You’re Putting On Lipstick And Dabi’s Watching You Closely And You’re Like “What?” And He’s

给友的

may you never forget me | nerdjo x f!reader

one: lingering, like a ghost

summary: he has everything he’s ever worked hard for, except for that one girl who was in at least one of his classes each semester for the entirety of college. he never tried to actually get to know you, but he did help you in ways you'd never know… one of them was getting professor gakuganji fired for calling you out in class. graduation day was supposed to be the day he finally confessed, only for you to not show up at all. what will he do when he sees you again 5 years later?

genre: unrequited love, smut, angst, fluff, one-sided love, gojo’s lw crazy, very observant of reader in all there classes together, nerdjo has an existential crisis in between graduation and seeing reader again, set in the present but will have many flashbacks, more to be added

a/n: HI WELCOME TO THE FIRST CHAPTER! So real quick, this is in present time, but this fic will have a lot of flashbacks to when gojo and reader were in college. We are starting off strong with a gojo pov, enjoy and see you in the end notes ❤️ 3.7k words

SONG REC: night tapes - drifting

masterlist

Contrary to what people may have believed, Satoru never really liked school. Yes, he got good grades, has even won awards throughout his childhood. It’s learning that he likes– astronomy, taking random language classes, historical documentaries, it’s not that hard getting him interested in new subjects. 

But school itself? He actually kinda loathed it, to tell you the truth. 

Starting from kindergarten, when his nanny literally abandoned him in a class full of random kids and some grumpy old lady, that really should’ve been a fucking drill sergeant rather than a teacher, all the way to his first day of college, when he had to walk through school gates alone for the first time in 11 years. 

Thanks a fucking lot Suguru. 

…Mind you his best friend still finds himself having to apologize for not getting accepted into the same school.

Whatever. It was different that time around, college didn’t require you to have friends to get by, you can actually just go straight to your apartment (or dorm) after class. 

Not like those first 12 years of school, where you were literally stuck with the same shitty people for 8 hours a day. That’s probably the biggest reason why he loathed it so much. 

College was significantly better, everyone was less annoying too. There were still cliques of course, but not to the same extent as the ones in highschool, where they could reign terror on other students for 4 agitating years. 

He never had to endure bullying himself. Most people already knew which family he was a part of from just looking at him, the hair gives it away. 

But he did have to witness his other classmates go through it– shit was brutal. And for someone who didn’t like people all that much, it got annoying quick. 

Like c’mon— if you really hated Ijichi, you wouldn’t even spare him a glance, let alone spend your free time harassing him. 

Satoru apparently saved him that day. 

Ijichi’s worked at the company for 3 years now and which each year that passes, he finds himself thanking Satoru for that. 

The thing is, no one ever tried to get involved whenever this group of kids cornered Ijichi. Everyone was either too scared to say anything or just didn’t care. 

The best day of Ijichi’s life was the day Satoru rushed out of his house and left his earphones at home. The stars seemed to align that day since the library was also temporarily closed. 

The next best study spot for Satoru? Literally any empty classroom, he just needs it to be quiet. 

The silence he so badly needed that day only lasted 20 minutes. It came to a screeching halt when Ijichi literally goes flying through the fucking room. Satoru almost told him to shut up, but then he heard 3 other kids making their way into the classroom, laughing and taunting him. 

Satoru ended up closing his textbook and notebook at that point— to think he’d be able to finish all of his work before going home was pure delusion. 

He peeks at the end of the room to take a look at Ijichi’s limbs tangled all over the desk, which quickly made him cringe. That’s gotta hurt bad. There wasn’t much Ijichi could do either, he was this scrawny kid who had a hard time speaking up, when it came to anything. He remembers offering Ijichi a pencil after seeing him at his desk, staring at his broken pencil in silence, all while everything else continued doing their assignments. He said, and Satoru quotes, “Oh n-nO, it’s fine! !I don’t nEed onE~”

Ijichi was seriously planning on sitting there for the rest of the period, doing nothing, because he was so afraid of accepting a pencil from Satoru. 

Satoru didn’t have time to sit there, trying to convince Ijichi that he was just as deserving of a pencil as everyone else and ended up throwing it at him. 

Ijichi yelped. 

There’s no saving him. 

Well, at least not he’s yelping, they fucking winded him. Did the 3 of these guys pick him up together and catapult him into the classroom? He doesn’t even want to know. 

He’s more annoyed that these guys had to come in and fuck up his study session. He had to attend a clan meeting with his father tonight, he didn’t have time to do his work at home. 

“...Why are you guys so obsessed with him?” Satoru abruptly asked, right as Ijichi was about to get grabbed by one of the boys. His tone was anything but accusatory, he was genuinely curious. 

“Us?” One of them laughed. “Obsessed with him? He’s a fuckin’ loser, no ones obsessed with him.” 

“Are you sure..?” Satoru looks back and forth between the group and Ijichi, who looked like he was actually going to piss himself. “I feel like the first thing you guys do whenever you have the free time is look for him.”

“And what’s it to you? Tryna come in and save the day?” One of them cuts in, trying to antagonize him. That doesn’t really work with Satoru though— if he thinks you’re gonna end up nowhere in life, the last thing he’ll do is take you seriously. 

“I was just wondering.” Satoru shrugs. “Saying you're not obsessed with him, but then going straight to him every time lunch starts and school ends is honestly just kinda weird. It’s like your day revolves around him.”

One lets out a low laugh, “You’re calling us weird? That’s rich coming from you— only reason why nobody touches you is because everyone knows who your family is.”

“That’s—“ He immediately cuts himself off in order to get his thoughts together. Everyone’s confused, Satoru looks incredibly uncomfortable as he tries to figure out what exactly they meant by that. “So what you’re saying is you’d… touch me if I wasn’t?”

“Wh– no, not like tha– why don’t you just shut the fuck up and mind your business.”

“I was, it was you guys who came here.” Satoru reminds them in his still visibly disturbed state. “…to touch Ijichi— wait nooo.”

Satoru’s eyes widened in shock after jumping to his own conclusion.

“Why the fuck are you so focused on that word?!” 

“Why are you so focused on getting Ijichi alone??” Satoru responds with a question of his own. 

“We were gonna beat his ass!” The shortest one in the group says, but his words never reach Satoru’s ears.

His jaws practically on the floor and ends up having to put his hand over his mouth, just for the dramatics. His eyes slowly lose their vibrancy as he starts to look back and forth between the bullies and Ijichi— who still has yet to speak up. 

His silence makes it all look so much worse than it actually is.

“You guys like Ijichi.. like that?”

“…”

Crickets. 

They miraculously left Ijichi alone after that day– not out of guilt, but because the fucking digimon freak genuinely thought they were obsessed with Ijichi. 

After working for Satoru for some time, he realized he had just put on an act to get the group to leave him alone. What he didn’t know was that he only did that because he didn’t have his earphones that day and couldn’t concentrate with them torturing him in the background. 

But even if he found out, he’d still be thankful. He was saved around the time that group of boys started getting more aggressive with him, he’s sure they would’ve broken a bone or two towards the end of senior year. 

He also realized another thing, Satoru’s a smartass. 

It made him wonder if he was like this all along, or if he just found himself when he went off to college. 

He was always like this at home and unfortunately never fucking found himself in college. He’s not afraid to admit all that he had missed out on by keeping to himself so much. 

Sure, he made a few friends here and there, but he could’ve made more by joining clubs. He could’ve had more memorable nights and weekends if he had kept up some of the conversations his classmates tried to start with him, rather than just saving the discussions for his professors. 

Keeping up the grades and being at the top of all of his classes didn’t even matter if he had to be honest with himself. He would’ve still ended up working for his family’s company regardless of what his grades were. 

The only thing he took away from those four years, aside from the degree, was that life waited for no one– not even for the Gojo clan's golden boy. 

That’s right folks! Even the cities' most desired bachelor has a certain someone that got away. What’s even worse is she didn’t even fucking know, because he never tried to talk to her ever in those four years. 

It’s not like she was hard to reach either, he had at least one class with her each semester, they probably had the same major. He’s not 100% sure though, because he literally has never talked to her— but fuck, he honestly tried in the end.

Those last two weeks leading up to graduation were spent mustering up the courage to approach you and coming up with what to actually say.

He needed it to be interesting, the typical “hey, let's keep in touch!” wasn’t going to work because there was never a connection to begin with. He’s even pretended not to hear you at the library once during junior year.

Why? He doesn’t know. 

After what felt like a never ending back and forth with himself— coming up with different pick up lines and then dropping them, because he sounded fucking pathetic and gave himself secondhand embarrassment— he decided he was going to be honest.

“Hey! I know we didn’t talk much– totally my fault by the way, too nervous I guess– is it too late to ask for your number?”

It was sincere, honest, and the furthest thing from pushy. It would’ve worked. It was a good, solid plan that he was going to go through with on graduation day.

Yet when the day came? You were nowhere to be found.

He didn’t even hear your name get called.

Can he be mad? Only with himself, he had 4 years to say something to you.

Life waited for no one.

Even if that was really the only “life lesson” he learned, it was just as valuable as anything else, and decided he didn't want to miss out on anything, anymore.

Did he go a little overboard postgrad?

Mmmyeah he sure did!

Very overboard– apparently it was something about how isolated he suddenly felt after graduating, mixed with the realization that time doesn’t and will never stop, ended up triggering a full blown existential crisis in your boy. 

His therapist explains it a little better… psychology is that once section he tries to stay away from.

But did he have fun?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

He still does, just not the type of fun where he woke up confused as fuck in a holding cell. Or the night ending with someone’s husband chasing him out of his home, after catching his wife cheating on the bed they shared.

Please don’t ask him if he knew or not.

It’s been five years since he graduated, his little party animal phase has toned down for the most part. The need to make up for lost time no longer gnaws away at him. He’s made more memories than most these last 5 years, he’s satisfied. His “wasted years” have now reverted back to being his “uni days”– a thought that’s able to pass, rather than a regret that consumes him. 

But he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t tried googling a certain someone's name throughout the years though. His therapist asked what would change if you actually did show up in the search results. Not genuinely, but to try to turn it into a whole conversation about how it wasn’t going to change the past and blahblahblah. 

No fucking shit. 

He’d still follow you though and slide into your dms real smooth. 

“What if she was married or in a serious relationship?”

“I’d still say hi? What’s the issue with saying I recognized her and realized she was an old classmate?” 

Apparently the difference between randomly stumbling onto a profile and directly searching for one was the issue. He was glad that subject came up towards the end of their session, he was not trying to sit there for a whole hour being told that innocently saying hi to an old classmate wasn’t “healthy” for him— fuck all the way off, Calvin. 

Surely he saw the way Satoru’s eyes momentarily darkened when saying goodbye, that should be a good indicator that he wouldn’t be back for more sessions, because he fucking sucks at his job. Satoru was still a nice person though and decides to text his personal assistant to cancel the rest of his scheduled appointments with the shrink. 

| Akira: Would you like me to provide a reason?

| S. Gojo: Nah.

He doesn’t owe him anything, if anything he deserves a refund for today. Let’s hope the next therapist will be a little less pessimistic. 

—

That very first semester actually wasn’t when he started growing interest toward you. Of course he thought you were cute, but looks weren’t enough for him to go out of his way to speak to others back then, unless it was for a group project. Plus, you sat on the opposite side of the lecture room, coming and going through a different door than he did. 

It was his second semester that he started to acknowledge you more, in his head at least. You were in 3 of his classes that semester, which made you hard to miss if you asked him. Especially the one on Tuesdays and Thursdays, where he had to watch you struggle to set some solid boundaries with a guy who was too cocky to take a hint. 

At first he felt nothing but second hand embarrassment towards Kairo, maybe he just wasn’t very good at reading others. Then he started to feel kind of bad for you. Feel bad about the way he’d watch your shoulders slightly drop whenever that guy came to talk to you. How you’d stiffen up whenever he leaned into your space. You even used a different tone with him, because he absolutely was the type of guy to read in between the lines, instead of actually listening to the words you’d say. 

You could tell him you weren’t interested and he’d think you’re playing hard to get if your voice rose in the slightest. 

Then one day you came into class a little later than usual. Satoru already knew that was going to suck for you, Kairo sat right in the middle of an area that was fairly open, meaning you’d be forced to be close to him regardless of which seat you chose to sit in for that day. 

You could imagine Satoru’s surprise when you suddenly asked if you could sit beside him on… an end seat, rather than the two empty ones to his left. 

