Its Just So.. UGH FLUFFY

・゜゜・． tell me about love (show me how) | gojo satoru

◌ wc: 7.3k ◌ summary: you teach gojo how to love.  ◌ warnings: wrote this with f!reader in mind but idt i mentioned anything specific so it should be gn as well!, descriptions of blood (typical jjk canon type stuff), shibuya onwards manga spoilers, implied minor character death, there are swears, suggestive bit at the end (but it’s funny!), lots of internal thoughts/dialogues  ◌ a/n: this piece relates to my short blurb, do you believe in love? but isn’t necessarily a sequel to it! explores a lot on gojo internal struggles and beliefs (or at least the version of gojo i envision for this universe)! timeline is a bit ambiguous because it hops through a lot of in-betweens but it’s linear for the most part! also placed my own (optimistic and probably unrealistic) predictions of how things will pan out but i don’t go too much into it! i would also like to shoutout @stellamancer for leaving such lovely comments on dybil that it actually kinda pushed me to write this longer piece connected to it!! ◌ part ii of conversations on love: i | ii

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

When Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it. 

It’s unusual for him to be so restrained, being born into greed and predetermined purpose—a one-man clan fated to hold power close to God. There exists a hunger within him, insatiable and stubborn, unstoppable until he gets what he wants. It’s all he’s ever known: to take and devour, simply because he can. 

Yet with this, he doesn’t. He can’t seem to. 

“I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

When you offer your heart to Gojo, he looks at you softly. 

You catch his eyes and see the sky, bright, with flecks of light floating on his irises like cotton clouds in its periphery. It’s different from the piercing blue you’re used to—a terrifying riptide that washes you away. 

It wasn’t intended as a confession, but Gojo always takes whatever you have to say. He commits it to memory each time; how could he not? Words that come from you flow so naturally, so earnestly that the air around you shifts all on its own.

His lips part slightly, red spatterings lining pink inner corners before they close again. He doesn’t say anything, but you know Gojo and the fingerprints of his soul—the way he bites his lips to withhold himself from speaking. 

It’s dangerous, he thinks, how you make wanting something so complicated seem so simple.

He takes a small breath, then you feel it, pressed against you—the faint signatures of his cursed energy overlaying his entirety. It tickles a little. You don’t remember the last time he put it up around you.

A million things run through Gojo’s mind for every split second he breathes, but at this point in time, he counts a million and one—one thought that if he touches you by infinity instead of his hands, he can have this good thing for now, that this is the only way how. 

And you’d think this a rejection if any, but he doesn’t move away from you, and the red blooming at the tips of his ears says more than he ever could. 

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The subtle intimacy you share with Gojo grows sporadically, from knuckles brushing to pinkies touching. He stands next to you more often, a few inches closer than he used to and sometimes, still, with an infinity connecting you.

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When you hold Gojo’s hand for the first time, he jolts very slightly, as if you’ve shocked him. He’s started to put his infinity down around you again, and you continue the limbo of whatever it is you both are—except this time, he’s made it clearer, just a little bit. 

It’s the last few leaves of fall and Gojo skips to an ice cream stand like a pre-schooler on early dismissal. You follow, shaking your head but smiling; he’s the only adult you know that still acts like he’s 5. 

“You’re like a horse.” you jest, stopping next to him in line.

“You’re a snail.” he huffs, side-eyeing you, like a child. 

You gasp, hitting his arm. He fake-winces, but that’s all it is; Gojo’s the strongest and you don’t know of any human touch that has managed to hurt him, except—

Yeah. Your eyes trail to the side of his neck, hidden in the shadows of his jawline; there’s really nothing, but sometimes you blink and see red, oozing, gushing, leaking—you shake away the thought.  

When he receives his ice cream cone stacked with vanilla-strawberry-vanilla and rainbow sprinkles on top, the smile on his face parallels the sun. He looks cozy, beaming against the autumn breeze blowing on his thick gray hoodie. You wonder if he feels just as warm.

(Maybe that’s why you do it, then).

Just as Gojo turns to give you the cone, you reach for his other hand tentatively, shyly. You want to give him an out if he can’t take this, but he doesn’t move. He twitches a little, like he’s been caught off guard, but that’s it. 

You catch his eyes widen briefly, just a little bit, before turning into the same soft skies frequenting them lately. 

“Sorry, is this okay?” you whisper, peering up at him. 

He stares at you for a while, his hand in yours unmoving. You leave a sliver of space between your palms, your own version of his infinity, just in case. And he takes it all in: how tiny your hand is wrapped around his, how gently you speak—how warm he feels now amidst this autumn breeze. 

“The strawberry’s really good,” he finally replies, pressing the dessert closer to you, “try it.” 

You give him one last look before you indulge in his request. Gojo’s always been good at that: pushing and pulling—pushing you away with non-answers only to pull you back in with something else. 

But he doesn’t let go of your hand, so you keep yours there, palms nearly touching. You make a point not to mention how the parts that do touch become clammy for the rest of the afternoon. 

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You start to think that your relationship with Gojo is going somewhere, then he disappears (‘gets sealed’ might be the more proper term). 

His absence is deafening. You’ve all lost so much, and it hurts, but you carry on knowing full well that this is what being a jujutsu sorcerer means. There aren’t many left to fight his fight, so you do what you can to. You stay with Shoko, mostly, if not going back and forth with Utahime. And the students, the kids—you can’t even bear to think about what they’re going through. 

Nights are the hardest, when the world is quiet but your mind is loud. There are too many questions you can’t find the answers to.

What will Gojo come back to? Then the scarier thought: Will he even come back? 

You don’t want to doubt him, ever, but your mind continues to play back that day, like a final memory. The unintentional confession; his eyes like the sky. 

You don’t want it to be the last important thing you tell him. 

“I should start looking into retirement plans, like Nanamin.” you raise an eyebrow, questioning. Gojo’s never spoken this far into the future before, most especially his. 

“Work is shit now for you too?” you scoff, leaning back on the wooden ledge. 

Gojo rolls his eyes; he isn’t wearing his blindfold today. 

“Well, after I remove the old geezers and change everything, there won’t be much left to do.” 

You hum in response. He does make a point. 

“Also, Megumi won’t need me anymore,” he pouts, whining, “who else will want me around?” 

You try to hold back your laugh, wanting so badly to tell him that Megumi doesn’t even really like him around already to begin with—but you figure breaking Gojo’s heart isn’t really something you want to do if you value your peace. 

“I don’t know,” you reply, shifting your weight, “I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

Even now, especially now. You wish you were with him, too. 

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The day you hear of Gojo’s potential return, you drop your breakfast outside the 7-eleven near Jujutsu Tech. You’re supposed to meet up with Utahime for a weekly check-in but your feet take you to Shoko, and the footsteps in your heart have never echoed louder. 

This is the first good news in a while—especially after finding out about the state of Megumi and what happened to Tsumiki, your sweet girl Tsumiki. 

When Gojo comes back, it’s like he never left. He pops out of the box joking the same way, talking the same way. He proves himself to be the strongest all the same, and when he wins—there are scars, but he wins and that fact stays the same. 

So, when you reach for his hand now and he moves away, you’re stuck wondering what’s changed. 

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You let it stay that way for a while, your understanding extending to Gojo the way it always has—you don’t push, and he gives you what he can. It honestly isn’t all that bad, because at least he’s still talking to you the way he always has.

Jujutsu society is still shaken from its core. You and all who have survived bear the task of building everything from the ground up; it’s exhausting, especially since most of you are still mourning. 

Megumi’s been put in an induced coma; you understand why but it still tugs at your heart when Shoko tells you it might take a while. Everyone else has been assigned to sweep through the rest of Japan, just to ensure that any remaining curses are taken care of. 

You see Yuuji and Yuuta visit Megumi sometimes, along with Maki and Toge when they’re free. Gojo’s there pretty often too, using healing sessions with Shoko as an excuse to see the boy he’s practically raised at 17, with you. 

And while Gojo’s smiles to everyone else remain as charming as ever, you can always tell when they’re untrue. 

“Are you okay?” 

You find Gojo a little after midnight on the rooftop of the faculty building. The city always looks pretty from up here—a sea of lights reflected up on the sky. In the many years you’ve known Gojo, you notice that he always comes to places like this to think; you also know that he’s been here almost every single night since being unsealed. 

Sneaking up on Gojo is almost impossible; he senses you before he hears you, sees the familiar traces of your cursed energy through his six eyes. 

“Can’t sleep thinking about me?” he teases, looking straight ahead.

The steps you take towards him are careful, afraid of running him off like you seem to be lately. You sit beside him and shrug, “These days, yeah.”

It’s times like this when Gojo forgets how honest you can be, how he takes your word for everything, completely. 

It’s threatening, he thinks, how you can say so much with so little. 

“Well, maybe I can suggest—” 

“Seriously, Satoru,” you grip the ledge tightly, knuckles turning white, “please.” 

You tend to let Gojo dodge your questions a lot of the time, his elusiveness a hallmark of who he is. So you never sound like you do now, serious, pleading. 

Gojo fiddles with his fingers, pondering. He hums lowly before speaking, “Does it matter?” 

It hurts you a little, how that’s even a question. He should know better than to ask that to you. 

“It matters to me, Satoru,” you sigh, “you know it does.”

You barely catch the way his brows furrow at your response, but there are creases on his blindfold that can’t be created by anything else. And Gojo knows—is so painfully aware of the way you care. 

Since coming back, he’s never felt like he’s fully returned. It’s an odd existence of in-between, like he’s everything and nothing all at the same time. The emotions are even worse, overloading his senses with feelings he can never pinpoint. 

How does he tell you that he must be fucked in the head? That every second in his mind is another step closer to insanity? That he’s lost your tether on Satoru in pursuit of Gojo—of being a god? 

“I’ll tell you,” he starts, “but you have to look away.”

You’ve always treated Gojo tenderly, patiently, and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter what he says you will continue to do the same. But he can’t allow that, not anymore. Not after the way you looked at him that day.

“Okay,” you mutter, turning your head the other way. 

He breathes out and you can almost picture it: half-bitten lips and eyes like low tide. 

“I’m okay,” he says to the back of your head, “you have nothing to worry about.” 

A breeze picks up and brushes past your neck. It’s a lie. He knows it, knows you know it too, but—

it’s easier this way, he thinks, to give you answers when you’re not looking.

Gojo’s never found a weakness he can’t work around, but he might have just found one with you—in your eyes, that read through his every lie. If you turn around now, he’ll want to tell you everything.

“Satoru,” you whisper, letting his name fill the air. You get it—him, and even when you don’t, you try damn hard to because you refuse to let Gojo carry all of it on his own. 

There are crescent indents on your palm from squeezing your knuckles too hard. You think, is this how you form shallow cuts on your heart?

“It’s just me,” you continue, facing him when you say it. 

He takes you all in—your eyes that hold the city lights, your lips, the only vessel that handles his name so delicately. It’s that look on your face again and Gojo’s hit with the overwhelming truth that whatever it is, he feels the same. 

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There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he’s certain he’ll never tell you: that when he looks at you upon his return and finds an emotion he can’t name, he’s never felt so afraid.  

He takes in the shadows under your eyes and the sunkenness of your cheeks—the number of blinks it takes you to reign in tears on the brink of leaking. Your voice shakes when you say his name.

Shoko tells him about it because she knows you never will—about how you’ve been running yourself dry, speeding through colonies to gather intel for any possible way to break the seal. She tells him about the sleepless nights, how she catches you standing outside his office at 3 a.m. before travelling to Utahime the next morning. 

And he cannot comprehend it at first, cannot understand how he’s caused you to crumble this way. 

If this is all because of him, how you’ve broken yourself all for his sake, he can’t allow it. To see you ruin yourself over him, over anyone ever—you deserve better.

So, when Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it; he cannot possibly take any more from you if this is what is left of you when he does. 

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“You’ve been avoiding me,” you catch him by the door of the conference room. 

Rebuilding an entire society requires work and apparently a lot of meetings. Gojo doesn’t usually go to most of them, leaving you and Utahime to carry the chunk of his attendance when he’s not there. In the rare times that he does go, he makes it a point to be the last one in and the first one out. Utahime hates him for it but you don’t blame him—he isn’t exactly amicable with other figures of authority.

He pauses when he steps out of the door, hands in pockets as he turns to face you. 

You’re not mad or anything, just stating the fact. You lean against the wall next to you, keeping your arms crossed. There are still people filing out of the conference room, some eyeing the two of you curiously as they pass by.

Gojo glances at them before clearing his throat, “Right, I’ve been avoiding the paperwork you left in my office,” he speaks louder, practically announcing it to everyone in the vicinity, “let’s finish it now.” 

You don’t know whether it’s irritating that Gojo’s so terribly bad at acting, or comforting that he still can’t, for the life of him, successfully lie to you. 

He motions for you to follow him as he strolls down the hallway. You intentionally lag a few steps behind, careful not to encroach on his space lest it make him avoid you any more than he already is.

Stepping into Gojo’s office after so long feels weird, like you belong here but only to a memory of it—as if closing the door behind you feels like activating a muscle you haven’t for a while. It’s been months after all. 

Your eyes skim over the entire room, zeroing in on the stacks of paper lined up on his desk; paperwork has always been Gojo’s least favorite part of the job, often leaving you to do them with him (or alone, when you’re feeling generous). Not much has changed in his office; the mini living space still exists to the left of the room, with little bits of you in its interiors—the pillows, the coffee table books. 

Gojo plops down on the sofa chair and props his feet up on the ottoman, giving four scrolls to his phone before pocketing it. He has the audacity to casually offer you the seat across from him, as if nothing’s wrong—as if he hasn’t been avoiding you for god’s sake. 

Ever since the rooftop, he’s canceled lunch with you six times for reasons that you’re now realizing are less likely to be true. He’s kept a distance of at least one person in between you at all times, and to this day, you still don’t understand why. 

You sigh, taking a seat and leaning back to cross your legs. 

“You’re so bad at acting.” you start.

Being with Gojo for so long, you’ve come to realize that there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

“I technically wasn’t lying.” he replies, sticking an index finger up. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” you snicker, nodding to his desk. 

It’s always like this with Gojo: he pulls you in and you follow. No matter the distance between you, when you sit down together like this, it still always flows so easily. The banter you’ve built together over a decade and more shines through no matter what state your relationship is in. 

Neither of you say anything until Gojo replaces his blindfold for his sunglasses, placing the piece of cloth on the coffee table. 

You break the silence. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you ask quietly. Gojo aches at that, how you still choose to regard him so kindly. 

There’s a war in his head right now—a million thoughts and one. Why has he been avoiding you? 

Gojo’s a pretty bad communicator; for how much he talks, he doesn’t really say much—and maybe that’s the root of all this. There are too many things he wants to say but can’t formulate in the right way. 

“If it’s something I did, can you at least let me know?” you continue. Gojo frowns, how can you be wronged yet still think of yourself as the one to blame? 

“Why do you do that?” he tuts, head tilting sideways as his hands dig deeper into his pockets. 

“Do what?” you furrow your brows, confused. 

“You didn’t do anything, so don’t worry about it.” he says dismissively. 

You arch an eyebrow; he has it all wrong. 

“Satoru, I’m not worried because I feel guilty,” you sit up, inching towards the edge of your seat, “I’m worried because you’re pushing me away.” your voice is level, but your pupils shake.

Something grips at his chest seeing you this way; together or apart, he seems to be the main contributor to your heartache. 

You wonder if confronting him like this is any good if he’s not going to say anything anyway. 

“If you want space, that’s okay, I get it, but,” you exhale, “at least just tell me why.” 

This entire time avoiding you, Gojo’s had you on his mind—the million and one. He’s come to terms with what he feels when you’re together, and how it amplifies when you’re not. 

It’s shitty of him to practically ghost you, not just in text but in real life too. But he’s thought about it logically, really, that removing himself from your life should be just like ripping off a bandaid—painful but quick. At least that way, you’d get over it fast. 

He’d been resigned to doing that and that was the plan—until now. 

All it takes is seeing that look in your eyes, and his resolve falls apart. 

“I can’t.” he speaks softly. The part that hurts the most is that beneath his sunglasses, you still see eyes holding the sky. 

You think you want to cry. 

You take this as your answer and close your eyes, taking a deep breath before getting up to leave. If this is goodbye, you don’t want your last interaction to be an awkward standstill of him watching you bawl in his office chair. 

You push yourself up with the armrest only to sit back down—because Gojo is right in front of you, blocking your way. His infinity is up but touching, creating tingles on your knees.

“Wait,” he swallows, a franticness you’ve never seen before. His head stays down as he bites his lips, sunglasses hanging by his fingertips. You wonder what he wants to say; you want to tell him that it’s just you—that you’ll always want to hear it all. 

What comes next is unlike any version of Satoru you have ever known—nervous and uncertain, almost like he’s afraid. He lowers himself, slowly coming down to his knees in front of you. A giant of a man so small in your presence. 

“I don’t know how.” he mutters, dropping his sunglasses to the floor. 

You blink once, twice, still surprised by what’s in front of you. Gojo has always towered above you, has always known how to do anything and everything so effortlessly without fail. 

Watching him now, with every inhale and exhale dragging in slow motion, you do your best not to startle him. 

“How to what?” you whisper like it’s fragile. 

He looks up, eyes locking with yours. A reaction happens in that moment—the split second of all his thoughts collapsing into one. You see a clear sky, blue and bright as day, the Satoru he saves for you—while he sees you, with that look on your face, the one that he knows has always only meant love. 

The sincerity in your gaze overwhelms him—makes him look away before it becomes too much. Red blooms at the tips of his ears as he bites the inner corners of his lips, fingers grabbing at the fabric of his pants. You’re afraid he might run away again, but he doesn’t and stays right where you are. 

“You know…” he looks to the side, pouting, “whatever you do….”

“Like…?” you coax lightly, trying hard to hide the small smile forming on your lips. 

You wonder how many versions of Satoru you’ll meet in your lifetime, and if this one, shy and nervous, will be one you’ll fit into the crevices of your heart just like all the others. 

He grips his pants tighter, fabric bunching under his fingers, “When you hold my hand… those things. You get it.” 

And you do (get it), so you don’t push, taking whatever Gojo has to give you like you always have. 

The tension relieves from you slowly, comforted by the fact that at least he’s given you his reasons now (no matter how vague they still seem to be). That at least there are no non-answers this time. 

You tell yourself that it’s okay, that you’re content as long as Gojo’s in your life even without the possibility of becoming something more. 

“Ok—”

But there’s always one thing you forget about Gojo—

“So show me how.”

—in the moments you least expect it, he speaks the words that matter most. 

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You choose to show him slowly, gently, like the trickling introduction of water to a man who is first learning how to drink. 

In the first few weeks of you and Gojo readjusting to one another, he turns on his infinity again—but only when he gets close enough to touch you. Lunches together happen more often, dinners sometimes too. Then he puts his infinity down, indefinitely. 

For the most part, your relationship falls into the usual steps of your dynamic with Gojo; there’s no pressure for anything and he likes that, appreciates the time you’re giving him to learn things at his own pace. 

It grows organically that way: knuckles brushing as you both reach for the stapler, pinkies touching whenever you walk side-by-side during site visits—until you’re able to hold his hand fully again, leaving that little infinity between your palms for him to close (hopefully, one day). 

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The faculty room is cold, especially during winter. The heating system is never warm enough to keep your hands from shaking whenever you mix your morning coffee. 

“So loud so early,” Gojo saunters into the kitchen like he owns the place, hands in pockets as he approaches the pantry. 

You stop mixing, ceasing the clinking of the spoon against your mug. “How are you not freezing?” 

He shrugs, grabbing his box of (heavily sugared) cereal. “I guess I’m just hot.” he says, turning to wiggle his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and set your coffee on the table, Gojo following with a bowl brimming with cereal and milk. 

Mornings usually consist of you and Gojo, with an occasional new hire who has an early class that day. Most of the time, it’s just you two though, with Shoko coming in much closer to lunch time already. 

“Want some?” he asks, holding out his spoon.

It’s routine—Gojo asks and you decline, choosing to save yourself from the cavities that he somehow manages to evade despite having a diet of 80% sugar. 

Today though, you’re feeling a little adventurous. 

You nod, opening your mouth. Gojo’s eyes widen, nearly dropping the spoon at your request. You see the flush of his cheeks and smile, corners of your mouth extending wider. The spoon is shoved to your mouth too quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed to feed you (considering he’s never before). 

“Too sweet,” you say, your face scrunching at the copious amount of sugar you’ll feel for days. 

“Like me, right?” Gojo winks from beside you. 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Gojo throughout this whole relationship trial period, he recovers from any state within a nanosecond. There’s no end to how shameless he can be. 

“Sure,” you drawl sarcastically and Gojo smiles like it’s high praise. 

You sip your coffee slowly, revelling in the heat that flows down your throat.

“Can I have half of that?” you point to his bowl. Gojo looks at you, confused, but slides it over anyway.

What happens next is an abomination to Gojo’s eyes—pure absolute disgust: you pour half of his cereal into your coffee and mix, taking a sip and crunching on a few pieces every now and then. 

His face contorts into complete distaste, horror and revulsion in the way his mouth hangs open. 

“What are you doing? That’s gross!” he nearly yells, reaching over to bring your mug down. His hand goes over yours for a moment, still causing gallops in his heartbeat. 

You laugh, giggling as he processes what you’d wasted his cereal on. It honestly doesn’t taste that bad, you think. 

“You’re weird,” he says to you, the grin on his face uncontained. This morning, he feels fond, like the butterflies in his stomach are warm, tickling him from the inside. “Give me.” he motions to your mug. 

You hold it up for him to take a sip but he wraps a hand around yours when he tastes, sticking his tongue out once the bitterness of your coffee hits. You set the mug down but his hand takes yours, interlacing your fingers together. 

Gojo doesn’t normally reach for your hand, much less interlace them together—a recent evolution to your hand-holding. But this feels nice, how your fingers fit right in the spaces of his. 

You turn to him, a shy smile on your face. The tips of his ears are red but he looks at you the same, “Your hands were cold,” he pouts, “is this– is this okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s warm. Thank you, Satoru.” you nod, beaming. He hopes you see the light in his eyes, how it feels to be ignited within him only when he’s spending breakfasts like this with you. 

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Shoko asks what you are and you don’t know what to tell her other than you’re happy and it’s good. Gojo’s existence is loud and vibrant, easy to spot from miles away—but he cares for you discreetly, in the hand that gently rests on your lower back while crossing the street, and the seemingly unlimited supply of your favorite coffee when you have no recollection of restocking it ever. 

He gives you a new mug for Christmas, one with little cereals painted all over while you give him his own tube of hand cream that he claims always smells like you. 

During the faculty New Year celebration, you hear one of the new hires make a move on Gojo, and you aren’t bothered by it or anything, simply walking past to sip your sake by the couch. You can hear them talk a bit from the kitchen, but you try not to pry despite how curious you are about his response. 

Until—

“I’m taken,” you hear Gojo say bluntly. 

