•.lovelyem.•

you sat in your driveway, engine still running, staring through your window at the heavy sheets of rain hammering down on the pavement in a powerful crescendo. the short walk up your driveway suddenly felt like a trudge through a fierce snowstorm. you glance at your backseat, nearly a dozen flimsy brown paper bags overflowing with groceries. you groan, already imagining the bags disintegrating the moment you step out of your car. just as your hand reached for the door handle, bright, almost blinding headlights swept across your yard.

it was none other than leon, your stoic yet snarky neighbor, a well-rounded man who just couldn't seem to leave you be. the loud roar of his engine silenced as you watched him step out from his car without hesitation, rain soaking his hair and clothes immediately.

the fabric of his shirt stuck to his frame, emphasizing every muscle on his chest and protruding vein along his biceps. leon was pretty tall— not overbearingly tall, but certainly an ideal height. his solid, well-built frame came from years of physically straining work, a career that put more stress on his body than any gym ever could. his dark blond hair, usually carefully styled, was now plastered to his forehead, water droplets dripping from the ends and running down the sharp line of his jaw.

his eyes caught yours through the window, a small smile on his face even in the pouring rain. leon was usually quite stoic— quiet, observant, and to himself most days— but with you he was different. open, flirty, and a little too persistent. he just could not seem to leave you alone, and as embarrassing as it is to admit it, he was actually pretty helpful... especially in times like these. god, you wished you weren't so helpless around him.

he jogged over to your car, boots splashing through unsuspectingly deep puddles as he made it over to you, a playful smirk gracing his features. he tapped lightly on the glass with two knuckles, brow raised in a mildly teasing way that you'd quickly become accustomed to over the past few months living here.

you rolled the window down, allowing him to rest his elbow on the side of your car to speak to you. "stuck in the rain, huh, sweetheart?" he smiles, voice low and warm, carrying that familiar teasing lilt that made your skin raise with goosebumps. "or are you just here admiring the lovely weather while the rest of us get soaked?" you couldn't help the small smile that graced your face at his sly comment, shaking your head before explaining the predicament you were facing.

leon chuckles as you explain, hands pushing off your car and glancing towards the back as he notices the plethora of groceries. "unlock the back for me, beautiful. couldn't stand to see you get drenched like this." he smirks, winking at you as you unlock your car door for him. you can just feel the warmth creep up your neck at his words, your mind automatically associating the comment with something dirty. he knows exactly what he's doing, you think, swallowing your spit as you stare at him through your side mirror.

he worked quickly and efficiently— the way he always did when he was helping you with something. in no time, he had rounded up most of the heavy paper bags of food and other essentials in his arms. the sight of his biceps flexing under the soaked fabric of his shirt and the way his veins bulged against his forearms from the effort truly felt sinful. you could hardly draw your attention back to the task at hand as you ogled him. pushing your distracting thoughts away, you mentally prepare yourself to step out into the endless onslaught of rain.

grabbing the two lightest bags, you hurriedly jumped out of your car and dashed the short distance to your covered porch. by the time you reached it, you and leon were both thoroughly drenched, the earthy notes of petrichor sticking to your bodies. your clothes clung uncomfortably to your skin, and leon's grey t-shirt was practically glued to his torso, outlining every firm ridge and muscle across his chest, abdomen, and arms.

he set the bags down carefully against the brick so the contents inside wouldn't spill out, then ran a rough hand through his hair, squeezing the water out with his fist. leon turned to you, a soft, endearing smile on his face as water continued to drip down from his hair and down his face despite his efforts.

"see, told 'ya i'd save the day," he says, voice low and warm with that same teasing tone he always took with you. "can't have my favorite neighbor spilling all her groceries everywhere, right?" he chuckles, the deep sound sending shock waves up your spine as you smiled shyly up at him, brushing away a strand of hair that had gotten stuck to your face in your pursuit to the front door.

"thank you, leon... you really didn't have to come running over in the rain like that for me. i would've figured something out." you tell him, eyes locked onto his as you assess his expression. he waved you off and leaned against the porch post casually, arms crossing over his broad chest, causing his shirt to pull even tighter— if it could get any tighter, that is— across his shoulders and pectorals.

"i know you would've," he replied, smiling down at you, head tilted to the side. "you're stubborn like that, sweetheart. i'd know, you never want me to help you, 'cause you can do it yourself, right?" he nods towards you, a smirk playing across his face. you felt a small, knowing smile tug at your lips despite the way your cheeks were warming at his accusation. he wasn't wrong. you had turned down his help more than once, insisting you could handle your own. i mean, that's what you were used to growing up in the city— every man for himself. asking for help had always felt like a weakness.

but standing here on your porch, soaked to the bone with leon looking at you like that, it was getting harder for you to keep denying him.

water continued to drip steadily from his hair down to the rest of his body. you sucked in a sharp breath as you averted your gaze from his distracting frame and met his eyes once more. the longer you stood there, the more you noticed his eyes skimming over your rain-soaked form. your thin t-shirt was completely drenched, clinging uncomfortably to your curves and leaving very little to the imagination under his heavy gaze. to make matters worse, the black bra you'd chosen that morning with a delicate lace trim you now deeply regretted wearing—was clearly visible through the wet fabric.

leon's eyes lingered there for a moment, just long enough for you to look around awkwardly as you felt heat traveling up your neck and spreading across your cheeks. when his gaze finally lifted back to your face, there was a new darkness in those icy blue eyes, pupils blown wide and gaze intense under your faltering one. he pushed off the porch post and took a slow step closer, closing some of the distance between the two of you. rain continued to hammer down just beyond the overhang; the once loud pattering of raindrops reduced to white noise as you stared up at him.

"besides," he murmured, voice dropping lower as he stood mere inches away from you, "i don't mind getting a little wet, sweetheart. long as i get to help you out, yeah?" your breath catches at that, his suggestive tone making you inhale sharply. you instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hide the way your nipples had hardened from the cold rain and the intensity of his stare, but it only seemed to amuse him more.

leon's expression softens into something warmer, though the desire in his eyes was apparent. he reached out slowly, brushing his hand across your cheekbone to push a stray strand of hair out of your face and behind your ear. his calloused thumb lingered on your face for a moment, brushing against the swell of your cheek before pulling away.

"you're shivering, sweetheart," he said softly, a hint of concern in his voice mixed with slight amusement as his dark eyes assessed your form. "c'mon, let's get you inside. wouldn't want you to get a cold. i'll help you put everything away, yeah?" you blink dumbly, still a little dazed from the physical contact before nodding absentmindedly. you fiddle with your keys briefly, hands shaking slightly as you struggle to put the key in place. once you finally unlock the door, you hold it open for leon as he gathers the heavy bags again effortlessly, setting them down carefully on the island in your kitchen.

the sound of rain becomes muffled as you shut the door behind you with your foot, kicking your shoes off while carrying the two remaining bags into the kitchen before placing them next to the others. the air feels charged, the only sounds present in the room were your soft breaths and the steady drip of the water from both of your clothes onto the tile floor. you quickly find something to do with your hands, reaching into the bags to start putting your groceries away. you couldn't take the quiet atmosphere, never once gotten used to the quaint silence of suburbia.

leon didn't move to leave, instead, he leaned his hip against the counter and watched you with that calm, observant gaze that always made you nervous. his soaked shirt was still clinging to his skin sinfully, and you had to force yourself to not stare at the man.

after a long, quiet moment of you unpacking the goods, he spoke again, his voice lower and rougher around the edges.

"you know, i keep finding reasons to come over here," he said, pushing off the counter to step closer to your frame which had visibly stiffened at his words. "fixing your porch light, mowing that little strip of grass between our lawn, carrying your groceries..." he continued, voice dropping to a low, sultry drawl. "maybe i should stop pretending it's all just me being a good neighbor, huh, sweetheart?" you freeze at his boldness, intrigued at what he meant by "pretending." you'd figured leon was just lonely and liked your company, you'd been there, but you wouldn't have imagined this. perhaps you were much too oblivious to catch on.

leon was now just a foot away, looking down at you with a sultry expression that made your whole body feel hot. he leans down to your ear, deft hands twirling a damp strand of your hair between his pointer finger and thumb, the gesture surprisingly tender.

leon reached down with his other hand and gently took the eggs that you'd been holding dumbly from your hands, setting them down on the counter so he'd have your full attention. he then moved to place both of his large hands on the edge of the counter, caging you in. leon's head dipped lower, lips hovering just beside your ear so you could hear him clearly. you shuddered, breath catching in your throat at the close proximity. god, you think you might explode.

"i've been real patient, sweetheart," he purred lowly in your ear, breath fanning against your skin. "coming over with tools, fixing whatever you need, telling myself i'm just being helpful..." he confesses, and you swallow at his bluntness. you couldn't believe this was your life right now. you knew he was flirty, which was never an issue, but you didn't expect to like it as much as you did. you reveled in the closeness, exhaling softly as he continued.

"but if i'm being honest, darling," he pauses, hands gripping the counter tightly behind you, voice rough as he continues, "i'm not thinking about the fucking porch light or the leaky faucet. i'm thinking about you." he pulls back from your ear slowly, gaze flicking down to your chest again, where your wet t-shirt and black lace bra were still clearly visible. your chest was rising and falling faster than earlier, nipples visibly hardened from the cold rain and the heat of his attention. he curses under his breath, teeth tugging at his bottom lip as his eyes settle back on your face.

"but i'm no dummy, either, baby. don't act like you don't know what you're doing to me." he says, almost condescendingly, voice low and rough with barely restrained hunger. he leans in even closer, one hand leaving the counter behind you to slide boldly up your hip, thumb caressing the small of your waist through the soaked fabric. your breath hitches, eyes tracking his hand as you subconsciously lean into his touch.