He almost offered them to you, but then he realized you probably wanted to hide behind him and ended up murmuring a quick “yeah”. 

Nothing else was said between you two after that. You didn’t even look in his direction, all to avoid Kairo’s gaze. You’ve been in enough classes with Satoru at this point to know he wasn’t going to talk unless it was to ask the professor a question, so that was probably the first time you’ve gotten a chance to relax in that class since it started. 

Luckily Kairo had already been expelled from the school by the time you returned to the class that following tuesday. Meaning, you got to relax for the rest of the semester.

The school tried to keep the reason under wraps, but it eventually slipped out and spread like a wildfire. Around 200 photos from a certain album on his phone had been emailed to just about every employee at the school. From professors and office attendants all the way to the principal and deans. Even if the school had tried to cover it up, it would’ve been impossible since authorities had been tipped off about the emails and were there to take a look first thing in the morning. 

There were no explicit details on what the photos were of, but it’s pretty obvious if the law got involved. The one thing nobody could figure out was who got the photos and emailed them to everyone, with full evidence they belonged to Kairo. 

But like every other scandal that happened in school, that was easily forgotten in less than a month. Even with Kairo being gone, you never went back to that side of the room. Satoru figured that the view of the projector screen was better from where he usually sat, it explained why you were usually a few seats away from him for the rest of that semester.

There were days where you’d walk past him and the smell of your perfume would linger for a while. He didn’t notice it that one time you sat next to him, his mind was too busy thinking about things that were a little more important, but it didn’t take long at all for him to notice afterwards.

He couldn’t figure it out– kinda fruity but not sweet, warm but not vanilla or musk, unavoidable yet not overpowering. 

He liked it. To this day he still hasn’t been around anyone who’s presence continued to linger around the room like a ghost after they’ve left. 

Time had flown by fast. Before he knew it, sophomore year had begun. The thought that you could be in one of his classes again never crossed his mind prior to going back. It wasn’t until that second week where he genuinely felt your absence. Interestingly enough, it was someone else’s perfume that made the realization hit him like a fucking truck, literally. 

It was so fucking offensive that it made him miss you, which even he thought was ridiculous at the time given how he’d never even spoke to you– yet there he was, wishing you could magically switch places with this girl. 

You eventually showed up on the third week of school, back from an overseas vacation. He knows because the professor singled you out and made you explain it in front of everyone, even after explaining it was a family emergency and the school excused it. He still wasn’t satisfied and continued to grill you.

“You’re an adult, you have your own responsibilities that need to be taken care of, you clearly didn’t have the consequences in mind and thought being with your family would shield you from them. That’s not how the real world works.” 

That old fuck was just rambling at that point, he was convinced he was trying to get out of an hour long lecture and was planning to throw the blame on you. 

“Professor Gakuganji?” Satoru eventually raised hand. “Weren’t we supposed to have a lecture today?” 

“Yes, we were.” He nods then looks back at you, “You can thank your classmate for interrupting my class.”

Some students groaned at that, while some looked at the old man in disbelief since you had arrived on time. Either way it was just annoying. 

“I don’t see how that should be everyone else's problem.” He says in response, which shocks some of the students because this is the most they’ve seen him talk. It’s hard to tell who he's annoyed at right now, you or the Professor. “We pay to be here at the end of the day, sir. A lot of our parents aren’t going to be very happy about us failing a quiz on a subject that you won’t teach us.” 

That wording seemed to get him to actually do his job, but it wasn’t enough for you, you never set foot in the class again. Must’ve been humiliating to have that happen on what was the first day of school for you. No one forgot about it either, especially on the days Gakuganji felt like being an asshole and making it everyone else's problem, again. That day gets brought up by someone at least a couple times a week, mainly serving as a reminder to not expect much from the old man. 

Yet for Satoru, the story of the girl who Gakuganji grilled was a reminder of something else. He eventually realized it was never the perfume. 

You didn’t need it to continue to linger around.

When the next semester comes, he finds himself in two classes with you. 

You don't get harassed by any students this time or get singled out by the professors either. Which was great, it was harder to get that old man fired than he had originally thought. 

And that was someone who wasn’t even liked by the other staff.

As for Satoru, he still didn’t talk to you, but that’s nothing new. Up until last semester, you thought he was nothing but this shy, quiet guy that kept to himself. 

Maybe he just had social anxiety or something, so you tried not to judge him. He never causes trouble for anyone. He even let you sit next to him that one time, when he could’ve easily said no after seeing the other empty seats around him. 

It wasn’t until Gakuganjis class where it all made sense. 

He’s a pretentious dick who thinks the world revolves around him. You’d think that being in an unfair position, someone would at least stand up for you, yet Satoru Gojo decided to do the complete opposite that day. 

“Can you start the lecture already?”

“That’s not my problem.” 

“I pay to be here.” 

How about try being the one that’s paying to be scolded?

And of course the one time he speaks up, it’s about himself!

You thought karma was doing its thing when Gakuganji got fired right when winter break started, but she’s clearly got some unfinished business with you by making you be in not just one class, but two of them with him. 

For once, you were glad he ignored you.

next

a/n: HI HELLO WELCOME TO THE END OF THE FIRST CHAPTER!! tysm of reading till the end I appreciate it 😚🫶🏻 okay! notes/recap:

poor satoru with his crush and turns out reader does NOT like him

you guys he fired his therapist that's so bad ??

gojo 2 kairo 0 gakuganji 0

ooo so do we think he's evil or???? guess we'll just have to find out 🙂‍↕️

Ko-fi link if you're feeling generous and wanted to show extra support ❤️

All rights reserved © 2024 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

Pairing: Muzan x f!reader.

Content: Part 2of 2. Approx 15.5k words. NSFW. Oral sex (reader receiving), vaginal sex, fingering, animal death, character death. Canon-typical violence and themes. Canon-divergence. Read Part 1 here

In Another Life- Part 2

Chapter 7

There was no world for Muzan beyond your tender flesh. The caress of your lips, your fingers in his hair, your body against his. Warm and oh, so fragile. His hand brushed slowly down your back, following the ridges and curves of your spine, all-too aware that he could snap it in two before your next heartbeat. 

And a voice in the back of his mind told him he should. 

How little it would take to be rid of you. But then, he was certain he never truly would be. No, not after tasting your lips, not after hearing your sigh of pleasure, or the way your breath caught beside his ear when his kisses trailed down your jaw to the delicate skin of your throat. 

He was ruined, and you, vexing creature, were the source of it all. 

What was going through your mind, he wondered. Were you in crisis as he was, wondering whether you should put a stop to it. It was improper. If the pair of you were discovered, you might assume your reputation was destroyed. And yet, you didn’t seem to care. Your hands grasped him with just as much fervor as he allowed himself to exert upon you, your fingers at the back of his head, not just running through his hair, but holding his mouth to your neck, encouraging him to continue. 

Demanding. 

That was it, you were so very demanding. And Muzan was only too pleased to obey your unspoken commands. He kissed where you wordlessly instructed him to, his tongue following the throbbing path of your veins, every caress of his lips an act of pure worship. 

A war raged on inside him; the desire to please you, pitted against the instinctive urge to tear you asunder for your audacity. What power did you believe you had over him? And why did he yield to it as though you were the demon and he the mortal? 

It was wrong. It was against the order of things, and yet, he could not stop it. He let you take his hand, guiding it to your thigh, the fabric of your yukata slipping away so easily to reveal your bare flesh to him. 

“Are you certain?” he heard himself asking, his voice like that of a pitiful mortal man. 

“No,” you replied with a slight chuckle. His kisses had rendered you breathless, your face flushed with arousal. It excited him beyond measure. “And yes, Tsukihiko, I am.”

That accursed name. He wished beyond anything he had simply given you his true name the moment he met you. How he longed to hear you gasp it as his fingers slipped beneath the damp layer of your underwear. Slick and swollen with arousal, so responsive to his caress. Hands capable of tearing flesh from bone stroked your core with such gentleness he hardly recognized them as his own. 

And fuck, the sound you made at his touch; relief and pleasure carried on a broken breath, your lips hovering agonizingly close, then suddenly frantic against his as you pulled him back to you. This dance. He knew the steps so well. So many days he had been too weak to please you with his cock or his tongue, so his fingers had had to suffice. But gods, you never seemed to care. He knew your body like he knew his own, knew the pressure you liked, the pace. He knew exactly the curse you would mutter against his ear when he pressed two fingers inside you, and found himself smiling when his hypothesis proved right. 

He knew you.

And he was helpless. In a thousand years, he had not felt anything akin to the rush of blood pooling at his core, he had not uttered a single sound as desperate as the whine which escaped him when you pulled your lips from his just for a moment to draw air. How pitifully mortal you rendered him. 

How beautifully you destroyed him.

“Tsukihiko, I’m…”

That name again. If he could pull it from the air he would tear it to shreds and burn it so that he would never hear you utter it again. “Hm?”

“Don’t stop…”

He couldn’t. No matter how his pride snarled at him for following orders, he couldn’t stop if he tried. The demon king bowed to your command, his thumb devoutly stroking your clit, feeling your cunt clench around his fingers as you chased your high. And he needed it. Needed you.

“Yes…” he gasped, as though your pleasure was his, as though there was nothing in the world that could satisfy him more than your ecstasy. Not a means to walk in the sun, not blood or flesh, not an end to those who opposed him. You. Your bliss. Your breath. Your lips. “Come. Please…”

You came undone at that, fingers gripping the flesh of his forearm, cries muffled against his lips. On and on, you tensed and quivered and cursed beneath your breath.

Oh, how he adored the way you fell apart, so familiar, so utterly beautiful. “Perfect. I’ve longed for you. Longed to… to hold you…” The words spilled from his lips before he had a chance to consider how they sounded. Surely you would think he had lost his mind.

But you simply smiled, pressing your forehead against his chin as you fought to regain your composure and rein in your breaths. “Hold me for as long as you like.”

He couldn’t though. Not the way he wanted to at that moment, because you simply didn’t have an eternity to be held at your disposal. 

It was near dawn when he returned to the Infinity Fortress, his heart thundering in his ears, a pressure at his temples making him feel as though his head would explode. His lips tingled from the intensity of your kisses, his skin shivered as it lamented the loss of your touch. It was absurd, infuriating, maddening, enraging. 

His fingers flexed in the empty air, longing to feel you beneath them once more; your heat, your delicate mortality, you. 

As he stalked through the ever-shifting hallways, the castle molded to his needs and led him to the room which held the accursed vase he had put back together so long ago. He had to end it, forget you, destroy the memories and you along with them. 

“Foolish,” he spat, gripping it by the rim and preparing to hurl it into the abyss opening up in the center of the floor for just such a purpose. 

And there he stood, motionless, holding the vase you had fawned over on the day of your wedding a thousand years ago. Layered in silks of purest white, as though the rays of the sun had fallen for your beauty and draped themselves elegantly over your frame. 

He hadn’t known you then. He didn’t particularly want to.  In fact, he hadn’t wanted to take a wife at all. He was nothing but a sulking boy with a sickly body exhausted simply from the act of dressing formally and complaining all the while. Oh, how he had glared as you spent far too long thanking people for their gifts, mooning over that damnable vase like it was something fit for an empress. 

He’d wanted to smash it then and there, but doing so, he told himself, would ensure the marriage was irrevocably doomed. And how right he had been. The day he finally broke it was the day he took your life. 

Muzan scowled. 

Her life. 

He could not believe what his foolish heart told him. He could not believe the yearning cries of a soul which did not even exist. She was dead. You, for the time being, lived, and for the meantime, he could allow himself the indulgence of pleasure at least. He would permit himself to use you. 

Drawing a slow breath, he set the vase down back on its stand and stepped away from it. “Yes. That’s all it is. It means nothing and it is mine to take. That’s all there is to it.”

But even as he spoke he knew it was a lie. 

In truth, he felt the thread between you wound oh so tightly around his heart. And he knew there were only two choices before him: admit his true nature, or pretend to be Tsukihiko forever. Because he could not, would not give you up.

And neither one of the choices were possible. 

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

Tsukihiko came to you the next night, and the next night, and the next. Each night began with conversation and ended with kisses and pleasure; his fingers skillfully coaxing your climax while he kissed you as though you were the love of his life. 

He was pleasant to be around, gentle, polite, and so devoted to your pleasure. One night as you kissed, your hand wandered down to his groin, pressing against the bulge tenting the loose fabric of his hakama. 