Everything rings in your ears after that. The countdown music is loud, but your heart beats louder; there are murmurs and footsteps around you, but only one man crouches down to check on you, glass of water in hand. 

You snap out of it and see blue, the sky—a familiar light; you don’t think you can control the smile on your face, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions to paint on something lovesick. 

And when he smiles back, pink lips stretching wide—oh your heart can’t take it. He places one hand on your knee, rubbing gently. You hear it faintly, how he asks if you’re okay, but all you can do is nod, words failing to express how you feel right now.  

The countdown starts. 3 — and you take his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks to an image of him many, many years ago. 2 — you go closer and his eyes go wide, a mixture of panic and surprise, but soft at the same time. 1 — you lean in and he closes his eyes, his chest on rampage. Then it lands, there, on the tip of his nose: a delicate peck and the smell of sake mixed with mint (like the lip balm you always carry around in your pocket). 

When you pull away from him, you’re smiling the biggest he’s ever seen, and he doesn’t know it, but he does the same. 

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That kiss to his nose serves as the catalyst to the months that follow: Gojo becomes more comfortable touching you now, and though he blushes every single time, there’s nothing to be ashamed of because you do too. Shoko can’t believe the slow burn this is taking you both, but you think you like it—like the slow drizzle of honey on Gojo’s favorite breakfast waffles. 

“How is it?” you ask, watching as Gojo takes a big bite. 

“D Beft.” he replies, mouth full as he chews. You take the seat beside him and take a spoonful. 

“There’s a secret ingredient.” you say mischievously, wiggling your eyebrows. 

He swallows before he scoffs, “What?” cutting up another piece, “Love?” 

You’re surprised because he says it so casually, and Gojo’s never talked about love, has never even mentioned the word since this shift in your relationship. He realizes a beat late by the expression on your face and gets flustered, thinking of how to brush it off like it didn’t just happen. 

You had meant to say that you used that infused sugar he buys whenever he goes to Kyoto, but… you suppose love works too. He should know by now, right? 

“If it is?” you whisper, putting down your spoon. 

Gojo doesn’t know how to approach this, really, but he’s learned leaps and bounds to back out now. So he clears his throat and composes himself then says, “Good. ‘Cause that’s what I put in your coffee too.” 

You laugh and the tension dissipates; there are hearts in your eyes for how hard Gojo has tried after denying himself of this for so long. 

He stares at you—at the laugh lines by your eyes and the soft curves of your lips, the moment moving much too slow. He’s drawn in until you’re all too close, a few centimeters from your noses touching. 

Your laughter dies and your cheeks feel like they’re on fire; he’s so close you think he might kiss you. The signs are there—his eyes scaling your face to focus on your lips, his tongue peeping ever so slightly to wet his lips. So you wait. 

But he doesn’t, because he moves away after wiping his thumb on the side of your mouth. Even though you know there was nothing there. 

Gojo continues to eat, blabbering about a site visit he’s assigned to next week, but you don’t miss the way his ears are fully red and how he’s biting his lips to death.

•

The tension this time is different; instead of a growing rift, you can’t seem to be close enough. Every time you part ways, he lets go of your hand more reluctantly—as if he wants to say more, do more, but stops himself while he still can. 

When he leaves for missions, you kiss his cheek, pulling him in by the hand and lingering there, shyly. He gets embarrassingly red but tries to cover it up by telling you not to miss him too much (even though you know you will, and he knows he’ll miss you more). 

Your near-kisses with Gojo happen more frequently, and it comes to a point where he even manages to land one on your forehead, while you fall asleep next to him on his office couch. 

It’s driving you crazy, this tension. You try to kiss him a few times on the lips, but he evades them each time. You’ve caught Gojo staring at your lips more times than you can count; if that isn’t a sign, you don’t know what is. 

It’s insane, now that Gojo thinks about it, how he’s come so far yet the prospect of kissing you properly still scares him. What if he fucks up? Doesn’t do it right? What if it’s not how he wants you to be kissed? 

There’s that secret Gojo will never tell you, of how seeing that look on you has never gotten him more afraid. And he’s worked through that now, but it’s evolved into something else: how Gojo is now afraid of love, more than anything else, not because of loss but because he might not know how. 

And kissing you, loving you this way—he’s never done it before, doesn’t know how to make you feel love without his lips shaking and heart palpitating; how to do it while letting you know he feels the same. 

•

It happens during an assignment to exorcise curses out of town. They aren’t as bad as they used to be, but they’re still stronger than what any of the available sorcerers right now can handle. 

You don’t remember the last time you saw Gojo use his technique that way—almost forgotten how powerful and ruthless he can be. Every time since, holding your hand, keeping you close—he’s just been your Satoru. 

Your apartment for the weekend is a two-bedroom unit with one bathroom and a decently sized living area and kitchenette; Gojo always chooses the room in front of the bathroom because he tends to wake up in the middle of the night to pee (information you know from your many other assignments with him before). Still, going as what you are now—it feels different. 

There’s a charged air between you as you move around the unit; you make your nightly tea while Gojo looks through the groceries for some crackers. It’s peaceful and quiet—domestic almost, but there are goosebumps on your skin for reasons you can’t explain. Being around Gojo lately has felt that way.

He brushes past you to throw the finished packet of crackers and the feeling intensifies; it’s not awkward, just tense, like anticipation sitting deep in your bellies, waiting on each other to make the first move. 

He announces that he’ll use the bathroom first, if you don’t mind, and you motion for him to go ahead. Your mind is fuzzy and having Gojo around seems to only make it worse.

When you walk past the bathroom and straight to your room, you hear Gojo humming that soft pop tune from a popular girl group playing on the radio earlier. You giggle, thinking it’s sweet—how he sings obnoxiously around everyone else but is actually pretty good when it’s just him, alone. 

You still have the rest of the weekend in this area, having agreed to monitor the site and any nearby areas for other suspicious activity contributing to such a large curse, but at least the worst of it is over (maybe just to you though; Gojo hates paperwork). 

The sound of running water stops and you hear the bathroom door swing open. You don’t see Gojo when you exit your room but he leaves the door open to release any remaining steam. Gathering your things, you head straight in. 

There’s a reason why people say showers are good for the mind but you still don’t know what it is, because the only thought plaguing your head right now is Gojo—and whether you should greet him goodnight, if you should kiss his cheek or hug him tight. The tension between you now is palpable, almost like an electric current waiting to zap on both ends. 

Your mind is so out of it that you don't realize you’re missing your skincare bag until after you finish brushing your teeth and dressing for bed. You open the bathroom door with the sole intention of going back to your room to get it, but instead, you’re met with a wall of chest.

Gojo’s eyes are wide, bright blue with damp strands of white falling like curtains barely shielding the sky. He’s just as surprised as you are, toothbrush in his hand as you hold up the towel wrapped around your head. 

You’ve seen Gojo in his pajamas many times before—white long sleeves with gray cotton pants, but your eyes trail to his collarbones and the way the bathroom lights cast it under a soft glow. The redness on his cheeks, a visual manifestation of the heat on yours. 

Gojo can’t stop staring at your lips, at how soft they look—at how soft you look fresh out of the shower. The little baby hairs sticking out under your towel are cute, and he leans in without knowing—a pull he can’t seem to resist. For once in his life, Gojo’s mind is still. 

You try to meet him halfway, tiptoeing, but you’re a little out of your element; you don’t know where to put your hands and your heart’s about to explode out of your chest. When your noses touch, you can’t breathe, closing your eyes while you wait for it. 

But it doesn’t come. 

You feel Gojo’s breath stilling before speeding up into little exhales. Something is wrong. You open your eyes and find him staring back at you, a version of Gojo you haven’t seen in a while—that you rarely see ever, except that day during your confrontation in his office. 

Concern laces your features and you move back a little, hands coming up to caress his cheeks. His eyes still look frantic, but they focus on you when you cup his cheeks so gently. 

“Satoru,” you whisper, voice grounding. His breaths slow down a little. 

You realize that it must be true then, what they say, that those who love to be feared, fear to be loved, because you’ve never seen anyone afraid of something so good as Gojo is of this. 

“Satoru,” you repeat, massaging his temples with your thumb, “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Gojo hates it, how you’ve always had to adjust for him. He hates that he can’t give you this one thing, hates that you’re still so patient, that he’s still so afraid. He swallows, closing his eyes tight before opening them again. 

“I want to,” he chokes out, “I just don’t know—”

You chuckle, without judgment, “I don’t either,” you lean forward, foreheads touching, “but do you want to try together?”

You learn that Gojo sees himself so differently from how you do—and maybe that’s everyone, but Gojo tends to say things while doing the other. He says he can’t bother with kids, but continues to take so many of them under his wing anyway; he calls your cereal concoction disgusting but tries it regardless; and he says he can’t think about love, doesn’t know how, but proceeds to try so much harder, everyday. 

When you look at Gojo, you see a heart so big, so capable, that he can’t see it himself. 

You nudge his nose with yours and he breathes deeply, closing his eyes once again. If he doesn’t do this now, how much longer till he does? 

Gojo hums before nodding his head slightly. His hands come up to cover yours, toothbrush wedged in the spaces between his fingers; they’re clammy, he’s sure, but he’s kept you waiting long enough. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, everything trembles—his pupils, his lips, the breath he takes. It’s all shaky and nervous, but your lips touch and all you know is that you like it there. He’s a little bit stiff but you don’t mind, pressing closer just for a little bit before pulling away. 

Gojo keeps your hands in place, half-lidded eyes staring at you lazily. His ears are fully red now but he’s giving you a look you’ve never seen before—like lightning crackling in the gaps between his eyelids. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, you don’t expect it to be by the bathroom door of a rented apartment, while away on a mission. You don’t expect it to be in your pajamas, towel wrapped in your hair as you’re getting ready for bed. You definitely don’t expect him to guide your hands down his neck while he places his on your lower back, squeezing lightly before pulling you in to kiss you again. 

This time, his lips move more pliantly, parting yours slightly; he tastes mint, mixed with the strawberry candy he had earlier and it’s nothing he could have ever imagined before, but is now everything he’s ever wanted. The push and pull between you is magnetic, soft lips and the intermingling of something steamy in the air. All Gojo can think of now is to take, to devour—to keep you with him, like this, always. 

You wonder if Gojo is lying—that he’s never done this before, because you don’t think you can kiss anyone after this and not think of his lips on yours. 

By the time you part, the air is significantly warmer. Your fingers thread through the hair at the base of his neck and you smile, sighing. Gojo looks warm, with his swollen lips and red cheeks. 

“That…” you trail off, nudging his nose. 

Gojo looks at you fondly; to ever even think he could have this now, with you—he doesn’t believe in god but you must be his prayer come true. 

“We can practice a bit more, I think.” he pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips. 

You feel it against you, something solid and firm against your stomach and your eyes go wide at the realization; Gojo does the same. 

“Satoru, you–” he moves back and freezes, untangling himself from you completely. There’s a faint outline on the crotch of his pants and your whole face goes red. 

“Let me use the bathroom real quick.” he panics, rushing past you and closing the bathroom door. 

You stand there stunned for a good minute before you shake out of it, laughing. Gojo yells about how you’re being so mean, making fun of him when he’s like this, but you aren’t—not really. 

It’s been a long time getting to this point with Gojo, but considering all things, you think, this might just be the beginning.

---

💀

#warm

–fluff, reverse comfort, birthday boyyy, cuddles, brief mention of how the heart pounds lmao

ALBEDO’s mornings were always cold. 

In the empty lab, or in his empty room; filled with chemicals, filled with equipment, and just… him. Just him and alchemy, just like it had always been. 

“Hm? ‘Bedo, are you awake?” 

Blood rushes through his veins and back to his heart, making it pound and pound, all at the sound of your groggy voice, still laced with sleep, and at the scent of your neck as he leans into you more behind you, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you closer. 

Even so, it was enough for you to wiggle and turn your way to face him, your own arm circling his form and your eyes meeting his. 

“There you are.” 

His breath stills when you flash him that bright grin of yours, all with your adorable untidy appearance; eyes still droopy and as if wanting to close and return to sleep once again. Time and the world around him stop–ah, is this what they call it is? 

“Love?” his eyes catches the way you furrow in your brows and the slight curl of a frown that forms on the corners of your lips, “What’s wrong? Why are you so silent?” 

Cute. Is that a pout now? He couldn’t help but smile, slipping one of his arms and reaching for your cheek, cupping them and caressing them ever so gently with his thumb, then smoothening the pad of his finger over to whatever bag under your eye, admiring them all the same. 

Then, he leans and presses a kiss on your forehead, staying there for a good few seconds before he pulls away and meeting your eyes once again–catching them flutter open, did you close them when he kissed you? 

“Adorable.” 

You let out a breath of a laugh before heading straight to his chest, tightening your own grip on him and pressing him closer to you. 

“Stop that! I’m supposed to be the one to praise you today!” 

He chuckles and unconsciously rests and caresses one of his hands on your back, the smile on his face remains. 

“There’s no need, love,” he makes an effort to lean on your ear and smirks, “you being here with me is enough of a birthday gift for me.”

Albedo’s mornings were always cold. 

But with you, however, it feels quite warm. 

NOTES. have you guys seen his bday official art?? god his smile made me melt:((( first best boy you deserve all the best in the world happy happy birthday mwaa

Reblogs and comments are very appreciated~

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---

rating record of ragnarok characters /10, because i can.

DISCLAIMER: i’m only rating the characters based off what the manga & anime has portrayed. i’ve done little to no research on these people themselves, which is why i don’t condone anything immoral that they’ve done. this was written before the release of chapter 73+

a/n: i think i wanna do this for every anime + genshin & val. PLS WATCH IT & LMK IF YOU GUYS LIKE IT. also i dont care abt grammatical and/or punctual errors, this is a shit post

MANGA SPOILER WARNING!!

THOR: first of all, he’s so fucking hot. his smile caught me so off guard tho, i kinda just stood there watching the screen, baffled. not much character to him, he’s just hot. 7/10

LU BU: i’m chinese, i literally feel so happy when i see chinese characters. biased, but definitely a plus. he, just like thor, has little to no character. first character i called hot, is hot, but there are hotter characters. (what, i am not talking abt hermes wdym?) 7/10

HERMES: 10/10. no explanation. my man right there. i literally scream & cream every time i see him. why is he so fine. not a single panel or clip where he looks bad. pls eat me out, sir i beg. i will serve you. ONE CHANCE. JUST ONE?? i’m in love with him. who needs real men or women when hermes.

GOLL: she is SO ANNOYING. her eng & jp voice are both annoying asl. she’s that one character, that exists in mostly every anime, used to explain background info & battle info on other characters. brunhilde is too nice on her. she reminds me of when i first saw yachi (haikyuu) on screen. yachi, too, was annoying. but i grew to love her🫶. 1/10

BRUNHILDE: SHES SO HOT. ATE. SHE ALDNAHDISKZ. yeah, what else is there to say? 8/10

APHRODITE: she truly lives up to her version in the greek mythology. hottest woman/goddess alive. ate. her boobs, i want to squish them & bury my face in them. WHEN IS IT MY TURN TO HOLD THEM? 8/10

ZEUS: idgaf what anyone says, he’s not hot. not even his younger self. he looks like mirio (mha) turned netero (hxh). love his character tho. the eyes scared me at first. he’s hilarious. 5/10

ADAM: my friend, the one who recommended snv to me, told me he’d be more my type. he was, minus the fact that’s he literally butt fucking naked. nice ass cheeks tho. def pretty boy, his wife is hot too. i want her more😋. his line abt fighting for his children made me cry. should’ve won. i say, let hermes be uncleless & fatherless. 7/10

POSEIDON: he was fs the blueprint for adam. anywho, yk hes fine. SOOO FINE. meowing for him. he doesn’t beat hermes tho. nobody beats hermes. well, look wise at least. it was rlly hard choosing who to root for in this fight. that’s a lie, i was always on humanity’s side. sad he died:( 9/10. -1 for being a little, arrogant, narcissistic, egotistical bitch. 8/10

SASAKI KOJIRO: see, zeus coulda been hot like him at that old age. man aged like fine wine. character was a W. hot, determined, good character, funny. what else can you want from a man? 8/10

HERACLES: disappointed. so disappointed. he looked better in the disney ver. this fight was so boring for me. you’re telling me i’m supposed to watch the fight instead of ogling at hot characters? no. character was okay. 6/10

JACK THE RIPPER: massive L. not supporting a murderer. next. 0/10

SHIVA: hot from the beginning. 4 arms? do what you want to me, sir. 3 WIVES? tengen (kny), is that you bro?😭 anywho, he’s cocky, def my type irl LMAO. i wouldn’t let that slide tho.. his wives are hot too😋 8/10

RAIDEN TAMEEMON: i paid very little attention to this fight. don’t remember his backstory too well (i read this fight not even 24 hours ago btw). not that good looking, not ugly either. i liked his character, upset he took 3 of shiva’s arms. why 3? why not 2? he got 1 arm left. 4/10

BUDDHA: THATS MY GOD RIGHT THERE. ate. i’m not religious, and neither are my family, but they are buddhist, so by default, i am too. i personally think buddhism is the best religion, but we’re not gonna get into that. i have very valid reasons btw. love his personality, love his looks. massive W. ofc he fights for humanity. he’s a walking W. 9/10

ZEROFUKU: precious. definition of deserved better. what made me sad, is how he was written during the fight. he’s consistently hitting, with little to no strategy. his backstory is sad, but his battle exp was written poorly. also the random ass monster possessing took me tf out. 7/10

HADES: fine ass mf. he’s so different from how he’s usually portrayed, both look & personality wise. the first W netflix has pulled. he’s hot and responsible? persephone, we can share him babes. also, the relationship between him & poseidon made me SOB. like actually. hurt so bad i made an angst edit. 9/10

QIN SHI HUANG: first off, i don’t do research on my own ethnicity’s history. i didn’t even know who tf lu bu was. my family knew tho. with that aside, PROUD TO BE CHINESE❗️ he’s so fine. SO FINE. the way his character was written, was wonderful. i loved the fight between him & hades. the tension & the lengths they went to try & win. 9/10

BEELZEBUB: his backstory was so tragic. what i didn’t like, was how they rushed his & lilith’s story. like, they kinda randomly said i love you to each other. i’d love to see their adventures tgt. lilith, leave that emo thing, and come be w me. he’s fine too. i rlly like how they introduced him. 8/10

NIKOLA TESLA: i don’t have much of an opinion on him. very chatty, which i don’t actually mind. i guess we’ll have to wait for more chapters to release before i form an opinion on him. 5/10

ODIN: the hair bro. THE HAIR. i keep forgetting he exists, but i’m not his biggest fan. not bad, but i prefer his sons. i do like the theory of him being a traitor. he looks the part. 5/10

LOKI: honestly, i liked him a lot in the beginning, but now, it’s like he’s kinda on the side. cute & hot. thor is the better brother tho. speaking of, how tf are they even brothers? moving on, i like his personality. i like his shocked, mixed w angry, facial expressions more. 7/10

ARES: the hair again. very stylish, i do like it, but it took me out. walking around looking like a school girl. i don’t like how he tries to be a know-it-all w hermes, when he literally relies on him for info. but that’s my man for you. his expressions are SO WELL. 6/10

ADAMAS: i was awfully confused, at first, when there were 3 older brothers to zeus. usually, it’s just hades, poseidon & zeus. not his biggest fan, his character was rushed. 4/10

BONUSES

JESUS: i was very happy to see jesus. i’m not sure why, i just was. why is he the only character, THAT LOOKS LIKE THEMSELVES? 9/10

LU BU SIMP AGENCY: 10/10. i don’t need to say anymore. W cheng gong. love that man.

FORSETI: what a loser. he was so annoying. 2/10

EVE: mother? mommy? whatever. MEOW. 9/10

SASAKI SIMP AGENCY: love them as well. 10/10. walking Ws all around.

i don’t think i’m missing anyone, am i?

im so close to dropping my dignity to hell oh my lord

a man who grips your hands like this

he’s so sensual with it

4play Matsukawa Issei, Hanamaki Takahiro, Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/reader (haikyuu!!) word count: 8.2k rating: E (18+, minors DNI) tags: gangbang, dry humping, oral f!receiving, edging, unsafe sex, creampie, mentions of alcohol, consensual sex while mildly under the influence, voyeurism kinda?, makki and mattsun are bad roommates a/n: this is the filthiest thing i've ever written! sorry!

CROSSPOSTED TO AO3

Through the trials and tribulations of first-hand experience, you’ve come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a good roommate or a bad roommate — instead of a binary, it’s more like an ever-fluctuating spectrum that exists between the two.

Some roommates are tidy but loud; others are messy, but beyond the disaster they leave in the kitchen after every meal they cook you hardly notice they’re there; some roommates respect your privacy and belongings, but insist on keeping their lube in the fridge next to your orange juice.

In short: it’s never black and white.

Ultimately, living with roommates is just an unfortunate inevitability — though if you could afford to live alone as a broke university student, you would — and you have to learn to adjust your lifestyle to cope with it.

Living with strangers is a bit weird, like your first roommate freshman year: a tiny girl who was perfectly pleasant to cohabitate with, and said almost nothing beyond the absolute nightmare fuel she used to mutter in her sleep on the other side of your shared shoe-box of a dorm room. You, decidedly, preferred living with friends whom you knew and trusted not to tell you they were going to kill you in their sleep.

Which is precisely how, after moving out of your dorm first year after realizing residence just wasn’t for you, you ended up moving in with two of your best friends from high school: Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei.

Living with members of the opposite sex presented an entirely new spectrum of difficulty, to be sure. But you knew Makki and Mattsun, you’d been friends since you were 15, and you’d long grown used to their antics and eccentricities. So all in all, the three of you made a pretty solid trio of housemates — so solid in fact that your cohabitation somehow managed to endure all the way through to your senior year.

Which is how you find yourself on the phone with a friend in the kitchen of your three-bedroom apartment just off campus in the early afternoon, AirPods in, tidying up some dishes that someone (probably Makki) left out that morning before heading to class. Your lab that morning was cancelled, and rather than make your way to campus for the one other class you had scheduled that day, you decided to treat yourself and play hooky for once.

“His name was soooo long, too,” your friend’s plaintive voice sighs from the other end of the call, in the process of regaling you with the story of a dating app hookup gone wrong the evening prior. “And I only called him ‘daddy’ because I didn’t know if we were close enough to nickname him, and somehow that felt less personal!”

You huff out a little breath of air, halfway to a chuckle, twirling the slightly damp towel that you’d just finished drying the dishes with between your hands. “What’s the point of a boy even having a name if it isn’t moanable?”

Your friend’s tittering laugh resounds through your headphones and you giggle along with her, a sly smile pinching at your cheeks at your own joke.

Movement in the corner of your eye startles you, and you whip around suddenly to see Hiro (aforementioned dish-leaver and everyday bane of your existence) leaning in the doorway as though waiting for you to notice him, both hands tucked down the front of his grey sweatpants. He looks at you with a single eyebrow drawn up.