"so tell me, you gonna keep playing dumb or are you finally gonna let me have you, huh?" the question hangs heavily in the air between you. leon doesn't move any closer, he just studies your expression closely with slow, deliberate circles of his thumb over the wet material of your shirt. his gaze is intense, unapologetic, almost daring you to look away from him. you stood, frozen in space, staring dumbly up at leon as you try and gather your thoughts. your mind felt foggy, the only thing you could truly focus on was leon's slow movements on your waist.

your lips are parted slightly and your heart thumps against your ribcage, your wide eyes staring into leon's half-lidded ones, the atmosphere in the room thick. you were at a loss for words. this was leon— your neighbor, the man who fixed your porch light without being asked, who carried your groceries in the rain, who always had that easy, soft smile for you. you'd caught yourself thinking about him more than you wanted to admit— the way his veiny arms flexed when he worked, the low timbre of his voice whenever he called you “sweetheart,” the way he'd wave at you every time you'd head inside from a long day at work.

and now he was right here, caging you against your own kitchen counter, telling you exactly what he wanted.

the chilly sensation the rain left on your body had long since subsided and your whole body now felt hot, burning under his stare as you struggled to form a coherent sentence. your mouth opened and closed embarrassingly, settling on shutting it as you melted under the intensity of his stare.

leon's thumb moved in those slow, maddening circles, occasionally brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt, teasing the bare skin of your waist. your skin was hot against his touch, goosebumps forming in wake of his cold thumb caressing the skin softly. he waited for your response, a brow raised in question as he smiled down at you softly.

after a few seconds of silence, he lets out a low, rough chuckle.

"look at you," he murmured, voice dripping with dark amusement. "too flustered to say anything? you're real cute, baby." he says, tilting his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours. his thumb dips just a little higher under your shirt each time, brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ribs. you twitch a little at the touch, his cold hands tickling the skin of your abdomen. his hands felt hypnotizing on you, as if every small circle he traced was pulling you in deeper into his trance.

"you don't have to be brave with words right now, baby." he continued, voice low and confident as he expertly assessed your nervous frame staring up at him. "i can see how fast your heart's racing." he says, breath fanning over your lips in a hushed whisper, "and i can definitely see how hard your nipples are pressing against that pretty black lace." he observes, eyes glancing down to your chest to punctuate his words before looking back up to your flushed face.

your spit caught in your throat in at his boldness. the rain had long since been forgotten, and you were no longer shivering. in fact, your whole body felt feverish under leon's intense, brooding stare. you wanted to say something, anything to not seem like a total ditz, but all you could do was stare up at him in a haze.

leon hums, offering you a sympathetic smile at your shyness. despite his soft expression, the heat behind his eyes never faltered.

"you've been driving me crazy for months, sweetheart," he confessed, letting out a soft exhale as his other hand reaches up to play with a loose strand of your hair again. "every time you smile at me all shy when i help you, when you bend over to tend to your flowers in those little shorts... i've had to walk away and tell myself to behave."

he leans in further, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his voice dropped to a rough whisper. you shudder, thighs pressing together as he presses a chaste kiss to the outside of your ear.

"but i'm done behaving, sweetheart. i won't play these games with you anymore." he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes again, bold and unapologetic. "so i'm only gonna ask once more," he said, thumb dipping higher, brushing under the curve of your breast where the wire of your bra sits. "you gonna keep playing shy... or are you gonna let me have you, baby?" he repeats, eyes piercing into yours with a gaze so intense you think you might explode.

the kitchen felt impossibly small. the rain was still pouring outside, but you had hardly noticed with the way leon's body was pressed so closed to yours. the air was almost suffocating with how hot his hand felt on your skin, looking at you like he was ready to devour you the second you said yes.

your mouth opened and closed again almost embarrassingly. you finally managed one shaky breath before the words slipped out, soft and breathless: "...i want you, leon." a slow, satisfied smirk spreads across leon's face, expression dark as he finally hears the words he'd been waiting to hear fall from your pretty lips for what felt like eons.

"that's my girl." he coos, the hand that was absentmindedly twirling your hair around his finger fervently pushing the strand behind your ear. without another second of hesitation, he cups the back of your neck and pulls you into a deep, hungry kiss. his lips are slightly chapped, slotting against yours perfectly as he kisses you like his life depends on it.

the kiss was anything but gentle— it was demanding, full of all the months of tension he'd been holding back. his hand traveled up the nape of your neck and into your hair, fingers threading through the wet strands as he tilted your head just the way he wanted, deepening the kiss with a low groan that vibrated against your mouth.

you melted into it, hands instinctively coming up to clutch at his soaked shirt, feeling his chest muscles flex under your touch. leon presses you back against the counter, one thick thigh sliding between your legs to keep you steady as he devoured your mouth. you gasped at the stimulation to your core, eyebrows furrowing as his tongue sweeps past your lips, brushing against your own wet muscle. you moan at the contact, the feeling of his tongue against yours so incredibly delicious as you feel a pit begin to settle in your stomach.

he finally pulls back for air, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing hard. a thin string of saliva connected your lips for a moment before it broke, your lips glossy and hot from making out. leon's eyes were dark, half-lidded, and burning as he stared at you intensely.

"fuck..." he breathed, voice strained and low as he catches his breath. "been dying to hear you moan like that for months." his thigh presses a little firmer between your legs, giving you just enough pressure to make your hips twitch. you whine, tilting your head slightly, staring into leon's eyes with a desperate expression painted on your pretty face.

"so needy," he murmured, lips brushing against yours teasingly. you chase his lips, only to have him pull away at the last second, leaving you whining. he chuckles lowly, hand coming up from your waist to brush against your cheek. "i haven't even touched you properly yet, baby. you needed me that badly, huh, sweetheart?" you nod, desperate, biting your lips briefly before leon leans back in.

he kisses you once more— slower this time, savoring the soft moans and whimpers that leave your mouth as he moves his thigh subtly against your heat to give you some more friction. your mouth falls open slightly more, a whiny moan leaving your mouth as leon pulls away to ogle at your frame under him.

his hand delves under your shirt again, moving higher to cup your breast through the soaked lace of your bra. his thumb cascades over your pebbled nipple, making you arch into his touch with a soft, needy sound. he curses, looking down at you to gauge your reactions. he circles his thumb experimentally around your small, erect nub, a tightness forming in his damp pants as he watches you writhe under his touch.

"please, leon, more..." you whine. you bite your lip in a silent plea for more, staring up at him with a needy expression on your face.

"god, you're so responsive," he groans, voice heavy with desire as he watched your brows furrow at his touch. "look at you, already arching into my hand like you were made for it. this pretty thing's been teasing me too long, sweetheart. it's almost a shame it's going to have to come off, isn't it, baby?" he says, raising a brow teasingly before reaching under your shirt to undo the clasp of your damp bra.

leon's hands tug at the ends of your shirt, pulling the useless fabric up and over your head while you shrug out of it. he tosses the flimsy material on the island, eyes fixated on the one article of clothing he'd been dying to snatch off the whole night. hurriedly, leon's deft hands race to pull the bra off you in one smooth motion, setting it next to the shirt he'd just rid you of.

you couldn't stop the soft, breathy moan that escaped you as leon reached out to cup each of your breasts in his hands. "got such pretty tits, baby," he says, staring into your dazed eyes as he fondles them. "so fuckin' perfect." he squeezed them gently, pushing them together in his large palms before letting them settle again. he leans down, pressing hot, open mouth kisses down the column of your neck, sucking occasionally at the flesh until he reached your chest.

leon's tongue darts out to lick a thin, teasing stripe up your left nipple, his saliva coating the hardened bud. he blows ever so slightly, causing you to shiver at the cool sensation. you can't help but let out a strangled moan as his other hand works your right nipple, rolling it between his thumb and pointer finger. your core clenches as he finally take your nipple into his mouth, mouth sucking the nub fervently.

"fuck, leon... feels good..." you trail, hips subtly grinding down into the thick muscle of his thigh that was still pressed between your soaked core, desperate for more friction. leon groans deeply at the sound of your sweet voice, the low vibration traveling straight through your nipple he has trapped between his lips. his eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and burning with desire, while his thumb continues its slow, relentless assault on your right nipple.

"yeah, baby? feels so good, right?" he breathes out, pulling off your nipple with a wet pop, lips shiny with saliva. a thin string of spit connects his mouth to the swollen peak before it breaks. you nod with an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm, tears nearly pricking at your eyes just from how horny you are. your hips grind down on his meaty thigh harder this time, tiny, desperate moans slipping from your mouth as you stare at him, eyes practically begging him to give you more.

leon's eyes flare with dark satisfaction as he watches you nod so eagerly, tears threatening to fall from your eyes, hips grinding down harder against his thigh. "fuck, sweetheart..." he breathes, thumb giving your right nipple one last slow roll before his hands slide down to grip your waist. "look at you, so goddamn horny you're about to cry. you want it that bad already, huh, baby?" he leans in, pressing a small kiss to your collarbone, then trails lower, running his lips over your chest while his hands slide down to pop the button on your pants, pulling the zipper down in one smooth motion.

the damp fabric clings stubbornly to your skin as he tugs at it, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pants and panties together. you lift your hips to help him, elbow rested atop the counter behind you to balance yourself. he pulls the soaked layers down your legs in one steady pull, tossing them aside on the kitchen floor with a damp slap. the cool air kisses your overheated, dripping cunt and you shiver, a soft whimper escaping your lips under leon's quiet, intense stare. you're now completely bare in front of him, eyes gazing up at him needily as you gauge his expression.

leon is practically hypontized, his gaze dropping between your thighs, eyes darkening with raw, unrestrained hunger. he wets his lips slowly with his tongue, as if he's already imagining how good you're going to taste. he steps closer, right hand traveling down your abdomen and in between your thighs. his palm is warm against your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. he slides two fingers between your thighs, running his middle finger through your slick slit, parting your folds and gathering your wetness.

a low, appreciative hum escapes him when he feels how incredibly soaked you are. he pulls his hand back and holds his glistening fingers up between you, the dim light catching on the shine coating the digit. his eyes pierce into yours as he brings the finger closer to your face, offering it to you.