Gods, the sudden hitch of his breath, the way he twitched as though he hadn’t been touched in forever, the choked back groan deep in his throat. He was addictive. And with Douma still missing and your pursuit of the demon king making no progress, there was nothing to do but indulge in your newfound vice. 

“I swear, I could taste nothing but your lips for an eternity and never crave another thing,” he whispered one night, weeks after the first as you lay together on your bed, limbs tangled, barely a hairsbreadth between your lips. 

You stroked back the silken waves of his hair, gazing into his eyes. What a curious hue they were, but their color was the least interesting thing about them. It was their softness, the reverence written across his face, a picture of adoration and awe. You couldn’t help but kiss him; first between those pretty eyes, then up to his hairline, down to his temple, his cheeks, his chin and on and on. And Tsukihiko laughed softly, luxuriating in your barrage of kisses, drinking in your affection like parched earth soaking up the first rains.

It did nothing to alleviate the pressure in your chest; the tightness gathering with every second you spent in his company which threatened to burst out. A declaration you would never be able to take back once you let it loose. But you did, you felt that. Love. Overwhelming, all-consuming, rendering everything beyond him dull and colorless. You loved him and that was disastrous.

Some part of you longed to run away from it all; the temple, the corps, the mission. You could take Tsukihiko’s hand and steal him away, find somewhere where the two of you could live forever in that state of perpetual bliss.

But it couldn’t be. 

Sorrow, sudden and sickening consumed you, causing you to pause your affections. You were a demon slayer, you reminded yourself, your job was to fight and quite possibly to die; to eliminate Muzan Kibutsuji no matter the cost. In all likelihood you would not grow old with your love at your side. And the sweet man gazing at you from the pillow with nothing but innocent concern etched across his face could never know. 

It was far better to let him live his life free of the knowledge of the monster who stalked the night. He was too beautiful, too pure, too lovely to ever even know the name Muzan Kibutsuji.

“What is it?” he asked, the warmth of his palm against your cheek easing you back to the present. “Is something troubling you?”

You shook your head. “No, everything is perfect.”

The concern in his eyes never waned, and he watched you for a moment, as though trying to read your thoughts. 

“I’m alright,” you assured him. 

“Perhaps it’s time you went to sleep. It’s getting late.”

He was right but the thought of him leaving to head to his own room wasn’t a happy one. “Just a little longer?”

“You ask as though I could ever deny you anything.” Shifting positions on the bed, he made room for you to lay at his side, your head resting on his chest as his fingertips skated softly against your brow, urging you to close your eyes. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

True to his word, when you finally awoke, late in the morning, he was gone. 

You remained in bed, nothing but the lingering scent of him on your pillow and the butterflies in your stomach giving any indication that he was ever there at all. Where he went during the day you had no idea. He was nowhere to be found within the temple. Many times you’d resolved to ask him, only to find yourself incapable of remembering to do so once his lips were pressed to yours. 

After dressing, you headed out to the garden where your crow, Mokutan, was waiting, strutting around the garden paths with a distinct swagger in his step. 

“Message from Master Ubuyashiki!” he cawed, tilting his head as you unfolded a square of cloth from the pouch dangling from your obi, revealing a sliced plum you’d stashed away for the bird. 

“Go on…”

The bird held up his foot, offering a small scroll of paper laced to his spindly leg. Evidently he was done talking, the plum taking precedence above all else. 

The message was written with a trembling hand, the Master’s sickness clearly growing worse as time progressed. “I am writing to tell you that, should you believe this mission to be a lost cause, I give you my full support for you to leave the temple. At present there have been no sightings of the demon, Douma, nor of Muzan Kibutsuji. You have done well and I do not wish for you to feel anything less than proud. Thank you for your bravery and for all that you have done to further our cause. Ubuyashiki Kagaya, master of the Demon Slayer Corps.”

Weeks ago those words might have come as a relief, but as your eyes scanned over the note again and again, dread billowed inside your chest. 

“Tsukihiko…”

“Is that your answer?” the crow quipped, flinging a slice of plum to the side and pouncing on it as though he was a hawk. “Favorite word! Tsukihiko. Mmh…Tsukihiko. Oh… Tsukihiko!”

A wave of heat washed over your head as the damnable bird rolled onto its back, repeating his name over and over, as though he’d roosted for the night outside your bedroom window and heard you in the throes of ecstasy. “What? No, that’s not my answer! I need… I need some time to consider. Will you stay closeby until tomorrow?”

“Oh, alright. But dried fish tomorrow! And cherries! And—”

“You’ll be well fed, don’t worry.” You rolled the message into a tight scroll and slipped it into your pouch.

“Food for Mokutan. Goodbye kisses for Tsukihiko!” Mokutan cackled before taking off to fly onto the temple’s roof. 

Curse the feathered shit. 

Still, he was right. You simply couldn’t spend the rest of your days idling at the temple. Yet again, you felt the need to remind yourself that you were a demon slayer. There was no room in your life for Tsukihiko. 

Leaving the temple was the right thing to do. You resolved to say goodbye to your friend that night, to advise him to get out of the temple and start a life far away where he might meet someone who could give him the love he deserved without restraint. 

Gods, but the thought of him loving another turned your blood to fire. 

Some selfish part of you wanted so badly to claim him, a nagging feeling that it was right he belonged to you. But he had already lost one wife. Losing a second was too cruel. You had to end it and delaying the inevitable wasn’t going to help anyone.

Mokutan sulked as you tied your response to his ankle that afternoon, accepting the Master’s invitation to abandon the mission. “No cherries. No fish…”

“I know, I know. Life is suffering, Mokutan,” you muttered. “We all must make sacrifices.”

He petulantly pecked your hand, and didn’t even talk back as he flew off to deliver the message. 

At sunset you returned to the garden to meet Tsukihiko for the last time, your heart heavy and your steps slower than they had been. You hardly looked up as you approached the maple tree which had become the habitual site of your rendezvous. 

And the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. A chill filled the air, snapping your attention toward the darkness surrounding the garden. Something was out there. Something terrible. 

“Hello, sweet thing,” a voice you knew all too well cooed from the shadows. “Goodness, how I’ve missed you.”

Douma smiled sweetly as he approached, wrapping his arms around you in a vice-like hug, lifting you effortlessly from the ground. 

“You came back…” you managed to say when he finally set you down, your mind racing. How far had Mokutan gotten, you wondered. Would he even think to return to the temple when you didn’t show up at the master’s mansion?

“I did. Oh, it’s so good to be home, my sweet thing, we have so much to talk about. But right now I’m so very concerned.” Douma’s heavy brows pinched as he held out his hand, where something black and fluffy lay across it. 

In the darkness it was near impossible to make out, so you held out your hand, your heart stilling as your fingertips brushed against sleek feathers. 

“It’s a crow,” he sighed forlornly, confirming your fear before unceremoniously tossing Mokutan’s broken little body into the dirt beneath the spider lilies. “A demon slayer’s crow. I caught it not a mile away from here.”

A nauseating terror rose in your throat, your vision blurring as your every instinct told you to run. But it was hopeless. You had no sword to fight with, no way to call for help. “A demon slayer?”

“Mhm, I think there could be one at the temple,” Douma whispered, his lips so close to your ear his breath tickled. “They aren’t good people, sweet thing. But don’t worry, I’ll find who it is and make sure they won’t hurt us. I won’t let any harm come to you.” His pointed fingernails caressed the curve of your cheek as he pulled back and smiled. “I’ll find them. I promise.”

Chapter 8.

Tsukihiko did not meet you beneath the maple tree that night. Douma’s return to the temple caused such a stir that you found yourself temporarily swept up in it, standing toward the back of the room as he joyously addressed his congregation. 

“I was away, searching for something very important. Oh, but I missed you all terribly. Your sweet faces. It’s so good to be home with you all!”

His smile was so wide, so seemingly genuine, that for a moment you forgot about the Lord Founder’s many masks. His apparent happiness and relief were contagious, spreading through the masses, every one of them elated to see their leader returned. For a fraction of a second, you were among them. 

That was his power, his ability to draw people to him, to disarm and comfort them even as he devoured them. And you balanced precariously on the edge of his trap as a sliver of fondness seeped through your armor and needled its way beneath your skin. It might have remained there, buried deep and barbed, were the image of poor Mokutan’s body not branded into your memory, reminding you that the beautiful man throwing children up into the air and hugging every one of his disciples as if they were his siblings, was in fact the third strongest and most brutal demon in the world. 

For the briefest moment, you swore you caught a glimpse of a familiar face among the cheering crowd. Tsukihiko with his ebony waves, rich, dark eyes, and that telltale sensation of a tether tugging at your heart as the crowd shifted and at once he was gone. 

Perhaps it was only wishful thinking.

But therein lay another problem. Douma was on the lookout for a demon slayer, which of course was you, but Tsukihiko behaved strangely, and should Douma begin to suspect him… Gods, the thought of that made you sick. What could you even do in that situation, you wondered. You had no sword, no way to call for help, no choice but to reveal yourself to the upper moon two and hope devouring your flesh satiated him long enough that Tsukihiko could escape. 

The thought of it turned your stomach. 

“Goodness, I’m so happy to be home,” Douma reiterated as the congregation eventually filed out of the room to begin preparing a feast fit to celebrate their leader’s return. 

You found yourself strangely relieved to be alone with him. It felt familiar. Comfortable. 

“It’s good to have you back.”

He sat down on his plump purple pillow and held out his arms. “Come, my friend. Tell me everything that’s happened while I was gone.”

“Oh but it’s been so boring without you,” you said with a smile, reaching out to take his hand but remaining on your feet rather than curling up into his arms as you had in the past. “I’ve had no one to talk to at all.”

He grinned, his smile sharper than a sickle. “Liar.”

Cold fear lanced you through the heart. “I’m sorry?”

Douma laughed, lying back on the pillow and pulling you with him as he stretched contentedly like a well fed tiger basking on a warm rock. You fell to your knees, stretched awkwardly across his chest, your arm still trapped in his vice-like grip. 

“They left a little love mark, right here,” he chuckled, tapping a finger to your neck. “Has my sweet thing found love among my disciples? Who is it? Oh no, please don’t tell me it’s Takeo…”

“It’s not Takeo. Besides, Takeo—”

“Thank goodness. Oh but how lovely! To think your heart is all a flutter for someone. It’s very sweet. And don’t worry, I don’t mind in the slightest. Make lots of babies with your love and we can all live together. I think that would be nice, wouldn't it?”

“Yes,” you said, the word trickling from your tongue with such ease. Because it wasn’t entirely untrue.

Within the walls of the temple, surrounded by gilded lies and lying in the arms of a monster, you had managed to find precious glimpses of happiness, of belonging you hadn’t known before.

Douma sighed. “I need to make sure you're safe. That's the most important thing. See, with a demon slayer in our midst your life is in danger.” He pondered and massaged his temples with his long, clawed fingers. “I don't think there's a demon slayer strong enough to take me down, but my followers… my favorite… The slayers are a ruthless, heartless bunch. If they think you're in league with me they won't hesitate to take your life too.”

Lies. All of it. You donned your mask. “What can we do?”

He regarded you with those opaline eyes, a distant smile lingering on his lips as though he'd forgotten to wipe it away. “I could make you stronger,” he suggested at last. “I could ask my master to give you the same gift he gave me.” 

The world stood still and a bone-deep chill spread through your body. “You mean, become a demon?”

“Yes!” he said brightly. “Of course, the decision would be entirely up to Lord Muzan– you’ll have to meet him and win his favor— but I’m sure if I put in a good word for you he’ll agree. That way we can protect each other, and we’ll be strong enough together to protect your love and all the innocent people here in the temple from the slayer. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

The window you had waited so patiently for had opened. Finally, after months, you had an opportunity to meet Muzan Kibutsuji, to discover his whereabouts. But with Mokutan dead, you had no way of relaying that information back to Master Ubuyashiki unless you delivered it yourself. 

But it was your duty to seize the chance. Even if it was a distant hope, even if it meant the end of your life. Even if it meant sacrificing your love for Tsukihiko. 

Douma was kind enough to give you the night to consider his proposal, a night you spent alone, tormented by false hope and grim realizations. Tsukihiko was nowhere to be found, but perhaps that was for the best. Your love for him had only ever been a dream, the foolish hope of a heart condemned to death one way or another. And so instead of spending the night in the arms of your lover, you spent what might have been your last night alive planning a way to get the information back to Ubuyashiki. 

If Muzan agreed and turned you into a demon all hope was lost. Demons were unwaveringly loyal to their progenitor and you knew that once your soul belonged to Kibutsuji, you would not relay his location to the demon slayer corps. If you were devoured there was no hope either. It seemed unlikely he would refuse and simply allow you to return to your life with the knowledge which could spell his demise.