“Jesus christ, make your presence known you creep — No, not you,” you assure your friend on the other line when she makes an indignant, confused noise. You roll your eyes after tossing a brief glare at the boy still standing in the doorway, looking as pleased as ever. “Makki was lurking behind me.”

You quickly end your call with your friend once you realize that your nosy roommate has no intention of going anywhere anytime soon, popping your headphones out from your ears and turning to look at him with an unimpressed scowl on your face.

The corner of his mouth quirks up, the exact opposite of your own.

“So, moanable names, huh?”

You huff, annoyed that not only was he eavesdropping but now he was trying to make some sort of group discussion of the indignity. “Fuck off.”

“No, no. Tell me more.” Makki slides a little further into the kitchen, grinning down at you. “Is my name moanable?”

“Makki, I swear to god,” you try to sound threatening but it just comes out exasperated. You’re used to his antics — you’ve been friends for long enough that you’ve simply become acclimatized to the garden-variety chaos he seems to exude at all times, but this conversation felt like it was toeing a lie that you didn’t want to cross.

“I didn’t even know this was something girls care about, so help me out here,” he said, cajoling you further. “Friend to friend, I gotta know. Tell me.”

“No.”

“No as in it’s not moanable? Or no as in you won’t tell me?” he pesters on, and you only get more flustered and annoyed as he bullies you a little further into the corner of the kitchen where the counter meets the stove in an L-shape.

“No as in there’s no way in hell I’m having this conversation with you.”

You hit him with the dish towel in your hands, though not hard enough to do any real damage, and he yelps but he’s still grinning all the while.

“Now what’s going on in here?” a deep voice full of mirth pries your attention away from the strawberry blonde crowding over you, and your gaze lands on your second roommate.

Mattsun is leaning against the doorframe in much the same way Makki had been only a moment prior, still wearing his jacket — he must have just gotten back from his morning class, though you hadn’t heard him come in.

If you’d been hoping for salvation in his sudden appearance, the smirk on Matsukawa’s face all but dashes that aspiration.

Once Makki gets him up to speed, he all too delightedly joins in.

“It’s really not that hard of a question,” Mattsun drawls, cocking his head to the side. He’s still on the opposite end of the room, a full six feet or more away from you, but his presence is just as stifling as if he was hovering over you like Makki presently found himself. “We’d tell you if you were the one asking, you know.”

Your lips part a little, and a terrible, treacherously inquisitive voice in the back of your mind tells you that you should ask — that you want to know if they think your name is moanable.

You bury the thought as quickly as it surfaces, choking it back with your indignation.

“Well I’m not asking, and I have no plans to — now or ever,” you shove a little against Makki’s chest to give yourself a bit more space. He hardly budges.

Why are your friends all so fucking tall?

“Well, it is.”

You blink, eyes flickering up towards Hiro who had said the words.

“Your name,” he explains, pressing the tip of his pointer finger to the furrow that had made itself known upon your brow, reading the signs of your confusion without you needing to openly express them. “Super moanable.”

“Agreed,” Mattsun pipes in unprompted from the doorway, and your eyes flicker over to see his smirk had given way to a full-on grin — wolfish though it may be.

You snap out of your stupor and smack Hiro’s hand away, throwing your dishtowel right in his face as you shoulder by him towards the door, glowering at Mattsun on your way past for good measure.

You storm off, footfalls heavy on the floor of the hallway as you go, and slam the door behind you once you make it into the sanctuary of your own bedroom.

You’re mad at both of them — borderline fuming as you throw yourself down atop your unmade bed.

Because it’s awkward.

And annoying.

And unnecessary.

They both have perfectly moanable names.

You know it.

They know it.

Hell, you hear their hookups do it often enough through the paper-thin walls of your three-bedroom to say it with an almost unfair degree of certainty. Walls so thin it’s like you can see through them — can see all the ways the two boys you’ve known for years are making those girls you’ll never actually get the opportunity to properly meet scream.

Admittedly, you hear cries of Issei more often than Hiro, but the latter is always more ragged, more desperately obscene than the former. The sounds echo through the apartment so clearly that not even your noise cancelling headphones are enough to drown them out some nights, and you find yourself falling asleep to the mortifying thought of what it might be like to be the one who was screaming their names.

You bury your burning face in your pillow at the thought and resist the urge to shriek.

The rest of your day is spent hiding in your room; watching Netflix on your laptop, taking sporadic naps, and rationing the water in the bottle you kept on your bedside table to stave off the need to leave your bed for as long as humanly possible.

There’s a bit of noise that drifts into your room throughout the afternoon, specifically in the evening as two familiar voices join the other two that had been in the apartment for most of the day. Oikawa and Iwaizumi were supposed to come over to drink and play video games that night, and their arrival had crept up on you faster than anticipated.

About half an hour after they land, you get a text from Iwa asking if you’re gonna come out and join them, but you ignore it and pretend to be asleep.

Eventually the water bottle goes dry, and you can’t ignore the grumbling of your stomach any longer, and when you think the coast is clear — shouts in the living room telling you that the boys are likely distracted by whatever game they were playing —you slink out of your room to grab a snack from the kitchen.

You’re quiet as you pry open your bedroom door, careful to avoid the parts of the floor along the way which you know are a little creaky and might give you away. You’re so focused on where you’re stepping that you don’t notice a figure stepping out from the bathroom until you’re colliding with a broad, muscular chest that smells like expensive cologne and fabric softener. You squeak in surprise, looking up to see Oikawa grinning down at you.

“Going somewhere, sleeping beauty?” he teases you, and you stumble back from him.

“I was just, uh, I just wanted to get something to eat,” you say quietly, nodding towards the doorway to the kitchen at the other end of the hall.

Oikawa takes a step forward, bullying you with his much larger frame back towards the living room.

“We’ve got plenty of snacks to share,” he says with a knowing smirk that makes your skin prickle, and you wonder just how much of your altercation earlier in the afternoon Mattsun and Makki had already shared with him. “And now that you’re awake you can join us!”

You sigh in defeat, following along behind him to where the other three boys are waiting in the living room.

The coffee table is already covered in empty beer cans and bowls of half-eaten snacks, and your eyes immediately hone in on a bowl of the pretzel sticks you’d been hoping to snag from the kitchen on your pilgrimage that had been unceremoniously derailed.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Oikawa chirps as he flops himself back onto the couch next to Issei, whose attention remains focused on the screen in front of him as he and Hiro (who was seated in the chair beside the sofa) went 1v1 on some combat game you never really got into.

Iwaizumi looks up from his place on the floor, spotting you hovering in the doorway and shooting you a little smile. He pats the open space on the floor beside him and you resignedly shuffle over to join him.

“Did you have a good nap?” he asks with a laugh as you sit crosslegged to his left.

You nod curtly. “Can you pass me the pretzels?”

You settle in with the bowl in your lap once he hands it to you, popping a salty snack into your mouth and risking a glance at your two roommates on the other side of the room. Neither of them appear bothered or otherwise moved by your sudden appearance, and they seem to have let your earlier conversation go. Mattsun even brings you back a beer after his next trip into the kitchen, which you accept — cracking the can open and carefully sipping the carbonation that fizzles up over the rim.

Your empty stomach from barricading yourself in your room all afternoon means that the beer hits you faster than the pretzel sticks you and Iwa were sharing, and before you know it all the tension you’d been feeling in your shoulders has fizzled away like the bubbles in the beer you’re all drinking.

You really should have seen it coming.

“So,” Oikawa drawls, draping himself over the arm of the sofa overhead, leaning towards you. “Do I have a moanable name?”

And you’re mortified.

Makki does nothing to conceal his laughter at your horrified expression. Mattsun’s smirk is thinly veiled at best. Iwa (the only one you’re leaving in your will, decidedly) tells them to fuck off and drop it, his voice gruff and firm.

“I think as a friend we have a right to know these things, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa counters his friend’s command, holding a hand to his chest. “Don’t you want to know?

“I don’t care,” Iwa bites back, but there’s the slightest waver in it, the furtive way that he steals a glance at you that betrays the comment’s sincerity.

Oh.

“God, fine!” you huff out, exasperated and embarrassed and ready to just put this entire conversation to rest once and for all. “I’m sure you all have moanable names — happy now?”

The boys take pause at that.

“But which one of us has the most moanable name?” Makki asks with a smirk, leaning forward in his seat to leer at you. The look in his eyes is predatory, and makes something in you rise like panic, but without the actual fear of any danger.

Anticipation, you realize. That’s what you’re feeling.

Their video game has been abandoned now, one controller dangling loosely from Makki’s hand while Issei’s has been discarded on the coffee table.

Their eyes are all on you.

“I- I don’t know that, you perv!” you squeak out, heat climbing so quickly in your cheeks it’s making you dizzy, and you’re uncertain if it’s the beer or the blood rush that’s to blame. Maybe both. “Who am I to judge that?”

“Could you?”

Your eyes flicker to Mattsun.

“Judge it, I mean,” he adds when he sees the blank look on your face.

“Wh- how?” you squeak out, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. The atmosphere in the room has changed, become charged, in the few moments since the subject had come up.

“Moan for us,” Oikawa says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You blink, absolutely bewildered by the request.

“Moan for us, please?” Oikawa stretches forward, his hand cupping your cheek. He looks so sweet and beseeching as his thumb presses down into your bottom lip.

“Why me?” you manage to ask through the pulse pounding in your throat.

“You’re the only girl, so you’re the only one who can do it, y’know, authentically,” Makki says from his seat. Your eyes flicker over to him, Oikawa’s thumb still prodding against your mouth. “Plus you’re hot.”

You roll your eyes, but you undeniably feel a shiver run through you when none of the other men in the room make any efforts to dispute his claim.

“So?” Mattsun asks, and the single word is so loaded that you feel like it sucks all the air from the room.

Oikawa finally pulls away from you, and the five of you sit quietly for a moment.

“Okay.”

You have no idea what makes you say it. Maybe it’s the alcohol in your bloodstream, maybe it’s something more depraved that was already inside of you long before you brought the can of beer to your lips that evening, the same thing that occasionally had your fingers creeping into your panties on the nights that your headphones aren’t enough to hide the sounds coming from your roommates’ bedrooms.

Something shifts in the room the minute you agree, like a spark catching on a pool of gasoline.

Oikawa laughs, the sound absolutely delighted and conniving, from his seat on the sofa.

“How far are we taking this?” Iwa asks gruffly, your eyes flickering over to him as he sits beside you. He looks reluctant.

“That’s up to her,” Makki says, nodding in your direction.

“Whaddya say?” Mattsun asks, eyes trailing all the way up your body before landing on your face. A little twitch at the corner of his already smirking mouth, ticking upward to make the curl of his lip a little more feral. “It’s your call: how far will you let us go, sweetheart?”

Your mouth feels too dry to form a response.

“First base?” Oikawa asks sweetly, leaning over the edge of the sofa once more as his fingers skirt up your arm. His touch ghosts over the swell of your breasts, right where the neckline of your tank top dips down, but only grazes you lightly enough to leave you squirming and unsatisfied.

Your breath hitches as you feel the warmth of his lips on your neck, your head lolling to the side instinctively — but the touch is so brief that you’d almost consider it chaste if not for the way his hand had slithered down to cup your pussy through the material of your leggings, brazen and self-assured.

“Second?” he poses a another question, murmuring the words directly into your skin, even though you’d never responded to the first.

He pulls away when you say nothing, your thighs clenching unconsciously to trap the pressure of his hand where it rests between your legs. His eyes are alight with something entirely too devious to look so tender as he locks gazes with you.

“Oh, you’re letting us go all the way,” he breathes the knowing words out like a prayer, honeyed and exalted.

“Don’t assume things, pervykawa,” Iwa snaps, but his voice is tighter than it had been a moment prior.

“Go on then,” Oikawa urges you, nosing at the edge of your jaw before pressing another featherlight kiss to your throat. “Tell us.”

You let a little noise out at way he presses his hand down a little firmer between your legs, your hips rolling against the pressure instinctively. Your eyes flutter closed, and when they open again, you’re acutely aware of the four men whose attentions are intently focused on you.

You swallow hard, fixing your eyes on the floor to avoid their esurient gazes.

“You can do whatever you want.”

They draw pretzels to decide the order. Four broken sticks held tight in Iwaizumi’s curled fist for them to pick from. Longest stick goes last, and the shortest first. You feel the blood drain from your face when you see who’s holding up the fated stub to start the endeavour off.

Matsukawa seems far less hesitant than you as he beckons you over into his lap. You shakily crawl a bit closer to him across the floor and then pause.

You’ve made out with Mattsun a few times over the years, mostly when you were high or a little tipsy — but it was always lazy and pointless and just for fun.

This was different.

There was a purpose to this — a goal that effectively erased all of the boundaries that normally existed between you and your friends.

“You, I-I… you can’t go first,” you say, your tone panicked as you slowly process the facts in front of you.

Mattsun smirks at you from his place on the couch, leaning down so his face is closer to yours.

“And why’s that?”

Your eyes widen, flickering to the other boys around the room who are watching you squirm with varying looks of interest - Oikawa’s smirk in particular is acutely sadistic from the other end of the sofa.

“You’re too big,” you say quietly, too much breath behind the words to make them anything more than a whisper.

You’ve heard the conversations they’ve had about the size of Mattsun’s cock over the years, and though you’ve never seen it in full view, you’ve caught him half-hard in his sweatpants first thing in the morning enough times to know they weren’t exaggerating when they called him massive.

“What was that?” Issei feigns ignorance, holding a hand up to his ear. “Repeat yourself, so we can all hear you a bit better.”

“You can’t go first,” you repeat yourself adamantly, but it’s not the part that Matsukawa wanted to hear you say, and he clicks his tongue admonishingly.

“Sure I can,” he drawls, holding up the piece of pretzel that he’d pulled, by far the shortest of the four that had been tucked into Iwaizumi’s curled palm, “it’s the luck of the draw.”

Issei extends his hand to you, and eventually you take it, allowing him to guide you up onto the sofa so you’re straddling his lap. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs dipping under the hem of your tank top to brush against the skin underneath.

“There you go,” he says, smiling up at you toothily as you brace yourself on his broad shoulders. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

This is familiar enough. You’ve sat on his lap before, felt the way his palms flatten and slide down down down to palm your ass through the material of your leggings. He’s not smiling anymore as he peers up at you — no, that look has been replaced with something hungrier as his eyes flutter down to your lips.

You lean forward and kiss him.

Issei is a good kisser.

He has been since the first time the two of you made out in the backyard of a house party in high school when you were both drunk off of pitifully meagre amounts of liquor you’d convinced one the boys’ old volleyball senpai’s to buy for you. His lips are just as soft as they were back then, and he takes his time — focusing on your lips for what feels like an eternity before even thinking to swipe his tongue forward, pressing into your mouth gently in a gesture you’re all too happy to reciprocate.

Your lips start to burn from the way Issei nips and sucks at them, pulling away and watching with a heavy-lidded fascination as he lets your swollen bottom lip snap back into place as it slips from his teeth. You writhe in his lap.

You feel hot.

Too hot for someone who lives in a drafty apartment and isn’t wearing that many clothes to begin with.

You feel like you’re melting when Mattsun leans forward and presses a kiss to the hollow of your throat, his teeth biting down into the skin.

“Issei,” when his name finally slips out from your parted, stinging lips, it’s a whimper more than a moan. You head lolls back as your eyes flutter shut.

“Come on, that doesn’t count and you know it, sweetheart,” he says, the words smug and smothered by your skin between his teeth.

“He hasn’t even touched you yet and you’re this whiny,” Oikawa chuckles breathlessly from the other end of the sofa, and for the first time you remember that the two of you aren’t alone. Your eyes flash over to the young man only a few feet away from you, watching your face carefully.

“Hey,” a hand on your chin guides your face back towards the boy whose lap you’re perched on top of. Issei’s dark eyes bore into yours, his lips pink and swollen in a way that you’re sure yours also mirror. “Why are you looking at him when I’m right here? You distracted or something?”

Issei places the hand not holding your chin on the small of your back, pulling you forward at the same time that he ruts his own hips up. You gasp as you feel the pressure of his hard cock pressing against your clothed cunt. Even through the layers of clothing separating you, you can feel just how big he is.

“O-Oh my god, Issei, you’re…” you let out a strangled yelp, your train of thought lost as he repeats the same roll of his hips as before.

“Seems like I’ve got your full attention now,” Mattsun laughs, but his words are a little hoarser than they were before, a little more laboured. He grunts as you press your chest into his, wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him again, your hips continuing the same steady pace that he’d set for you both.

You should be embarrassed how quickly the knot in your stomach builds up while you grind against Matsukawa’s lap, or at the very least embarrassed that you have an audience to the entire spectacle, but the heat thrumming through your veins makes you shameless and desperate. Mattsun moves with purpose and an almost inhuman precision, riling you up so fast that you find yourself on the brink of cumming and all of your clothes are still on.

His teeth bite down into the flesh of your shoulder at the exact moment the outline of the head of his cock ruts directly against your clit.

“Issei!” you throw your head back, gasping at the feeling.

“That was a moan!” Oikawa says with a sudden sharp clap of his hands, shattering the intimacy of the heated moment.

Before you know what’s happening you’re being pulled off Issei, who can only groan in response, his hands trying to cling to you as you’re pried from his lap.

“No, no, please I-“

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good, too. Better even,” Oikawa smiles at you as he cuts off your desperate babbling, but it’s sharp and predatory as he lays you out on the sofa, flat on your back.

Your thighs are shaking, panties sticking between your legs as he crawls over you.

“Isn’t that right, Cherry-chan?”

You have half a mind to kick him off the couch just for the nickname, and call the whole thing off.

You dated Oikawa in high school, much to both of your dismay now that you’re older and wiser and not virgins. And he’d started calling you the pet name not long after you’d started seeing each other — citing the way your cheeks would always flush a telling, rosy hue at the slightest bit of provocation. You’d actually found it sort of sweet, until you learned (way later than you should have) that the nickname came from the fact he popped your cherry, not because you looked like one.

But you’re too worked up to do either of those things, and instead you fist the material of his t-shirt and pull him down towards you to crash his lips to yours.

Oikawa shows none of the patience that Mattsun showed in the preamble, immediately working the waistband of your pants down over your hips, underwear along with it. Before you know it, you’re naked from the waist down and Tooru is sinking to his knees on the floor between your parted thighs.

He wastes no time. Oikawa Tooru is a man who knows what he wants, and he has been for as long as you’ve known him.

Driven.

Unyielding in the pursuit of his goals.

And what he wants right now?

To break you apart.

Maybe it’s because of how worked up Mattsun had gotten you, maybe it’s the skillful way Oikawa uses this mouth, but in no time at all you find yourself on the edge.

“Oh my god, oh — haa — my god,” you’re babbling as the boy between your legs sucks your clit into his mouth. You’re trying your best to be quiet as you speak, all things considered; not quite moaning yet, though you’re uncertain as to whether or not it’s because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction, or that you know the moment you do you’ll be denied yours again.

“You taste so good.” Tooru licks a long stripe up your pussy with his unfairly talented tongue, flicking the tip against your sensitive clit as he reaches the top. “So sweet.”

You keen, back arching up off the sofa as he curls two long fingers inside of you without much warning beyond the brief glimpse of him wetting them with his mouth.

You’re going to cum.

You’re going to cum.

“Then do it,” Oikawa says, peering up at you lustfully from his place between your thighs, his tongue flicking out to lave against your clit again. You didn’t even realize you’d said it out loud.

Tooru spits into the hand that’s not currently three knuckles deep inside of you, and shifts slightly as he reaches down out of sight. The slick sound of him pumping his cock fills the room along with the obscene noises of him lapping at your cunt. The fact that he’s getting off on this as much as you are makes you feel even more unhinged.

When you finally cum, you feel like you’re going to die.

“Tooru!” you cry out, unable to hold the moan back any longer even in spite of your best efforts. Your thighs clamp around his head as your hips buck up against his face, back arching like a bow string drawn taught. Your hands tangle in his soft brown hair while you ride out the wave of heat that rips through your body.

You’re too far gone to worry that you’re going to be interrupted, but it doesn’t matter: the boys around the room are watching with such a fascinated intensity that none of them dare to interrupt.

“Look at that,” Makki breathes.

“Shit,” Mattsun grunts out an agreement as you struggle to catch your breath.

Oikawa’s hand has sped up it’s frantic passes along his cock, and when he shifts up to his knees on the floor below you, you catch sight of it for the first time since you were a teenager: still long and curved and nicely pink at the head, glossy with the precum oozing out of it.

“Like what you see?” he rasps out when he catches the way your eyes have travelled down to his dick, the muscles in his abdomen clenching to make them even more defined in a way that you’re uncertain is intentional or instinctive.

You nod weakly.

“Cum on me, Tooru.”

His muscles tense again.

“Where?” his pretence of nonchalance is fractured by the way his voice cracks, a pretty hand wrapped around the base of his equally pretty cock to keep himself from cumming before you tell him exactly where you want it.

“My tits,” you breathe, eyes flickering up to his feral gaze, “cum on my tits.”

One of his hands wraps around your knee, tugging you to the edge of the sofa where you’re still lying flat on your back. Your shirt rucks up slightly in the scramble, but his other hand tugs your tank top the rest of the way up over your chest, positioning himself over you between your spread legs as he pumps his hand hard and fast one, two, three times more before you feel the first spatter of cum hit your sweat-dampened skin.

You watch as he rests back on his haunches, reaching up to push his ruffled hair back from his face.

Tooru smirks, dragging a long finger through the mess he made on your chest — probably writing his name in it — as he speaks again.

“I don’t remember you being so lewd when we were in high school, Cherry-chan.”

“I don’t remember you being able to make me cum when we were in high school, either. Guess things change,” you say, and your words would have been more cutting if you were a little less breathless. Your hand reaches up and cards through Tooru’s impossibly soft hair, but what could have been a tender moment turns cutting when you curl your fingers in the tresses and tug hard — Oikawa looks like he’s holding back a moan. “And stop calling me that.”

“Here,” a voice says softly from beside you, pulling your attention away from the obnoxious boy who’d just made you cum. You let your head loll to the side to see Iwa handing you a bit of tissue. You have no idea when or where he got them from, but you thank him, watching the way his eyes follow your careful motions as you clean yourself up.

“You missed a spot,” Oikawa says, dipping down and dragging his tongue across your breast, maintaining eye contact with his best friend while he does it. You whimper a little at the way his teeth graze you when he suckles your nipple into his mouth — just for the hell of it.

“Alright, enough rekindling that old flame,” Makki says, eager for his own turn, before grabbing Oikawa by the collar of his shirt and dragging away from you. The brown-haired boy makes an indignant squawk as he’s so unceremoniously uprooted, but you have virtually no time to process it before Hiro is pulling you up to your feet and maneuvering you over to his seat, flopping down and pulling you into his lap along with him.