"open," he murmurs, his voice rough and commanding as he presses his middle and ring finger to your lips. when your lips part obediently, he slides his fingers into your mouth, letting your taste yourself. his thumb brushes your bottom lip and you suck gently, eyes locked onto his.

"that's it, sweetheart. taste how fucking wet you are for me," he drawls, watching your tongue swirl around his finger with hooded eyes. "so wet, been thinking about this pretty little pussy for months." pulling his fingers free with a soft pop, he brings it to his own mouth, sucking it clean with a deep groan. the sight makes your core clench uncontrollably, begging to be stuffed with something, anything at this point.

and with that, leon drops to his knees in front of you, slinging one leg over his shoulder to open you up to him. you grip the counter behind you tightly, balancing yourself as leon grips the soft plush of your thighs. he leans in, hot breath fanning over your dripping cunt, and presses a soft, short kiss to your clit. you whine, eyes looking into his pleadingly.

he only smiles up at you from between your thighs, that dark, knowing smile that makes your stomach flip. he leans in again, dipping his head lower and licking a slow, thick stripe up your folds from your entrance to your clit. when he reaches the swollen bud, he flicks the wet muscle against it with the perfect pressure.

you twitch hard, a soft, needy moan slipping from your lips as sparks of pleasure rush through you.

gauging your reactions, leon hums lowly before taking your sensitive clit in between his lips, suckling the bundle of nerves while flicking his tongue. his tongue draws small, deliberate circles over the trapped bud, forcing out louder, higher pitched moans from you. the sensation is almost overwhelming. your hips jerk, a hand flying to his damp hair as he works you with his mouth. you fingers grip at his strands tighter than you mean to, earning a low groan from leon. the sound vibrates straight through your clit, head falling back ever so slightly as he continues his assault.

leon presses a single digit to your folds, running his finger up and down before pushing it past your lips. you're so wet that it slides in easily, but still he takes his time, curling it gently at first before pressing an additional finger to your clenching pussy. he pumps his fingers slowly, angling his fingers upwards in a hook to press against your g-spot.

"fuck, listen to those pretty sounds, sweetheart," he mumbles against your pussy, voice muffled and rough. "grippin' my fingers so tight, pussy's just been waiting for me to split her open..." his words vibrate through your clit as he continues to suck at your clit with such vigor that you feel tears prick at your eyes from how fucking good it feels. you let out a sob, eyebrows knitted together as you begin to feel a pressure tug at your lower abdomen.

his fingers begin to speed up, hooking upwards inside you as he feels for the spongy bump of your g-spot. every stroke makes wet, obscene sounds echo in the kitchen, mixing with your high pitched, breathy moans and the steady thrum of the rain outside.

you're trembling, hips jerking uncontrollably as the pleasure builds hotter and tighter with every curl of his fingers and every suck on your clit. your grip on his hair tightens even more, tugging hard enough to pull another groan from his throat. only when your thighs begin to shake violently around his head and your moans turn into desperate, broken cries does he finally pull his mouth off your clit with a wet pop. he looks up at you, lips and chin glistening with your arousal, eyes dark and burning.

"leon, w-what the fuck?" you sob out, a single tear rolling down your heated cheeks as you stare at him in desperation, eyebrows knitted together in confusion at your ruined orgasm. he chuckles darkly, fingers pulling out of your core as he rises to his feet to press a chaste kiss to your forehead to console you. he wipes the tear that rolls down your cheek and pushes your hair behind your ear while cooing at your frustrated form.

"not yet, sweetheart." he rasps, holding your chin in place with his thumb as he forces you to look at him. "i want you shaking and begging when i finally bury my cock in this tight little pussy." he whispers, pressing a brief kiss to your pouty lips as he stares down at you. reaching his strong arms under your thighs, he scoops you up in one smooth motion. your legs wrap around his waist automatically, your dripping cunt pressed hot and slick against his abdomen as he carries you up the stairs without any effort.

he walks down the hallway to your bedroom, having already known its location from when he came over to change the film which had desperately needed a replacement.

kicking open your bedroom door, he walks you over to the bed and sets you down in the middle, your form sprawling out as you prop yourself up on your elbows. leon stands at the end of the bed, pulling the tight shirt off his body as you watch in delight. he makes quick work of his jeans and boxers as well, tossing the articles of clothing aside as he descends onto the bed.

your mouth is open in awe as you ogle at his thick cock, the tip leaking with small dribbles of precum. he was big, the base thick and heavy, the shaft curving slightly upward with prominent veins running along its length. it twitched under your hungry gaze, another bead of precum sliding down the flushed head.

leon's lips curl into a smug, knowing smirk as he catches you staring. "you want this, sweetheart?" he purrs, voice low and rough with arousal. he wraps his large hand around the base, giving himself a slow, lazy stroke from root to tip, spreading the slick precum over the head. his eyes never leave yours, thick with lust.

your breath catches in your throat as you watch him stroke his thick cock right in front of you, the wet sound of his hand gliding over slick skin making your empty pussy clench desperately around nothing. the ruined orgasm still has your nerves buzzing, every inch of you hypersensitive and aching for relief.

leon's smirk deepens at your obvious hunger. "yeah... you do," he answers for you, voice a low, filthy rumble. he leans in close, releasing his cock and letting it slap heavy and wet against his abs. his hands slide up your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he spreads you wider, exposing every inch of you to his hungry gaze. "look at that. so fuckin' desperate for me. dirty girl, dripping all over the sheets just from watching me stroke it." one thick finger drags through your folds, collecting your slick before he brings it to his mouth and sucks it clean. his eyes flutter shut for a second, like he's savoring he taste of you, then snap back open.

he shifts up the bed slowly, every muscle in his torso flexing as the mattress dips under his weight. his cock drags a scorching, sticky trail up your stomach, leaving a shiny smear of precum across your skin. when he settles between your thighs, the blunt, leaking head nudges right against your swollen clit, making your hips jerk up involuntarily. you let out a whine, your patience nearly spent as you glare at him, annoyed.

"easy, sweetheart," he chuckles darkly, pinning your hips down with one big hand. "you'll get it when i say so."

he rocks his hips forward, sliding the entire length of his cock along your pussy up and down, coating himself in your arousal until the wet, obscene sound of it fills the room. every pass bumping the head against your clit, then dragging back down to tease your entrance, never quite pushing inside. your hands fist the sheets, back arching, broken little whimpers spilling from your lips as the teasing from downstairs makes every nerve ending scream for more.

“leon… please—” you gasp, voice cracking. you were nearly about to give up.

“please what, sweetheart?” he taunts, leaning down to bite at your jaw, your throat, sucking a fresh mark into the skin just below your ear. “use your words, yeah? tell me exactly what you want me to do to this pretty little pussy.”

you’re shaking, thighs trembling around his waist, but the words tumble out anyway, much different from your bashful slurry of words before. you beg, lip quivering desperately as you nearly cry out of sheer frustration. “fuck me—god, leon, i need your cock inside me right now. please, i can’t—i need it—”

he groans against your neck, the sound vibrating through you. “that’s my girl.” in one smooth motion he flips you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up so you’re on your knees, ass high in the air. you barely have time to catch your breath before he’s gripping your hair and tugging your head back, angling it to look towards the mirror on the right side of your bedroom.

“mirror,” he growls against your ear. “eyes on the mirror the whole time, baby." he drawls, hands caressing the fat of your ass with his other hand as he presses himself against you.

your gaze shifts. the tall standing mirror reflects every filthy detail back at you. your flushed face, lips parted and swollen, eyes glossy and desperate. and behind you, leon, shoulders broad and muscle bulging, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping the base of his thick cock as he lines himself up.

he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until the stretch burns so good your mouth falls open on a silent cry. you watch in the mirror as your pussy stretches obscenely around him, lips parting wide to take every thick vein, every ridge. the slight upward curve of his cock drags perfectly against that spot deep inside, making your walls flutter and squeeze. you feel as if you're on cloud nine right now, finally feeling satisfied as his thick cock stretches your cunt deliciously. you could cry right now, the fullness of his cock buried inside you so deep you swear you could feel him in your cervix.

“fuck, look at that, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice wrecked. his eyes are locked on the where your sexes connect in the mirror, watching himself disappear inside you. "so fuckin' tight. swallowing me like you were made for it." he bottoms out with a sharp snap of his hips, pelvis flush against your ass, balls heavy against your clit.

the sight his cock buried to the hilt inside your pussy makes you moan loud enough to echo off the walls. he doesn’t wait. he pulls back until only the flushed head remains inside, then slams forward again, setting a punishing rhythm that makes your whole body jolt. a creamy white ring coats his cock with every slow, rough drag inside your cunt as his hand grips the fat of your ass.

every thrust is on full display in the mirror. the way your back arches deeper, the way your tits bounce with every impact, the way your ass ripples when his hips slap against it. his cock glistens with your slick each time he drags it out before he drives back in.

leon’s hand slides around to your front, fingers finding your swollen clit again. he rubs tight, fast circles in time with his thrusts, never letting up. he leans over your body to your ear to and whispers, “watch yourself,” he orders, tugging your hair harder so you can’t look away. “watch how pretty you look getting fucked like this. watch that greedy little pussy take every inch.” he says, making eye contact with you in the mirror before letting up to set an even quicker pace.

you're already so close, so fucking close to cumming, the teasing from earlier making you hypersensitive to every rough thrust of his cock in your wet pussy. you feel that familiar knot again in your stomach, and you swear you could cry from how good his cock feels dragging against your walls— the slight upward curve that presses against your g-spot, the thick veins that adorn it from the base to the shaft—

“leon—i’m—fuck, i’m gonna—” your voice cracks, breaking into a sob.

