the life he was forced to live, and the one that called to his heart, a life he wouldn’t dare reveal to her out of fear for her safety. But for now, he held Amara close, breathing in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body pressed against his. Here he had found his peace, here he had found home.

Until the day in the confines of the Gojo residence, the day Gojo received the letter, the day that would change the whole trajectory of his life.

He’d been sitting in his room, the usual tranquility of his life disturbed only by the soft sound of birds chirping outside, when a heavy envelope arrived. His family’s crest was stamped on the wax seal. Gojo had long known the weight those letters carried, but nothing in his life had prepared him for what lay inside.

The letter was an ultimatum, though it felt more like a sentence.

“Gojo Satoru, Heir to the Gojo clan

It is time for you to fulfil your responsibilities. As you know, the family name must be protected, and the time has come for you to marry the woman we have chosen for you.

Her family is one of great standing, she comes from a long line of powerful sorcerers and this alliance is in your best interest. You are to meet her as soon as possible to formalise the engagement. We expect you to comply without delay.

Yours in duty, Gojo clan, Zen-in clan, Kamo Clan.”

The words blurred in front of his eyes. Gojo felt as if the room was spinning. He dropped the letter onto the floor, unable to comprehend what he had just read.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not when he had finally found something real. Not when he had finally found someone who made him feel like he could be himself, someone who had come into his life and seen him for who he truly was, not just as a name or a sorcerer.

And yet, the elders and his father’s command echoed through his mind with terrifying clarity. This wasn’t a request. This wasn’t even a suggestion. It was an order.

Gojo’s chest tightened. He felt a boiling rage rise up from the pit of his stomach, a fury that he could no longer contain. He stood up from his desk, his fists clenching at his sides. He marched out of his room, the walls of his family’s compound towering above him as if they were closing in. The Elders had controlled his life for so long. First, it had been his schooling, then his life missions, and now this. An arranged marriage.

To a stranger.

How could his father expect him to just comply with this? Go along with the elders wishes? How could anyone demand such a thing?

His thoughts spiralled, and with every passing moment, his anger grew, gnawing at him, pushing him to the brink of breaking. He stormed into the grand family room, where his mother and father were seated, their voices cool and composed as always.

But Gojo wasn’t composed. He was a hurricane, a storm of frustration and hurt.

“You can’t do this!” he shouted, his voice breaking with the weight of his emotions. “I won’t do it! I won’t marry her!”

His father’s cold, calculating gaze flickered toward him. “Gojo,” his father began, his tone firm but dismissive, “you will do as you are told. This is not a decision up for discussion.”

“I don’t care!” Gojo’s voice was raw now, the room soon seeming to vibrate with the intensity of his emotions and the cursed energy that bled into it, and before he knew it, he was hurling a vase across the room. It shattered against the wall, the sound of delicate Japanese porcelain crashing to the floor echoing through the house.

His mother gasped, but Gojo was beyond caring. He grabbed a nearby chair and smashed it against the floor, his hands trembling with a mixture of rage and helplessness. “I don’t want this life! I don’t want any of it!” he screamed, his words a raw, jagged sound.

He turned to his father, his eyes blazing with fury. “Do you hear me? I am not some pawn in your game! I won’t be forced into this!”

But his father remained unmoved, his voice still calm, though with an edge of finality. “This is not about you, Gojo. It is about our family’s legacy, our name. You will do your duty.”

A silence fell between them, thick and suffocating. Gojo’s heart pounded in his chest as he realised the truth he’d always known deep down. He had no control over his own life. He was still bound by the invisible chains of his family’s expectations, expectations of the clans.

And so, he stormed out of the room, his mind reeling, his heart torn in two.

---

For the next few days, Gojo barely slept, his only reprise the fleeting moments he spent with Amara, lies of being consumed with work spilling through his teeth like poison. He couldn’t eat. His thoughts were consumed by the impossible choice he now faced: a life with Amara, the only person who had ever truly understood him, or a life in the gilded cage the elders had built for him.