Only one path lay open to you, and the thought of it chilled you. 

If you were to delay your inevitable death long enough to reveal Muzan’s stronghold, you would have to win him over. And the only way to do that, you were certain, would be to reveal yourself as a slayer and offer Muzan something he craved even more than flesh. You would have to tempt him with something so tantalizing he couldn’t afford to kill you right away, and only then might he give you vital time needed to get word to the Demon Slayer Corps.

You would have to offer him Master Ubuyashiki. 

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

“My dear lord Muzan, I have a proposal—” Douma began.

“You have returned empty-handed,” Muzan glowered as Upper Moon Two grinned idiotically at him from the steaming onsen at the back of his temple. “You were not to return until you found the blue spider lily.”

“But I searched, my lord. I promise I did. I even asked mortals if they’d seen any sign of it but none of them had. Aww… you’re cross with me, aren’t you? I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, how’s that?”

Muzan rested his fingertips lightly on his eyelids and tried to massage away some of the urge to destroy the buffoon. Such an act would only diminish his ranks, he reminded himself. 

Instead, he slipped off his yukata and stepped into the water, allowing the heat of the spring to relax his body and ease away the tension. As a mortal he had enjoyed the steam of the onsen; a temporary relief wearing down the sharp edges of his pain, and it seemed that not even a thousand years had taken away from that simple pleasure even if he was no longer hurting or fragile.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” Douma sighed, resting the back of his head against the edge of the pool. “Life doesn’t have to be all business.”

“Actually mortal businessmen do this too,” Muzan muttered. “They bathe together and discuss their ventures at the same time.”

“That sounds like a great way to ruin a bath.”

Muzan chuckled monosyllabically. Douma, for once, was correct. Talking to the fool only disrupted the peace. “You’re right. Let’s not speak.”

Whatever proposal Douma had felt the need to divulge earlier was quickly forgotten, and the two demons basked in comfortable silence. 

Though in the stillness, his thoughts wandered to you, and that was just as infuriating as constant chatter. He should not have cared, but the thought of you waiting for him and realizing as the minutes passed by that he would not visit you that night, made him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. Was your heart aching, he wondered. Were you craving his touch, his kiss, him as ardently as he craved you. 

He had half a mind to send Douma away again, to invite you to the onsen with him instead and enjoy your warmth along with the water. To feel your gentle hands against his chest, your lips against his throat. 

It pained him not to come to you, and that in and of itself was reason enough to stay away.

Finally, with a contented sigh, Douma climbed out of the water and materialized his clothing, “Well, I feel invigorated but I’ve worked up an appetite. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to choose one from my flock?” he offered. “You’re awfully pale, my lord. I don’t think you’re eating enough.”

Muzan’s eye twitched. Those words were never well received. “I’ve fed enough. Begone.”

“Oh alright, but tomorrow I’ll introduce you to—”

“Nakime.” Muzan commanded, and in an instant the fool was removed from his presence. 

In the silence of the night, Muzan found peace. He remained in the onsen, allowing the warmth to cocoon him. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the sun, imagine its rays pooling around him, not deathly as they were to demons, but comforting, welcoming, soothing. 

And in his fantasy you lay beside him on the sun-warmed grass, gazing at him with those eyes, full of adoration and affection, tormenting him by adorning his hair with a crown of red leaves and pink flowers. 

“You’re absurd,” he chided you, though there was no venom behind it. He had no intention of stopping you. 

Muzan’s brow furrowed. Was it fantasy or memory? The two had often tangled since he met you. Her face and yours had merged in his mind to create one inseparable entity. 

“Well well… and here I thought you’d disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Muzan’s eyes shot open and he whirred around to face you, his pulse thundering. Never once in a thousand years had anyone been able to surprise him so. The air was ripe with your scent, your footsteps near deafening on the graveled pathway. And yet you had gone unnoticed, standing but a few feet away from him while he bathed. Had he allowed his senses to become so dulled by you? Had he grown so comfortable around you?

“It’s late,” was the only coherent thought he managed to summon into words. “You should be asleep.”

You shrugged, the shawl about your shoulders slipping ever so slightly. “I couldn’t sleep. Besides, you’re one to talk.” 

“I suppose I am.”

You smiled halfheartedly. Something was troubling you, and it pained him to imagine he could be the cause. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you—”

“No, it’s alright. I assumed with the Lord Founder’s return causing such a stir you’d simply gotten caught up in the celebration. I didn’t expect to see you at all.”

“I’m not one for parties,” Muzan replied. “And the onsen was calling my name.”

You nodded in understanding, walking to the edge of the water and crouching to dip your fingertips beneath the surface. A shiver ran through Muzan’s body; a deep ache he had yet to grow accustomed to, one he long thought himself immune from. The desire to be touched, to be close to you, the desire to be held and pleasured. And the desire to give pleasure in return. 

“How did you know where to look for me?” he asked, transfixed by the movement of your fingers beneath the water.

“I didn’t. I just wandered.”

His throat tightened. Was the universe so intent on tormenting him that it insisted on delivering you to him? “Do you want to join me?” 

Your eyebrows dipped in contemplation, no doubt engaged in that frustratingly human conflict between doing what you wanted and what was expected.  “We might be seen…”

“And?” 

You narrowed your eyes at his lack of concern for propriety, and Muzan found himself chuckling, but your expression soon faded into fondness. 

“You wicked man,” you whispered with a smile. “I have nothing to dry myself with anyway, as tempted as I am. I’ll sit on the edge and put my feet in, is that an adequate compromise?”

“So long as you’re happy,” he said, offering his hand to you as you sat on the edge of the pool, lifting the bottom of your yukata to midway up your thighs to dip your legs into the water. 

Your skin was only bared to him for a moment before his lips were tracing the length of your shins, his pride all but forgotten in your presence. Whatever power you held over him, he surrendered to it readily, gentle kisses turning heated as you ran your fingers through his dampened curls and offered your palm to his lips. 

Despite your insistence that he had caused no harm, there was something troubling you; he wasn’t so far detached from humanity that he couldn’t sense it. There was a desperation to you he hadn’t felt before when you reciprocated his kiss, parting your thighs to make space for him, not caring one bit if your clothes got soaked when he pressed his body against yours. 

You were sad. That was it. Your heart was breaking. And the thought that it was because he had neglected to come to you in favor of speaking to his subordinate did not sit comfortably with him. 

“Forgive me,” he whispered, as though those words were easy to utter. “Let me make it up to you.”

His kisses trailed down your body, one hand on your belly urging you to lay back with a gentleness he hardly knew he possessed. Yet you resisted, stubborn creature that you were, in favor of watching him as he slid away your undergarments and pressed the first devout kiss to your cunt, your breath hitching at the sudden spark of pleasure deep within your core. 

And gods, at that first taste of you, at the sound of your fractured breath, he was undone, the meek demeanor of Tsukihiko shedding away fully. Again and again he kissed you; his tongue caressing, tasting, teasing, pursuing your bliss with all the tenacity of a rabid beast.

So soft, so tender, flesh more exquisite than any he’d ever known. Your taste was like nothing else. Gods, how he’d missed it. 

He stifled your cries against his palm, the ache of his arousal gnawing at him, yet he ignored it in favor of your pleasure. Dragging the flat of his tongue along the length of your slit again and again, he licked you until your nectar dripped from his chin and you quivered beneath him. And then he lapped at your clitoris, surrounded it with his lips and kissed it with fervent hunger, enraptured by every frantic pulse of your sex. Until at last you cried in ecstasy, tensed and throbbed beneath his mouth, tugged sharply on his hair and squirmed in his arms, signaling for him to stop. 

And stop he did, eyes wide and wild and far too demonic, claws and fangs bared without restraint. Thank goodness you were still out of your mind with pleasure and he had time to compose himself before you sat up and pulled him to you, kissing him like it was the last kiss the two of you would ever share. 

What a fool he was to have believed that he could stay away from you. 

“Am I forgiven?” he asked between heated kisses as your fingers tangled in his hair and your trembling legs wrapped around his waist. 

“There was never anything to forgive,” you assured him, the gentle caress of your palm across his cheek, granting him more solace than he had felt in centuries. 

He felt himself smile, genuinely, without restraint, gazing into your eyes. “You’re soaked.”

“Yes, you saw to that,” you replied, glancing down at the wet cloth of your yukata. “Now I suppose there’s no reason for me to avoid getting into the onsen with you, is there?”

“No,” Muzan said, pulling loose the knot of your obi. “None at all.”

Chapter 9. 

The water of the onsen was black and infinite, and in the gentle abyss you found much needed comfort. 

Tsukihiko’s arms wrapped firmly around your waist, your taste lingering on his lips, your name whispered into their heated air between kisses. 

He was perfection, there was no other word for it; a man far too beautiful to be human but too vulnerable to be anything else. His heart was tender, healing, and he offered it to you with such aching sincerity you simply could not refuse.  He gazed at you with reverence as you perched on a rock ledge beneath the water, caging his hips between your thighs.

“Are you certain?” he asked, his lack of concern for propriety overridden by his constant desire to do right by you. Tsukihiko, you were rapidly learning, secretly believed the world owed him a favor, but never you. You owed him nothing. Everything, every gesture, every word, every kiss, was received like a gift he saw no entitlement to. 

He was beautiful,  wonderful, frustratingly perfect, and you had to let him go. 

Still, you saw no harm in modeling his behavior for the night. If you were to die at the hands of Muzan Kibutsuji in an effort to rid the world of demons, the least the world owed you was one night of pleasure. 

“Yes,” you said, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear and eliciting an almost feral growl at the back of your lover's throat. “I want to fuck you.”

Bracing your hands on the pool’s edge, you allowed yourself a moment’s indulgence, basking in the simple pleasure of Tsukihiko’s lips against your neck, the sharp pinch of his teeth against your flesh, and the excitement of knowing his control was slipping because of you.

He bowed his back, trailing his kisses lower, cupping your left breast in his hand and mouthing at your nipple with clumsy desperation, moaning softly as you put your head back and sighed in pleasure. 

The man was intoxicated by you, besotted, a shuddering breath escaping him as he rocked his hips, allowing his cock to slide back and forth along the length of your slit, his foreskin drawn back over his fat tip, rubbing against your clit so deliciously. He groaned against your breast as he teased the two of you, savoring the intimacy and the build-up until he could stand it no longer. And then he pressed the head of his cock against the opening of your cunt. There was a slight resistance as he eased into you, the water of the onsen had washed away most of your wetness, but your body gave way to accommodate him. A shiver ran through you both as he pushed inside and bottomed out with a groan. Perfect. He felt perfect. As though the two of you were made to be lovers. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve craved you,” he whispered, his face nestled in the space between your neck and your shoulder. “How many nights I’ve yearned to feel your touch once more.”

“I’ve craved you too,” you told him, “I want you so badly.”

Not just then, but always. You wanted to spend every night in his arms, yearned to grow old with him, longed to steal back every moment the cruel world demanded you sacrifice for people who would never even know your name or the magnitude of your deeds. 

You surrendered your hold on the pool’s edge to hold him, and the moment he felt your arms slide around his back, the muscles beneath your fingers flexed as he shifted his grip. Broad hands swept down the length of your spine to cup the flesh of your backside and his hips began to move.

Slow, savoring movement, grinding his pelvis against yours, chasing your pleasure above his own. 

You opened your eyes to find him watching your expression, seemingly fascinated by you, as if committing every detail of you to memory. 

“Like this?” he asked. “Is this what you want?”

It was perfect, as if he knew your body like he knew his own. And yet the night might have been your last, so you issued him with a simple command. “More.”

His lips curved into a feral smile, the sharp tips of his canines revealed in the pale moonlight. “More?”

“Don’t hold back.”

And he didn’t. 

He braced his knee on the ledge beside your thigh, giving himself leverage to thrust without restraint. And Gods, what pleasure then, his strength unlike any lover you’d known before. He was relentless, bestial, rutting against you, hard, fast, every sharp thrust punctuated by a breathless cry that never left the back of his throat; “Huh-uh-uh-” 

Nothing else mattered, not in that moment. Just the relentless pounding of his hips, the pinch of his nails digging into the flesh of your back as he dragged you out of the onsen and onto the smooth rocks at its shore where his strokes were unhampered by the water. You bucked your hips beneath him, meeting his stroke, rewarded by a guttural cry and the exquisite pain of his teeth pressing into the flesh of your shoulder. 