“yeah? gonna cum already?” he growls, hips snapping harder, the headboard starting to knock against the wall. “do it. cum on my cock, sweetheart. let me feel it. let the mirror see how fucking beautiful you look when you fall apart.” look grunts out, expression nearly animalistic as he watches you intently in the mirror.

his fingers press harder on your clit, rubbing perfect circles, and that’s all it take for you to fall apart.

the orgasm rips through you like lightning, violent and blinding. your pussy clamps down around his cock like a vice, pulsing and gushing around him as you scream his name. in the mirror you watch yourself come undone, your eyes rolling back and mouth open in a broken cry, whole body shaking while he fucks you through it. Leon's pace never slows as he drags your orgasm out until you’re sobbing and twitching.

“good fucking girl... shit, just like that,” he groans, voice raw. his hips keep snapping forward in that same brutal rhythm, cock slamming deep into your spasming pussy even as you’re still coming apart, walls clamping and fluttering wildly around him. the wet, filthy squelch of your arousal mixes with the relentless slap of skin on skin, louder now that the headboard is hammering the wall in time with every thrust.

“fuck, sweetheart,” leon growls, voice wrecked and dark. his fingers never leave your clit, in fact— they press harder, rubbing those perfect, merciless circles even faster, dragging the orgasm out until it twists into something sharper, almost painful. your scream melts into a broken sob as the pleasure flips straight into overstimulation, every nerve screaming while your pussy keeps pulsing and gushing around his thick cock.

“leon—please, no—too much—” you choke out, but the words dissolve into another helpless cry when he grinds deep and circles your clit just right. in the mirror you’re forced to watch it all as your eyes roll back, and tears stream down your flushed cheeks.

“too much?” he laughs low and cruel against your ear, never missing a stroke. “you’re still sucking me in, sweetheart. look at that greedy little pussy... milking my cock like it never wants me to stop.” he yanks your head up higher by the hair so you can’t hide from the reflection. “watch yourself. watch how fucking beautiful you look when i ruin you.” he grunts, pulling you flush against his chest and forcing you into a headlock as his cock pistons in and out of you mercilessly.

your thighs start shaking violently, legs threatening to give out, but leon just bands one strong arm around your waist and holds you up, fucking you harder, deeper, his cock dragging relentlessly over that oversensitive spot inside you with every thrust. his hand on your waist lowers itself back to your clit to rub at it slick and fast, pushing you straight toward another peak before the first one has even faded.

“gonna give me another one already?” he taunts, voice rough with lust. “poor baby. 'c'mon, cum again for me, sweetheart." his pace never once falters, strong hand holding you up as he presses a small kiss behind your ear while encouraging you to cum on his cock.

the second orgasm hits you harder, sharper, almost too intense to bear. your whole body seizes, pussy clamping down like a vice as you gush around him for the second time, fresh slick squirting out around his cock and dripping messily down your thighs onto the sheets. you scream his name until your voice cracks, eyes screwed shut in the mirror before they snap open again, back arched impossibly, mouth open in a broken sob, tears pouring freely while your body jerks and twitches uncontrollably in his grip.

but leon still doesn’t let up.

he fucks you straight through it, hips pistoning faster, the wet slap of skin turning obscene and constant. his fingers keep torturing your swollen, oversensitive clit—pinching, rubbing, and flicking it until the pleasure flips into pure fire, every stroke making you sob and thrash against him. you collapse forward onto your elbows, face buried in the bed, ass still high and presented for him as he follows you down, blanketing your body completely.

“leon—i can’t—please—i can’t take it—” you’re babbling, drooling into the bed, legs kicking weakly as a third orgasm builds right on the heels of the last one, vicious and unstoppable.

“uh-uh,” he rasps, lips brushing your ear, voice dark and filthy. “i waited months for this little cunt,” he rasps, voice thick with everything he’s held back for so long. "so you can give me one more, sweetheart." leon purrs, his nails digging into your hips as he continues his relentless abuse to your cunt.

he yanks your head back again so you have no choice but to see your tear-streaked, ruined face. you’re practically limp in his arms as hot streams run down your face from the sheer pleasure. the way your pussy is stretched obscenely around his thick cock as it pounds into you without mercy, and the way your whole body trembles and jolts with every brutal thrust is enough for another pit in your stomach to build.

the orgasm that’s been building slams into you hard. and it drags through you in long, shuddering waves, your walls clamping down around him in tight, fluttering pulses while fresh slick gushes out around his cock. you watch it all in the mirror, your eyes glossy and unfocused, mouth open in a hoarse, broken cry, tears slipping down your flushed cheeks as your thighs shake violently.

“fuck… that’s it,” leon groans against your ear, voice raw and satisfied, his hips stuttering as he chases his orgasm. “look at that, sweetheart. look how fucking beautiful you are when you cum like that.”

you’re still twitching, still trying to catch your breath, when the overstimulation really sets in—sharp and electric, too much all at once. your hips jerk away on instinct, a wrecked sob tearing from your throat as the pleasure flips into something almost painful.

"shhh, i've got you," he murmurs against your neck, his voice losing its rough edge as his own release builds. "just one more thing, baby…" leon's breathing is ragged, his hips stuttering as he nears his release.

with a final, deep thrust, leon buries himself to the hilt and stills. he groans deeply, hips bucking as you milk him for all he's got. you feel him pulse inside you, hot, thick ropes of his cum filling you completely as he groans your name against your shoulder blade. his body trembles slightly, muscles tensing and then relaxing as he empties himself into you. it's a satisfying release that seems to go on forever, each pulse of his cock accompanied by a low, guttural sound of pure satisfaction.

leon stays buried deep for a long moment afterward, both of you breathing heavily in the quiet room. the rain has softened outside, now just a gentle patter against the windows. his weight is comforting on your back, his arms wrapped securely around your waist as he presses soft kisses along your spine.

when he finally pulls out, you collapse completely onto the bed, boneless and satisfied. he shifts beside you, gathering you into his arms and snuggling you into his side. you rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as his fingers gently stroke your hair.

"you okay?" he asks after a few moments of comfortable silence, his voice soft, a stark contrast to his rough, lust-ridden voice from a few minutes ago.

"mhm... so good." you mumble into his firm chest, and he lets out a breathy laugh at your reply. he strokes your hair gently, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he watches you catch your breath.

"yeah, baby?" he teases, settling into your arms as he thinks of what he wants to say. you're drifting off when he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. "i've wanted this for so long." although your eyes are heavy, you can't help the way your heart skips a beat at his words.

your eyes flutter open at his confession. "how long?" you ask curiously, mouth parted as you listen to the calm thrum of his heart against his chest.

"since the day you moved in," he admits, his thumb tracing circles on your shoulder. "that's why i kept coming up with excuses to see you. the porch light, the film, the fence… none of it... really needed fixing." he says, and it's a little endearing to see leon so honest... it was cute. the sleepiness wore off a bit, your lips curving into a smile as you think about all the times he's offered his help to you in the name of "being a good neighbor."

"what about the leaky faucet?" you ask, propping yourself up on an elbow to look at him better. "that one was actually dripping." you inquire, wriggling your eyebrows at him playfully.

leon grins wolfishly. "okay, that one was real. but i may have exaggerated how bad it was so i could come back a few times." he admits, fingers absentmindedly drawing shapes into the small of your back.

you shake your head, unable to stop smiling. "you're ridiculous." you huff out, mirroring his mannerisms by tracing hearts into his firm chest with your fingers, eyes focused on your movements.

"i tried to be subtle, sweetheart," he admits. "but i was losing my goddamn mind trying to tell you. tonight, when i saw you stuck in the rain... i knew i couldn't pretend anymore." your fingers still on his chest, biting back a smile as you take in his words. you had to admit, it felt nice to finally hear him be honest about how he felt, the flirting a precursor to his true feelings.

"i'm glad you didn't," you say, leaning up a bit to press a soft kiss to his lips. he responds immediately, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. when you pull away, he's smiling.

"so," he says, a boyish smile gracing his features, "what happens now?" he asks, genuine curiosity behind his playful eyes.

"well," you say thoughtfully, "you could start by not pretending things are broken just to talk to me." you giggle, staring at him in amusement as a wider smile breaks out on his features.

leon laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "deal." he says, trapping you tightly into his arms. you giggle, smacking at his biceps for him to release you. once he does, you look at him with a smirk plastered on your face.

"hey, leon?" you ask, staring into his eyes with a hint of mischief.

"yeah, sweetheart?" he asks, brows raised as he stares at you trying not to laugh.

"i think my kitchen sink might be making a weird noise." you say, biting your lips to stop the laugh that eventually does escape, burying your face in his bare chest.

he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. "i'll be over first thing in the morning to check it out."

© cametoile ♡ + ↻

Shoko's dorm smells like smoke, leftover popcorn, and chaos.

You're curled up on the floor in your comfiest hoodie, controller in hand, legs tucked beneath you as you dominate yet another round of Mario Kart. Satoru's next to you, one socked foot a little too close to your thigh. The closeness doesn't register; you're too focused on the screen, too busy drifting perfectly around a corner to notice the way his eyes are glued more to you than the game.

"Oh, come on!" he groans as you zip past him for the third time in a row. "She's cheating. She's got hacks."

"You're just bad," you say, barely glancing at him as you cross the finish line.

"Cheating," he insists again, voice dramatic. "No one's that good at Mario Kart unless they're possessed or trying to impress someone."

You shrug, a little cocky. "Maybe I am."

His head tilts, a grin curling at the edge of his mouth. "Trying to impress me? That's adorable."

Shoko exhales a cloud of smoke from her perch on the futon, unbothered. "Don't flirt over my carpet, Gojo."

Utahime's already halfway through yelling at him again. "Will you shut up for five seconds? You're not even playing anymore."