But despite the turmoil inside him, Gojo made a choice. He couldn’t tell Amara. Not yet.

He loved her too much to burden her with this. She had always been free, so strong, so independent, and Gojo knew she would never accept a life where he wasn’t free to choose her. No matter how much it hurt him to lie to her, in a way much different to hiding his true identity , he couldn’t risk losing her.

And so, Gojo kept his secret. Every day, he put on the mask of the carefree, goofy young man she had come to love, the one who would make her laugh and spoil her with gifts, who would share tender kisses and dream of a future where nothing mattered except the two of them.

---

Days turned into weeks, and despite the gnawing pain that ate away at his soul, Gojo remained steadfast in his devotion to Amara. He continued to surprise her with flowers, handpicked books, and her favourite chocolate. He would plan little adventures, taking her to art shows, cooking her favourite meals, or simply staying in and watching movies, just the two of them.

Amara was everything to him. She had always been his escape, his solace in a world that expected so much from him. He would lie to her face, tell her that everything was fine, all while his heart shattered inside. But he couldn’t let her see the truth, not when they were so happy, so in love.

He would hold her hand, kiss her forehead, and pretend like he wasn’t being torn apart inside. Caress her soft skin as he eased his length into her at night, whispers of love echoing around the room. But the more he lied, the more it ate at him. The guilt gnawed at his insides, making it harder and harder to be the man he wanted to be for her.

Amara, for her part, was oblivious to the turmoil swirling beneath his smile. She saw the love in his eyes, the way he would do anything just to make her smile. She adored him, his silly antics, his sweet gestures, the way he made her feel cherished in every moment. The way his hypnotic eyes would stare into her sole as he worshiped her body at night, entranced by the sheer passion behind them.

One evening, after a particularly beautiful dinner he’d cooked for her, they sat together on the couch, her head resting on his chest as they watched the stars through the window.

“Gojo,” she murmured, her voice soft, “you always know how to make me feel so special. I’m so lucky to have you.”

Gojo’s heart squeezed at the words. He kissed her forehead, his voice tight, fighting to keep his emotions in check. “No, Amara. I’m the lucky one.”

But deep down, he knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t lucky at all. Not anymore.

---

As the days wore on, Gojo’s obsession with making Amara smile grew. He would buy her more extravagant gifts, write her notes, and shower her with affection. But each time he did, the lie in his heart became heavier. The more he gave her, the more he felt the weight of the truth pressing down on him.

One evening, as they were sharing a quiet moment at the park, Amara turned to him with a soft smile. “I love the way you make me feel, Gojo,” she said, her voice full of affection. “It’s like I can’t help but be happy when I’m with you.”

Gojo’s smile faltered for just a moment. “I’m glad,” he said softly, but the words felt hollow in his mouth.

And in that moment, as he looked into her eyes, eyes full of love, trust, and happiness, he realised just how much he was willing to sacrifice for her.

His heart ached as he thought about the arranged marriage. The life he was supposed to lead, the life the clans had planned for him. But every time he looked at Amara, he knew one thing for sure: he couldn’t live without her.

But the secret he was keeping, the one he had promised himself would stay buried, was beginning to suffocate him.

As the weeks passed, the lies started to feel less like a heavy burden and more like a part of his new routine. The days bled into one another, easy, joyful, filled with the kind of laughter that made Gojo feel like a different person. A *better* person.

Amara was his refuge. Every time he looked at her, every time they shared a joke, or held hands, or kissed in the soft, moonlit glow of her apartment, it felt like the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders, if only for a moment. She was his joy, his escape from the rigid constraints of his family’s demands.

They spent hours together, cooking dinner for each other, more often than not, it was Amara leading the way in the kitchen, her laughter filling the air as Gojo played the fool, pretending to be a terrible chef by purposefully making a mess. He’d throw flour everywhere and pretend to "accidentally" burn things, making her laugh until her cheeks hurt. In return, she’d teach him how to make her favourite dishes, and they’d share them, talking about everything and nothing at all.