“Fuck. Oh fuck!” you cried out in agony and bliss. 

He tried to pull back, but you held him in place, pushing his head back down, urging him to bite harder. In pleasure there was solace. In pain there was catharsis. 

He brought you to the very precipice with him, his body trembling in your arms as he came undone. And he remained sheathed inside you even after his orgasm passed, one hand cradling the back of your head as the onsen’s waters lapped at your feet, only the slightest, slowest thrust breaking the stillness between you. With every languid grind of his hips, you couldn’t help but moan against his lips, the pleasure overwhelming, lingering. He pulled back to watch you, eyes dancing across your features.

“More?” he asked.

“Yes. Don’t stop.”

Your word was his command. He pistoned his hips again and again, his cock still unfathomably hard, fucking you with such desperation it seemed as though he too knew it would be the first and last time for you both. And you were both so greedy for each other, your nails raking across his shoulders, his teeth bared against your throat. You no longer cared if you were heard or seen. You silently cursed the world for demanding you rescind the happiness you had found in his arms, and scorned it with every fevered kiss. 

And when your pleasure peaked he held you firm, surrounding you with his arms and holding you as your cries of pleasure faded and all that remained in the stark silence of the night was your breath and his, and the whispered declarations it hurt you to hear. 

“I love you,” he said, tenderly kissing the aching spot on your shoulder that bore the marks of his teeth, “So very much.”

“Tell me I’m yours,” you said.

“You are. And I belong to you.”

And that was enough. 

Later, he brought you to your room, his curls still dripping as he bid you goodnight, kissing you softly on the cheek before he parted and leaving an unbearable emptiness in his wake. 

I love you too, you longed to call out to him. 

But it was done. It was over. 

A fitting goodbye.

You dressed in dry clothes and left your room, making your way to Douma’s quarters where the air was thick and heavily perfumed. His rooms were a separate temple all to their own, devoted to nothing but his enjoyment and pure opulence. The demon reclined contentedly on a mountain of silk pillows, sucking smoke from his waterpipe. 

He grinned as you approached. “Well, well my sweet thing. You smell just lovely tonight. I trust your lover treated you well?”

“I’m ready, Douma,” you said, causing his smile to widen.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I want to become a demon.” 

For years you had trained as a slayer, working to master your breathing and control the flow of strength to your body. And it took all of that training to steady your heart, to remain calm, to force the words from your lips and ensure they sounded genuine. You focused on that, on the mission, bristling with anticipation, attempting to prepare yourself to face the king of all demons. No matter how horrific he was to look at, you had to adore him. No matter how cruel his words, you would let them wash over you and dangle the promise of information too tempting to ignore before his rancid snout. 

You steeled your nerve and cemented your fate. “I want to meet your master and become one of you.”

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A short walk from the temple a man lay dead, his lifeless eyes still pleading for mercy even after his heart had ceased to beat. It was meaningless. Muzan wasn’t hungry, the man had not insulted him or committed any crime beyond simply crossing the demon king’s path as he stalked through the mountains in search of… of what?

Muzan’s body could recover from injury in an instant. Blades, arrows, wisteria flowers; the pain they inflicted was momentary, more a nuisance than anything. But you, the ache you caused. That was pure agony. 

He continued his walk, hoping that the mountain air might offer clarity. 

A light shone in the temple below, cradled by the darkness of the valley, and he found himself wondering if it was you. Were you lying in your room with your lamp still lit, recalling the passion you had shared in perfect detail as he was. Did your heart lunge too whenever you thought of him? Did your blood burn for him as his did for you?

And what was he going to do with you? That was the most pressing matter of all. He had deceived humans before, charmed and manipulated them for his own gain without ever revealing his true nature. And those who had come to know what he was usually cursed his name, screamed in terror and tried to run. 

The thought of you running from him was enough to cause his jaw to clench. He could never reveal his true nature to you. Nor was it necessary. 

It would be so easy to live beside you undetected for the rest of your mortal life, aging his body on purpose so you would never suspect what he was. He would remain Tsukihiko until you died in his arms, loved and comforted by a lifetime of lies, whispering a name that was not his.

But then what? What void would you leave behind for him to dwell within.

Frustration simmered in his veins as he raised his hands to cover his face and growled against his palms. No. He would not watch you die. He would not be left alone when you slipped away from him. 

“You are mine,” he muttered as though you stood beside him. “And I will not let this accursed world tear you from my side. I will find the blue spider lily and perfect my immortality, and then I will find a way for you to defy death alongside me. Not a demon but something else.”

After all the cruelty the world had inflicted on him, it owed him that at least. It owed him you. And if it did not hand you to him willingly, he would tear the world asunder until it surrendered you. 

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he tried to make sense of the veritable bramble thicket his thoughts had become. Barbs in every direction, yet when he was with you the world seemed not only simpler, but softer than he had ever known it to. 

One thing was certain, he would have to convince you to leave the temple and away from Douma. The upper moon had a preference for devouring women like you, and Muzan would not risk that. 

“Simple enough. Tomorrow night I will ask you to run away with me, marry me, and begin our domestic pantomime.”

The words were ash on his tongue. 

He wasn’t quite sure why he returned to the temple before dawn rather than seeking the sanctuary of his fortress, other than a simple yet infuriating desire to remain somewhat close to you a while longer. 

He wandered the gardens for a time, noticing most of the flowers had gone, no doubt withering away to nothing as the year drew to a close. The maple tree which had become your meeting point was beginning to drop its leaves and he sat beneath it for a time, watching insects crawl amongst the foliage until they noticed his presence and scurried away with an urgency they didn’t even afford to humans. 

Centuries ago there had been a tree just like it in the garden of his estate, its crimson boughs visible from his bedroom on the days he could stand to have the window open. On the worst days that tree had been the goal for the sickly mortal boy he had been. 

“If you feel better tomorrow we could try to sit beneath the maple,” you’d said, massaging an astringent balm onto his back which some quack had promised was a miracle cure and charged him an extortionate sum. “The sunlight will do you good.”

The pain was unbearable that day. Even drawing breath was agony. “Fuck the sun. And be gentle. Your hands feel like ox hooves.”

Such careful, gentle touches. Such patient love cruelly branded onto his soul so he could never escape you. 

“Lord Muzan!” 

Muzan’s jaw clenched as Douma’s voice carried across the garden, the upper moon beaming as he approached. Perhaps he would return to the infinity fortress after all. 

“Isn’t the garden beautiful tonight?” Douma said, “I’m so pleased you’ve been spending so much time here lately.”

“Not for much longer,” Muzan said, rising to his feet in one graceful movement.

“Awh, really? That’s a pity. Well, in that case let me give you a parting gift.”

The demon king arched a skeptical brow. “What is it?”

“A surprise, one you’re going to love, I'm certain.” 

Muzan despised surprises, but knowing Douma as he did, the gift could be anything ranging between a severed head to the damned blue spider lily formula perfectly recreated. Besides, if the demon displeased him, tearing off his limbs and beating him with them till sunrise might’ve been somewhat therapeutic. 

“This way!” Douma grinned, leading him into the temple’s main building, to the curtained off area you and he had once sat together in and talked over dinner. 

The curtains were sheer enough for him to make out the vague form of a woman dressed all in white, the upper moon’s penchant for opulence and drama applied to full effect. The floor was scattered with petals. The smoke of incense coiled from the burners, peppering the air and clouding his senses. 

“What is this?” Muzan demanded to know. “Douma…”

“She knows what we are, my lord. She isn’t afraid. And she wants to become one of us.” Douma’s elegant hands curled around the pulley cord of the curtain, parting the swathes of fabric with a gentle tug.

And there you stood, dressed all in white silk the way you had been the first time he laid eyes on you a thousand years ago. 

And the world once again stood still. 

Chapter 10. 

It was a joke. It had to be. You’d spent so long in Douma’s company you’d almost forgotten how cruel he could be.

Tsukihiko stared back at you, dumbfounded, his eyes widening at the sight of you draped in silk so fine you might have spent your entire life never knowing what it felt like beneath your fingertips if not for Douma’s sick little joke. 

You were dressed all in white, Tsukihiko in black; two halves of a whole. Pieces in a game only Douma seemed to know the rules to.

Whatever the upper rank demon had planned, you had to get that innocent man to safety no matter the cost. Your mind whirred with half-conjured, insufficient plans.

“Isn’t she lovely?” Douma was saying, his arm slipping comfortably across your shoulders before he whispered softly into your ear. “My sweet thing, this is Lord Muzan. He can make you into a demon like us, and then you’ll become strong and live forever…”

“Douma…” Tsukihiko said, his voice low and quietly commanding.

“Hm? Yes, my lord?” the demon at your side turned, smiling… obeying. 

“Leave.”

“Oh!” Douma gleefully clapped his hands. “Lord Muzan!! I knew you’d love her!”

Your lover’s eyes were burning red like hot coals, his pupils slitted like those of a cat. The air itself seemed to shiver and recoil, leaving your lungs completely empty. 

“Tsukihiko?” you whispered, a desperate plea, but even as you uttered his name you knew it was wrong. Some part of you had always known.

The man in black took a step toward you, still every bit as beautiful as he had always been. And yet, the demon at your side called him by the name of your sworn enemy. And he did not correct him. 

“Your name is Muzan?” you asked, the pounding of your pulse throbbing in your ears as you tried to keep your voice steady.

He paused, his lips parting slightly, as though he’d waited so long to hear you speak his name. “Yes.”

The acrid tang of bile rose in your throat and the world tilted beneath your feet. The fires of hell licked at your skin and lit the threads of your veins like a fuse. “Muzan Kibutsuji.”

His eyes widened at the sound of his full name, his breath audibly catching. “How did… oh…” The light in his eyes blazed with malicious intent as he stepped closer still. “I see.”

The air between you pulsed with danger and the desperate plea of your aching, foolish heart. It could not be real. You were dreaming. You had to be. The man you loved could not be Muzan Kibutsuji. 

Douma remained at your side, his shimmering eyes darting between the two of you before he released a pensive, “Huh…”

At once, Muzan’s eyes snapped toward the unwelcome audience, and faster than you could blink, the upper moon was gone along with his temple. 

You and Muzan stood facing each other in a room lit by the golden glow of electric lamps. The paper walls glowed a comforting amber as the air around you shifted and groaned. Pristine tatami mats padded the reddish cedar floorboards, soft and comfortable underfoot, but completely without scent. Beyond the windows sat another building, though its architecture made no sense. Walls upon walls, staircases which led nowhere, pathways one would have to defy gravity to walk. 

“The Infinity Fortress,” Muzan said in answer to your unspoken question. “We can talk without anyone else listening.”

You could talk, yes, but what to say? How could you put the maelstrom thrashing around in your heart and mind into words? Your lips parted, preparing to vent some of the pressure building in your throat but no sound came. 

“You’re a demon slayer?” Muzan said, more a statement than a question. “One of Ubuyashiki’s hounds sent to sniff me out.”

“You're Muzan Kibutsuji,” was all you could say in reply, painfully aware of how childish you sounded, whispering the demon’s name into the space between you. But in truth, it was the only way you could make sense of it all. Tsukihiko was gone— no, the man you’d loved had never even existed. It was all a lie and you needed to hate the monster that took his shape. 

A soft hum emerged from the demon king as he turned his back to you and walked toward a simple wooden chest, placing his hands gently on either side and opening it. “The Infinity Fortress is the domain of one of my demons. She obeys my command. I asked her to place us in a room with all that we needed to have this conversation.” He turned back to face you, a sheathed sword in his hand. “It appears our first lovers’ quarrel will be a bloody one.”

“We are not lovers,” you spat, lightning crackling through your veins as the demon tossed the sword to the ground by your feet.

“No?”

You crouched to pick up the blade, not daring even to blink. Even armed you stood no chance against the demon king. It was suspected that the combined strength of every hashira wasn’t even enough to defeat him. But the sword in your hand was solid and familiar, something to cling to as those plum-colored eyes watched you through slitted pupils.

“It won’t even hurt you, will it?” you asked bitterly. 

“No.”

“Then why give it to me?”

“So you can at least say that you fought.”

The moment you pulled the blade from its sheath he moved to strike, your reflexes kicking in and your blade tearing through the sleeve of his yukata. Crimson blood pooled in the slit causing your throat to close. That blood was the source of all that was evil and demonic in the world. And it was also the essence of the man you loved, a man you never wanted to harm. 

No, you had to stop thinking like that. That man had never existed and the thing which stood before you deserved to bleed. 