“Take this off,” he says, tugging at the shirt bunched up over your chest. He helps guide it up over your head properly and then he appraises you for a moment, moulding his hand to the shape of your breast.

He sighs, and it sounds soft and almost dreamy. You don’t trust it at all.

“Perfect.”

If Issei and Oikawa had been determined to unravel you as quickly as possible, Hiro is the opposite — he touches you like he wants to drive you to the brink, but never quite allow you to go over.

“‘Atta girl, just like that,” Hiro breathes as his thumb rubs infuriatingly slow circles into your clit, his other hand guiding the thick head of his cock through the slick of your slit. His shirt is long gone, but his sweatpants had only been tugged down around his knees — unsurprisingly he’d not been wearing underwear beneath them.

He’s been teasing you like this for what felt like an eternity, painstakingly circling your clit, rolling your nipples between his teeth, laving his tongue over the bite marks he’d littered across your collarbones to match the one’s Issei had made while you mewled. He appeased your needy whines with the occasional dip of his tip pressing into you, a little bit of a burn each time as you adjusted to the intrusion, you still feel too empty.

“H-hiro, please. I need it,” you’re almost sobbing as you plead to him. Hell, you are sobbing — the words mangled and watery as your fingers tangle their way into Makki’s perpetual bedhead.

“Nah, you don’t,” Makki says. “You can cum like this.”

“I don’t want to,” you warble, fingernails raking bluntly over his scalp. “Wanna cum on yo-on your cock.”

That makes him falter, slipping a little bit further inside you due to nothing but pure shock. You feel his cock twitch as you sink halfway down it.

“Oh I felt that,” you keen, tossing your head back and dropping your hips down onto him as much as his vice grip on your waist will allow — which isn’t much. “Please Hiro. I know you want to.”

“‘Course I want to,” he groans, thrusting shallowly into the tight heat between your legs. “But you’re so pretty like this, all wrecked and desperate. Who’re you begging for?”

“You,” you murmur, kissing up his throat to his jaw, sliding little pecks all the way across to his mouth. “It’s for you Hiro — so please just fuck me.”

“I don’t have a condom on,” Hiro hisses out through clenched teeth. “And I’m out.”

“I’ve got some,” Mattsun drawls from his spot on the couch and your half-lidded gaze lands on him. He licks his lips as you make eye contact, your walls clenching around the tip of Hiro’s cock that’s still half-inside you.

“Fuck you,” Makki spits, not to you, and you all know why. Mattsun is the only man in the room that would fit into the king size condoms tucked into his bedside drawer.

“I don’t care,” you keen, head lolling back.

He’s halfway in already, no condom in sight. Was it your finest hour? The most shining example of reason you’d ever set? No. But you were three quarters of the way through letting your four best friends have their way with you, so it’s fair to say that logic and reason were well beyond you by that point.

“Really?” Hiro’s voice is comically pitchy as he croaks the question out, desperate and hopeful.

“Just don’t cum inside me, ‘kay?” You nod, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his. He rolls his hips a little deeper than before, not all the way, but fuller than he’d been filling you up until that point.

“You got it, princess.”

Makki’s cock may not be the most impressive in the room, but god does he know how to use it. The first thrust to the hilt he makes has you crying out — a pitiful, broken sound that rips from somewhere deep in your chest.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” Hiro moans, pulling out just to repeat the same toe-curling accuracy he’d executed on the first thrust. Three more and you’re ready to snap, and the softest pressure of his thumb on your clit has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Hiro, H-Hiro, Hiro!” you moan his name as you come undone, nails digging into the soft flesh of his shoulders as you scrabble for purchase in the pale skin.

“Fuck, fuck,” Hiro chokes out, managing two more sloppy thrusts through your orgasm before he’s pulling out of you and cumming all over his own tightly-drawn abs.

You crumple forward, hands gripping the back of the chair as your sweat-slicked chest meets Makki’s. His hands immediately reaching around to stroke your back as the two of you struggle to catch your breaths.

It’s an unusually gentle gesture, and you find yourself melting into his touch — though careful not to get the cum splattered across his skin onto yours.

“Wow,” he says with a huff of a laugh, the warm breath fanning against your ear. “Your pussy’s unreal.”

You pull back, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

Way to ruin the moment.

You flick him on the forehead, right between his brows.

You stand up onto unsteady legs and almost immediately stumble, but a strong arm around your waist keeps you upright.

You turn in the aforementioned grip to see Iwa supporting you.

“Hi, Iwa,” you say softly, for lack of anything better to say, a delirious smile on your flushed face.

“Hi,” he repeats the greeting with a sweet chuckle. He says your name quietly, and you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach. “You good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, with a little nod, very aware of the way his stiff cock is pressing into your hip as he holds you.

You wait for a second before stretching up to press your lips to his.

He freezes momentarily — like even after everything he’d just witnessed he wasn’t quite expecting it — before responding in kind, kissing you deeply and holding you a little bit tighter.

You stay like that, making out in the middle of the living room, before Iwa sweeps you up into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist as he holds you like it’s effortless and carefully he leans down, laying you out across the floor — hardly breaking the kiss all the while.

Iwa steals a pillow off the couch — you think it’s Oikawa who hands it to him but you can’t be sure — nestling it under your hips to angle them up and protect them from the hard floor underneath.

“Is this okay?” he asks, though he barely separates from your mouth to speak the words, so soft and quiet and close that it’s like you’re the only person in the world who’s meant to hear them.

You nod a little bit, your fingers tracing through his short hair while he’s hovering over you.

“We can stop here, you know,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “You’ve done so much already.”

You panic a little, your grip on his hair tightening.

“No,” you say, voice pitching up in your fluster. “Please, Hajime. I want you to fuck me.”

Iwa swallows hard, leaning back on his knees as he tugs his sweatshirt up over his head.

You’re wet and more than ready for him when he finally presses in — but there’s still a delicious stretch as he carves his way inside of you that has you arching up underneath him, grabbing his corded shoulders to ground yourself.

“Oh,” Iwa gasps out as he feels the way you’re wrapped around him, sucking him in.

You whimper as he pulls back only slightly before rutting into you again, sending you sliding up on the carpet, the burn against your shoulder blades little more than a dull ache even if you know you’ll feel it acutely in the morning.

“More, Iwa,” you plead to him breathlessly. “I want you.”

“You’ve got me,” he replies hoarsely, but he still obliges your request readily, looping your knees over his forearms and bending you in half. The change forces a sound out of you that’s so carnal it even takes you by surprise.

He’s so deep at this angle, you swear you can feel the tip of his cock hitting your diaphragm — anatomical possibilities be damned. Your throat is tight, breath hitching with every slow, calculated thrust inside of you as he takes his time.

“Ha-“ your moan is cut off before you can say his name, his hand pressing against your swollen lips to trap the word behind them unspoken.

“Sorry, baby,” Iwa murmurs, eyes tracing over your wrecked face. “I just don’t want this to end too quick, okay?”

You can only nod underneath his palm as it covers your mouth, tears of exertion gathering along your lash line and dripping back towards your temple.

“Be good for me,” his words are strained, tendons in his neck flexing as he swallows hard and rolls his hips down into yours once more.

If any of the boys want to complain about how this is breaking some unspoken rule, they don’t. A silence so profound has settled over the room that you wonder if they’re even breathing.

Iwa fucks you languidly — tenderly. Like he’s savouring every slick slide into your cunt for all the moment is worth. He’s groaning openly, the sounds occasionally muffled by your skin as he presses hot open mouthed kisses to every inch of it he can reach - your mouth is still covered by his heavy hand, so he focuses his attention on your jaw, your throat, your tits.

He doesn’t care about the competition, the way he’s taking his time makes that clear, but when he finally removes his hand and you moan — properly moan — it’s a sound so high and sweet you can almost feel the shiver that runs down the length of his spine.

“Hajime.”

“Shit,” the grunted curse isn’t from Iwa, who is still rocking his hips into yours, but rather Makki — who had begun shamelessly jerking himself off again on the other side of the living room.

You cum for the third time that night, but it’s no less impressive than the first two. Your vision goes from black to white with how hard your eyes squeeze shut, and Iwa moans your name out when he feels the way you clench around his cock — so tight he can barely keep fucking you through it. Your legs wind themselves around his hips and keep him still as you writhe through your peak.

“‘M gonna cum,” he grunts out through clenched teeth, hands moving to try and pry your legs away, “baby, I’m gonna cum, you gotta-“

“Inside,” you keen, “cum inside me, Haji.”

With a defeated, wanton groan he nods, rolling against you again— it’s harder this time, more frantic.

“You sure?” he manages to bite the words out though it seems to take every last ounce of resolve he has, hands pressed into the carpet on either side of your head as he leans over you fucking you into the floor.

You nod frantically, tears still rolling down your cheeks. Your hands press weakly against the smooth planes of his chest as you feel the first pangs of overstimulation, your fingers scratching into the skin beneath them a little more on every thrust. You loosen the lock of your legs, allowing Iwaizumi a bit more leeway to fuck you harder, and after only a few more bruising thrusts you feel him cum, cock throbbing and filling you up so well that you feel on the verge of bursting.

Iwa collapses on top of you, his face tucked into the crook of your neck as his heavy weight bears down and crushes you into the floor — but you don’t quite mind it.

He gets his bearings soon enough, as though realizing for the first time he might be harming you, rolling onto his side.

His eyes are a little hazy as they rake over your features, a look of concern pinching his handsome face. You can tell without him saying it that he’s worried he went too far, so you reach up and cup his face in your palm with a weak but genuine smile.

You feel a pressure on your knee unexpectedly, gently nudging your legs apart. You look down to see Hiro’s foot coaxing your thighs open, eyes fixed to where Hajime’s cum is dripping out of you. He’s tucked his cock away and pulled his sweatpants up again, meaning he must have finished again at some point, but his lip is stuck out in an obnoxious pout as he looks at you.

“How come he got to nut inside you but I didn’t?” Makki whines, and Oikawa reaches out and smacks the back of his head lightly — shooting him a look that you don’t quite understand.

“I’ll go get a warm cloth to clean you up,” Iwa says to you, pulling your attention back to him as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. He clears his throat a little. “Okay?”

You nod weakly, your exhaustion having finally crept up on you.

“Iwa-chan, get one for me too! My face is still all sticky!” Oikawa calls after Iwa’s retreating form.

“Get it yourself!”

“But Iwa!” Oikawa complains, standing and shuffling after his friend, grumbling about the injustice all the while.

“You need some water?” Makki asks, standing from his seat and peering down at where you’re still laying flat on the floor of your living room. He stretches his arms up over his head, the muscles of his upper body flexing under his skin as he does so. You nod, hissing a little as you pull yourself upright.

“Yes, please,” your throat is hoarse so you say the words a little weakly, and you wince as you feel more cum seep out of you and smear along the tops of your thighs. Makki nods and saunters off towards the kitchen, but you could have sworn you spotted a little blush along the tops of his cheeks before he left.

You sigh a little bit, blinking away some of the residual wetness in your eyes.

A figure appears in the periphery of your blurry vision, and you turn, peering upwards.

Mattsun grins down at you, his towering height only amplified by your position on the floor. He tilts his head to the side.

“Kinda unfair that I’m the only one who didn’t get to cum, you know.”

He crouches down beside you, his eyes trailing all the way up your body until he reaches your flushed, tearstained face. He cups your cheek in his hand, the pad of his thumb swiping away a lone tear still clinging to your skin. He brings the thumb up to his lips, and you watch raptly as his tongue sweeps out to taste the brine from his fingertip.

Your stomach clenches.

“Think you’re ready for me now, sweetheart?”

None of you even seem to notice that the competition had been all but forgotten.

---

shooting myself

Till visibly softened when Ivan nuzzled him. I am losing my mind

---

mean girls as anime 💖💋💄

happy october 3rd!✨

just for unknown purposes 👀

🦟🐜🦟🐜🦟🐜

𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋

# day 1. gun play

undercover spy!loid forger x assassin f!reader

genre. action, romance, smut

s. hired by an anonymous to kill a CEO, the job becomes more complicated than expected when your target turns out to be a tough-skinned man who may also be hiding a secret that could compromise your mission

cw. oral, body worship, creampie, mating press, office sex, praise, pet names (princess, angel), gun play, fingering | wc. 4300

kinktober m.list | interactions are appreciated

code name: kage-hime target: loid forger, CEO of an infrastructure company. he is apparently a single gentleman from a family with a good reputation. according to the client, mr. forger appears to be a danger to society.

your job is not to do research on targets, as long as a client pays you are willing to do your job without question. that’s how you have been taught to do the job.

your parents have always been good and friendly, kind and helpful people. growing up you had a normal and happy life. as normal and happy as the life of contract killers can be. from a young age the fundamentals of becoming an excellent assassin were indoctrinated into you every day after school, on holidays, and on out-of-town trips. mom taught you that to take them down in one shot was enough to aim between their eyes, dad on the other hand that bloodstains go away easily on windbreakers. you owe everything to your family, so you work hard every day to repay them for everything.

you passed the interview to become the secretary of your target easily, it seems there were not many other candidates. to get closer to the target, there is no better way than working side by side.

“miss, this way.” the man in front of you nods for you to follow him down the office corridor on the 15th floor of a forger-owned building. “the boss is waiting for you, and remember,” he chuckles as he stops in front of a door, “don’t fall for him.”

Keep reading

---

birds of a feather . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

{olympic figure skater!satoru gojo x olympic figure skater f!reader}

summary: you and satoru have known each other since childhood, two little birds navigating through life together as you shared one dream in common— to win gold at the olympics, you both a figure skating pair as you moved and performed and fell in love as the years went by, both balancing off a trembling tight rope and holding on to keep each other in place, a silent agreement that if you indulged and fell into the depths of the truth of what you were, you’d run the risk of losing your careers and each other, yours and satoru’s biggest fears. but you’re growing, and it’s getting harder to hold back… especially for satoru— that trembling tight rope on the verge of snapping in two.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, childhood best friends to lovers trope, cursing, DIABOLICAL ANGST BUT WITH HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE!, mentions of death and loss, mentions of injury and blood, FLUUUFFF, satoru loves loves loves you, SMUUUTT, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it y’all), creampie, pussy eating, dom satoru, pussy drunk satoru, DIRTY TALK, pet names, figure skating, the olympics, true love <3

word count: 22.3k (I KNOW PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE PLEASE—)

authors note: YYYOOOUUU GUUUYYSSS THIS ONE IS MY BABBBYYY AND IM CRYING NOW WRITING THIS LMFAOAOAO. i hope you all love it seriously i GLADLY worked day and night writing this and i’d do it all over again just to see y’all happy :) THANK YOU for your support it is UNREAL, and like always, I LOOVEEE YOUUU MWAAHHH <333

you first met satoru when you were six at the skating rink.

he was only a year older than you, both of your mothers coincidentally signing you up for the same youth ice skating lessons for beginners, meeting and chatting it up seeing as you and satoru were the youngest in age out of the rest of the parents there and their children, you both automatically put together by your coach and separated from the older kids to do warm ups.

and even though the age difference was only a year, satoru at first treated you like a little helpless tiny thing who needed assistance in everything— the cute pink ribbons in your hair doing you an injustice and further implementing the image of a little girl who had no clue of what was going on around her, thinking you were cutesy and he was determined to be your little knight in shining armor when the time came.

until he saw you skate.

what satoru didn’t know, was that you were a prodigy— related to one of the most famous ice skaters in olympic ice skating history, akira, as her talent was blessedly passed down to you through your fruitful system and the lucky processes of genetics— chosen as you barely even had to be taught, you catching everything right away by the coach without any sort of slip and fall… unlike satoru who was clumsily struggling to even glide through the ice without wobbling.

and little satoru was astonished by you and your talent, his first impression of you drastically changing by the end of the first lesson as he shakily slid across the ice over to where you were, patiently doing little turns on the ice while you waited for your mother to finish up talking to another lady (it was satoru’s mother).

“hi!” he had greeted you, a huge goofy smile on his face as you slowed down and looked at him, returning a shy smile of your own.

“hi.”

“i’m satoru!” he extended a hand, eyes shooting wide as he suddenly lost his balance and slipped forward, on the brink of face planting on the ice as his hands quickly flailed out and gripped the edge of the rink to save himself.

you giggled, tiny hands reaching and holding his arm steady as he tried to regain his balance.

“are you okay?” your shy voice asked, and he grinned through his wobbling.

“yeah! i’m okay! don’t worry!”

but he still couldn’t stabilize himself.

“maybe we should sit on the bench?” you suggested sweetly. “so you don’t fall…”

“okay!”

you gripped him as hard as you could (which really wasn’t a lot for a six year old) and slowly moved with him on the ice, supporting him until you were both out of the rink and seated on the bleachers.

“what’s your name?” he chirped, his hands clutching on the edge of the bench as he leaned forward and looked at you kindly, legs swinging.

“y—y/n.”

“nice!” he cheesed, looking at you. “i saw you skate. you’re really good!”

“t—thank you.” you mumbled, shy and alarmed that a boy was talking to you.

“when did you start skating?”

you looked at him confusedly. “um.. today?”

his eyes bulged.

“hah?! today?!”

you jumped at his outburst, cheeks pink as you quickly nodded.

“wowww!…” he gushed with stars in his eyes. “that’s great! i saw you doing turns and things. i can barely move on the ice… it’s slippery.”

“well—” you peeked up at him shyly. “my—my aunt taught me some stuff… but not a lot.”

“you have someone in your family that skates?” he asked excitedly with huge blue eyes. “how cool! hopefully i can catch up to you and at least move…”

“that’s okay...” you smiled. “i know you will.”

“really?!” he gushed again before leaning back, nodding his head cutely. “if you think so, then i know so!”

and you giggled at him, your timid wall slowly crumbling down at his bubbly and kind personality as he was a chatterbox and talked to you about anything that had to do with olympic ice skating— him knowing so much about it and nearly screaming his head off and panicking when he found out that your aunt was none other than akira, now knowing exactly why you were so good at skating in the first place.

satoru looked up to you. so much so that it was comical— seeking your approval over the following years during lessons and not even listening to the damn coach himself as he listened more to you, wanting you to teach him how to do bunny hops or backward crossovers and giving a big fat attitude to anyone else who tried to coach him, whining and snoring away until you and your little bows skated over to him to teach him.

and because of that you spent a lot of time with satoru in and out of lessons, even more than you ever spent with your own friends at school as you clung to him at all times— him cheering and encouraging you on when you were shy in certain situations, and you teaching him everything you could about skating and bringing him little bags of strawberry gummy puffs since he had the biggest sweet tooth you had ever seen, you both cemented and stubbornly attached to the hip with neither wanting to let go.

and when your mother’s planned a little playdate at the local outdoor ice skating rink on a chilly december day— an enormous christmas tree sitting tall and glorious by the rink with twinkling star-shaped fairy lights and jingle bells surrounding the plaza, you and satoru spinning each other around and dancing and giggling over the murmur of classic christmas songs, they saw the potential… an idea sparking in their heads amongst their cooing and picture taking.

you and satoru were both originally put into the ice skating world to train and be independent professional skaters, olympic athletes to be more specific when the time came.

but that concept quickly changed the second you met.

now— you and satoru were an olympic ice skating pair, the subject materializing when your mother’s pulled you out from those simple ice skating lessons (you both already way past getting the basics down since your skill combined with you teaching satoru had you both surpassing the class) and paying for a professional couples figure skating coach to get you guys started now and early.

and the both of you were over the moon, especially satoru, as he absolutely adored you and begged his mother literally every fucking day if he could go over to your house or over to the ice skating rink with you to dance, you doing the same and the two of you crying and wailing on the floor whenever times wouldn’t work out and plans fell through, your mother’s having to give in and drag you to each other’s houses so you would both stop crying.

when akira found out you were officially figure skating, she nearly drove into the side of a building speeding over to your house from being out of the country for so long competing.

“is it true?!” she burst through the doors, your mother rolling her eyes after being startled half to death over her bizarre behavior. “is my little niece gonna be a figure skater like me?!”

you gasped excitedly upon seeing her, getting up from your spot on the rug and running over to akira’s open arms, leaving your coloring book and crayons behind as she swung you around.

“she started when she was six you know that…” your mother grumbled, folding various kitchen towels.

“but you just told me now that she’s not independent!” akira countered, setting you down and holding you out at arms length, eyes wide and eager. “—but partner figure skating! like me!”

she shook you. “where is he?! your partner! is he here? is he your age? is he nice?”

you perked up and looked over to the kitchen. “oh mommy! satoru should come and meet—”

“his name is satoru? oh my goodness how cuteeee!” she cooed, pinching your cheeks. “is he handsome? do you like him? do you have a crush on him—”

your little cheeks blazed as your mother threw a kitchen towel at her.

“she’s eight aki! jesus christ.”

“love has no limits.” akira wiggled a finger, and you giggled.

your mother called satoru’s place soon after, his mother excitedly conversing over the other line about how the akira was finally back in town and how satoru was gonna lose his mind once he saw her— you knowing he was the biggest fan and sometimes told you facts during lessons that you didn’t even know about your own aunt.

and when they finally did arrive, satoru was stiff— frozen in place with tight arms at his sides by the living room as his alarmed big blue eyes looked at akira with a sickly pale face, you snickering behind him.

“hi satoru!” akira greeted, leaning down with her hands on her knees to look at him at eye level. “it’s nice to meet you! y/n tells me you like my skating?”

“u—uhuh.” he responded dumbly, and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing, knowing satoru would cry and whine about it later if he heard you.

“that’s great! i’m happy you skate too… and with my niece i should say!” she spoke kindly, ruffling his snowy colored hair up and standing upright, placing her hands on her hips and looking like a straight freaking superhero in satoru’s eyes. “you wanna compete in the olympics?”

“uh huh.”

a laughing breath hurled from your throat and your cheeks puffed up like a squirrel, clasped hands still over your mouth and face going red from how hard you were trying to keep it in.

“that’s what i like to hear.” she smiled, a shiny impressive one as satoru still stood there in a stuck daze.

“work hard okay? the both of you. so you can catch up to me someday, yeah?”

your hands slowly fell from your mouth then, eyes filled with admiration and determination as you both eagerly nodded, looking at each other hopefully.

“you think—” satoru stammered, looking at akira. “you think we can… win three gold medals like you?”

“oh absolutely!” she shrugged. “i don’t doubt it at all.”

you and satoru gushed, glittering little eyes as you stared up cutely at akira, her giving you both a silly grin.

“how long have they been doing partner work?” she asked your mother suddenly, watching the way you and satoru chattered then excitedly about the actual possibility of competing for the olympics someday.

“mmm, i wanna say for about a year and a half? maybe two?” she looked over at satoru’s mother, who nodded in agreement. “they’re with a couple’s figure skating coach right now.”

akira hummed and shifted her gaze back down between the two of you.

“i’m training them from now on.”

both mothers froze, eyes wide as they stared at her.

you and satoru hadn’t even realized what she said, still caught up in your little bubble of the olympics and metals and competitions until your mother caught your attention.

“did you hear?”

you shook your head. “hear what!”