"I was playing," Satoru counters, tossing his controller down dramatically. "Until she decided to humiliate me. You see this? This is emotional damage. I should sue."

Geto, laying flat on his back and eating chips straight from the bag, doesn't even look up. "You'll live." Haibara is in the corner, aggressively cheering everyone on like it's the World Cup.

You're laughing when Satoru leans over again, voice low enough to the point where only you can hear. "If I win the next round," he murmurs, "you owe me a kiss." Your stomach flips. "You're not gonna win."

"Then I guess I'll just have to keep playing until I do."

Shoko snorts while sipping some mystery beverage she mixed in an old mug that she's been sipping like it's divine.

You're on your fourth win in a row. Satoru's on the verge of a tantrum. "I swear to god, does no one else see this? She's literally cheating!" he says again, mouth full of some off brand gummy candy he stole from Haibara.

"Maybe you just suck Satoru," you say sweetly, eyes still on the screen.

Utahime snorts from where she's sitting on the bed, one leg bouncing with uncontained secondhand rage. "Holy fuck, watching Gojo flirt is like watching a dog try to catch a fly. All limbs and no strategy." Shoko doesn't even look up from her cigarette. "He's not even the dog. He's the fly." Nanami sips his drink with a sigh so long suffering it might qualify as a curse. "You almost feel sorry for him."

"What?" you blink, genuinely confused, half-laughing. "Feel sorry for who?"

Everyone turns to stare at you. Satoru looks like he's been hit with a flashbang. Geto mutters something under his breath about divine punishment. Shoko covers her mouth to hide a grin. Utahime groans and flops dramatically onto a pillow.

"Nevermind," Nanami says, already mentally clocked out of the conversation. "It's exhausting trying to explain it to someone that dense."

"Hey!" you protest.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Satoru coos beside you, slinging his arm behind your back on the floor like it's totally casual, not at all rehearsed in his head a thousand times. "Let them be bitter. You and me are in our own little world, aren't we?"

You roll your eyes. "You just want me on your team next round."

He leans closer. "I want a lot of things."

You chuckle, so innocently unaware and ignorant. "Like... snacks?"

"Sure," he says, smiling way too wide. "Let's start there."

Geto coughs into his sleeve and mutters, "He's dying. He's actually dying."

"He's gonna start reciting poetry any second," Shoko says flatly. "She's just so radiant tonight," Utahime says in a mocking falsetto, clutching her chest dramatically. "Her eyes... her hoodie... the way she plays Yoshi-" Satoru launches a pillow at her head without looking. "Shut up."

You laugh, still absolutely oblivious, and Satoru just melts. He leans his head back against the side of Shoko's couch like he's made of mush,  whispered hopes and sighs. "You're ridiculous," you murmur, nudging him with your knee. "Buuuut," he says, eyes twinkling, "you keep sitting next to me."

You don't answer with anything but a scoff. The soft smile that tugs at your lips is enough to make him sit up just a little straighter.

The night stretches on. The snack pile dwindles. The room gets warmer, closer, messier. You're been leaning into each other without realizing it. Your shoulder brushes his every time you laugh. His hand stays right behind you; hovering, almost touching, like he's afraid too much will be too obvious. And despite it all, you don't notice the way he looks at you.

But Geto does. And Shoko does. And Utahime is five seconds away from handcuffing you together just to end the suffering.

The night eventually spirals. Snacks completely disappear. Someone has sake; probably Shoko. Mario Kart turns into dumb party games; Never Have I Ever, Truth or Dare, things that made Nanami want to die, but he participated anyway.

Satoru leans back, eyes glittering with mischief. "Let's play Seven Minutes in Heaven."

Nanami groans so loud it startles Utahime. "Absolutely not."

"I'm in," Geto says, like he's trying to see where this will go.

Utahime narrows her eyes. "Only if I get to kiss Shoko."

Shoko raises her mug. "Only seven minutes? Lame."

There's a moment of chaos as everyone processes that. You're laughing along, completely oblivious to the way Satoru looks at you when you toss your head back. To the soft smile that tugs at his mouth when you nudge him with your foot and call him an idiot. To the way Geto side eyes Shoko across the room like you seeing this? and Shoko just exhales slowly like he's fucked.

He doesn't really press it further. Doesn't push the game too much harder after that. Instead he sinks back beside you and says, "your hands are cold," before casually wrapping one of his around yours. You reply with a "uhh, thanks!" which warrants a collective roar of laughter and scoffs from the rest of your friends.

The group starts to break up around midnight, laughter and warmth still hanging in the air like incense. Geto's helping himself to the last of the chips while Utahime is very blatantly grabbing Shoko's wrist and dragging her toward the bedroom. "Don't wait up," Shoko mutters around her cigarette, voice low and lazy. Utahime glares at her like she just said it out loud in front of the Pope.

Geto's already halfway through a cackle. "Subtle as always."

Nanami stands stiffly near the door, jacket in hand, already looking like he regrets ever agreeing to this. Haibara's saying goodbye to everyone like he'll never see them again. You're slipping your hoodie back on when you feel a hand brush your arm.

"I'll walk you back," Satoru says, grasping at straws to come off nonchalant, like it's no big deal. But he hesitates, just a little. His hand lingers. And with a little breathless laugh, he adds, "Actually... wanna go for a drive? Just around. It's nice out."

You blink up at him. "A drive?"

He shrugs one shoulder. "Just figured it might be fun."

Behind you, Geto and Shoko exchange a glance so loud it might as well be a shout. She doesn't even try to hide her smirk. "Oh my god," Geto mutters, dragging his hands down his face. "Here we go." Shoko nods, lips twitching, stopping Utahime in her mission. "He's finally doing it."

Nanami exhales like he's witnessing the inevitable fall of Rome. "May as well let him embarrass himself. It's overdue."

Meanwhile, you're still standing there, completely oblivious. "What are you guys talking about?"

Satoru, somehow, looks both smug and terrified. "So... you in?"

You shrug, a little smile creeping up your face. "Sure. Why not."

—

The car is... a mess. Not physically. It's spotless, actually. But the energy is deranged. Satoru fiddles with the radio three times before deciding on a station that's playing some tragically upbeat early 2000s pop song.

You squint. "Seriously?"

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "It's a classic."

"Hilary Duff's 'Come Clean' is a classic?"

He gasps. "Don't disrespect the Duff."

You give him the flattest look of your life. "Okay, no. Give me that."

You snatch the aux cord and scroll through his embarrassing playlists before giving up and opening your own. The second the bass kicks in, Missy Elliott, Ludacris, something with teeth, you light up like it's instinct.

You adjust the volume with a satisfied little grin and toss your phone back into the cup holder. Satoru glances over warily, and then the beat drops.

You gasp. "OH. No way."

Satoru flinches at the bass thump. "I feel like I should be concerned."

You don't answer. You're too busy getting into it.

"Biggie Biggie Biggie, can't you see!"

He startles in his seat.

"Sometimes your words just hypnotize me-" you throw a look his way, brows bouncing. "C'mon. Tell me you know this one."

Satoru clears his throat. "I mean... vaguely? In, like, a general context?"

You gasp again; this time dramatic, hand over heart. "You absolute heathen."

"I grew up on J pop and garbage pop punk!" he protests. "My radio thinks I'm a divorced 40 year old going through it!"

You cackle. "That explains the Hilary Duff."

"Don't talk about her like that," he says, mockoffended. "She's a cultural treasure."

But your attention is back on the music. The car's climbing a winding hill, city lights twinkling below. The beat hits, and you're back at it again, fully committed.

No hesitation. No shame. Only you in the passenger seat at some late hour, rapping along to Biggie like you were born to do this, hoodie slouched off one shoulder and your hair haloed by the dash lights. You're mouthing every word, hands moving with the rhythm, smirking at your own flow like you're putting on a show for the moon.

Satoru doesn't say anything. Because he's staring.

Not in a creepy way. Not in a calculated way. In the "I think this is the moment I fall in love, and I wasn't fucking prepared for it" kind of way.

"Okay, okay," you say, a little breathless as the chorus hits again. "Your turn. Hit me with a favorite."

He's silent.

You glance over. "Satoru?"

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. His mouth opens, then closes. Then opens again.

You laugh. "What, are you shy now?"

He finally speaks; quiet, almost dazed. "I think I'm having a spiritual experience."

You snort. "You're such a drama queen."

"No, I'm serious," he says, flicking his eyes back to the road before you catch him staring. "You just... know all the words."

"I'm a woman of culture."

"You're gonna be the death of me."

You raise an eyebrow. "Because of my Biggie flow?"

He mutters, "Because you're so... fuck. Nevermind."

You don't press it. You're still too high on melody and the thrill of the moment to notice the way his leg bounces, the way he keeps glancing at your profile when he thinks you're not looking. But he's coming undone quietly in the driver's seat, falling in love like it's the most natural, painful thing in the world.

And you? You're just vibing.

"Ohhh this one's a banger," you say, already starting to rap along under your breath. Then louder. Then louder.

Satoru is trying to keep his eyes on the road, but you're rapping every word with such unhinged confidence it's like your final form has been activated.

You're halfway through a line that's entirely too explicit for the moment when he chokes on air and swerves slightly. "Jesus!" he says, one hand gripping the wheel, the other over his heart. "You're gonna kill me."

He glances sideways at you like you just slapped him and kissed him in the same breath. The lights from the dash glow soft against his face, shadows cutting sharp across his cheekbones. Then Satoru speeds up. Not recklessly. Just enough that the engine hums a little louder, the wind curls through your cracked window a little harder, your heart skips once.

You glance over. "Why're you driving like that?"

His jaw twitches. He doesn't look at you. "I'm taking you somewhere."

You blink. "Okay... ominous. What is this? A kidnapping?"

He exhales a short laugh through his nose. "I'm not kidnapping you."