And at night he would lay her down on the bed they shared, only when his long cock is buried into her that he feels whole again, groans of sweet praises and words of affection sending thrums of pleasure through her, their tongues mirroring the rhythm of their bodies.

Gojo drawing her in with a magnetic pull that neither could resist, lips brushing against her ear, raw passion consuming them, and when her mouth falls over his length, he loses himself completely to the pleasure she gives him, becoming a whining mess under her slick tongue. Shocks of electricity corse through her as soft hands brushed her face and thumbed at her lips.

Symphonic moans, testaments to their pleasure. Hands grasped at shoulders, fingers sinking into flesh, a harmonious accumulation of their love that even her art couldn't express. Their love melting into a crescendo of pleasurable cries as they unleash their souls into one another.

And as they lay there, their bodies entangled, only then Gojo's thoughts turn away from the stresses of his family responsibilities. In Amara's arms, he found an escape, a refuge where he could immerse himself in love and pleasurable bliss and forget about the harsh reality of his existence, if only for a short while.

Amara loved his authenticity, the way he never tried to be anyone other than who he was. Gojo never put on airs with her. He was goofy, self-deprecating, and wholly himself, like a breath of fresh air she had always longed for. She saw him not as a sole heir to the Gojo clan or a wealthy man, but as the man who could make her laugh on a bad day, who could calm her when she was restless, and whose hands, whenever they touched hers, made her feel like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

And Gojo? He was falling harder every single day.

They were inseparable, caught in a whirlwind of love that only seemed to grow more intense with each passing moment. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, sometimes in the middle of a joke, Gojo would pull her into his arms and kiss her deeply, stealing her breath away. Other times, they’d lie side by side on her couch, their fingers entwined, their hearts beating in perfect rhythm as they whispered secrets and dreams to each other.

---

But despite the joy he found in Amara’s arms, Gojo’s reality still lurked just outside the bubble they had created. Every few days, there would be a knock at the door of his family’s mansion, a letter or a phone call reminding him of his duty, reminding him that his life wasn’t his own, no matter how free he felt with Amara.

The arranged dates were the worst. Each time, Gojo would put on a mask, a mask of politeness, of indifference. He would sit across from a woman he had never met, forced to talk about things that mattered so little to him, all while his mind raced back to Amara.

How could he sit there, pretending to be interested in someone else, when he knew he was already in love? When he could still feel the warmth of Amara’s skin against his, the taste of her lips fresh on his mouth?

But what else could he do? The future his father had planned for him was an inescapable web. He would attend the meetings, go through the motions, and when it was all over, he would return to Amara’s side, where he could forget about the life he was supposed to live.

He never told her about the dates. He couldn’t. Not when it would hurt her. Not when everything they had felt so perfect, so real. Instead, he’d smile and make her laugh, giving her all of his attention the moment he returned to her.

But as time went on, the guilt began to creep in, slipping through the cracks of his carefully constructed happiness. Each time he returned home from one of the arranged meetings, dinner with a stranger, exchanging polite words with a woman who was nothing more than a pawn in a game of family alliances, he felt the weight of the lie pressing down on him.

The guilt gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside. Amara never asked about his family’s business, and Gojo never volunteered the information. He simply let the days flow as they were, one beautiful, blissful day after another. He never mentioned the awkward silences of those arranged meetings, or how, every time he was forced to sit across from someone he could never care about, he would count down the minutes until he could escape back to the one place he felt free, back to Amara.

Where he drowned himself in the pleasures between her thighs, drowning in the nectar of her sweet essence. Content, in letting her breathe moans into his ears as he devoted his entire self into pleasing the woman that had gave his life meaning.

It was easier to pretend. Easier to act like nothing had changed. Every time he kissed her, he could forget. Every time she smiled at him, it was like the weight of the world lifted for just a few precious seconds.