“akira wants to coach you and satoru.”

his jaw dropped and he nearly passed out on the floor, you quickly grabbing his shoulders as he reeled over.

“are— are you sure?” your mother continued, looking at her sister now. “aren’t you busy? i thought you were only here for the weekend.”

she waved her off. “i need a break from skating for a little… at least until the next olympics.”

akira turned to you then and smiled warmly. “and i wanna coach my little niece and her new buddy! if that’s okay?”

“yesyesyesyes!—”

both you and satoru bounced up and down and cheered, arms up as you tackled and hung off of akira like a jungle gym, her laughing and smiling big at your enthusiasm.

akira was the most important figure in your life, right next to satoru as she became a mother figure to the both of you as well as your mentor.

and training with her was not easy— your age not an excuse at all whatsoever in her eyes to not learn proper figure skating moves and technique, saying it would only serve you right in the end if you started adapting your bodies to it now rather than later.

and like most things, akira was right. but even though practices were grueling and tough to the point where you had to drag satoru across the ice to get up, she always tried to make them fun in the end— cracking jokes and teaching you guys silly little tricks that you could do with each other on the ice that she figured out over her years of skating with her partner, taking you both out for ice cream frequently after and telling you of her travels competing around the world, the people she’d met, and the titles she’d won— all things that were you and satoru’s ultimate dream as you listened eagerly.

by the time you were twelve and satoru was thirteen, it was obvious you guys were meant to be olympic athletes together.

“you need to pick your leg a little further up on the spin, toru.”

he stuck his tongue out. “says who.”

“says me.” you poked his cheek. “and i’m pretty sure aki told you before she left too.”

“yes ma’am!” he nodded, gliding a bit further away from you on the ice before picking his momentum up and reaching you, him bending his knees and wrapping his arms around your torso as you both went into fast spins, one leg extended for the both of you as your arms gripped over his shoulders— practicing the routine akira had given you for your upcoming competition.

“yeah like that!” you smiled, spins gradually slowing down and satoru coming back up from his bend until you both stood still on the ice. “good job toru!”

he grinned and ruffled your hair. “thanks!”

“mhm!” you responded, turning and skating away to the edge of the rink to hide the blush that was rising in your cheeks.

“what?!” he whined. “where are you going? do i stink?”

“no!” you laughed, shaking your head. “just the usual sweat and B.O.”

“aw no!” he quickly skated to the edge of the rink and out before flying for his duffel bag. “i hate being a man i hate puberty this is ridiculous—”

“i’m kidding im kidding!” you called from across the ice, cackling when he stopped and whipped his head over, glaring at you. “you’re fine toru— not stinky.”

“well you’re stinky for putting me in distress how about that?” he huffed, an eventual smile playing at his lips as he put down his duffel bag and went inside the rink again.

akira was currently on her way to compete at the olympics for her fourth gold medal in partner figure skating, you and satoru having no doubt in your minds that she was going to absolutely clear everyone else there and get it, as she’s never gotten silver or bronze or anything lower than that.

“when do we fly to see aki again?” satoru called from across the ice, gliding to and fro in figure eights. “don’t say tomorrow morning because i haven’t started packing yet heh… oops.”

you giggled. “it is tomorrow morning, dummy.”

“no!” he stopped and shoved his hands in his hair. “i haven’t even started planning my outfits! oh i was gonna take so many pictures what am i supposed to do now—”

you laughed loudly and skated back over to him, hands wrung behind your back as you looked at him cheekily. “you’re silly toru. outfits for what? literally just show up.”

“it’s not everyday we leave the country y/n!” he whined. “i wanted to sport my best and look cool, dang it.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and lifted your hand, patting his head.

“i’ll show up in pajamas and you show up in yours, and we’ll call it a day. hm?”

he grinned.

“matching? or seperate? and what color? plaid?”

“toru!”

he laughed and skated past you, nudging your shoulder with his in the process. “i’m just messing with youuu, matching obviously!”

satoru came back around, reached up and straightened the ribbons in your hair, little white bows sitting pretty as a blush rose to his cheeks when he was done.

“wanna run it three more times and call it?” he suggested. “i wanna make sure i get what you told me down before we go.”

you smiled and quickly nodded, taking satoru’s extended hand and skating together to first position.

watching akira win gold in person for the first time in your life was an experience you’ll never forget.

and she did it fucking beautifully.

with every precise move, with every articulate angle you and satoru screamed and yelled like crazy people in front of the rink while waving around your countries tiny flags, cheering with fat tears rolling down your faces when she successfully landed each time, holding each other so tight with mushed up cheeks throughout her routine with her partner and still in anxiousness when the time came for revealing final scores.

no one could skate like her. absolutely no one as she speedily glided across the ice and spun, prepped herself for the hardest most impressive turns you had ever seen in your life, and performed a quadruple axel rotation in the air all on her own— things that have always earned her the highest scores for three successive olympic years.

and four now— because when akira and her partner stepped up on that podium, you and satoru had to basically be yanked back by your mothers with the way you both tried to jump over the edge of the rink to her, her standing there like a beacon of light on the first place podium, a gold medal hung rightfully around her neck with flowers in her arms as she smiled so so big and happily, her eyes not once leaving you and satoru.

eventually when the ceremony was over, amongst all of the buzz and the crowd roaring and picture taking— akira quickly skated over to the two of you and leaned on the edge of the rink.

“akiiii!” you both wailed and flung your arms around her neck, her giggling and hugging you both back as best as she possibly could despite the mass amount of bouquets in her hands.

“did i do okay?!” she yelled over the noise.

you both pulled back and looked at her like she was insane.

“did you do okay?!” you gawked.

“aki— you won a fucking gold medal!” satoru yelled.

“HAH!” she laughed loudly. “don’t say that word in front of your mommy satoru she’ll chop my head off and kill me!”

you both giggled uncontrollably.

akira leaned her head in then and you and satoru followed through, all three foreheads resting against each others.

“listen to me for a second.“ she started. “you guys are birds of a feather, okay? you need to stick together and fly together as one.”

she let you both go and dropped the bouquets she was holding on the icy floor before placing a hand on yours and satoru’s outer cheeks, bringing you in. “don’t fight. don’t separate. don’t leave each other. you need to keep each other and what you have safe.”

you both quickly nodded, tears funnily gathering at the corners of your eyes at what she was saying, and she smiled.

“yes partner figure skating is about chemistry and technicality, but it’s about love… and sometimes just that. without genuine love, nothing will click.” she let your cheeks go and grabbed her shiny gold medal, holding it up. “this will be yours. i promise you.”

akira put down her medal, wiping both yours and satoru’s wet cheeks. “birds of a feather. stick together. keep each other safe. do you understand?”

the two of you sniffled and nodded.

“and i need to stop cussing in front of you guys during practices, don’t i?!” she smiled warmly, and you and satoru shook your heads frantically.

“no keep doing it!—”

“it’s funny please!—”

ever since akira told you that, it became you and satoru’s thing.

before and after every competition, with every hello and every goodbye at the beginning and end of the day, throughout the hours randomly whenever you both felt like it, you’d lock pinkies and reiterate ‘birds of a feather’ before kissing your thumbs and locking your promise in place— another one of the many other ways you’d show that you loved each other.

but whether it was platonically or romantically remained unknown until you both hit high school.

perhaps it had always been romantically… that you weren’t exactly sure of. but the way you and satoru had been treating each other since you were literally the age of six, made the technicalities of what it was blurry and a little confusing— for you couldn’t even remember when it was that you started loving satoru.

maybe it was that very first day when he skated over to you, wobbly and clumsy with a cheesy smile.

and as if it wasn’t already confusing enough of what the two of you were, the way you acted made it ten times worse.

but you’d been that way since forever— embracing each other a little longer than you should, innocently kissing each others cheeks and heads and hands, calling each other pet names and being each other’s dates to every single school dance—

but it was all harmless. not a single bad thought behind it and doing it like a reflex.

it was like you both were line balancing across the thinnest tight rope known to mankind— flimsy and unsteady, always on the verge of toppling over and falling completely into the darkening depths of the truth of what you were, but catching each other just before you did to regain balance back on the rope.

neither of you said it, but if you and satoru ever dared to be anything more than friends, and if something were to happen where you had to break up— you’d lose your first love, your best friend, and your entire career all in one.

the consequences were too drastic— you both knew that.

and you didn’t want to break your promise… so you acted blind to it.

by the time you were seventeen and satoru was eighteen, akira started training you for the international skating union competition to earn a spot for the olympics.

well— she actually started when you were about fourteen, but as the years progressed, her coaching and critiques got increasingly more difficult and nitpicky as well as the moves she taught you, wanting you both to build endurance to it and perfect it so that by the time you reached the age requirement for the olympics— it would be easier to train for it and be formidable competitors against the other pairs.

you and satoru wanted to be olympians more than anything else in your lives, and akira knew just how important this was for the both of you— making it her absolute mission to help accomplish solely that as she saw herself through the two of you.

your dreams were just like hers, and she respected and nurtured the fact with everything that she had.

“up! aaand up! and take her— throw— land oh shit—”

just as you had landed a semi complex throw jump, you lost balance and landed right on your ass, sliding across the ice on your side.

it was rare when you fell, and you absolutely despised when you did.

“fuck!” satoru quickly skated over to you and knelt down. “are you okay?!”

“why can’t i land that man?” you whined, covering your eyes.

akira smoothly traveled over to you both.

“it’s okay! we just learned it today sweets like— right now… you’ll have it down in the next five minutes.” satoru smiled softly, carefully helping you up on your skates and checking you over.

“don’t overly punish yourself, y/n.” akira reached and pinched your cheek. “i love that you’ve always been so serious about your technique, but you have to leave room for error my love or else you’ll choke yourself out.”

satoru ran a soothing hand along your back and you smiled cutely up at him, his heart jittering so much from it that he had to quickly retract his arm.

you nodded, always taking satoru’s and akira’s words seriously like inscriptions to a stone wall. “okay!”

he grinned and kissed the side of your head before taking your hand and leading you to first position like always.

akira smirked.

“are you guys together yet!” she blurted from across the ice and you both choked as she skated over.

“are we— are we—” you stammered.

“what?” she breathed out, placing her hands on her hips. “are you at least in love?”

satoru’s blue eyes bulged open with a furious pink tint to both of your cheeks.

“aki!” you whined, embarrassed. “stop it—”

“have you guys at least gone on one date?”

satoru pouted. “no.”

“i’m—” you played with your fingers. “i’m going on one today—”

“you’re what?!” he whipped his head in your direction, eyebrows furrowed.

“yeah…” you looked at him. “i’ve never gone on one and some guy at school asked me so i— i just thought—”

you thought it’d do you some good, since the one you wanted you couldn’t really have.

“are you actually..?” satoru trailed off, an unfamiliar strike of something in his chest making him a little upset.

but he knew damn well what it was.

“but—” akira stared at you wide eyed, pointing at satoru. “but it’s— it’s supposed to be—”

“aki!” satoru quickly grabbed her arm and lowered it, eyes snapping to you next. “is it that one guy you told me about? from your english class?”

“uh huh.” you fidgeted. “he asked me again and i felt bad saying no so i— said yes…”

satoru swallowed, nodding.

“oh you big dummies!” akira groaned. “we’ll talk about this later or else i’m gonna go into fucking cardiac arrest from frustration—”

she skated off to the edge of the rink and out, leaning on it from the outside with her head dramatically hung.

you both got into starting position, but you faltered when you noticed satoru was oddly quiet and stiff.

“…toru?”

he blinked down at you. “huh?”

“you okay?”

“oh!— yeah.” he smiled weakly. “i’m fine baby.”

“you sure—”

“what time is your date?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek. “it’s a bit after this... i told him to just give me time to shower and get ready.”

“if he can’t accept you stinky then he’s not for you.” he shook his head in distaste. “he’s already failing in my eyes sweets absolutely flunking. maybe you should cancel it? yeah i say cancel it—”

you laughed, heart in your throat as your eyes gleamed up at him. “i can barely accept you stinky so i wouldn’t blame him—”

“hey!” he placed an exaggerated hand on his chest. “it’s not my fault i literally put my heart and soul out on the ice just for you to skate all over me—”

you gasped offendedly. “i don’t skate all over you—”

“do too!”

“do not!”

“do to—”

“you guys!” akira called. “you know i love it when you guys love on each other it makes me so happy and envision your wedding but right now we have to grind!”

you both froze up and snapped your heads in her direction with red faces, whining.

“aakkiii!—”

you practiced what you had of the routine a couple of more times, a few new moves and jumps added after each run until akira called it a day upon noticing you and satoru were practically sweating your asses off and messing up several times out of exhaustion.

“good job today you guys!” she smiled, patting you both on your shoulders. “i feel like the next time we meet we’ll have the choreography down... from there we just need to perfect it and you should be good for the next competish, okay?”

you both nodded and thanked her, sweet smiles on your faces as she reached up and pinched a side of both your cheeks.

“my little babies.” she cooed. “oh how you’ve grown! you guys were so little when we started now satoru is huge man jesus christ—”

she lifted her hand and reached up to measure satoru’s height from his forehead, her passing it over the top of her head and eyes widening at the huge gap.

he laughed and puffed up his chest. “i got big and strong too aki see?” he flexed an arm. “see? eh?”

“that you did!” she laughed brightly, ruffling up his hair. “the strongest.”

you giggled and skated over to the edge of the rink to pack up, internally panicking a little that you guys went overtime and it was almost time for your date.

“satoru..” akira whispered, looking over her shoulder to make sure you weren’t listening. “what’s going on? you still haven’t asked her out? i thought you said you were gonna do it.”

“no..” he mumbled. “but we can’t. and she knows that too so— so what am i supposed to do—”

she gawked. “do you not see what’s happening?! she’s gonna go on a date with someone else! off with this stupid fear you guys have already seriously.”

“we caan’tt aki.” he pushed sadly. “it’s too risky.”

“but it’s not though!” she threw her arms out. “you guys have known each other since practically birth i feel like if it wasn’t meant to be you would’ve separated by now!”

satoru gnawed at his bottom lip in thought, eyes trained to the way your bows moved in your hair as you swung your duffel bag over yourself, smiling softly once he realized you had kindly packed his things for him too as you sat on the bench and waited for him to take you home.

akira sighed.

“it’s not my place to tell you guys what to do… but love has no limits. you know that.”

he nodded, smiling weakly at her as they skated out of the rink and prepared to lock up, akira hugging you both goodbye with a family kiss to your cheeks and you separating ways with her for the day, but not before her reminding you guys of practice tomorrow and that she loved you over her shoulder.

satoru was dreading you going on your date as he drove— the both of you normally talking about random things like always but his mind unable to stray from the fact that you were actually giving some random dingbat a chance.

it was rare when either of you would talk to or date other people, never even as your heads have always been so focused on figure skating and competitions… but also on each other— taking care and loving one another that you never needed anybody else since you were everything to satoru and satoru to you, and you were both confident that absolutely no one could ever step up to that level.

so why were you going on a date?

but he shouldn’t be like this. he knew that. there was a silent agreement between the two of you to never fall off that thin tight rope and keep each other balanced. and you were allowed to see and date whoever you wanted— something that he probably should do as well to try and get over the fact that you’d never really be his.

satoru pulled up to your driveway and shifted his gear into park.

“thank you toru!” you smiled sweetly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“you’re welcome.” he murmured. “can i— can i come in with you? and hang while you get ready?”

you quirked a brow. “i thought that’s what we were already doing silly.”

“okay well invite me woman!” you both got out of the car and walked up the steps to your front door. “you can’t just assume. what if i was busy? what if i also had a date? hm?”

you gave him a sly grin as you twisted in your keys to unlock the door. “do you?”

“… no.”

you giggled and pushed open the door, the both of you immediately clasping your hands over your mouths to keep your laughs in at the sight of your mother sprawled out on the couch dead asleep with drool coming out of her mouth, the tv softly playing in the background as you quietly shut the door, went up the stairs and into your room.

satoru sat on your desk chair lazily while you quickly hopped in the shower to get ready for your stupid date, staring at the framed photographs on your nightstand that all consisted of you and him over the years, smiling softly at his favorite— a picture of the two of you when you were babies, cheek to cheek with huge smiles at the park as you held ice cream cones in each of your hands, satoru more than sure akira was the one who took that picture.

the sound of your door clicking shut pulled him from his thoughts as you walked in, drying your pretty hair with your little fuzzy towel and throwing it in the hamper once you were done.

“oh! i was gonna show you! i got these ribbons the other day—” you got down on your knees and looked under your bed, sticking a hand in and pulling out a white box as you picked it up and shuffled with your knees closer to satoru— sitting back on your ankles.

“—i was running out of ribbon so i got these!” you held up the box and satoru took it, examining the various pastel colors with warm eyes. “some of them are polka dotted and i thought that was cute.”

“it is sweets!” he agreed.

satoru loved the ribbons in your hair, and you’d always wear them without fail because you knew just how much he did.

“i wanna start wearing bows too.” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you giggled.

“are you saying you wanna steal my brand toru?” you picked up a blue roll of ribbon from the box, a color that matched satoru’s eyes. “thought you were an honest man?”

he gasped. “i am an honest man! is it not obvious enough when i help you with your math homework? when i sacrifice my dignity and text you answers during your tests?”

you giggled and unrolled a strand of ribbon. “not when you eat all of my sweets that you actively dig through my room for—”

“but they’re always the strawberry gummy puffs!” he whined. “they make me a slut.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and stood, grabbing your little scissors and snipping off a piece of blue ribbon from the roll, stepping in front of satoru and leaning.

“watcha doing?” he asked, placing his hands on your waist.

“i’m putting a little bow in your hair before i leave!”

he hummed. “don’t think it’ll look as good on me as they do on you.”

you blushed, taking little pieces of white hair from the top of his head and wrapping the ribbon around, tying it the same way you’ve been doing for yourself since you were the age of nine.

you took a step back once you were finished and laughed. “you look cute toru!”

he raised a silly brow. “do i still look big and strong?”

“big and strong and pretty—”

“please don’t go.”

you stilled.

“what?”

satoru looked down, his bangs hiding his gorgeous eyes as he did.

“on your date.” he mumbled. “don’t go.”

you placed your hands softly on his shoulders, and his hold tightened a little around your waist.

“why?”

“because like i said if he doesn’t accept you stinky then he can’t have you when you smell like vanilla—”

“toru...” you spoke sternly, softly. “why not?”

you didn’t know why you were pushing it so much… maybe you were trying to see if you could get it out of him— if he had the will to actually say it unlike you…

and you hoped to god he would say it.

he slowly lifted his head and propped his chin up on your tummy, a sour expression on his face as he puckered his lips to the side like a little fish.

“dunno…” he muttered, his gaze flickering to yours and a sense of guilt swarming his chest at the uneasy look you had, his face relaxing as he sighed.

“sorry.” he smiled sheepishly, pulling back and letting go of your waist. “i’m kidding you have every right to—”

“m’not going.” you mumbled as you slid your hands away, looking down and playing with your fingers.

“huh?” he furrowed his brows. “no baby go you should go—”

“i don’t want to.”

you never did in the first place. you had foolishly thought that letting someone else in like this would be good for you and help you establish some sort of… barrier with satoru so you weren’t always suffering so fucking much.

but you were absolutely stupid for that.

all you’ve ever wanted was satoru, and doing something to pull you away from the type of relationship you had with him (whether platonic or romantic you had no freaking clue), was not only hurting you, but hurting him.

you didn’t need anyone else, truly. all you needed was satoru and his silly smile and dramatic antics— to spend time with just him and skate and eat dinner together after practices every night while watching horror movies, laughing so much over his screams that your stomach hurt while he whined about how you were making fun of him.

that’s all you needed… just satoru.

regardless if there was something more in question.

“you don’t want to?” he repeated softly. “why?”

“you know why, toru…”

you had said it so softly he barely caught it, but he did, his breath hitching in his throat.

that was the closest you two had ever gotten to acknowledging it.

you both were silent for a moment, the soft murmur of your tv downstairs filling the void as you looked at each other, tense and waiting for either of you to say something… anything.

but it was like the gravity of the foreseeable consequences settled onto your shoulders, and the pair of you could only sadly smile.

satoru stuck his pinky finger out towards you then.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured.

you breathed out a little through your nose and looped your pinky with his, nodding.

“birds of a feather.”

he kissed his thumb and you did the same before locking the promise.

for the rest of the night, you and satoru watched a bunch of shitty unknown movies to try and see who would break and laugh first— you feeling bad that you had to cancel so last minute on that guy from your english class, but not regretting it at all as you watched satoru scarf down two slices of pizza in one sitting and nearly throw up, you almost falling off the bed from laughing so much and him having to catch you midway down and pull you back up, saying that he was your hero and therefore you should give him your last stash of strawberry gummy puffs as a reward.

it was nearly two am when you and satoru finally settled down, both sprawled over each other on the bed as you stared up at the ceiling and talked about literally anything that came to your minds— stubbornly fighting off sleep for whatever unknown reason in the dark.

“you know this is aki’s last olympics right?” you spoke softly, your arm propped up as you watched the way satoru played with your fingers.

“yeah..” he replied. “i don’t really know how to feel about that.”

“me neither.” you shook your head. “but she said it came at a perfect time because she’d been wanting to retire for a while.”

and now it was yours and satoru’s turn to try and fill the legacy she had built.

he hummed, delicately interlacing your fingers together as the outline of it through the darkness made you blush and smile, the nooks between his digits blessedly made entirely just for you as your fingers slotted perfectly in each spot every time.

and satoru silently vowed for the millionth time in his life that he would always be your hero and keep you safe, a promise that was already tied into your birds of a feather contract, but needing to repeat it to himself anyways while he listened to the sound of your voice talk about your excitement for the upcoming olympics.

and my god were you excited, the both of you— looking forward to seeing akira gracefully take home her fifth fucking gold medal like she always did with no repercussions, seeing her fans and the mass amounts of support she got every year with bouquets and teddy bears and picture taking, but also looking forward to spending even more time with her— for not just practices… but for forever, even more than you already did now as you two were greedy and just loved akira.

you were looking forward to forever, the three of you.

until akira’s accident.

“oh my god i’m gonna throw up—”

satoru hurled over just as you both stepped onto the bleachers at the olympic arena, you laughing and placing supporting hands on his shoulders as you followed your mother and satoru’s to your designated place by the front.

“toru i told you you’d make yourself sick if you didn’t leave that damn dessert table alone.”

“there were cinnamon rolls baby. cinnamon rolls how on earth could i possibly just walk by a platter of cinnamon rolls—”

“okay!” you giggled, carefully leading him to sit down and ruffling his hair once you settled. “i get it! you love cinnamon rolls.”

“not as much as i love you—”

“yuck!” you stuck your tongue out and pushed him away by his cheek, him laughing loudly as he shooed your arm away and grinned.

“toru— this is the last time we’re gonna be sitting here in the bleachers watching aki.” you mentioned. “isn’t that fucking nuts?”