You raise an eyebrow. "You sure? 'Cause I feel like this is how most true crime stories start."

"We have class tomorrow," you add, watching the highway signs disappear behind you. "And I need at least eight hours of sleep or I turn into a demon."

"I promise," he says, voice lower now, serious, "this view is worth it."

That shuts you up. Mostly because you've never heard Satoru sound like that before; soft, but firm. Like he's talking about something much bigger than a skyline.

You let him drive. And sure enough, ten minutes later, he pulls off onto one of those little mountain pull ins; just enough room for a single car, nestled into the cliffside. Trees to the left. A panoramic view of the city to the right, glittering and golden beneath the black sky.

He cuts the engine.

It's quiet for a moment. Not awkward, but close. The kind of silence that's full of something. Charged.

You shift in your seat. "Satoru?"

"I like you," he says. All in a rush. A little panicked.

You freeze.

He keeps going.

"I like like you." he says again.

You blink. Slowly. "What."

He keeps going like he didn't just drop a live grenade into your lap.

"Actually... no, fuck, I'm obsessed with you. I think about you every fucking day. Like, all the time. When you're not there. When you are there. When you beat me at Mario Kart and laugh in my face like a little asshole."

You just sit there. Staring. Mouth gaping a little.

"Wait," you finally manage, voice sharp with confusion. "What?"

He falters.

You shake your head once, frowning. "Since when?"

"I don't know!" he blurts. "A while. Months. Maybe longer. Since always, probably."

"Since always?" you echo, totally bewildered. "You've literally never said anything. Like, ever."

"Are you kidding?" he says, looking scandalized. "I've been flirting with you for so long!"

You give him a flat look. "You told me I was cheating at Mario Kart."

"Exactly!" he says, eyes wide, hands flailing. "That's peak flirting. That's textbook!"

"That's delusional," you say, and his face crumples like you just slapped him.

He groans, burying his face in his hands. "Okay. Okay. I deserve that. But seriously, I've been losing my mind over you. Like, clinically. Every time you smile at me? I black out. I forget my own name."

You blink. Hard. "You're serious."

He lifts his head and nods, breathless. "Dead serious. And if I don't kiss you right now, I'm going to die right here in this driver's seat."

You scan him, still trying to process the literal nuke he just handed you with a pretty bow. Your heart's going a mile a minute but your brain is lagging three steps behind.

"Satoru..." you say slowly. "You're actually being serious?"

"Yes."

"You really, like, really like me?"

"Yes."

You squint at him. "You're not concussed or something, right?"

He throws his hands up. "Oh my god, I knew this was gonna happen. I knew you were gonna be all cute and confused and... fuck, I knew it."

And then quieter, rawer, "I like you so much I can't think straight. I think about you constantly. And it's not just-" He stops. Swallows. "It's not just some passing crush. Okay there. I said it."

And there it is. Honest. Messy. All on the table.

You're quiet for a second. Breathing a little too fast. Brain still buffering.

"...So do it."

He stays still at first, staring at you in stunned silence. His chest barely rises, hands frozen in place, pupils blown wide as if the world tipped sideways and his heart spilled out somewhere between the center console and your lap. No smirk. No words. Only awe, thick in the air between you.

Then he fumbles for the seatbelt, unbuckling with shaky hands and a breath caught tight in his throat. He leans in too fast, nearly colliding with you, mouth parted; a little too eager, a little too desperate, while running on pure instinct and horniness alone.

He kisses you with the urgency of someone starved for touch. Months of tension spill out all at once, messy and hot, all teeth and tongue and too much spit. There’s no rhythm. No finesse. Just raw, pure, aching need.

He surges forward, seat creaking beneath him, correcting the angle mid kiss, mouthing at you harder. Your teeth clash. His nose mashes against your cheek. It’s a disaster in motion. But it’s real. And it’s him. And it’s so good your lungs forget their job entirely.

When he finally pulls away, breathless and wide eyed, he stares at you like you just solved world peace. "Okay," he says, voice hoarse. "Wow. Where the hell did you learn to kiss like that?"

You smirk, despite your heart racing at a medically concerning rate and your vision going blurry. "Don't ask a lady her secrets."

He blinks. "WOW, okay. So I'm not the first."

You blink back. "I read a lot of smut, actually."

He short circuits. "Holy fuck. That's so hot. Wait wait, that's like, sex books, right?"

"It's not just sex," you say, rolling your eyes. "They have plot."

He groans, dragging his hands down his face like he's in physical pain. "Why is that even hotter. Jesus Christ, you're gonna kill me."

You shug a little, feeling bold. "Not my fault you're under experienced."

He leans closer again, whispering to you far too excitedly. "Can I kiss you again?"

You pretend to think about it to torture him a little. Then you smile. "Yeah."

This time it's slower. Warmer. More intentional. His lips part against yours like he's savoring it, learning the shape of you, kissing you like he doesn't want to miss a single thing. His hand finds your jaw, fingers curled gently under your chin. He tilts your face and deepens the kiss with a soft groan that sounds a little like a whimper of relief. And when he pulls back again, eyes glazed, hair a mess, panting, he says, "Okay, I can't take it anymore. Please. Backseat. Right now."

You raise an eyebrow. "You're begging?"

"I'm dying," he groans. "I don't know what I'm doing, but you sure seem to from your sex books, so you might have to coach me-"

You cut him off by grabbing the hem of his jacket, eyes sharp, voice low. "Backseat."

He nearly breaks the emergency parking brake.

You're both laughing a little as you scramble over the center console, limbs tangled, knees bumping into things. The windows are already fogging from the inside out, your breath lodging in your throat when you finally settle into the backseat together.

His hands are everywhere; on your waist, your thighs, tugging your hoodie, unsure of where to touch first. His mouth finds yours again, messier than before, tongue sliding against yours as he murmurs into the kiss.

"Fuck, you taste so… so good. And minty. Mmm, mint."

Your fingers slip under the hem of his jacket, bunching the soft fabric in your fists as you pull him closer, climbing into his lap with a calculated roll of your hips. The very second your fingers graze his stomach, he reacts on instinct. He pulls and tugs and shrugs it off in a frantic motion, like it’s suddenly offensive to have anything between you. It drops to the seat in a forgotten heap.

“Tell me what you like,” he breathes, voice pitched somewhere between a plea and a question. “Please. I wanna get it right. I wanna make you feel good.”

You kiss him again instead of answering.

The backseat is hot and stuffy and tiny, but it doesn't matter. Not when he's beneath you, mouth swollen, eyes blown wide and so stupidly gone it's actually adorable.

Satoru's fingers are nearly shaking where they rest on your thighs, and he looks up at you like he's trying to solve a math equation and forgets what numbers are. His voice is hoarse and soft. "Is this right? I mean, I don't know, am I... am I doing this right?"

You giggle at him. "You're literally just sitting there."

He throws his head back with a groan. "Okay, rude. This is very emotionally vulnerable for me!"

You try not to laugh as you lean forward, tugging at his jacket. "You're fine, Satoru."

"I just, fuck... I wanna make you feel good. I wanna get it right."

"You will. Just... stop thinking so hard."

"Easy for you to say," he mutters, hands skating under your hoodie. "You're the one who reads sex novels."

You frown, stilling a bit. "They're not just sex-"

"Oh my god," he groans dramatically. "You admit they're sex books!"

"They have plot!" you argue, poking his chest. "It's not all weird kinky stuff!"

He raises an eyebrow. "...So some of it is?"

You squint. "Okay yeah but it's fictional! The girl's always, like, tied up and calling the guy 'sir' or something."

Satoru chokes on air. "Wait. You like that?"

You snort. "Not in real life. It's just... hot to read."

"Oh," he says. "So we're both completely fucking clueless."

You nod. "Yup."

There's a briend moment of silence. Then he says, so gently, so breathlessly, "Tell me what you like. Or what you think you like."

You inhale sharply. His hands are resting on your hips, trying not to move too fast, yet failing miserably. You can feel the restraint seething in his fingers, the way he so desperately wants to get it right, to make it perfect, even as his breath catches with every small movement you make.

So you take pity on him.

You grab his hand and guide it between your thighs, pressing it into the heat of you through your pants. “Start here,” you whisper.

His breath catches like a record skipping. His thumb twitches, almost like he’s not really sure what to do first. He murmurs a little “fuck, oh my god,” under his breath, but you shut him up once again with an eager, messy kiss. He holds your waist with his free hand like you’re the last stable thing on Earth.

In a fit of boldness, you bite his lip. A little playful, experimental nip. And judging by the reaction you recieve, that being a pathetic whimper so loud and needy, you deduce he likes it. Really likes it, actually.

He immediately pulls away and slaps a hand over his face. “That was… oh my god, that was so loud. I didn’t mean to- fuck. Sorry.”

You grin a playful, almost cocky little smile. “Don’t be sorry.”

You roll your hips against his hand; a slow, taunting grind, and the heel of his palm presses perfectly against you. His hand seizes up from the sound you make.

His whole body jolts. “Holy shit,” he breathes, head falling back against the backseat. His eyes flutter shut like he’s about to ascend. “Holy shit holy shit holy sh-”

You laugh, warmth curling in your chest. “Are you good?”

 “I’m… I’m so good,” he babbles, voice an octave higher than before. “I’m so fucking good. This is the best moment of my life. I could die right now. You’re so pretty. You’re insane. How do you feel this good already?”

You hum, rolling your hips again, slow and deliberate. “You’re really talkative for someone who said he’s clueless.”

Fortunately, you weren’t the only one feeling bold. Seemingly of fucking nowhere, his voice drops to something quiet and heavy, with that unpolished rasp that sounds like it’s scraped straight out of a wet dream. “I want to make you cum on my lap.”

You freeze. His fingers dig into your waist.

"I wanna make you cum right here. Wanna hear what you sound like."

Your heart slams against your ribs.