But every day, the lie was eating at him. Gojo could feel it in his gut, the gnawing sensation that he was betraying the one person who trusted him with everything.

---

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and they sat together on her balcony, Amara leaned against him, her eyes closed in contentment. Gojo felt a pang in his chest as he looked down at her, her face peaceful, unaware of the storm raging inside him.

“Gojo,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper, “I’ve never felt so happy. You make me feel like I’m the only one in the world that matters.”

His heart twisted painfully. He kissed the top of her head, his throat tight. “You are the only one that matters,” he murmured, though the words felt like a lie in the pit of his stomach.

She looked up at him, her eyes full of love, her gaze so trusting that it made his heart ache.

“Promise me, Gojo,” she said, her voice almost too soft, “that nothing will ever come between us. No matter what happens, we’ll always have this.”

The words hung in the air like a fragile thread, binding them together in a moment of pure connection. Gojo wanted to scream, to tell her everything, to confess the weight of the lies he had been carrying for so long. But he couldn’t bring himself to shatter the delicate bubble of happiness they had created.

“I promise,” he said quietly, though the words felt empty. He promised to stay, to love her with everything he had, but deep down, he knew he couldn’t keep that promise forever. He knew there would come a day when his family’s decisions would collide with the life he had built with her, and there would be no way to hide the truth anymore.

But for now, he would let himself be lost in her arms, in her smile, in the warmth of their shared moments. He would keep lying to himself and to her, pretending everything was fine.

Because when she kissed him, when she laughed at his goofy jokes, when she simply existed beside him, everything felt perfect, even if it was all built on a lie.

---

The days continued to pass, and Gojo remained trapped in his double life. But in the moments when Amara’s eyes met his, when they held hands or shared a quiet, intimate kiss, he allowed himself to forget. At least for a while, he could pretend that he wasn’t a pawn in a game he didn’t choose.

At least for now, he could be the man she loved, and the man he wished he could be.

Amara stood at the gates of Gojo's estate, his shared location beaming on the screen of her phone, her heart light with excitement. The gift in her hands felt like something special, a small token of her love for him. She had been thinking about him all day, the warmth of his smile, the way he made her feel like she was the only person in the world. She was eager to return the watch he'd left at her apartment, to see him again, and maybe even share a quiet moment together. As she approached the gate, the butler looked her over with a cold, disinterested gaze.

“May I ask who you are?” he inquired, his tone formal.

Amara’s heart fluttered in surprise. “I’m Amara,” she replied, confused. “Gojo’s girlfriend.” She laughed lightly, unsure why that would need to be clarified.

The butler’s face remained impassive. “The young master is with his fiancée,” he sneered, barely disguising the contempt in his voice. “You’re unworthy of him.”

The words hit her like a cold slap, and her breath caught in her throat. She stood there, frozen, momentarily unsure of how to respond. Her hands shook slightly as she placed the watch and the wrapped gift in his hands. “Please... pass this along to him once he’s done,” she said softly, fighting to keep her voice steady.

The butler said nothing, but his icy demeanour spoke volumes. She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, and turned to leave, her steps heavy with the weight of his words. She felt like she had just been dismissed, like the love she had for Gojo had somehow been reduced to something insignificant.

Amara forced herself not to cry, keeping her composure as she walked away from the estate, her heart breaking with each step. The world around her seemed to blur, the brightness of the day dimming as the sadness closed in. She refused to break down in front of anyone, not yet. But as soon as she reached her apartment and shut the door behind her, all her strength unraveled.

Tears streamed down her face as she sank to the floor, her sobs raw and desperate. Her chest felt tight, as if her heart was splintering into pieces. The words of the butler echoed in her mind: “unworthy of him.” She screamed, a sound of frustration and pain, but it did nothing to ease the ache inside her. How had she been so wrong? How had she not seen the signs? She had given everything to Gojo, believed in him so deeply, only to find that he was already spoken for.