As soon as the wound opened it healed.

“Tell me then,” Muzan said. “Has your master stooped so low as to order his slayers to seduce his enemy now?”

“What are you talking about?”

His expression darkened as the lips that had kissed you with such devout tenderness curled back to reveal his fanged teeth. A clawed hand darted out toward you, your blade meeting his wrist with a sickening thud. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t continue his attack either. 

“For centuries the Ubuyashiki family has hunted me, doing all that they can to prevent me from discovering the whereabouts of the blue spider lily. But it seems he is even more malicious and cruel than I gave him credit for.” 

A black vine burst from the back of his hand, barbed and vicious as it wrapped around your wrist, tethering you to him. A sharp spike of pain radiated from the only thorn pointing inward and pricking your skin, drawing a single drop of your blood. 

 “I was not sent to seduce you, I didn’t even know you would be at the temple. My mission was to befriend Douma and have him tell me the whereabouts of your stronghold.” 

His eyes narrowed, the vine around your wrist tightening and dragging you toward him. “I believe you.”

The vine retreated, creating the perfect opening to strike. Your blade sliced through the air, cutting the flesh of his thigh before he blocked it, the impact of his forearm jarring yours like slamming into rock. 

Again and again you struck, and again and again he fought back, his moves thinly veiled attempts to block under the guise of an attack. You fought with everything you had, your frustration reaching its boiling point as your attacks did nothing. All your training, your experience, all your fury and skill were nothing, not even a mild inconvenience. 

“You’re toying with me,” you hissed. “You could kill me in an instant.”

He said nothing, but struck toward your chest, the collision of his fist against your sternum enough to knock the air from your lungs and send you staggering backward. Your backside hit the tatami mats with a heavy thud. And you could barely move your sword, the fatigue sudden and all consuming as you flopped exhausted onto your back. 

Suddenly he was staring down at you, his face a picture of neutrality. Before you came to the temple, the thought of facing Muzan Kibutsuji alone would have chilled you to the bone, but as you stared up at him, you didn’t feel a single shred of fear. Only… sorrow and something else. Anger. That was it. Gods, you wanted to tear the castle to splinters with your bare hands.

As if hearing your wish, the floor gave way beneath you, sending you plummeting headfirst through an endless abyss. Darkness surrounded you, the air rushing past your ears, the only other soul in that infinite pit the demon king himself. He fell with you, composed, upright, gripping your blade in his hands so tight his blood sprayed from his palms and into the air as he guided the sword to the pale skin of his throat. 

“When we land, you can use the momentum to remove my head,” he said.

“Would that work?”

“Not for me, no. But perhaps for you.”

The very sight of him incensed you. Your lips had traced every inch of his face, those hands had held you so gently. In your weakest moments you had mapped out a life with him despite some part of you knowing it could never be. You knew him. You loved him. And he loved you.

“Was it real?” you demanded to know. “Any of it?”

He looked back at you, and with utmost sincerity he tore your heart completely in two, “All of it. Every moment.”

With a flick of your wrist, your sword tumbled into the darkness and away from his throat. The two of you slammed into the ground, far softer than such a fall should have allowed, but with enough force to wind you again. 

Your fragmented breaths were the only thing breaking the heavy silence between you, the agony spreading throughout your entire body. And silently you cursed him, cursed your master for sending you on the mission and the hashira who first whispered the idea into his ear. You cursed Douma and the fools who gathered in his temple unknowingly praying for death. And above all else you cursed the world for making Muzan Kibutsuji, the demon king, for taking the man you loved and turning him into a monster. 

“It was real for me too,” you said at last, eliciting a bitter chuckle from the demon's lips as he lay at your side. 

But it couldn’t be. You knew it as well as you knew the sun would rise in the morning whether you were still a part of the world or not. It was wrong to love him. He was not a man but a demon; vile, cruel, the epitome of evil.

He had to be, because if he wasn’t, then perhaps it meant that you were. 

“Raise your sword, slayer,” he said, rising to his feet and observing you from above like you were a specimen on a microscope he needed to understand to make sense of everything. “Your heart is still so full of rage.”

Your hand trembled weakly as it searched the floorboards beneath you, until it finally wrapped around the hilt of the discarded blade. Every muscle in your arm screamed for rest. But he was right, you needed to go on, to fight, to resist, if only to say you did.

With a groan you rolled onto your front, your trembling arms lifting you from the ground, only to collapse beneath you. That low, thoughtful hum you’d come to know so well sounded at your back before Muzan appeared in front you, crouching to help you up.

You should have been afraid. You should have recoiled. You should have spat in his face and cut his head from his shoulders. It’s what you had been trained all your life to do, afterall. But the man crouching before you was gentle, patient, lifting you to your feet and cupping your burning cheek against his cool palm

“Keep fighting,” he urged you, his fingers curling on top of yours to keep them wrapped around your hilt. “You need to. There’s more to this than you know. Factors I myself am yet to reconcile.”

“What are you—” you shook your head, trying to make sense of it all. And yet some part of you knew what he was about to say. 

“You have always fought until you had nothing left. In this life,” he said, his brow puckering in contemplation before finally adding, “and in the life I once knew you in.”

A wave of cold washed through you as his words settled around you. And you knew, you understood, that pervading sense of belonging you had always felt in his presence. Your soul knew him even when your mind told you it was impossible. Your soul had always known his.

“A beast found its way into our home,” you said, recalling the story he had once told you with tears welling in his eyes. “The neighbors thought it was a wolf… or a bear. It attacked…” You pushed past the gathering nausea in your throat. “Me… in our bed and left nothing but blood and bones where I once lay.”

“You remember?” he asked, his voice but a breathless whisper of relief.

But you were once more tumbling into darkness.

There was no way to know how much time had passed when you awoke, but the world around you had drastically changed. You lay upon a plush futon, sheer curtains softening the brilliant light beyond them. The furniture in the room was ancient in style, yet the condition of it was new, all except for a big, beautiful vase which sat in the corner, covered in hairline cracks, as though someone had shattered it to pieces and meticulously put it together. And the sight of it caused your heart to squeeze. How you loved that vase.

“Muzan?” you called, not because you suspected he was nearby, but because the thought that he wasn’t was too horrible to bear.

Perhaps he’d fallen. Perhaps he’d tried to walk in the garden by himself and didn’t have the energy to make it back. Sudden panic pulled you from the bed, the pain in your body entirely forgotten as you pulled apart the curtains, expecting the familiar sight of the mansion’s garden. 

But in place of the maple tree, there was only darkness and distant, ever-shifting architecture illuminated by artificial light.

“We’re still in the Infinity Fortress,” Muzan said, sitting on the futon you had just risen from. “Nakime built it to my specifications.”

His appearance had altered, but it was still most definitely him. In fact, as he watched you from the bed in his comfortable white kosode, his long black hair spilling down over his shoulders, he looked more like himself than he ever had.

“How is your pain today?” you asked. 

He shook his head dismissively. “Non-existent.”

That should not have pleased you as it did. But you found your heart considerably lighter as you approached the futon and knelt by his feet, taking his hands in yours and looking for wounds. They were healed completely, you noted before admonishing yourself for such a foolish thought. Of course the wounds had healed; a thousand years had passed since he’d smashed the vase. 

No. That wasn’t right. The wounds from your sword had healed because he was a demon.  

“Muzan, what’s happening to me?” you asked, glancing up at him to be met with those rich carmine eyes, far too full of confusion and sorrow to be anything but human. 

He remained silent, contemplating your words while your hands remained joined. He traced a finger over the pinprick wound on your wrist and sighed. “In centuries, I have ended countless lives and never seen any evidence of gods or a world beyond our own. I have never received divine punishment. I have never encountered the vengeful spirit of a victim. People die and cease to be, that is the end of it. Or so I thought. No, I didn’t just think it, I knew.” There was real terror in his eyes, a silent and pervading dread as he looked up at you. “But I know with all certainty that my soul knows yours. We are bound somehow.” 

You nodded, already understanding the answer you sought from him. “I was yours in another life, and you were mine, in a room just like this. There was a maple tree with blood red leaves which burned like fire when the sun shone through them in the afternoon, and we would sit beneath it and curse the world together.”

“You say it so plainly.” He sighed, still agonizing even as he spoke. “It can’t be. But it is, isn’t it? You are her.”

“How long has it been?”

“A thousand years.”

“And the world is as shit to us as ever.”

The demon king laughed softly before laying back on the futon and making room for you to lay beside him. An overwhelming sense of belonging overcame you as you rested your head against his chest, like being swaddled in a warm blanket that had always been yours. 

There was nothing you could say to make sense of it, nothing you could offer him beyond the simple gesture of tenderly cupping his face and pressing your lips to his. And he kissed you like it was the first and last kiss you would ever share. Tender, adoring, desperate. The anger you had felt was gone, replaced by relief. Finally, finally you were home. 

“I wonder if it was just the once,” you mused later as you lay in his arms, your fingers idly fidgeting with the long waves of his hair. “Or have our paths crossed many times, many incarnations, and you’ve killed me in every one of them.”

His eyes narrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Why would you put that thought into my head, you wretched thing?”

“Well, it would serve you right”

“Would it now?”

“Yes. The pitfalls of indiscriminate killing—”

“Ah.” The subtle smile dropped from his lips. 

You brought up a hand to rest against his cheek, relishing the way he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. Oh, you were most assuredly going to hell, but he would be there alongside you, and in that notion you found a strange sort of solace. “I don’t know what will happen or how we’ll do it,” you said, pressing your lips to his brow, “but we’ll find a way to restore your humanity.”

His eyes shot open, brows slanting in confusion. The air seemed to shift, to become harsh and cold. “Restore my humanity?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

He sat, pulling himself from your embrace and glaring back at you. “No.”

Your heart plummeted as he moved away, climbing from the bed and pacing toward the window with its nothingness beyond.

“Muzan, we can be together…”

“I will not surrender my strength, nor will I die. I will find the blue spider lily and become a perfect being, and I will make you immortal too. Fuck our souls, we will be bound together for eternity.”

“I don’t want that.” Horrified, you rose from the bed to follow him, reaching out to take his hand. In one swift motion he pulled it from your gentle grasp as though the touch of your hand burned him. “Muzan… we can save you. We can talk to Master Ubuyashiki. One of the hashira studies medicine. Maybe—”

“Enough! I will not die,” he hissed. “How dare you ask that of me?”

“How dare I? How dare you ask me to become like you?”

He froze, eyes wild with fury. “Like me? A monster? Is that what you think?”

“Do you deny it?” you asked. 

He simply looked away, his lip curling to reveal his elongated fangs. No matter how human he appeared, it was only ever a facade. 

“You are a monster. How many people have you killed? How many lives have you ended like they were nothing, mine included.” The fire in your belly rose once more as those crimson eyes burned through you, his slitted pupils narrowing. “Muzan, I love you, but I cannot love the demon you’ve become—”

“Then your love means nothing,” he said, turning his back to you. “And neither do you.” 

You were back in your room in the temple faster than you could blink, and Muzan was no longer there. Your anger spilled over, hot tears lining your eyelashes as you bitterly cursed his name. 

“Ah, my sweet thing, there you are,” Douma sing-songed from the corner of the room, causing your heart to freeze. 

“Oh, Douma,” you breathed, placing your hand over your racing heart. There was a strange sort of relief in seeing him, the familiarity and comfort of your old friend. 

He watched you, a curious smile playing across his lips as he toyed with a scrap of paper between his fingertips. “I found this in a little pouch in your dresser while I was tidying away your clothes. It’s very interesting.”

Every cell of your body screamed at you to run. That paper… the little scroll your crow had brought you, relieving you of your duty. “Wait—”

“I am writing to tell you that, should you believe this mission to be a lost cause, I give you my full support for you to leave the temple. At present there have been no sightings of the demon, Douma, nor of Muzan Kibutsuji.”

Your blood turned to ice as he recited Master Ubuyashiki’s letter. “Douma. That’s not—”

“Oh but this is my favorite part. It’s so sweet,” the demon chuckled as he continued reading, “You have done well and I do not wish for you to feel anything less than proud. Thank you for your bravery and for all that you have done to further our cause. Ubuyashiki Kagaya, master of the Demon Slayer Corps. What a nice man. He sounds very polite, except for the little matter of wanting to kill myself and my dear lord Muzan.” 

“Speak to Muzan. You don’t understand.” 