“now i’m gonna cry and throw up.”

“no!” you giggled and nudged his shoulder. “then you’ll make me cry.”

he smiled and leaned over to plant a quick kiss to your cheek, reaching up and fixing the bows in your hair before looking straight ahead, his sparkling blue eyes staring at the rink.

the crowd roared suddenly and a mix of big and tiny flags of several individual countries waved in the air as you and satoru jumped and screamed when akira glided out with her skates and glittery dress, a huge dazzling smile on her face as she waved at the crowd, her eyes scanning around quickly before they finally landed on you and satoru.

as if she wasn’t already smiling enough, it grew bigger at the sight of you both practically over the fucking rink calling her name, her blowing you both a kiss and connecting her hands together to form a little bird, fluttering it up funnily and making you laugh before spinning around and going to starting position with her partner.

“oh she’s gonna wipe again.” satoru breathed out. “wipe absolute buttcheeks.”

you cackled as you both watched her routine— incredibly fast paced and technical, filled with spins and throw jumps and lifts as she made it known that it was her last year and wanted to leave with a mark, you and satoru absolutely mesmerized by the choreography as a dramatic symphony of a classical piece drummed through your ears by the speakers.

each move was executed beautifully, you and satoru at the edge of your damn seats as akira’s partner lifted her by the arms to settle over his shoulders into a split formation— halfway through the routine already.

“maybe we could do a move like that for when we compete!” you suggested over the music. “i feel like technically it could—”

a hand flew over your mouth as you watched akira topple and slam to the ground upon coming down from her split lift, the spinning blade of her partner slicing through her abdomen as her head nastily collided with the ice— the crowd screaming in terror.

“oh my god!—” your chest moved frantically and you and satoru looked at each other, horrified faces as you watched the backside of her limp body on the ground surrounded by paramedics, her partner hovering over her in complete and absolute distress.

and there was so much blood.

blood that pooled all around her figure and stained her shimmering dress, blood that wouldn’t stop fucking spreading as a stretcher finally made it out on the ice.

“baby.” satoru’s voice shook. “why isn’t aki moving.”

“i— i don’t know—”

“aki!”

you both snapped out of your shocked daze and screamed over the rink and jumped, shoes slipping against the ice as the two of you tried to reach her through your panicked tears and calls, security speeding through and pulling you both back as you watched the paramedics lift her frail body onto the stretcher and away from the rink.

“that’s—” you sucked in a sharp sob. “that’s my aunt please let us go—”

“you need to stay out of the rink—”

“fuck you!”

satoru shoved security away and grabbed your arm, wishing you had your skates on as you both practically crawled over to where akira was being carried out, not giving a single shit about the way your mothers yelling demanded you back as security had to literally pull you and satoru by the ankles, further and further away from the scene and away from akira until the only thing left was her pool of sickly crimson blood in front of you, you and satoru wailing.

akira died at the hospital later that night.

the collision of her head against the ice brought such blunt force trauma that it caused irreversible brain damage, and with the amount of blood that she was already losing from the laceration of the blade— those elements combined didn’t give her a single fighting chance at survival, her fate sealed from the moment her body hit the ground.

it was completely unexpected… an incident like that had never happened in not just olympic partner figure skating, but figure skating competitions as a whole— the severity of the situation so grave that the complex move akira and her partner performed that led to her death was banned from the olympics moving forward.

and you and satoru were fucking ruined.

ruined and crying and clutching over her arms and hands at her hospital bedside, it scaringly cold and stiff and not her usual warmth at all as you couldn’t accept that this was your reality, that akira had left you both all alone after not only her initial familial love that you’d gotten since birth, but after nearly a decade of giggles and skating, her picking you both up from school and cussing up a storm because it made you and satoru laugh as kids, buying you ice cream and taking you out for beach days because she said the sun was good for your skin, harassing you and taking a million pictures of the two of you as she uttered over and over again that love had no limits— your dream of forever with her cruelly severed over the sport you all loved most.

yours and satoru’s mentor, friend, your fucking mother figure— was gone.

your aunt was gone. your own blood.

the entirety of that bullshit situation sort of settled into your minds by the time her funeral came— painfully holding back tears as your family members gave their speeches and final wishes before the lowering of her casket, you and satoru not saying a single word throughout the entire thing until it was just you and him standing in front of her grave site— your mothers waiting for you in their cars.

you both chose not to give speeches. you couldn’t.

“toru.” you sniffled, drowning in your tears as satoru strained to keep his back, lips pulled into a thin line.

“yes pretty.”

“this is so fucked.”

satoru breathed out a weak laugh and let a couple of tears slip down his cheeks, wiping them with the sleeve of his black suit as he grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers, squeezing it.

“diabolically fucked.” he responded.

there really wasn’t much you could say at that moment in time, the two of you staring at the carvings on her tombstone as the wind softly blew over the petals of her flowers and letters, the day cloudy and cold and just fucked as you silently choked back sobs and whimpers, satoru lamely trying his best to stay strong for you— be your hero as he pulled you into his chest and squeezed you with everything that he had, nose buried in your hair as his tears fell and dampened a few strands.

“birds of a feather, toru.” you spoke softly, both of your frames shaking as the saying itself came from none other than akira.

he firmly nodded, lifting his head and kissing your cheek twice hard before looking at you.

“birds of a feather sweets.” his red teary eyes made your heart ache. “you can’t leave me too, okay?”

you scoffed and wiped your eyes, a sad smile on your face. “i could never… you know that.”

it didn’t really get easier from there, as everything in your lives reminded you of akira.

and though your mother was grieving the loss of her sister, she wanted to be left alone, and the only person that really understood the level of mourning you were on was satoru— him always there in the blink of an eye when you would call him in the middle of the night crying your eyes out while he held you, or when broken sobs wrecked through satoru’s trembling body as he cried into your chest while you held him and vice versa, endless amounts of ‘i miss her’s’ and ‘bring her back’s’ as you took turns depending on the day rolling on the floor unable to physically breathe over the loss as you tried to anchor each other back to normalcy, wondering how the world could be so cruel and continue spinning when you’d just lost half of your hearts.

but it did. it continued to spin and turn and carry on as you and satoru day by day tried to patch over what happened, be there for each other and heal each other as you graduated high school and caught up with satoru in college, still together and still in your stupid limbo of ‘is there something more’ except worse, and still inseparable three years later after akira’s passing.

it didn’t hurt any less, but the days definitely got easier… some harder than others as the time you spent with her became cherished distant memories, feeling eternally grateful for the way she raised and took care of you, for the work she had done, and for the legacy she had built for figure skating olympians around the world.

and because akira was so good and taught you both just as so, satoru and you had a little name of your own as you’ve been sweeping competitions since the age of thirteen, ninety eight percent unbeatable and competitive as other pairs always knew who you were the minute you stepped onto the ice, eager and curious to see if you would make it into the olympics when the time came just like your mentor had done.

some deemed it cheating— unfair due to the fact that you had a four-time gold medalist olympian training you since childhood, but that assumption quickly diminished after her passing when you both continued to wipe competitions and take trophies home purely based on your talent.

and you both agreed to continue your careers without a coach, a decision that didn’t even need to be thought twice over— and you were twenty and satoru twenty one when the time drew near to try for the olympics.

finally.

“my legs are gonna fall off and my balls are gonna droop to the icy floor if you don’t give me a kiss right now.”

“toru!” you giggled loudly, pushing his face away as he puckered up his lips and made obnoxious kissy noises, pulling you in by the waist. “toru focus we’re on a time crunch—”

“time crunch where?” he whined, stomping his blade down on the ice. “we’ve been at it for so long already i’m cold i’m thirsty and i think we should go to that cute christmas festival patch thing you told me aboouuttt!”

“right now?” you asked. “i don’t know toru… i had a set goal for us tonight and if we don’t get it—”

“oh you damn perfectionist.” he scowled, letting you go and quickly skating to starting position. “fine.”

you gave him a knowing smile and skated over to his dramatic sulking figure, kissing his cheek softly and wringing your arms around his neck, pulling him in.

“let’s run it three more times and then we can go to the festival, okay?”

he jumped up like a little kid, eyes hyper and wild. “really? honestly? truly?”

you nodded, gleaming up at him.

“is this a prank?”

“jesus toru you’re making me think i’m keeping you hostage here with how excited you are—”

“yiiippeeeee!—” he grabbed your upper thighs and lifted you before spinning on the ice, the both of you laughing as he roughly turned until he gradually came to a stop, big goofy smiles on your faces as he did so.

satoru loosened his hold as you slowly slid down against his body, faces close and lovesick as his half lidded eyes looked at you, lips stinging to plant directly over yours after so many years of hopeless pining and avoidance, still refusing to acknowledge the situation, but it glaringly obvious at this point.

“what?” you whispered, your eyes fixed on his lips as your blades touched the ice again.

he softly shook his head, blue eyes greedily drinking in your pretty face as he retracted a hand from your waist and brushed his palm over your hair adoringly, hand raising to cup your cheek gently.

was he about to…?

you swallowed, hands gripping his black t-shirt as you waited… anxious, hoping that he would do what you thought he was about to do.

but satoru squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace and quickly kissed the corner of your mouth before turning his back to you and skating to starting position— leaving you incredibly dumbfounded and disappointed.

satoru’s skin felt like it was on fucking fire as he looked at your stunning doe eyes blinking at him from across the rink, heart pulsing uncontrollably as you slowly skated to him and got into position, neither of you uttering a word about it as you ran the choreography three more times like you had agreed on.

you and satoru have had plenty of moments like that… but lately?

it’s been borderline dangerous with how close you’ve gotten to breaking your unspoken rule.

by the end of practice you and satoru excitedly packed up for the christmas festival, more or less stumbling out of the doors of the rink and locking up before throwing your things in satoru’s car and speeding off to the main plaza, cheesy dorky smiles on your faces as you babbled on about all of the things you were gonna do once you got there.

“the s’mores stand! the s’mores stand!” satoru whipped his head comically back and forth between you and the snowy road. “we have to go there and get five nothing less and maybe more—”

“wait! i wanna get some of that hot chocolate we got last year!” you quickly reached and gripped his shoulder. “the one with the chocolate bits in it! and the whipped cream! and the drizzle—”

“oh fuck yeah how could i forget?” satoru made a turn, the shining glimmering lights of the festival and christmas trees coming into view and riling you both up in pure exhilaration. “i gulped down like four cups of those and then threw up in a bush.”

you laughed loudly and shook your head. “i forgot about thaaaattt! toru you always shove shit in your mouth and throw up we have got to work on that—”

“no we don’t!” he cheesed, reaching over and patting over your hair— the smooth ribbon of your thin bows sliding underneath his palm. “i love sweets even if they hurt me. what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. where there is no struggle there is no strength—”

“the only strength i see is a man hunched over puking his guts out.”

“hey!” he pouted, pulling into the lot before parking and turning off the ignition, the both of you hopping out of the car and locking it as you walked towards the main entrance. “and i’ll do it again so what.”

you giggled and interlocked your fingers with satoru’s. “silly silly.”

the festival was lively— huge decorated christmas trees everywhere you went as twinkling fairy lights adorned every corner and direction of the lots premises, several open stands that continuously wafted chocolate and cinnamon and vanilla throughout the entire night that had satoru practically floating through the air following the scent, kids giggling and running around as the soft familiar tunes of christmas music hummed in the background.

“what do you want for christmas, sweets?” satoru asked while chowing down a giant s’more.

“a kiss!” you quipped, giving him a cute silly look as you blew a bit of air over your steaming hot chocolate.

he stopped chewing.

“really?” satoru spoke with his mouthful. “i can literally give that to you right now c’mere—”

“no toru!” your cheeks buzzed a vibrant pink, completely flustered. “you’re supposed to say a big fat no!”

“now why the fuck would i do that...” he grumbled, shoulders slumping from disappointment as he took another big bite of his dessert.

you giggled, looking at him apologetically before standing on your tippy toes and licking a bit of melted chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

and he blinked at you, dumb and still as his cheeks copied the same exact shade as yours.

my god.

you were about to turn him into a freak.

“okay now you have to kiss me.”

“why?!” you laughed. “you had chocolate on your face! i was helping you out.”

“yeah right you little minx.” he scarfed down the last bit of his s’more and threw his little paper tray in the trash can behind him, putting his hands together and shaking off excess crumbs. “that’s actually the most torturous thing you have ever done to me.”

“dramatic!” you exclaimed, laughs escaping you and increasing as you watched satoru’s flustered face pout and glare at you.

you breathed in deeply and settled down, standing up straight as you took a tiny sip of your hot chocolate and smiled. “now i feel bad.”

“you should.”

“can you forgive me?”

“not unless you kiss me.”

“toru!”

“what?!” he pushed. “baby it’s only fair! really! just once and that’s it. a harmless peck nothing more we aren’t doing anything crazier.”

you gnawed at your bottom lip in thought.

technically he was right… it was just one little peck, entirely harmless and cute and wouldn’t have you both falling off of that thin tight rope you guys were still balancing off of.

this would only shake it a little… but then you’d be fine! right?

you were too far gone in the considerations of his proposal as you looked at his absolutely breathtaking blue eyes and face, somehow looking even more angelic as his pinky cold cheeks and nose and scarf covered neck did nothing but make you fall deeper in love with him than you already were.

how someone could look as good as satoru was beyond you.

“just—” you peered up at him. “just one peck okay?”

his eyes widened.

holy shit.

“yes!” he breathed out. “yes yes just one.”

“toru.” you spoke sternly. “i’m serious.”

he frantically nodded, arms already snaking around your waist and bringing you in.

you both couldn’t believe it.

you were about to have your very first kiss.

the two of you leaned in then— softly, timidly, afraid as satoru’s chocolate breath fanned against your nostrils and filled your lungs, lips coming closer and closer until they met in a simple, solid, tiny harmless peck.

satoru felt like his veins were about to pop and explode at the feeling of your delicate soft lips finally on his, the feeling actually fucking unreal as his fingertips went numb and his body tingled all over.

but it quickly became clear that it was not just one harmless peck.

because when it was supposed to be the time for you both to pull away, you and satoru only opened your mouths and kissed deeper— eyelids blissfully closed as your lips smacked so slowly and tenderly, the two of you actively relishing in the moment and just drinking each other’s mouths in as they moved and shifted, deep breaths through your noses as you daze-fully made out with the faint fuzzy sound of jingle bells and christmas music growing increasingly distant.

you tasted so sweet. just like he’d imagined.

but the moment came to and end when you both snapped your eyelids open in realization and released lips, pupils frantic and wide as you searched each other’s eyes for any sign of anger since you both had slipped up and did way more than just a peck.

but there was nothing. obviously there was nothing like that as your shoulders relaxed simultaneously and bashful smiles crossed your faces.

“you taste like chocolate.” he grinned.

you bit your bottom lip in a smile. “so do you.”

“twins.”

“uh huh.”

“i love you.”

you stilled.

you’ve told each other that thousands of times for years, since childhood.

you’ve always said you loved each other and have both known it was laced with those unspoken feelings you had, and you accepted that for as long as you could remember.

but somehow… in someway… it just felt different this time around. profound. more serious.

“i love you.” you responded.

satoru smiled softly and leaned his forehead against yours, basking in each others authentic infatuation for a moment before pulling away.

“can i get another s’more—”

“no!”

satoru ended up getting his second s’more, and you surprisingly ended up partaking in satoru activities and downed three fucking cups of that hot chocolate you loved so much, your tummy full and about to literally burst, but not really giving a shit as you and him were having so much freaking fun— buying little christmas trinkets from the santa shop and building tiny snowmen in the snowy play area filled with a bunch of kids (satoru literally making a tiny dick for one of the snowman and you immediately destroying it and wacking him), even skating in the rink but purely just for enjoyment and not a single thought of what you do professionally crossing your minds.

you stayed there until it was nearly closing time, money absolutely spent from all the things you bought, but your souls happy and warm as you happily walked to the car so satoru could take you home.

on the drive there, you showcased all of the trinkets you both had bought, a particular one catching your eye that you remembered you hadn’t shown satoru yet.

“oh! i got this one—” you dug your hand in the white plastic bag and pulled out a little snow angel, beautiful and glossy as the angels face blushed and smiled. “at the santa shop!”

“it’s cute baby!” he smiled. “for you?”

you shook your head. “i got it for aki. for the next time we visit her.”

his heart softened, nodding.

you and satoru tried your best to visit her grave as often as you possibly could, sometimes nearing four times a week to pay your respects and chat with her for a little while, filling her in a bit on your lives to bring back the feeling of what it was like to just talk to her in any way you could, like you had the fortune of doing once before.

“it kinda looks like her.. doesn’t it?” he questioned, pointing to the figure.

“it does right!” you expressed. “that’s why i got it… it reminded me of her.”

“she’ll love it.” he grinned, gently running the pad of his finger against your cold cheek before turning his attention back to the road.

you and satoru didn’t mention the kiss again as you were funnily still in shock over it, but the butterflies in your stomachs and the sole memory of it did more than enough as you climbed into bed with an already snoring satoru, him sleeping over for the night (when was he not) as you nudged your way under his arm and cuddled yourself in his chest, his slumbered state pulling you in like muscle memory.

you both only had two more practices left before the international skating union competition. once there, you and satoru had to land a spot in the top three chosen by the national olympic committee to earn an official spot in competing for the olympics, a task that was already vigorous and exhausting and nerve wracking, but one you both were more than ready for.

general admittance to competing in the olympics was essentially fourteen years in the making, one that wouldn’t have been possible in the first place if it wasn’t for akira.

“i think we should add a spin to this lasso lift.” you suggested, you and satoru taking a break from running the routine and standing by the bleachers during practice— watching a recently recorded take of your choreography to point out mistakes that flew under your radars.

“a spin?” he asked. “how sweets.”

“so when you lasso me around into the lift—” you rewinded the video and pointed. “since you’re holding me up over your head and we’re balancing with our hands, i say you maybe push me up to kind of like— propel me to do a triple rotation spin back down.”

“and then from there i catch you?”

“yeah!” you nodded. “and we’re traveling across the ice.”

satoru pursed his lips. “that’s kind of hard… you sure?”

“we’ve done worse toru.” you laughed. “i feel like this would give us more points.”

“oh it definitely would.” he nodded. “okay baby.”

“yay!” you cheered. “let’s practice the lift and propel on the mats first because if not i’m gonna eat shit.”

satoru laughed and sat down on the bleachers with you, quickly taking off his skates before standing and kneeling in front of you, untying your laces and slipping your skates off for you as you cutely smiled, him feeling like your little hero and knight in shining armor even if it was for something so minuscule.

he loved doing things for you.

in the middle of you and satoru practicing the move on the mats, your mother came in through the front doors of the ice rink.

“hi!” she greeted, holding up two wide rectangular boxes. “your costumes came in!”

“oh thank god!” you breathed out, satoru setting you down on your feet before you both ran to see. “i thought they weren’t gonna come in on time!”

“are they cool?!” satoru tumbled out. “do they scream please let me in the olympics?!”

you snorted and shoved his shoulder playfully as you unwrapped your boxes, your eyes shining in delight at the sight of your rhinestoned pale baby blue dress, a shade you purposefully picked out as it matched the color of satoru’s eyes— you lifting it with your fingertips from the box and gushing.

you turned it around and held it up against your frame as satoru pulled his top out— a white, tight long sleeved low cut v-neck button up that you already knew was gonna hug his yummy biceps so good, the thought of it making you bite the inside of your cheek as he checked over his black slacks.

your mother clasped her hands together, holding it to her mouth as her eyes gleamed over the two of you.

“i can’t believe it’s happening now.” she spoke softly, you and satoru diverting your attention to her and smiling. “for so long it was always just a distant thing you know? but now it’s here. actually.”

“fuck i know right.” you responded.

“language, y/n.”

“but i’m twenty!” you whined, pouting as satoru snickered behind you.

your mother rolled her eyes and cupped yours and satoru’s chins under her hands.

“good luck next week, alright? i know you guys will sweep.” she pushed. “make aki proud.”

the smiles on your faces grew, nodding as she squeezed your chins and released.

“oh! satoru—” your mother picked up her jacket and swung her purse over her shoulder. “your mom won’t be home for the night her trip got extended until tomorrow… you can sleep over at our house if you want so you’re not over there alone? or y/n can stay with you?”

“oh okay!” he spoke kindly. “thank you for letting me know!”

she smiled and nodded, hugging you both goodbye before leaving the rink.

your head whipped in his direction.

“toru if i sleep over at your house we can watch horror movies and actually scream as loud as we want without worrying about waking anybody up.”

his eyes bulged open. “oh my god you’re right! dibs i get to choose—”

“fuck!—”

by the end of practice you and satoru mastered the addition you added into the lasso lift, performing it beautifully on the ice over and over again until it was like simple reflex, calling it a day after a while and packing your things up to drive to satoru’s house.

you both took turns stepping in the shower to get rid of the sticky sweat that lingered on your skin, changing into comfy pajamas after as you tiredly settled in satoru’s big comfy bed— him flicking through his selection of horror movies and debating which one to pick.

“do you wanna watch something gory or just horror.”

“gory!” you perked up. “i need to work on not being so queasy.”

“but you seem fine when i throw up?”

“that’s because i’m used to it.” you laughed, head resting on his shoulder as he picked a movie and threw his remote somewhere across the bed, his arm coming to wrap around your tummy and pull you in.

it wasn’t like the selection mattered anyways, because fifteen minutes into the movie you were already falling asleep, hand resting on satoru’s torso as he continued to watch it— for some reason still wide awake even after skating for hours.

your sleepy sudden movements from your hand made him weirdly stiffen and relax every single time, your brows furrowing at the feeling and eyes fluttering open when he wouldn’t stop doing it.

“toru… are you still ticklish?” you mumbled sleepily.

he stiffened again.

“no.” he answered softly. “why..?”

you lazily grinned.

“youuu suureee?”

terror struck him as he sensed exactly what the fuck you were about to do.

“please spare me please spare me—”

you jumped on him and tickled his entire upper body, satoru laughing and gasping as he smacked your hands away and twisted and turned, his strong grip making it hard for you to tickle him at one point as you stubbornly swung a leg over his waist and settled over his lap, attacking him while he yelped and screamed.

“baby!” he gasped. “baby please! have some mercy is this how much i mean to you?!”

you giggled and finally stopped, hands retracting as you settled them on your hips. “that’s what you get for lying to me.”

“i was lying for my safety.”