The look in his eyes changes; still soft, still wide, but there's something hungry beneath it. Something serious.

"I wanna see you."

You pull back a little, visibly stunned. "You're already seeing me."

He shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. “No, I mean like, really- fuck, I wanna see all of you. Can I?” The look in his eyes is ridiculous, like you just offered him salvation.

You chuckle a little, but nod in the end.

The very second he sees your head bob, he practically rips his pants trying to get them down, knocking his knee on the cup holder in the process. “Shit- fuck, I'm okay,” he mutters, squirming, “I'm fine. I'm good. I'm so good.”

You try not to laugh, but it's hard when he's hissing at his own zipper like it personally betrayed him. Then he reaches for you, fingertips ghosting under your hoodie, his breath catching when you let him pull it up over your head.

He freezes like a deer in headlights. “Holy shit.”

You shift, suddenly aware of the tight space, the way his hands graze near your waist and cunt like he's afraid to break you. His gaze drags over your bare skin, mouth parted, pupils blown.

“You're... you're so fucking pretty,” he says in a voice close to a confession, maybe only meant for his head and not to be spoken. “You're actually not real. I'm dreaming. I'm gonna wake up in a cold sweat and cry.”

You laugh softly. He’s so pathetically infatuated it’s almost endearing. “Please don't cry.”

“No promises.”

He reaches for the waistband of your sweats, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Still okay?”

You nod. “Satoru, yes.”

“Okay. Okay. I'm just checking. I'm new at this.”

“You don't say.”

He pulls your sweats down slowly, fingers brushing your thighs, almost hesitant and careful; he's moving like he's handling something with a fragile warning label. You help him, wriggling out of them, and the second you're bare in his lap, he whimpers. Literally whimpers.

“Fuck. Fuck. I'm gonna die.”

“You're so extra,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. He groans into it. “What do you expect?? Hello? hottest girl at our school, maybe even the entire world, just casually naked on top of me in the backseat of my car. This is genuinely how I die.”

You look down at him, heat blooming across your cheeks, heartbeat thudding in your ears. For just a second, everything stills; the air between you growing more charged and electric. Your chest brushes his, bare skin to bare skin. His hands freeze at your waist, fingers flexing once before going still. Neither of you breathes. You just stay there, caught in the quiet, in the weight of what’s about to happen.

“...So how do we...?”

“I don't know,” you say honestly. “We kinda just... find a rhythm?”

“Oh. Cool. Yeah. Rhythm. Easy.”

It's not easy.

You both fumble, laugh, bump foreheads. At one point he accidentally knocks the dome light on and screeches before turning it off again. But at one point, your hips shift just right and his mouth drops open as you sink down on him.

“OH.” His head thunks against the seat. “Oh my god. OH MY GOD.”

You bite back a grin. “That it?”

“YES. That's it. That's the entire fucking thing. Don't move. No. Do move. Just like that. Holy shit.”

You grind your hips on him again, exactly the same slowness and tease you did before. And Satoru? He looks like his brain is actively being rewired. His hands fly to your your thighs like a lifeline, fingers bruising into your skin, holding you like he needs it.

“You feel so good,” he gasps. “You feel fucking insane. Are you- do you like it? Is this okay? Please tell me it's good- fuck, tell me it's good, please.”

“Shh,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his. “Just kiss me.”

Without a second thought, Satoru kisses you like he's on fire and you’re the only thing that can put it out. His lips move earnestly; wet, messy, a little slobbery, but so him. He moans into your mouth with every slow grind of your hips. “Please,” he whines. “Please don't stop. I'm gonna cum. I can't- fuck, I can't hold it.”

“Then don't,” you breathe. “Just feel it.”

He does. And it’s instant. Maybe three strokes in and he’s fullbody seizing, head thrown back with a choked, guttural moan that sounds like his entire soul just left his body through his dick.

“HOLYSHITHOLYSHITfuckfuckfuck-”

His hips twitch helplessly. His hands are clawing at you like he’s trying to apologize through physical contact. His face is buried in your shoulder, whimpering, babbling, fully out of commission.

“I- oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to! Fuck, I didn’t even last. I was gonna pace myself, I swear, I wanted to make it romantic and slow and-”

You’re laughing. Genuinely laughing. Still lazily grinding against him just enough for him to feel how soaked you are. “You lasted like… maybe three pumps.”

He groans into your skin. “DON’T SAY IT OUT LOUD!”

“You screamed.”

“I know!” he wails. “I felt myself scream. I was THERE.”

You glance down at him, completely enamored. His face is red. He looks like he just got absolutely steamrolled by divine intervention. “…Okay,” he breathes. “I need to fix this.”

Your brows knit together. “Fix what?”

“This! That! The… premature event. That wasn’t even sex. That was like, a preview.”

You smirk, dragging your palms up his chest. “It was kinda hot.”

He sits up like a man reborn. “No. No. I am not going out like that.”

You arch a brow. “Going out?”

“I’m gonna die of shame if I don’t redeem myself right now. Please. I need to prove I’m not just a one and done disaster! I promise I can do better. Let me try again. I’ll do all the work. You don’t have to move a single muscle. Please?”

You sit and watch in awe as Satoru Gojo spirals with his cock still inside you in real time, babbling on about how ‘humiliating’ this is and how he ‘swears he’s not a one pump chump.’

You laugh softly, grinding just enough to tease, to let him feel how wet you made him. “Jesus,” you murmur. “You're a mess.”

He makes a sound so feral you think he might actually black out. “I'm YOUR mess,” he says immediately, eyes dazed and glossy. “You did this. You did this to me.”

And honestly? You're proud of it.

The silence lingers for maybe ten whole seconds while he processes the fact that you two actually just fucked, before Satoru suddenly sits up like he just remembered he left the stove on. “No. Nope. I can’t live like this. I’m humiliated,” he blurts. “I lasted two seconds and screamed like a goddamn cartoon character. We’re going to the dorms. Right now. I need to redeem myself.”

You blink at him from your cozy, cum filled sprawl across the his lap. “Satoru. I’m literally full of your cum right now. I’m gonna make a mess if I move.”

He groans and throws his head back like the world is ending. “WOW. Amazing. Didn’t even ask. I’m zero for two. Oh my god. You’re never gonna wanna touch me again, huh? You’re gonna tell Shoko. She’s gonna roast me. I can feel it. I’m gonna have to switch schools. Maybe countries. Is there a jujutsu high in, like, Greenland?!”

You blink at him, then snort. “Relax, Romeo. I’m on birth control.”

Satoru groans like you just personally ended his bloodline. He covers his face with both hands, voice muffled. “Nope. Nope. I’m still getting you Plan B. Tomorrow. First thing. I’ll wear a disguise and everything! I’ll sneak into the pharmacy like it’s a heist.”

You burst out laughing. “Satoru!”

“And I’ll bring you soup,” he barrels on, undeterred. “And one of those squishy plushies you like. Maybe a heating pad. I’ll nurse you back to health like a devoted husband whose wife just caught consumption.”

“That doesn’t even- what? That doesn’t make sense.”

He sits up straighter, grabbing your shoulders. “You’re my precious cargo now.”

You’re giggling too hard to speak.

“No sudden movements,” he says solemnly. “You need rest. Fluids. A full Satoru certified recovery protocol.”

“Do I also get a massage?”

“Oh, you’re getting more than a massage,” he says, suddenly smirking. “You’re getting the redemption arc of the century. Next round, I’m doing all the work. No distractions. No accidents. I’m gonna blow your mind so hard you forget how disappointed you were in me.”

You raise a brow. “I wasn’t disappointed.”

“Liar. I lasted like, five seconds.”

“You cried,” you tease, and he scowls.

“I felt things,” he huffs. “Anyway, next time I’m gonna last longer than a ringtone loop and give you the full Satoru Gojo experience. Postgame recovery and everything.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nods with gravitas. “Gourmet snacks. Temperature controlled blankets. A playlist. Maybe even bake you cookies.”

“…You’re gonna fuck me and then bake me cookies?”

“The best damn cookies you’ve ever had.” he says proudly.

You stare. Then you start laughing so hard your stomach hurts. You roll your eyes through it. "You're actually insane."

"Right?? But now I'm insane for you." He grins, crooked and unhinged. "Speaking of. How do I sneak into your dorm? Like, logistically. I can’t exactly give the performance of a century in the backseat of this beater."

You blink. "You could just... sneak in?"

He gasps. "YES. I knew I was crushing on a genius."

You watch in complete horror as he suddenly scrambles out from under you, pulling his pants halfway up, and lunges over the center console like he's being chased by god himself.

"Satoru!"

"Back to your dorm!" he yells triumphantly, throwing the car into drive. "We're nesting!"

"I'm still half naked!"

"We'll get you a hoodie at the next red light!"

"YOU'RE GOING 70."

He grins like a lunatic, one hand on the wheel, the other fumbling for your hoodie behind him. "Baby I gotta look at you while I recover. It's important. For science." And somehow, in some absolutely unhinged way, you love it.

—

You barely get the door open before he's on you again; messy kisses, wandering hands, breathless little noises like he physically can't stop touching you.

"Okay," Satoru pants, voice way too loud, "so I did read somewhere that missionary is like, the gold standard starter position."

You blink. "Where the hell did you read that?"

"Some forum," he says as he kicks the door shut behind you, "called like, reddit or something. Very clinical."

"Oh great. You're basing this off Reddit?"

"No no no. Science."

And before you can argue, his arms wrap around your thighs and he picks you up like a lunatic. You yelp, grabbing at his shoulders. "Satoru!"

"Shhh," he hushes, breathless with laughter, stumbling toward your bed with his fly wide open, one sock dangling pathetically off his foot, hoodie twisted around his neck like a scarf.

Luckily, your dorm's on the end of the hall. No teachers nearby. No supervising staff. Just Haibara, who's definitely passed out with a granola bar in his hand and the TV blaring.