“Don’t I?” He pouted, his dark eyebrows slanting in contemplation. “I’ve met many little liars in my temple, but none of them are quite as horrible as you. You sat beside me, listening to my stories, making me believe we were friends, and all the while you were planning to kill me, weren’t you? You were daydreaming about cutting off my head.”

He closed the space between you, backing you into a corner, the air pulsing with danger and sickening dread. Your pulse thundered. Every hair on the back of your neck stood on end as the weight of inevitability crushed you. “Please, D—”

And those were the last words you ever spoke. 

Chapter 11. 

The replicated Heian-era room lay in rubble around Muzan, pieces of shattered pottery scattered on the tatami mats, the curtains torn to shreds. Wrath and ruin were all he was capable of, so wrath and ruin he embraced. 

How dare you. 

The thought of him as a mortal man, weak, fragile, every beat of his heart a countdown to inevitable death, filled him with dread and a fear like nothing else could conjure. 

At least, that's the way it had been before you came back to him. Now the thought of spending eternity alone was even worse.  

As much as you had angered him, you had impressed him too, fighting so defiantly against him, knowing full well that you could not win. You were exactly who he needed. Fate, cruel bitch that it was, was also absolutely correct in its insistence to bring you to him. He belonged to you, and you to him. 

Still, you would require time to think over all that had happened and give your temper time to cool, as would he. He resolved to return to the temple the next night and try again to make you see from his perspective. 

He crouched and began picking up the shards of pottery. In his own way he had come to love it, to cherish it, knowing that no matter how many times it was broken it could always be mended. 

As he collected the pieces, Nakime appeared in the window, kneeling respectfully at the threshold. “Lord Muzan, upper moon two has arrived in the Infinity Castle.”

Muzan clenched his back teeth. His mood was still sour from the quarrel, though he supposed, he should speak to Douma and inform him that you were to remain comfortable at the Eternal Paradise temple until the two of you were ready to converse civilly. If he could only make you see…

“Very well,” Muzan said.

She needed no further instruction. The upper moon appeared before him an instant later, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the destruction all around the demon king. 

“My my, the place looks lovely,” Douma chuckled. The sickly scent of death and incense filled the room, closing Muzan’s throat. His footsteps padded against the floor to a torn curtain which he inspected and tutted mournfully. “Aw, this is silk. It’s very nice—”

“Douma,” Muzan said, not even sparing him a glance as he continued his meticulous recovery of the vase. “The woman you brought to me. Take care of her.”

“Already done, my lord.”

“Good.”

The upper rank smiled contentedly, laying on the futon with an exaggerated sigh. “Ahh… this is comfortable. Sadly I’ve already eaten tonight and I’m still full.” He patted his stomach and stared at the ceiling. “But she’s gone. You have nothing to worry about from nasty little slayers.”

Muzan grew still, his fingers hovering an inch above a shard. Since Douma arrived, the air reeked of death, of blood… of you. No… No. His blood ran cold. “What have you done?”

The fool sat up, that damnable smile plastered onto his face slowly slipping. “My lord?”

A feeling unlike anything Muzan had ever known surged in his chest. Dread more powerful than that of his own death which had haunted him for a thousand years. It was nauseating, chilling, he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t make sense of a single thing around him. All he knew was that he needed to go to you.

Nakime needed no instruction. A moment later Muzan was storming through the Eternal Paradise temple’s hallways toward your room. Dread sat like a lead weight on his chest, the cold creeping sensation of inevitability churning his stomach and darkening his vision. 

He felt so disgustingly human as he hesitated outside your door before sliding it open. 

Your room was as it always was, and there you lay, serenely tucked up in bed. Still, cold, lifeless. At once he had to turn away, his hands instinctively rising to cover his face as a burning hot mass gathered in the back of his throat and the world tilted around him. 

No. No. 

No it couldn’t be.

He summoned every ounce of strength he had, forcing the feeling down, commanding himself to remain calm.

“Stop this at once,” Muzan hissed, his intense gaze remaining fixed on the wall beside the door, refusing to look at you. “Whatever this is. If it’s some way to punish me for what I said, then consider the punishment dealt. You’ve done enough.”

Nothing. No subtle hiss of breath, no sign of life. Only death. Only emptiness. 

He turned back to face you once more, met with that awful, beautiful sight. 

Douma had indeed taken care of you, the shred of humanity his soul yet clung to ensuring your death was quick and painless. Eventually you would have been discovered and it would have been assumed that you died comfortably in your sleep, warm and at peace. Ascended to the paradise the temple promised. 

“Wake up!” Muzan snapped, the lights in the room flickering with his outburst. 

But you did not.

“Fine. If it pleases you to try it, we’ll search for a cure, as you call it. Will that make you happy? Will it bring you b—” He bit back his words, painfully aware of how pathetic he sounded. Gods, he was choking. 

He was still holding the shards of that damned vase, he realized, so he set them on the end of your bed before sitting beside you, lifting you into his arms and holding you to him. He’d watched you sleep for so many nights, listened to your shallow breaths, watched the subtle shifts in your features, the flickering of your eyelids as you dreamed, listened to you mumble and sigh. So many nights, yet, so few. And now there would be no more. 

You were gone. 

“I suppose you expect me to endure this life alone again for a thousand years?” he asked you, knowing you wouldn’t respond. “Is that my punishment for saying that you and your love meant nothing? Hm?”

A tear landed on your cheek, but it could not have been his. No, he would not believe that. Tears were a symptom of humanity, a sickness he was long ago rid of. He was loath to let them trickle down his cheeks. It was beneath him. 

“How dare you,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss the smooth space between your brow, hoping to find comfort where there could never be any again. “You said earlier that you remembered cursing the world with me. That the world was as shit to us as ever it was but there was more we didn’t get to say. So much more.” He smoothed a hand across your hair before standing, carrying your body in his arms as he left the room, if only to get away from the cloying scent of incense which pervaded the air. How he despised it, pressing his nose instead to the top of your head, breathing in your familiar scent. 

“The world is cruel,” he said, “It has always been. To take you from me once more… and yet it brought you to me. And I do not know which I resent more.”

He carried you outside, to where the air was clear and the maple tree’s leaves fluttered softly to the earth, laying a crimson carpet for the two of you to rest upon. The sky was already turning from black to deep blue, and his demonic instinct begged him to retreat, but he told himself he would hold you there a little while, until the ache in his chest ceased.

Even then, he knew it was a lie. There was nothing waiting for him once he let you go.

“A lonely eternity, knowing what could have been,” he whispered, his hand gliding  down your cold cheek, wiping away the mess of tears that had accumulated on your skin. “That is the hell you’ve condemned me to with your love. Even if your soul is reborn, what chance is there you will cross my path again? And how long will it be? How long are you going to make me wait this time? Centuries upon centuries, you stubborn creature.” A bitter huff of laughter escaped him, and he shook his head, raising his eyes to the rapidly brightening sky. 

He had once enjoyed the way the sunlight shone through the red leaves, the fiery light it cast down upon the two of you as you sat in your garden centuries ago. Every cell in his body told him to run, to hide from the merciless glare. But what could he run to? What was left for him? He could not answer, and so he remained, cradling your lifeless body in his arms. 

“I am afraid,” he admitted. “But then… I have always been.”

You had always softened the world’s hard edges. You with your patient love. And so he held you firm.

The sun was still hidden behind the mountains when the pain began, but Muzan was accustomed to pain. Besides, it was only cells and nerve endings. Grief was a far deeper, more savage agony, one he clung to as his grip around you tightened and the maple leaves began to glow that brilliant, blazing red. 

And then, there was nothing. 

Muzan stood alone in darkness, the white cloth of his kosode stark against the abyss. Panic struck his heart, the sudden realization that you were no longer in his arms, that he had let you go. He was alone. He called your name again and again, bleating helplessly into that eternal night.

“I’m here,” you said, and at once his heart knew peace. 

He fell to his knees before you as you wrapped your arms around him, cradling his head against you and stroking your hand through the long waves of his hair. He no longer had the power to change it, he realized, but strangely, that no longer mattered. 

“Forgive me,” he whispered, holding you to him with a strength far beyond anything he had possessed as a demon. 

“Always,” you said. 

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find you.”

Heat pressed against his back, the beckoning glow of hellfire he couldn’t shut out no matter how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face against you. 

“I think we’ll always find each other,” you said, your comforting touch enabling him to stand and face the inevitable. “And before you try to argue, I am coming with you. I have no intention of being reborn into a world you aren’t a part of.”

With the flames licking at his back, Muzan found himself able to stand, and unable to stop himself from smiling. You were right, there was little point in arguing. You were far too stubborn. So he took your hand, and walked into hell at your side. 

“My love,” he said. “My stubborn, ridiculous woman. I will love you for eons… even if the world will not allow it.”

Chapter 12- Another Life. 

“Your bloodwork results are promising,” Doctor Kocho said, switching the display so Muzan's tablet screen filled with the report from his recent tests. “If this continues I think it’s safe to say we should stick with the Lycorisol.”

Muzan nodded. “Agreed. It seems to be working well.”

“How are your pain levels?”

“About a five.”

“That’s good, considering when you first came to me you told me the numbers on the scale didn’t go high enough and you had quite a few choice suggestions on where I should shove my charts.”

“And look at me now,” he said dryly, watching as a black car pulled up on the gallery’s security screen monitor. His first visitor was right on time. 

The doctor laughed quietly. “Hopefully that number will be even lower at our next appointment.”

Muzan hummed in acknowledgement. Hope was becoming a familiar feeling, though one he remained hesitant to trust fully. “Thank you for your time, doctor. I’ll speak to you again next month.”

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Kibutsuji. Good luck with the exhibition.”

He ended the call, and pulled in a steadying breath. 

The exhibition had taken years of planning, and now that it was happening, he found himself uncharacteristically nervous. His shoes and walking cane clicked rhythmically on the polished wooden floor as he walked through his exhibit for what must be the hundredth time, inspecting each piece, as if decades’ of passion and practice could ever be erased simply by one of his vases being a fraction off-center. He was being ridiculous. 

Over the years he had honed his skills as a potter, his fascination with recreating ancient techniques and styles of ceramic bordering on obsession. Or so the magazine reviews had said anyway. 

His attention was drawn by the soft tap of footsteps behind him as a visitor entered the gallery, and at once his heart began to race. Nervous didn’t cover it. 

You walked slowly from piece to piece, studying the vases one by one, reading the little plaques he’d meticulously typed up describing his process behind each vase. And he could see it in your eyes, the vague interest but soul-deep yearning for… for what? That was what he needed to understand. What was the thing his pieces were lacking? Why did it never quite feel right? 

And then his eyes met yours and the world stood still. 

“Welcome,” he heard himself saying, though it seemed an insufficient greeting. He never was much of a people person.

“Hi,” you replied with a smile he almost felt he knew. “Are you the artist?”

He nodded. “I am. Muzan Kibutsuji.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you. I’ve been a fan of yours for a long time.”

“Oh…” His cheeks grew mortifyingly warm. “A fan.”

Gods, what was wrong with him? 

Your slanted smile made his pulse thunder, the sensation of your palm against his as the two of you shook hands damn near made him lightheaded. Yes, you were physically attractive to him, of course you were, but there was something else too. He’d known you for all of a minute, and yet the yearning he felt, the longing…

“This is going to sound so silly, but I think I’ve been daydreaming about coming here for so long I feel like we’ve already met,” you said. 

He gripped the head of his cane so tightly he felt as though the wood would splinter beneath his hand. “Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Oh, I could stay forever.”

“Please do,” he said, snapping his mouth shut as soon as the words left his lips.

But you simply laughed, quietly and not at all unkindly, glancing away as your own complexion darkened. And that’s when your eyes met the vase in the corner, the only one in the exhibition he had not made himself. 

“Oh… wow…” you said, walking closer to the piece. 

“Ah, that’s actually the vase which began my love of ceramics,” he said, standing beside you and finding himself transfixed by it as he always did. “I discovered the fragments inside an abandoned temple when I was twelve years old. The vase itself dates all the way back to the Heian period. It’s been broken and fixed many times. I used to play with it, putting it back together over and over like a puzzle until I learned the art of kintsugi.”

Your eyes traced the cracks he had permanently and painstakingly repaired with lacquer and gold powder. “It’s… I don’t know what it is…”

His heart sank just a little. “I suppose to most people it’s just a vase but I’ve always felt drawn to it.”

“No,” you said. “It’s not just a vase, is it? It’s a story.”

“Yes.” Muzan’s breath shook as he found himself suddenly on the verge of tears. His eyes met yours, and at once he felt as though he had found his place in the world. “You understand.”