“uh huh.”

you both grinned, satoru’s eyes occasionally flickering down to you straddling his lap with your pretty plushy thighs and blushing, trying to keep his gaze on yours to refrain himself from doing something a little too mental and weird.

but it was too fucking late, because it took no time at all for the blood to rush to his pathetic dick and harden.

surprisingly though, you were the one that was mental— the feeling of his cock against your clit undeniable as the uncomfortable shifts of satoru’s waist only stimulated it against your little nub and made you bite down hard on your bottom lip, shaky breaths leaving your mouth as it was getting harder and harder for you to restrain yourself from satoru’s godlike existence.

and your body was just not listening as you timidly rolled your hips over his crotch— your short shorts criminally thin as you felt just how big satoru’s length was, mouth watering as your palms timidly settled over his chest for stability, grinding on his cock harder.

satoru’s eyes were blown out as he watched you do something so— so lewd, his mind wandering if you were fully and properly there as something like this was absolutely breaking your unspoken rule, and you were more strict about it than he was.

but he didn’t want you to stop. god no.

at this point, you and satoru were off that metaphorical tight rope and hanging on by two hands— having both failed at keeping each other balanced as you rolled and rolled your hips deliciously on his dick, his chest quickly rising and falling at the feeling of your warm pussy over his groin and at the sight of you using him to get yourself off.

your little needy mewls made his hands tremble as he threw his head back on the pillow, eyes pathetically fucked out over something so simple.

“fuck me..” satoru groaned, hands coming up to rub over his face as his hips lifted to meet your grinding.

him doing that broke you out of your haze and you stiffened, satoru taking his hands away from his face with pinched brows at the sudden halt.

what happened?

“okay!” you laughed nervously, an alarmed expression as you swung your leg off of his lap and scrambled under the covers, pulling it completely over you as you shamefully looked anywhere and everywhere but satoru.

but he was out of it.

undoubtedly out of it now that you did what you did… wanting more, wanting all of you as he snatched the covers off of your frame and you squeaking as a result.

“why’d you stop.” he whispered, thumb raising to trace your bottom lip.

“i don’t— i don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“yes you do—”

“absolutely not—”

“i want you.” he cut you off. “i want you bad and i know you want me too so let’s just— let’s just do this once, okay? once please just to see what it’s like and it’ll never happen again.”

your eyes remained wide as you looked at his desperate frantic ones, his hands already kneading at your waist and thighs.

he was entrancing you into his proposal again, exactly the same way as when you both kissed for the first time at the festival as he leaned down and nibbled at your jaw, slotting himself in between your legs.

“do— do what?”

“fuck.” he mumbled, rolling his hips down on your pussy rough and you gasping at the sensation of his big cock against your clit again.

you whimpered as he rutted into you, hands flying to squeeze his biceps as his wet mouth moved down to your neck, licking and gnawing as he waited for your response.

“but isn’t that—” you stifled a moan. “isn’t that too far toru?—”

“please baby please.” he picked his head up and looked at you. “just once i swear once so we see what it’s like and get it out of our systems and never do it again. i promise.”

he needs to kiss you right fucking now.

your eyes fluttered closed as he continued to hump you, licking your lips as you weakly tried to look into his eyes.

“you swear?” you breathed out. “swear it just once and that’s it—”

“i swear i swear i swear—”

“okay then fuck me toru please—”

satoru nearly cried as he ripped himself away from you to frantically pull off his shirt and pants, him slapping your hands away when you tried to take off your own clothes as he wanted to do it himself— lifting your shirt over your head and downright tearing your shorts in half as he flung them down and across the room, your little pink bra and panties set actually turning him into a complete mess as he hovered back over you and shoved his tongue in your mouth.

you still tasted just as sweet as he remembered.

“been dreaming of—” mmpf— “kissing you since you let me, sweets.”

“yeah?” your lips moved sloppily with his as you snuck a hand in your panties and dipped your fingers in your pussy, collecting your arousal. “you missed me toru?”

“uh huh.” he breathed hotly against your lips, hand coming to slide underneath your bra to cup your bare tit. “every fucking night i’d jerk my dick dry thinking about it.”

his words made your clit twitch as you pushed him off your lips.

“open your mouth.”

satoru did as told without a peep and opened it with his tongue out, your hands coming out from your panties as you reached up and slipped your fingers in his mouth, his lips closing in and sucking everything you had to give him as he salvaged up your arousal.

“fuck—” he released your fingers. “is this from your pussy baby?”

“mhm.” you moaned.

your arousal was even sweeter.

“my god—” he grabbed your wrist and licked a long stripe up your palm. “you dirty fucking thing m’gonna have to taste for myself and see.”

you gasped. “what?”

satoru sat up and pulled your wet panties down your legs, biting down on his tongue hard at the sight of your angelic bare cunt before him, slick and shiny and pretty as you unclasped your bra and spread your legs for him— eager and ready and not a single other thought in your brain besides the one that was screaming for satoru to stick his dick inside you.

“toruuuu!” you whined. “quit staring and fuck me.”

his cock pulsed.

“patience sweets, i wanna taste you first.”

you expected satoru to just lower himself down and shove his head in between your thighs, but you were dead fucking wrong as he stood, grabbed your waist and yanked you high up, sitting you on his shoulders as you squealed and gripped his hair.

“wait toru isn’t this uncomfortable i—”

he scoffed. “fuck no. i’ve been lifting you my whole life baby this is nothing.”

your speech lodged itself in your throat as you felt his tongue lap at your folds and clit, slobbering and filthy as he ate and scarfed you down just like his usual daily sweets, you by far his absolute favorite as he slurped your little pussy up and made you squeal and moan.

satoru walked over to the wall and leaned you up against it, taking your thighs off of his shoulders and placing his hands underneath as he propped you up and spread your legs wider, your jaw dropping at his slimy tongue flicking and him slabbering his mouth side to side rapidly until your legs shook and you saw stars.

“toru—”

he grunted, tongue prodding at your hole and you jumping.

“i think— i think i’m gonna cum and i—” pant “i don’t wanna—”

satoru separated his mouth from your pussy with a squelch and looked up, smiling big.

“too bad!”

“but—”

he spit on your cunt and you gasped.

“i said too bad.”

he dipped back in and fully devoured you as you mewled, messier as he slushed his tongue all over and you’d never experienced something like this, something that felt so fucking good as you started cumming all over his face in record speed regardless of how hard you were trying to hold back.

“yummy.”

he let go and you dropped down as he quickly caught you, turning and throwing you on his bed as he climbed over you— wrapping a hand around his cock and jerking as he kissed and swallowed your lips up again.

“you want me to make love to you or fuck you?” he slopped against your mouth before pulling back, yours and his eyes fluttering open to look at each other.

your legs were still shaking by the eat out he gave you seconds before, finding it hard to get your words together as his handsome deluded face stared at you.

“i— um—”

he placed his lips next to your ear.

“you want me to fuck you like my wife or fuck you like a little slut? or both?”

“both toru please—”

he grinned, coming back up as he parted your legs further open and lined his leaky tip with your hole.

“i can do both!”

satoru pushed himself in and you choked, hands clasping over your mouth as you felt him bully his big cock through and leave you a blabbering crying mess under him— his chest heaving at the warmth and softness and stickiness of your cute gummy walls, his years of imagining and theorizing how you’d feel wrapped around his dick all completely debunking themselves at the real feeling as you whimpered and clenched your hole.

“jesus christ—” he shivered, swallowing thickly as his trembling fingers settled on your waist, him slowly reeling his hips back before pumping in. “you’re— you’re warm.”

you dropped your hands and wiped your cheeks as you hiccuped, the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of your walls incandescently euphoric as you embarrassingly already felt yourself wanting to cum again when he had just stuck his dick inside of you— you wanting to ride out this moment for a bit longer and not finish so quickly like you had done on his mouth.

“am i being too mean pretty?” he huffed, thrusts now quick and curt as he gripped your bouncing tits and pinched your perking nipples, the sight of your little tears shamefully turning him on.

you frantically shook your head and tried to clear your brain. “n—no!—”

“good.” he smiled, a little crazed as he let go of your boobs, placed his hands on the backside of your thighs and pushed your knees up to your chest, picking up speed as you squealed and whimpered, utterly taken aback by how rough satoru was being considering the fact that he was such a goofy and kind and loving person on the daily.

oh… what years worth of pent up sexual frustration can do to a man.

satoru whined as you milked his dick, wheezing as he hammered his hips up and slapped against your skin, your body jolting and bouncing uncontrollably as his bed squeaked loud and obnoxiously.

thank god his mother wasn’t home.

“i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this—” satoru babbled, his critical thinking out the fucking window as he just tumbled out totally random but honest confessions as your ears eagerly drank up every word and made your hole tighten.

“yeah?” pant “f—for how long baby?”

“for so long—” he whined loudly, fucking you faster as your mouth hung open and you gripped his wrists for support. “you’re everything i’ve ever w—wanted—”

“i— i’ve only ever wanted you toru— fuck! you’re big.“ you moaned, loving the way a huge deranged smile spread across his face as his hips pistoned into you and his hands pinned you down.

“cum on my dick baby please cum on my dick i want it i want it—”

your toes curled and you squealed, vision flashing white as you let out a high pitched scream at the intense buzzing feeling, your bodies hot and sticky and wet as satoru leaned over and shoved his lips in your ear.

“can i— can i cum inside?” he choked through gritted teeth as he came close to spilling his seed. “please i wanna cum inside—”

“but m’not on the pill—”

“please please baby i beg you—” hah! “i don’t wanna cum anywhere else—”

your eyes fluttered shut at his words and you quickly nodded, his hand cupping your face as he thrusted in one last time and pumped his cum entirely inside you without an ounce of hesitation for the consequences, his horny mind actually crazed and solidifying that there was no fucking way in hell he was gonna accept just friends from this point forward.

what a stupid thought.

“mmm…” you slowly moved your hips a little, feeling his cum all inside your ravished walls as you licked your lips. “your cum feels hot toru.”

not even warm, hot as it slushed and moved inside you with every movement you made, some of it dribbling and coating your outer folds as you bit your bottom lip into a smile and craned your head up to his neck, nibbling and giving satoru tiny kitten licks as he trembled and struggled to stay afloat and not give out his upper arm strength— trying to prevent himself from squishing you.

satoru pressed a soft tender kiss to your cheek then before sitting up and delicately sliding his dick out, running a soothing hand over your tummy as he did so and giving you a lazy smile.

he suddenly raised his pinky to you.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured, other hand running from your stomach over to your thighs now as he just lovingly felt you up, you smiling with rosy cheeks as you linked your little pinky with his.

“birds of a feather.”

you both kissed your thumbs and locked your promise, deciding then that you should probably shower once more before getting into bed to officially sleep— but deciding to shower together as you softly and steamily made out under the misty hot running water, body and mind relaxed as you just swallowed in the ambience of each other, you both not only holding on to your metaphorical tight rope with one hand now, but it actually on the verge of snapping as a whole and sending you both free falling.

and for the next couple of days, you and satoru were feral.

years and years of doing fucking nothing with pure restraint and fantasizing did a number on you both as any chance you got you were making out on your bed, his bed, and even in satoru’s car after your lectures— your hand teasingly going lower and lower until you’d shove a hand in his pants to pull his dick out and pump, your body leaning across the console and mouth going down to bob and suck as he moaned and pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail to guide you and your pretty bows and fuck your mouth just to hear the sounds of you choking, eyes from time to time frantically looking around to see if no one was around as you blowed him.

and you did that basically all of the time for the next three days until the final practice just before the international skating union competition, satoru physically unable to leave you alone and unscathed as he constantly pinned you down to eat your pussy or suckle on your soft tits, his hand tightly clasped over your mouth in your room when your moans would get too loud as he fingered you, his long fingers squelching and abusing your cunt until you were finishing all over his hands again and again.

but you two having actual sex didn’t happen again apart from that night— satoru a man of his word since he promised you would only do it once… unfortunately. but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do other things, right?

except by the final practice, satoru was absolutely fucked off at the fact that neither of you had brought up the potentiality of being more than just friends, especially after doing all of those lewd acts.

he was so sick of it.

and so were you, quite frankly, but instead of being completely over it like satoru, you were afraid… afraid of what could happen and the possibility of losing him if you both indulged, if you let yourselves put your freaking careers on the line.

and satoru was the one person you couldn’t bear to lose. not ever.

“we look good sweets!” satoru cheesed, rotating around in the ice rinks dressing room mirrors as you had your costumes on for dress rehearsal and refinements, both of you glittering and shiny and looking like a professional ice skating pair as you examined yourself, readjusting your straps and hugging your torso.

“cold.” you shivered. “maybe i should’ve had it as a long sleeve… shit.”

he laughed and placed his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down quickly to create frictional heat as you smiled at him gratefully. “nah, it’s cute like this! you’ll warm up once we run it a few times on the ice.”

you nodded, the both of you walking out of the dressing room and to the rink, skillfully putting on your skates before pushing yourself on the ice and gliding across.

“can you show me the uh—” satoru looked to the side in thought once he was on the ice in front of you. “the part where we skate in unison and have our arms up in an L? it’s in the chorus of our music—”

“oh!” you nodded and skated a bit away from him to demonstrate.

“i just wanna see if my form matches yours and we look clean.” he smiled. “and then show me the triple axel after that.”

you gave him a cute thumbs up and pushed yourself off, gliding gracefully and smoothly across the ice as satoru was supposed to be watching you to try and fix his form, but finding himself transfixed once again by the way you seamlessly skated with no sense of struggling effort— arms poised and flowy as your dress moved and fluttered with every twist and turn until you gradually propelled yourself up into the triple axel and landed correctly without a slip or wobble.

the level of difficulty and technicality you skated reminded him of akira— but your style, your movement, and the way you carried yourself was entirely your own.

you made figure skating look beautiful.

you were beautiful.

you slowed down on the ice and skated over to satoru.

“were you able to see? did you match me?—”

“you skate just like her.” satoru spoke softly, and you faltered.

he didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about, as you always knew.

“you’re just saying that.” you pursed your lips to keep yourself from smiling, or crying, you didn’t know.

but a compliment like that meant the absolute world to you.

“i’m not.” he shrugged, skating over to you and taking your hands as he glided with you to starting position. “you always have baby. and i know that’s what you’ve always wanted. i’m sorry i don’t say it enough.”

your eyes softened. “toru that’s not something to be sorry about at all…”

satoru was so kind.

you both skated together and ran the choreography a couple of times, spinning simultaneously and satoru lifting you again and again throughout the routine and still performing your lasso spinning lift successfully, arms around his shoulders and faces close as the wind whipped through both of your costumes and hair from traveling across the ice at such a speed before coming to a sudden choreographed halt at the end of your number.

you had slid down satoru’s body to plant your blades back on the ice when he had enough.

“please stick your tongue in my mouth.”

you choked on your spit and slapped a hand over your mouth.

“toru no! absolutely not we can’t anymore okay—”

“what are we.”

you froze.

“huh?”

“what are we.” he repeated, eyes dead locked on yours and hard. “are we together? are we not? are we friends? what are we—”

“we’re— we’re friends toru—”

“oh fuck no.” he let you go and created a little bit of space between you. “don’t give me that shit we’re not friends.”

“w—well we can’t—”

“i’m your man.” he stated firmly. “i’m your man i’ve been your man for years and i’m tired of avoiding this sweets! it sucks!”

“we’re putting everything at risk if we do toru we can’t!”

“i’m your man.”

“no you’re not—”

he cut you off. “your mouth has been on my dick. we’ve had sex. we’ve kissed we’ve made out we’ve told each other i love you if that doesn’t tell you that we’re together then what the actual fuck?!”

“oh my god toru i know i know!” you groaned, hugging yourself as you anxiously looked at him. “what happens if we break up? huh? what do we do?”

he shook his head. “we won’t.”

“you don’t know that.” you laughed bitterly. “if that happens we lose each other satoru understand that. we break birds of a feather, we ruin our careers, and we ruin us.”

“first of all—” he started. “our birds of a feather promise is to stick together, keep each other safe, and not seperate or fight, is it not?”

“it— it is—”

“so do you really think if we continue to keep each other in this fuck ass limbo of friends that we aren’t already breaking that?” he threw his arms out in emphasis. “we have never been just friends. i’ve known you for fourteen fucking years and we have never been just that.”

you blinked back tears.

“i promise you baby—” he slid closer to you and cupped your cheeks. “that we won’t leave each other. i will fight and try every single damn day to make sure that that shit never happens even though i already know it won’t because you’ve been made for me since birth and we haven’t separated since we’ve met.”

satoru wiped your cheeks. “but i also promise you, that if we continue as just friends, we will break. we’re gonna string each other along so fucking much that we’re gonna go absolutely insane and drive each other away. that is for certain.”

“but— skating—”

“i don’t give an ever living fuck.” he spat funnily and you laughed through your tears. “skating is nothing without you. all the trophies and medallions and the god damn olympics itself with that gold medal is nothing without you. i would give that shit up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you in my life in exchange.”

“and i would do the same for you toru!” you sobbed, his arms immediately wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you in as you sniffled and hiccuped into his chest, him kissing the side of your head repeatedly and soothing a hand down your back.

“don’t cry pretty i didn’t meant to make you cry...” he mumbled, cheek mushed up against your head as your shoulders shook, a huge disgusting pit of guilt in his stomach. “fine it’s okay we can be just friends for a bit longer please don’t cry—”

“no!” you sputtered, pushing him back a little to face him. “i don’t wanna be just friends anymore either toru… it hurts me so much.”

“it does?” he asked softly and you nodded.

“it hurts me too.”

satoru wiped your remaining tears again and fixed the little bows in your hair, a soft liberated smile on his face as he reached down to cup your cheeks and bring your perfect lips to his, kissing you lovingly as the both of you felt like you could finally rest and stop ridiculously hiding your love in the shadows after so many years.

the thin tight rope that you had both been toppling over and rebalancing and holding onto to keep the other from falling, had finally snapped in two, and you and satoru were now in the darkest depths of the truth of what you both were.

except it wasn’t dark at all.

it was light and airy and heavenly, and you wondered why you had been so afraid when there was nothing to be afraid of in the first place, since the one you were falling with was satoru.

silly.

he pulled apart and looked at you, his striking blue eyes and white fluffy hair especially beautiful.

“tomorrow—” he began. “we’re gonna absolutely destroy everyone else there and land a spot in the top three, and then after i’m gonna take you out on a nice dinner and buy every single fucking dessert off the menu, and then i’m gonna ask you to be my girlfriend. okay baby?”

you giggled then, the brightest rosy cheeks on display from the both of you as you eagerly nodded and threw your arms around his neck.

and tomorrow could not come soon enough, because not only were you looking forward to making your dreams a reality and competing against other figure skating pairs from around the world and the olympics itself, but also the thought of officially being satoru’s after years of wishing on little stars and day dreaming about what that would be like for hours on end.

until the moment was here. happening.

the indoor arena was electric and rowdy the minute the competition commenced, you and satoru in absolute awe of the energetic atmosphere as many individuals in the crowd waved their banners or screamed their loved ones names, an ambience very similar to the olympics as you both watched pair after pair perform their hardwork and dedication on the ice, goosebumps on your skin as you fidgeted and jittered.

out of twenty of your countries competing pairs, only three of you would be chosen for the olympics.

and you hoped to god you and satoru would be chosen.

“we’re almost up baby.” satoru patted your head, sitting on a bench in your designated area. “i think it’s two more pairs then it’s us.”

you nodded, nerves closing up your throat as your eyes darted over the rink.

satoru frowned.

“hey.” he placed a hand on your thigh, suddenly wanting to rip your nylon tights off so you could actually feel his skin on yours. “you nervous sweets?”

you nodded again, and he gave you a silly grin.

“don’t be! you’re literally akira the second. we’ll be fine!”

you laughed lightly and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“and even if we don’t land a spot, that’s fine too.” he kissed your head. “it’s our first year anyways… we’ll know the game for next time and we’ll try harder.”

you picked your head up and smiled at him, his words settling your nerves just as soon as the last remaining pair took their places on stage, yours and satoru’s turn right after.

what you didn’t know, was that satoru was just as nervous as you.

but he knew you needed a rock and someone to comfort you— wanting to swoop in like a little hero and save you again… so he kept it hidden.

“fuck i almost forgot!” satoru jumped up and dug into his duffel bag, pulling out a roll of pale baby blue ribbon that matched your dress exactly. “you told me you didn’t have ribbon that matched your costume so i went and tried to look.”

he held it out for you cutely on his palm.

“does this one match?”

you picked up the roll, astonished and mushy inside that satoru actually went out of his way to find this specific ribbon color for you because you had expressed how unhappy you were with the darker shade you had, your eyes looking up at him in complete adoration.

“oh my goodness— thank you toru!”

you quickly undid the bows in your hair and slipped off the former ribbon, digging through your duffel bag for scissors and cutting off pieces from the new ribbon before looping them through your hair and tying, not needing a mirror since you’ve done it for as long as you could remember.

satoru’s cheeks went pink as he looked at your new pretty bows.

“does they look okay?”

“beautiful.” he responded, pecking your lips before taking your hand and leading you to the entrance of the rink.

“okay—” you breathed out. “this is it.”

“what kind of food do you think they’ll have at the dinner place we picked—”

“toru!” you giggled. “not now!”

he smiled sheepishly at you before leaning his forehead against yours.

you stuck your pinky out.

“birds of a feather?”

satoru grinned and looped his pinky with yours.

“birds of a feather baby.”

you both kissed your thumbs and once again, locked your promise.

the announcer over the speakers iterated your names and your country as you and satoru glided across the ice poised and graceful with your arms up, waving at the crowd and giving your mothers a special frantic wave before moving to starting position, unknowing of the way several other pairs and the judges themselves murmured about your reputation and your association with akira.

and you hoped she was watching over you both now. somewhere.

the music begun, contemporary and lyrical as you and satoru slid across the rink, already impressive and entertaining as you performed moves and lifts right off the bat, the sounds of your blades scraping against the ice oddly keeping you in time with your choreography as the number went on.

and you and satoru were feeding off of each other, the chemistry undeniable to a strangers eye that had no idea of your story as you conveyed passion through your expressions, each technical movement bleeding with the fact that you both had been olympic level trained since the age of fourteen and fifteen.

you were halfway through your routine now, the lasso lift coming up next as satoru harbored in his strength so he could properly propel you into that newly added spin.

you skated around him and he lifted you up into the air, the crowd cheering and excited at your beautiful remarkable forms.

except satoru’s hands were slippery.

why?

nerves. he quickly deemed it nerves as he had no time to deliberate since it was almost time to propel you up into the spin, his mind already racing over the fact that the slip in his hands was hindering his strength to keep you up there, and he worried that if he pushed you up, it wouldn’t be enough and you’d come tumbling down— hurting yourself.

but satoru had zero time to decide again as he went with protocol and pushed you up as hard as he possibly could and prayed you would go into your triple axel spin successfully and that he’d catch you.

but the minute that he did, the force yanked him back and his skates flew up in front of him, you falling down and your thigh hitting something sharp before you both went slamming to the ground— sliding apart from each other on the ice.

the crowd screamed and gasped in terror, sounds you were all too familiar with to what you heard three years ago filling both your fuzzy minds as satoru struggled to get back up, his head turning slowly around to see if you were okay and just sore like him—

until he saw your limp body on your side, your back to him with blood slowly pooling out on the ice and staining your pretty blue dress.

satoru scrambled up and skated straightaway in a panic to you before sliding on his knees as he reached you, turning you over and paling as he saw you were unresponsive and out fucking cold.