In the midst of her grief, she gathered herself together, wiping her tears with shaky hands. She packed her things, each item she placed into her bag feeling like a weight she couldn’t carry anymore. She moved through her apartment mechanically, still numb from the pain. When she finished, she grabbed a pen and quickly wrote a note to Gojo:

“I guess I was never enough for you. Goodbye.”

With one last look around, she left her apartment, leaving the note behind as a final farewell.

As she stepped out into the night, her heart felt as empty as the room she left behind.

The evening dragged on painfully for Gojo. His fiancee , a well-mannered woman with an air of sophistication, seemed to have little in common with him beyond formal pleasantries. His thoughts, however, were elsewhere, with Amara. He couldn’t stop thinking about her laughter, her warmth, the way she made him feel like he was the only person in the world who mattered. Every conversation at the table felt like a distant echo. He kept imagining the way she smiled, the way her eyes softened when she looked at him. Nothing else seemed to matter.

As soon as the dinner ended, Gojo excused himself under the pre-tense of an late meeting with the head of the Kamo clan. The moment he got to his room, he called for his butler, his mind clouded with thoughts of Amara. He needed to hear from her. But when the butler arrived with the item she had left behind, there was something in the air, something unsettling in the way the butler held the small package. The butler’s expression was cold, his eyes narrow, but Gojo didn't pay it much mind.

He tore open the gift with a mix of anticipation and worry, his mind still caught in the fog of uncertainty about where Amara stood with him. A small white box fell open in his hands, and inside was a pregnancy test, a *positive* one. His heart stopped.

No.

A sense of dread suddenly besieged him it was like he could tell something was not afoot.

Gojo’s world tilted, the room spinning around him. His body moved before his mind had a chance to catch up, his legs carrying him to the car, to Amara’s apartment, a place that once felt like a sanctuary. He ignored the frantic calls from his fiancée and the messages from his staff as they bombarded him. There was only one thing on his mind, getting to her. He had to fix this.

When he arrived at Amara’s apartment, the emptiness hit him first. It felt wrong, too quiet, too still. He opened the door to find it completely cleared out, the space where her things once were now bare and hollow.

On the kitchen counter, a note lay waiting for him. His fingers trembled as he picked it up, his heart pounding in his chest. He read it over and over again, each word sinking into him like a dagger. “I guess I was never enough for you. Goodbye.”

His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor, the note crumpling in his hands. For the first time in his life, he felt utterly lost. His mind raced through the memories they had shared, the quiet nights, the stolen kisses, the way she would rest her head on his shoulder and make him feel like everything was right in the world. He loved her. He had loved her in a way that was supposed to last, in a way he thought would endure.

But she was gone.

Gojo’s breath came in ragged gasps as he stood up, his hands shaking with the weight of his guilt and despair. His eyes landed on a framed picture of him and Amara, taken on a day they had spent laughing, carefree, surrounded by sunlight and joy, the day she said she was lucky to have him, hanging on the barren walls, all her art work seemingly taken away. Without thinking, his fist collided with the glass, shattering it into jagged pieces. A sharp pain coursed through his knuckles as he pulled his hand back, a dark crimson stain spreading across his skin, his infinity failing him. But the pain didn't matter. It was nothing compared to the ache inside him.

He looked down at the blood seeping from his hand, a symbol of how broken he felt, of how shattered his entire world had become. The woman who had given him a reason to breathe, to keep going, had left him. And with her went the future he had imagined, one where they built a life together, one where they shared everything. But that was gone now.

His body trembled as he sank to his knees in the middle of the apartment, his sobs wracking his chest, raw and uncontrollable. He cried for Amara, for the child that would never know its mother or father together. He cried for the life he had lost and for the love he had thrown away, too blind, too foolish to see what was right in front of him.

Memories of her flooded his mind: her voice, her smile, the way she had been there for him even when he didn't deserve it. Now, all that was left were the ghosts of what could have been. The apartment, now empty and silent, felt like a tomb.

Gojo was broken. And he didn’t know if he could ever be whole again.

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