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

Three years later that vase stood on a plinth at the very same gallery as guests mingled and congratulated you on your marriage. 

Your new husband glared from across the room, his social battery completely drained and yet he couldn’t quite hold back the wry smile tilting the corner of his lips at the sight of you in your wedding dress. 

Not that he didn’t look absolutely gorgeous himself in his sleek black suit. So gorgeous, in fact, that you found yourself completely unable to stop staring at him.

He said something inaudible to the people surrounding him and made his way toward you.  

“Mrs. Kibutsuji…” he said as he approached, his hand slipping around your waist to rest on the small of your back as he pressed his lips to your brow. “I’m tired.”

“I know, love. We only have four more hours of wedding to endure,” you said leaning into his kiss. “But if you like we can bail and head back to the hotel–”

“No, let's stay, I haven't danced with my wife yet, ” he said, the gentle smile he reserved so often for you softening his features, “I am, however, keen to stop… how did you phrase it?”

“Playing nice?”

“Yes.”

You chuckled as he led you to the dance floor, swaying you to the music. Your husband was a curmudgeon– often with good reason– but he was completely, undeniably besotted with you. It was plain to see in his eyes, those soft reddish-brown eyes which gazed at you like you were the only person in the universe for him. And he was certainly the only one in the universe for you. 

He grimaced at the sudden shower of flashes from the guests’ cameras.

You couldn’t help but laugh as his misery compounded. “You poor thing, it’s killing you, isn’t it?”

“I must have done something awful in a past life,” he grumbled, but he didn’t mean it one bit. Muzan, despite his outward appearance, was happier than he had ever been. And so were you. 

“You must have,” you said, your lips seeking his, your heart full with the knowledge that Muzan Kibutsuji, that terrible, wonderful man was yours forever. 

THE END. 

This is the only day you can reblog this

This is all we need as a jjk fan 😭🙏🏻

My copium au where they get to grow up

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.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @umemiaa @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs @drftnzume @k0z3me @k4zivy @dindjarins1ut @starrnai @tinyray-lovesfood @iloveoldermenn @dazqa @applepi25 @aria-chikage @rose-tinted-kalopsia @runfrme @unofficialsapphire

I love Jujutsu Kaisen men.

♂️

Masterlist

Thomas Shelby ;

- Mere silver 

- Dancing on broken glass

- My dear Charlie 

- a little tipsy

- when the moon disappears

-little daisy

-jailbreak

-on a mission

-faith

-random headcanons | “1”

-baby, its cold outside / a poor , innocent woman

- a man with a reputation ; series masterlist

Tutor Me

michael gavey x bimbo!reader

A/N: this was a request so i hope you enjoy! thank you to bel for putting michael creaming in his pants in my head.

TW: SMUT!! michael is mean and then he cums in his pants, this is the most filthy thing i've written perhaps

word count: 2,099 words

You knock three times on Michael Gavey’s door and flinch when he opens it just as you lay down the third knock.

Was he waiting at the door for you?

He’s almost annoyed by your presence before he takes in what you’re wearing, a tiny, lacy, pink, babydoll crop-top with a slit from your belly button to just below your breasts and the tiniest little white skirt that falls just below your bum. Oh, and don’t get him started on the godforsaken thigh-highs, the things are practically lethal.

“Um, Earth to Michael?” You wave a hand in front of his face to try and snap him back into reality. The poor man is starstruck at just the sight of you.

“S-Sorry yes… come in.” He stutters and steps back so you can walk in. 

You brush it off and strut into his room, sitting down on his bed. Oh god how he loves the sight of you on his bed with your skirt riding up ever so slightly and your plush thighs pressed together. You hold your textbook in your lap as he stares at you once again, clenching his hands into fists in an attempt to get his cock to stop rising.

“Are we going to get started?” You ask, trying to snap him out of it once again.

“Started with what?” He blurts out.

“Trig?”

“Oh yes, of course - sorry.” He mumbles and wipes his hands on his palms before apprehensively sitting next to you.

You open up your book and show him the problems you were struggling with.

“These are the questions you’re struggling to comprehend?” He asks condescendingly. “There aren’t many thoughts in that pretty little head of yours, are there?” He seems to get back to his old self with ease.

“Don’t be cruel.” You say with a huff. “Not everyone is as smart as you.”

“Clearly.”

“You won’t speak to me like this if you’re going to tutor me.” You say firmly.

“You can’t make demands when i’m doing you a favour.” He scoffs.

“You’re actually doing Ms. Jameson a favour and i’m sure she would be very disappointed if you couldn’t follow through.”

Michael grumbles something about how he wouldn’t be the one who wasn’t following through but sighs anyhow and begins to look at your attempts that you’ve written under each question. You cross your arms a bit smugly.

“Nothing else to say?” You taunt him.

“I’m trying to be nice…” He trails off when he glances up at you, noticing how your arms are crossed - noticing the way the action pushes up your tits.

You might be a little ditzy but you’re not that ditzy. “Are you really staring at my tits right now?”

“What? No - are you that full of yourself?” He sputters out, his cheeks turning red.

“You don’t spend much time around women, do you?” You giggle.

“Of course I do!” He protests and then grumbles out, “And i’m the rude one?”

“Michael, have you ever kissed a girl?” You ask a little gently.

“I’ve kissed loads!” He claims but his cheeks get redder.

“Oh well then. I was going to offer to teach you but there’s clearly no need.”

He’s silent for a moment, a long moment.

“Out.” He says finally.

“What?”

“Stop fucking with me like that and get out of my room.” He is clearly embarrassed, thinking you’re playing some cruel prank on him.

“I’m not messing with you.” You say but he’s already getting your things together.

“Like hell you’re not.” He shoves your things into your hands and stands to get the door. You put your stuff back down.

“I’m not leaving,”

“Yes you are. I won’t have you making a fool out of me and then giggling about it with your little friends.” He grabs your wrist to pull you to your feet.

“I don’t think you’re a fool. I like you.” You say earnestly.

“Bullshit.” He says but he isn’t dragging you to the door yet.

“I do, Michael. I think you’re cute.” He searches your eyes for dishonesty but the blush on your cheeks makes him inclined to believe you.

“Y-You do?” His eyes soften.

“I do.”

“And you’re not taking the mickey out of me?” He asks one more time, just to be sure.

You shake your head. “I’m not.”

“You really want to kiss me?’

“Only if you tell me the truth about how many girls you’ve kissed… and if you close that door.” You say sweetly.

Michael practically slams the door with haste and proceeds to lock it. “I haven’t kissed any girls.” He admits.

That was easy.

“Can we kiss now?” He asks eagerly and you giggle.

“Sit down on the bed.”

He does so right away, wiping his palms on the covers. You walk over to him slowly, so you can tease him even more. He gulps as you perch yourself right on his lap, straddling both his legs and oh boy do you feel how hard he is immediately. He’s bigger than you expected and you can tell even through his trousers.

“Are you ready?” You ask as you rub your hands up and down his chest and he nods swiftly in response. “Okay…” You whisper out before leaning in slowly to brush your lips gently against his. It’s definitely more than a peck but doesn’t leave him anywhere near satisfied. “How was that?”

“Good but I think we should do it again to be sure.” He says, clearly flustered.

“I think so too, but this time, you’ll open your mouth a bit.”

“O-Okay.” He breathes out and you press your lips against his once again, kissing him with more pressure this time. He opens his mouth and you slip your tongue past his lips to touch his tongue for a moment before pulling it back. He whimpers into your mouth and the two of you begin to properly makeout at this point as Michael grows his confidence. He is an… aggressive kisser so to say but it’s clearly because of how excited he is. You’ve never seen someone act so excited to just kiss you before. You lift his hands as you kiss him and place them on your waist. He immediately begins to squeeze at the soft flesh and he groans at the feeling. He then begins to subconsciously rock you back and forth over his crotch so he can gain some friction. The poor boy is so close to creaming in his pants that he actually whines when you pull away. His lips try to chase yours as you do but you push at his chest to stop him.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks nervously as his hands continue to knead at your skin, never straying from your waist.

“No.” You say, finding his concern sweet. 

“Then why’d you stop?” He asks and you find it cute at how such an egotistic man is reduced to using puppy-dog eyes.

“Well, you’re always staring at my tits. I thought you’d like to see them for real.” His eyes light up.

“That would um… be nice.” He tries to say casually and you giggle at his response.

You take off your babydoll top and you’ve never felt more flattered. He looks at you like a kid on christmas, as if your tits came gift-wrapped with a bow.

“Oh god.” He groans out, looking mesmerised. 

“You can touch them if you want.” You say and you could imagine that his face would be the same as a man who has just won the lottery.

He is almost apprehensive at first as if you’ll slap him and storm off the moment he touches them but he lifts his hands anyhow and places them gently on your chest.

“They’re so soft… and plush.” You can feel his hips moving from under you and when he gives your tits a good squeeze, he also moans, bucking his hips up hard.

Then you realize.

He just came in his pants.

When you glance down, he realizes that you know what just happened.

“Oh god, i’m so fucking sorry. Fuck.” He lifts you off his lap with surprising ease so he can cover his crotch with his hands. He stands up, with his back facing you so he doesn’t have to look at what he expects to be, a disappointed look on your face.

“Michael-”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just look at me-”

“That’s so bloody humiliating.”

He is clearly in some sort of a state so you roll your eyes, but then an idea pops into your head. You pull your lacy, wet panties off and throw them right over his shoulder. They land right on the desk in front of him. Michael freezes. He knows right away what they are and reaches to pick them up, getting rock hard again when he feels how wet they are. Without a second thought, he brings them up to his nose and inhales. He’ll for sure have those wrapped around his cock when you’re not around. 

You’re laying back on his bed when he turns back around, your thigh-highs still on and your skirt hiked up around your waist. His eyes then fall to your glistening cunt.

“I still need to be fucked, Michael.”

He’s on you in a second, kissing you ravenously as he unbuckles his belt. When his cock is finally out, he pauses.

“I don’t have any condoms.” He’s embarrassed but he’s never had a need for them before.

“I’m on the pill. Do what feels good.” You say, wanting him as much as he wants you.

He does exactly as you advise and does as he pleases, slamming himself in, all the way to the hilt and relishing the feeling of you squeezing around him.

“Jesus - fuck.” You curse.

“What’s wrong?” He asks with concern as you hold his hips to keep him still.

“Usually when a man - how do I put this lightly… has a massive horse cock, they enter a bit slower.” 

“I’ll pull out then.” He says, trying to find a solution as he gets halfway out, dragging a whimper out of you.

“No, no!” You whine, your eyes rolling back in your head from this pleasure of having him inside you.

“No?” He grins a little.

“I just needed to adjust.”

“To my huge dick?”

Great, another thing for him to be cocky about.

“Fuck you.” You murmur.

“I think i’ll be doing the fucking.” He says playfully as he gives an experimental thrust back into you. When he sees your pleased expression, he begins to fuck you harder, loving the way his cock looks slipping in and out of your dripping cunt.

“Mmm, Michael.” You moan when he hits your sweet-spot so he continues to bully the head of his cock against it.

“Getting all dumb again? Think if I asked you a trig question, you’d be able to answer?” He teases as he bruises your cervix.

You squeeze around him in retaliation. “Would you?”

His hips stutter a bit and he gets more sloppy. You remember now that he’s a virgin and you’re impressed that he didn’t just cum right away.

“F-Fuck.” 

He begins to truly realize what he’s actually doing. The hottest girl in school is almost fully naked on his bed with his cock balls deep inside of her. He’s going to take full advantage of the situation.

“You’re so pretty.” He says and looks down at your breasts. “Your tits are so pretty too.” He leans down to kiss them, sucking on your nipple. “I can’t believe you’re letting me do this. Please let me do it again.”

He isn’t even finished and he’s already begging for more. His pace begins to slow as he keeps sucking on your tits and you know he’s close so you squeeze around him. This time, the action makes him orgasm and thick, hot spurts of cum spill inside you. He lays down on you, happily using your chest as a pillow.

“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He says in a very tired voice. “Did you like it?” He asks.

“Very much.” You say truthfully as you run your fingers through his hair.

He then lifts his head to look at you. “Did you um… cum?”

“Well… no.” His face drops and he feels like he’s failed. He’s also nervous that you won’t like him anymore. “It’s okay though. I never taught you how.”

He thinks on that for a moment and then the sad look leaves his face.

“Let me eat your pussy then.”

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi

A little of what I did for HiguNana week on Twitter 💖