“baby?“ he shook you. “hey— baby—”

nothing.

why weren’t you answering him? why weren’t you awake?

his brain flashed images of akira’s body the day that she died, suffocating deja vu as the way you looked when he saw you like that on your side was a carbon copy of her from three years ago, his chest picking up speed as you continued to lay limp even after he shook you desperately numerous times like a madman.

and why was there so much blood?

blood that looked sickly bright red against the white ice, blood that stained his sleeves and shirt and hands as he held you up and supported your head, and blood that wouldn’t stop fucking oozing out of your leg as he trembled.

“hey— hey can you hear me?” satoru tapped your cheek rapidly, shaking you gently again with horrified eyes and still not getting a response.

“fuck! why is this happening this isn’t supposed to happen—”

how could he be your hero? how could he stop the blood and wake you up? how could he— how could he fix this how could he take it all back how could he fix this—

“no no no baby please—” he sobbed. “not like aki baby not like her man—”

he shook you again, your head lolling to the side as if— as if you were—

no.

“baby— birds of a feather right? birds of a feather we have to stick together you can’t— you can’t leave right?” he cried, chest heaving and vision blurry and you just felt so cold.

“you’re not leaving you’re not leaving me please not like aki please god—” he cradled you up to his chest in his arms and rocked. “you can’t leave me you’re all i know and i don’t wanna know anything else please baby—”

satoru’s frantic repeated heartbroken wailing echoed throughout the arena as the crowd erupted and moved around in hysteria, him still rocking you in his arms as he turned his head with terrified bloodshot eyes to look at both of your mothers, yours hunched over in a fit of screams and cries as his had her hands in her hair in utter disbelief and tears.

“fuck what do i do!” he sobbed, legs shakily standing as he slipped one arm under your back and the other under your knees, picking your limp body up as he saw a huge group of paramedics run over to him on the ice as he carried you over.

“help—” hic! “h—help me please—”

why couldn’t satoru be your hero when it mattered most?

several of them lowered the stretcher and took you from him, laying your lifeless self on it before hoisting you up and swiftly carrying you away, all of it horrifyingly and painfully similar to akira’s inevitable death.

were you gone?

satoru looked down and saw your baby blue ribbons on the ice, wet and stained with blood, once perfect bows in your pretty hair when he had you awake and breathing.

were you breathing? had you hit your head?

he couldn’t remember.

he couldn’t remember anything but your unresponsiveness, the way your skin was colder than the ice itself as he picked up your ribbons and looked at them in his hands— and the way your blood stretched over for what looked like miles and was still there.

in front of him. taunting him.

was the world so cruel as to take you too?

it wouldn’t. it couldn’t.

you’d never done anything wrong. you’d never treated anybody indifferently as you were sweet and beautiful and talented, always in servitude of others— in servitude of him as you taught him how to ice skate when you didn’t need to at six years old, you already kind and gentle at that young age when you could’ve easily shooed him away like a little bug and told him to fuck off.

and throughout your life too, as he was well aware he was an annoying dramatic piece of shit that whined and cried and ate your stashes of sweets all of the time— but you always just giggling and looking at him with adoration in your eyes, with your cheeky smile, with the little ribbon bows in your hair he loved so fucking much.

oh how he wished he didn’t always take your sweets at that moment. how he wished he wasn’t always an annoying blockhead and made you mad at times with his persistent personality and neediness as he stood there frozen in the rink staring at your blood— dark now and dull, wishing it was him instead of you.

you were knocked out for five days at the hospital.

you and satoru also didn’t make it into the top three at the international skating union competition.

you should’ve, as your score was already higher than any other pair there and only halfway through the routine too— but that’s precisely why you got knocked out.

if you had finished your number, you would’ve landed in the top three, but it ending halfway cut off the opportunity for accumulating more points, and eventually another pair surpassed your halfway score by two points.

but satoru didn’t give a shit. fuck the olympics and fuck the international skating union while your body laid still on the hospital bed for hours on end, him refusing to leave your side as he sat there and stared off into space with nothing in his head but hatred for himself as it was his fault that this happened and his blade that sliced you— eyes red and sunken and tired and refusing to eat or drink.

you had hit your head on the ice, but thankfully the trauma wasn’t anywhere near the severity of akira’s, it only inducing a strong concussion and sending you flying out of consciousness upon impact.

but it was the loss of blood that was the problem.

you had lost so much, too much of it.

it made you weak and frail and unable to do much and satoru worried that that’s what was going to take away your fighting chance of survival.

“you should go home satoru…” your mother sighed, standing by the door of your hospital room, her own eyes red and swollen.

he shook his head no silently.

“she’ll still be here… you need to eat something or sleep please. you look awful.”

satoru smiled weakly and shook his head again.

“m’fine.”

your mother pursed her lips to the side and she sighed again, nodding.

“i’ll come by early in the morning, alright?”

he hummed, giving her a tiny wave as she left and closed the door behind her.

satoru had brought a roll of pink ribbon from your little white box in your room, unrolling the pieces he chose and lifting his hands, taking the ends of your hair and trying to tie little thin bows the way you always did, but huffing softly in irritation when they just looked like shit.

he undid the one he was working on and settled for feeling the material of the ribbon between his thumbs instead.

satoru brought you bouquets everyday too.

sometimes three at a time as he continuously swapped out old flowers and replaced them with new ones, changed their water and poured fresh quantities into each vase to keep them alive, and often picked some more from the hospital garden when he went down to get some fresh air for a minute— the least he could do for nearly killing you.

and satoru had a lot of time to think while he waited for you to wake up— bitter and resentful at the world for letting him sit there healthy while you were out, so much so that he started thinking stupid shit like how he wished you would’ve forgotten him and dismissed his yapping dreams about ice skating when you met so you would’ve been an independent skater instead, so you then wouldn’t have gotten hurt by his idiocy and you wouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed like you were now.

or swapped places. him instead of you so he could beat up the fucks that took akira away and beat up zeus or— or aphrodite or whoever the fuck that was responsible for keeping him from you so he could come back to you… unsure if you were doing the same thing as he stared at your resting face.

you should’ve just left him behind.

but he was sleeping when you woke.

arms propped up and crossed next to you on the hospital bed, his cheek mushed up on them and face to the side as you blinked your eyes open and was straight up confused, not a single memory of the incident flitting through your mind… until it did.

and it hit you bad.

your mind reeled with a pounding headache, tears prickling your eyes at the events that plagued through your mind— a part of you knowing there was absolutely no way you and satoru made top three and gutted about it, feeling shaken from the memory alone of you falling and hitting the ice.. but grateful.

grateful to be alive, for you knew akira wasn’t as lucky.

was it because of her that you had lived? had she pulled some strings to change your fate?

your eyes trailed down to a sleeping peaceful satoru, your gaze softening at how tired and broken he looked, bags dark and purple as he snored away next to you, your hand lifting and delicately settling over his fluffy white hair as you smiled that he was here next to you— caressing.

satoru shot up wide awake then as you jumped and retracted your hand, the both of you alarmed and frantic.

“baby?” he grabbed your hand and felt around it, feeling warmth for once as he stood up straight and shoved back one of the sleeves of his hoodie.

“you’re awake? are you actually?—” he pinched his arm hard over and over and you giggled.

you giggled— the sound filling his ears and lifting an undeniable dark ton off of his shoulders as he relaxed, tears automatically brimming his eyes.

“i thought i fucking killed you sweets.” his voice shook, arms gently coming around you and pulling you into an embrace.

“killed me?” you frowned. “toru what are you talking about—”

“oh god you have amnesia—”

“no!” you laughed. “what do you mean by almost killed me? you didn’t do anything.”

“i did everything.” he spoke flatly. “i fucked up that lasso lift. i pushed you up too hard and we fell. i cut you with my blade i made you bleed—”

“toru that was an accident.” you pulled back and your chest hurt over the devastated look on his face, wiping his tears and kissing his nose. “remember— aki’s partner felt just like this and we had to tell him too it was an accident. you can’t control something like that. at all. it’s just unfortunate circumstance.”

“i know but i still feel like—” he wiped his eyes and swallowed. “i still feel like i could’ve done something different. it should’ve been me and not you and i should’ve—”

“toru don’t even don’t think about things like that.” you shook your head. “there wasn’t anything you could’ve done, baby. and that’s okay.”

you gently scooched over on the bed and patted the spot next to yours, satoru immediately climbing and settling in, clinging on to you as he placed his head on your chest with his arm firm but careful around your waist, suddenly feeling how exhausted he actually was from the days he spent restless.

you couldn’t have imagined the pain satoru must’ve gone through waiting for you to wake up. you didn’t know how he even fucking managed as you would’ve been torn into bits and pieces not knowing if he was going to live or not, looking at his limp bloody body the way he had to look at yours and it reminding you of the event that brought you both the most trauma and grief.

you couldn’t believe you almost went out the same way.

satoru confirmed your thoughts later and filled you in on the results of the international skating union competition, rubbing salt into the wound a little more upon learning that you landed fourth, nearly there as you couldn’t help but cry a bit in your hospital bed when he told you that you could’ve had a spot, satoru hugging you and reassuring you that you’d both have your shot at it in the next four years.

your family was relieved that you were awake, tons of people piling in and giving you sweets and food that satoru hungrily eyed and gawked over, you laughing and passing him the ones he particularly enjoyed most as you conversed with your relatives.

and recovery was thankfully easy— doctors orders being just you taking it light and being careful not to bonk your head against anything, as well as taking care of the laceration on your leg— changing the bandage frequently every morning and night, satoru insisting he help you with that and with many other things that you needed as he tried to make up for what he still thought was his fault.

two weeks had gone by of just rest and peace and no figure skating, thinking you and satoru deserved this break, but also secretly petrified of stepping on the ice again after what had happened— neither of you wanting to hurt the other as you avoided the topic of training for the meantime at all costs.

“maybe we should work at a water park.” you suggested one day, the two of you seated on a park bench through the chilly mid january air as you shared a plate of chocolate drizzled strawberries you got from some nice lady and her fruit stand. “be lifeguards!”

“oh hell no!” he spoke with his mouthful before swallowing, readjusting the black round sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “you think i’m gonna be fine with watching random old men savoring after my wife in her little red bikini while i’m off saving some drowning kid? oh no thank you. let the kid drown.”

“toru!” you laughed, smacking his shoulder. “okay then what else?”

“janitors.”

you shrugged. “i like to clean. sometimes.”

“and your entire body is covered in those jumpsuits no stinky old men looking at—”

satoru’s phone buzzed against his jeans and he paused and pulled it out as you giggled, him barely glancing at the caller i.d before answering.

“hello?”

you mindlessly carried on plopping strawberries in your mouth and chewing.

“this is he…. oh hello! yes! how are you?”

you eyed satoru quizzically at his sudden formal change in tone, his eyes glued to the cement below.

“uh huh… really? o—okay! no yes for sure! thank you so much for the opportunity!”

opportunity?

you slowed your chewing and nudged his shoulder gently, wanting him to give you some kind of sign as to who it was on the other line.

“okay, we’ll keep in touch! thank you again!”

satoru slowly removed his phone away from his ear as the other line went dead, staring at his screen and you curiously leaning over only to see his call history log, a random number at the top.

“holy fuck.”

“what?!” you leaned in closer and tried to catch his eyes with yours, his shocked wide gaze slowly flittering to your face.

“that was the national olympic committee.”

you froze.

“shut the fuck up.” you covered your mouth. “toru what did they say what did they say—”

“one of the pairs that made it in the top three got disqualified.” he spat out quickly, shooting up and digging his fingers into his hair as he walked back and forth slowly in disbelief, spinning to face you. “i— i don’t know why i didn’t ask but we got bumped up.”

silence.

“we—” your chest rose and fell erratically, eyes darting around as satoru knelt down and grabbed your hands.

“baby we made it.” he tightened his grip. “we’re competing in the olympics—”

you squealed and jumped up and down and pulled satoru in, the both of you comically bouncing off the walls as you wailed and cried and blabbered on about how you couldn’t believe it and how a chance like this was even given to you, satoru lifting you and spinning you around but stopping and freaking out and apologizing profusely over your injured leg, you shaking your head and laughing, kissing him in return.

“we can’t avoid skating toru.” you spoke once you and him had settled down. “it’s literally what brought us together… and what brought us to aki. and even from you spinning me around like that it reminded me how much i missed skating with you.”

“i feel the same sweets.” he smiled, big and bright and handsome as he leaned over and kissed your rosy cheek. “i miss lifting you up and catching a glimpse of your ass underneath your—”

“toru!”

even though you and satoru were finally on board and accepting of bringing skating back into your lives, it wasn’t to say at all that the fear itself went away when you tried to do lifts or spins in the air with each other— apprehensive and scared as you practiced on the mats way more than necessary before moving choreography to the ice, satoru multiple times chickening out and needing a moment as he was petrified of hurting you again, and you glued in place at the thought of falling and slamming on the ground when you had just survived mostly unscathed.

but this wasn’t the time to be afraid over that anymore, and if akira were here, you both knew she’d smack you upside the heads and tell you to move… to get on the ice and do the sport you both loved and cherished most.

to finalize your dream and make it a reality.

and throughout the month that you and satoru spent before the commencement of the olympics, you trained like never before— no excuses as you worked tirelessly day and night with sweat literally dripping from your faces until every single goal was met and beyond, until every single throw from satoru was perfected and until every axel from you was delivered.

sometime during this month too, satoru finally got to take you out on that romantic candle lit dinner like he promised and asked you to be his girlfriend, him giddy and grinning the whole time and literally spoiling the moment as he meant to give you a chocolate dessert plate that said ‘will you be mine’ in chocolate syrupy letters, but accidentally eating it and smearing the words when he confused your plate with his, smacking his forehead repeatedly on the dining table as the silverware clattered— muttering about how dark it was and how he couldn’t fucking see, but you laughing so fucking much and clutching your stomach that your makeup smudged up at the corner of your eyes.

satoru was reminded again how much he loved you that day, because anyone else would’ve gotten tremendously annoyed and called him an idiot, but you…

you just giggled. giggled and hiccuped like always while he stared at you softly.

the love you and satoru shared stretched far beyond the concepts of what a platonic and romantic relationship was.

the love you and satoru shared was sacrifice. genuine sacrifice and yearn and absolute unadulterated love as you both without another thought would drop your careers for each other, would swap places if it meant the other would be safe from harm’s way, and would endure years of swallowing and pushing back feelings if it meant just keeping one another in your lives forever.

because that’s what birds of a feather was for to begin with.

a promise to stick together. a promise to keep each other safe.

a concept so pure and devoted that it translated onto the ice like no other pair when it came time for the olympics.

“you ready sweets?” satoru breathed out as you both stood in front of each other by the outside of the rink with interlaced fingers, shaking each other’s jitters out. “no matter what happens, we’ve already come so far and done so much, okay? we’ve done what we needed to do.”

“mhm!” you quickly nodded, satoru leaning down before you both rested your foreheads against each other’s with massive smiles on your faces, thunderous cheers echoing throughout the giant arena totally drowned out in your ears as you stared into satoru’s sparkling blue eyes.

“make aki proud.” you repeated softly, and he nodded, you hoping once again she was watching over you both.

you both stuck your pinkies out at the same time and looped them together.

“birds of a feather?” satoru beamed.

“birds of a feather.”

and you kissed your thumbs before sealing your promise.

you both watched the pair that you were going right after perform their routine, beautiful and difficult as you gnawed at your bottom lip in distress.

“toru…”

“yeah baby?”

“some of these pairs are crazy good…” you spoke over the music. “i’d honestly be happy with getting in the top twenty i don’t know if we can—”

satoru scoffed and shook his head, a sly smile as he looked over the rink with his arms crossed.

“nah, we’d win.”

and just like akira had done in her final olympic year— in her final moments, you and satoru made it known that it was your debut, that you had been hungry and desperate for this moment since the ages of six and seven, that you’d been raised and trained by a four-time olympic gold medalist for a decade as you executed the most technical and intricate moves and turns, you and satoru moving as one on the ice and identical as he took your hands and glided on the ice with you, raw emotion in your expressions that read love so clearly that it was impossible to miss.

with each lift, with each time satoru took you in his arms and spun, and with each time he simply held you close and tenderly to his chest as his blades scrapped across the ice with your pretty bows in his view— were all reminders for the two of you that partner figure skating was nothing without satoru and nothing without you.

the privilege of having another way to convey just how much you loved each other through the language of artistic expression and skates and ice, through the feel of each other’s skin, was one you nurtured and looked after and loved as the wind whipped through you and satoru due to the speed of your skates, performing quadruple axels like nothing while dropping the jaws of other figure skating pairs.

and because of this fact alone, how you both truly appreciated each other’s entities and had the indescribable power to correlate that into competitive sport—

was the reason why you and satoru won gold that day.

you and him, on your knees, gripping and hugging one another so hard and crying tears of joy as you both had come so far and gone through so much to get to where you were now, your dream now a complete and total reality as you stepped up onto that podium during the medal award ceremony just like akira had done— representing your country excellently with a big fat gold medal hung over your necks and a big fat kiss from satoru as he lip locked with you up there, flashings of cameras and bouquets and teddy bears scattered all throughout the ice in dismay.

“i love you!” satoru yelled to you over the roaring as you waved at the crowd, your mothers crying and blowing their noses and taking pictures from the edge of the rink as you and satoru cackled and pointed at them.

“i love you, toru!”

“no like seriously!” he put his waving hand down. “i wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. thank you for recognizing that i have love and dreams too baby and for not forgetting about me even when i’ve been the most annoying dipshit of your life.”

“you’ve never been that to me my god toru! where is this coming from?” he hopped off the podium once you two were given the all clear and he held a helping hand out for you to take, you doing so and carefully stepping down.

“reeaally?” he cheesed, cheeky and silly as his big pearly white smile made your cheeks flush. “so you love me then?”

“i literally would not be with you if i didn’t—”

“hooray!” he cheered, throwing his arms up as flower petals flew from his bouquets and around. “my girlfriend loves me! and we’re gonna have rough passionate olympian sex in our hotel room—”

“toru!—”

the love you and satoru shared wasn’t something silly like ‘i like you, you like me.’

it was call me when you get home.

have you eaten yet?

here, let me help you.

whatever you need.

yours and satoru’s souls were exactly the same— blended, intertwined, and stubbornly knotted together as no amount of tug and pull could unravel you both apart, satoru finding over the years that loving you was like muscle memory from the moment he met you, his nerves and reflexes gravitating him towards you on the ice that first time even when he knew there was a huge chance of him slipping and falling, but not being afraid of it at all as long as he just got to you, convinced he knew you in another life as you just felt so familiar the moment he saw your pretty little face.

and you’re so glad that he did get to you… that he stayed with you.

fourteen years of ice cream trips and sleepovers and horror movies from the moment you were teeny tiny babies to adults, experiencing the hardships of your teenage years of loss and grief, to then adulthood and college as you had the privilege of learning to navigate it with another being that was just like you, two little birds with no sense of direction other than to each other.

and it was all thanks to one woman and one woman alone.

“i honestly believe that if she was there, she would’ve brought one of those confetti poppers with dye in it and set it off.” you commented, you and satoru sitting on the grass at her grave site as you leaned your head on his shoulder and his head on top of yours, having literally just come off the plane from being at the olympics— your countries olympic button up thick jackets adorning your figures as your gold medals gleamed radiantly against the sun.

“i wish she was there.” satoru hummed, and you nodded softly in agreement.

“me too… but i’m sure she was! as a little birdie.”

he chuckled, finding your hand and interlacing your fingers as you stared at her tombstone like you’d done so many times before already… except this time it was bittersweet, you having accomplished what the three of you had strived so hard for at last.

“i miss her.” you murmured. “i miss her cussing.”

your eyes flickered down to her peace offerings, the little snow angel trinket you had gotten her still pretty and glossy and her as it sat happily on her stone platform.

satoru picked his head up and kissed the top of your head, propping his chin up on it.

“i miss her too baby.” he responded softly. “everyday.”

“but— i can’t thank her enough for giving us the bullets to fire with for skating.. y’know..” you ran the pad of your index finger along her tombstone, rough and scratchy as you traced little hearts along the edges.

“and she brought us closer together, did she not?” satoru pointed out.

she did.

a woman who was clumsy and loud and erratic with the biggest potty mouth you had ever heard that was passed down to you and satoru in the blink of an eye… but man did she know what love was as she taught it to you and reminded you both of exactly what it was each and every day.

you and satoru had accepted the fact that your hearts would never be whole again, for akira had taken half of them elsewhere and into the depths of the unknown.

but you were okay with that. completely and utterly okay with that.

for love had no limits.

you wanted her to keep it, as you and satoru stitched the remaining halves of your hearts together to create a new whole, as there was no one else you both would rather have that part of you with them forever besides akira.

and yours and satoru’s stitched up hearts grew increasingly bigger and fonder even after a couple of years later, even after winning three more olympic gold medals, you and him back at the same place in front of akira’s grave like always, sitting and laughing and chatting— but with two little baby toddlers that were half of you and half of satoru as they blubbered on about ‘mama aki’ and her trophies, a delicate twinkling ring on your finger and a golden band around satoru’s as your little family had a picnic over her final resting place.

“papa!” your son exclaimed, satoru immediately turning his attention to him in the midst of scarfing down a turkey sandwich.

“yes my offspring?”

you playfully glared at your husband.

“why do your eyes look scarier in the day?”

“HAH!” you slapped a hand over your mouth to hush your cackling, satoru’s face absolutely taken aback and offended.

“they do!” your daughter giggled. “they do! they do!—”

“baby do something!” satoru whined, shoulders slumping as he threw his head back. “i’m being bullied by five year old’s!”

you giggled and kissed his cheek, his pout quickly turning into a soft little grin as his face flushed pink.

“but your papa’s eyes are pretty you guys! and they match yours!”

“mmm— nope! scary!”

your two twin toddlers giggled uncontrollably as they thought being mean to their dad was the funniest thing in the world, you laughing with them as satoru flopped back dramatically and completely laid down on the grass with his eyes looking straight up at the bright sky.

“s’okay.” he spoke flatly. “if even my pretty little wife thinks my suffering is funny i’ll just burn my eyes to a crisp—”

“toru!” you slapped his knee. “too graphic in front of the kiddies.”

“but my suffering!—”

“mommy mommy!” your daughter tugged at your sleeve and pointed to the top of akira’s tombstone, a cute perfect white and brown bird perched up on the edge and peering curiously at the four of you, the creature not alarmed whatsoever of your children’s sudden movements as they scrambled to get closer to it.

satoru propped himself up with an elbow and stared before you both locked eyes, knowing growing smiles on your faces as he fully sat up— leaning and planting a gentle kiss to your forehead, letting it linger.

aki.

and it was like you and satoru were reminded again of your promise that you still told each other every day.

a promise that consisted of your years together… of your love, of your undying fervor of sticking together, of your need of keeping each other safe…

of birds of a feather.

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