Satoru drops you onto the bed like you're made of spun silk and sugar. Then stands back with both hands on his hips, chest heaving. "Okay, princess," he says, voice cracking, "don't worry. I totally know what I'm doing."

You give him a look. He clears his throat and starts undressing whatever he has on like it's a mission objective. Tosses his jacket somewhere in the vicinity of your desk. His shirt ends up on your floor lamp. His pants get halfway down before he has to sit on the edge of the bed to kick them off.

"I am so cool right now," he mutters, struggling with a pant leg. "Slick. Smooth. Definitely not having a full body meltdown."

You laugh as you pull your hoodie over your head. "You're wearing one sock."

"Don't disrespect the sock," he says solemnly. "It's my confidence sock."

When you're both undressed completely, he hovers over you. Hands planted on either side of your head. Face inches from yours. "Yup," he says. "Totally cool. About to redeem my two pumps and make sweet love to the finest girl in Japan. Give a special grade performance. Totally not peeing my pants a little."

You raise a brow. "Is that... a figure of speech or-"

"No further questions at this time."

His mouth is on you before you can answer; wet and needy and so full of affection it nearly knocks the air out of you. His hips settle between yours. His hands frame your face. You can feel the way he's moving; not from fear, but from how much he wants you. How much he wants to get it right.

And just before he lines himself up, voice shaking, he whispers against your mouth, "Tell me what feels good. Please. I'll do anything."

His arms are shaking as he slides in. Tentatively, and also painfully slow. "Fuuuck," he groans, forehead resting against yours. "Oh my god, oh my fucking god. This is- it's so warm, it's so warm, is it supposed to feel like this? Are you sure this is legal?"

You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, heels hooking behind him to pull him deeper. He screeches. Genuinely lets out a half choked, helpless squeak.

"OKAY SEX GODDESS," he gasps, voice shaking. "DID YOU READ THAT ONE TOO??"

You laugh, breathless and full of him. "Maybe."

He's blinking at you with wide, wet eyes, chest heaving, jaw slack. "You're trying to kill me."

"You like it," you whisper.

He thrusts again, deeper this time, sharp and sudden, and you whine a little in response. "Yes I fucking do." he groans.

His mouth is on yours, then your jaw, then your neck; sloppy, open mouthed kisses as he fucks into you like he's been waiting his whole life to do this.

"I can't- I can't believe I'm inside you right now," he babbles. "You feel insane. You feel like heaven. You feel like fucking destiny. If this is a dream I swear to god I'm gonna piss myself in my sleep-"

"Satoru-"

"Say my name again," he begs, hips stuttering briefly. "Please. Say it. Say it in that voice. I'll buy you a house. I'll buy you seven houses."

You whimper it. Moan it. Gasp it into his ear, and he loses his mind.

"That's it. That's fucking it."

He's going so slowly, trying to make it last, but it's not really working. Every little moan you let out, every gasp, every twitch of your legs around him has him clinging to reality by a thread.

"Do you like this?" he pants, breath hot against your skin. "Am I doing it right? Am I good? You're making those sounds and I- fuck, I'd do anything for those sounds-"

"You're perfect," you breathe. "You feel so good, Satoru."

He whines. Actually whines. Thrusts a little harder. "You're so tight, so good, holy fuck- I could die like this. I want to die like this. Just bury me right here. Let my soul haunt your pussy."

You wheeze. "That's not how ghosts work-"

"I don't care! I'll invent a new kind of haunting!"

You rake your fingers into his hair, tugging lightly at the base of his neck. He gasps, loud and broken. His hips falter.

"Okay," he pants, eyes fluttering. "Okay that- why does that feel good? Oh my god. Do it again."

You tug again, just a little, and he moans like you just opened the gates of heaven. "Fuck," he whimpers. "That's- oh my god, that's bad. I'm gonna do something stupid."

"Like what?" you tease, breathless, clenching around him.

"Like propose."

You laugh, dragging your nails across his scalp. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

He lets out a breathy little laugh, dazed and shaky, and his hands everywhere; your waist, your thighs, your chest, cheeks, like he can’t decide what part of you to worship first. His touch is devoted and frantic all at once. “You’re unreal,” he babbles. “You’re so pretty. You’re- you’re fuckin’ making me feel things I don’t even have words for.”

“Try anyway,” you murmur, rolling your hips up to meet his with a soft whine.

He gasps. Actually gasps, and then sobs. Presses his forehead to yours, completely overwhelmed, drowning in pussy and pleasure. “I wanna stay inside you forever,” he confesses. “I wanna build a house in here. Like a tiny little cottage. With a garden. And a porch swing.”

You burst out laughing. “That’s the most deranged thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He grins like a man possessed. “Really? I’m winning!”

You cup his jaw, pull him back in for a kiss that turns messy, teeth clacking slightly before it melts into something softer. Filthier. “Poor baby,” you tease against his mouth. “Thought you were in charge, huh?”

“I never stood a chance,” he whimpers. “You’re unreal. I’d do anything for you at this point.”

You roll your hips again, and his breath catches. He moans; loud and absolutely shameless while thrusting harder, the rhythm less imagined in his head and more driven. A man on a mission. “I’m gonna make you cum this time,” he pants, desperate and focused, fucking you with the confidence of someone who definitely Googled every position a hundred times and imagined doing them with you. “I have to. I’m not stopping until you do. I can’t cum again without it. I’ll die. I’ll actually die.”

You giggle and drag your nails down his back just enough to make him shiver. “You gonna give it to me properly this time, Satoru?”

He whines, pace stuttering for a second. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, baby. I got this. Gonna make my girl a wet little mess for me.”

You moan, and he moans right back, like your pleasure fuels him.

“You feel so good,” he breathes. “So good, so good, I didn’t know it could feel this good.”

“Then shut up and make me cum,” you taunt, dragging him closer.

His hips falter for half a second like a fuse just blew in his brain; but he recovers fast, fucking into you harder, deeper, whispering, “Yeah? Yeah. Okay. Deeper. You like it deep, I can tell. Your voice gets all high when I hit that spot- right there, yeah? You’re so fucking tight around me I think I’m gonna- n-no. No, not yet. Not until you do. Gotta make it good for you. Better than before. Best ever. God, you’re too good-”

You crash your mouth into his, swallowing his words and replacing them with whimpers. “You’re doing so good, Satoru,” you breathe into the kiss. “God, you feel so good. Look at you, fucking me like you’ve done this a hundred times. Fucking me like you mean it.”

“I do mean it,” he chokes out. “I’ve been dreaming about this. Every night. Thought about how I’d fuck you if I ever got the chance. Studied for it. Like an exam. Did you know there are diagrams online?”

You laugh breathlessly. “You studied how to fuck me?”

“I studied everything,” he groans, pounding into you with newfound purpose. “And it still didn’t prepare me for how good you’d feel. Holy shit, I’m gonna cum- wait, fuck, no. Gotta hold it. I can hold it. I will hold it.”

“Then don’t stop,” you whisper, clinging to him. “Just don’t stop.”

He kisses you again, all tongue and teeth and heat, and fucks you like he’s trying to apologize to your soul. Like if he does this right, maybe you’ll never leave. Judging by how good he feels, by the fire curling low in your belly, he just might be right.

He kisses you again, all tongue and teeth and heat, and fucks you like he’s trying to apologize to your soul. Like if he does this right, maybe you’ll never leave. Judging by how good he feels, by the fire curling low in your belly, he just might be right.

Just when you think he’s finished being ridiculous, he thrusts a little deeper, eyes locked on yours. And says, soft and a little pathetic, “You were made for me.”

His eyes flutter open, dazed and hazy. “…Did I say that out loud?”

You nod.

He pants. “Was it hot?”

You nod again.

“…Okay cool,” he breathes. “I’m gonna nut soon.”

But before he can fall apart, you gasp and writhe, sharp and sudden, because something about the way he’s hitting that exact spot, the way his voice cracks when he begs for your body like it’s a vice, sends you straight into orgasm territory. It’s the way he’s trying so hard to please you, the way nobody else has ever shown so much dedication and devotion to making you cum first, and the way his cock hits just right over and over that does it for you.

“Satoru-” you cry out, nails digging into his back. “Don’t stop. Right there, please, keep going like that- fuck, I’m cumming, i’m cumming, oh my god-”

You clench around him so tight it knocks the air from his lungs. His hips stutter, but he doesn’t dare stop. You’re pulsing on his cock, soaking him, thighs trembling like you’re short-circuiting from the inside out. You swear, you see white.

His orgasm comes immediately after. Hard. Loud. A fucking mess. Shaking so badly he nearly collapses on top of you. He moans your name like a prayer, like it’s the only word he knows, like he’s trying to write it into the universe with every breath. He buries his face in your neck, clinging to you like a lifeline, every thrust growing sloppier, needier, wrecked beyond reason.

He freezes for half a second, like his brain just bluescreened. Glances down at you, then to the spot where he’s buried to the hilt inside you, then back to your face. The moment he feels how wet you’ve gotten, how tight and hot and fucking unreal you are, the loudest, whiniest, most desperate groan rips from his throat.

His orgasm hits like a truck. Hard. Loud. A full body meltdown. His entire frame locks up, then shakes, like he’s about to be exorcised. He moans your name like it’s the only word he knows, over and fucking over. The kind of moan that feels like a confession, a breakdown, and a worship chant all at once. He doesn’t just cum, he fucking falls apart, collapsing on top of you, babbling something that sounds like “thank you” and “holy shit” and “you’re so good” all at once.

You feel it all; him twitching inside you, the hot, thick spill of cum flooding you like he’s trying to fill you up so much it leaks out around him. It’s obscene. Sticky. So fucking hot you moan again just from the feeling. His hips are still moving slightly, trying to fuck it deeper, bury it as far as it’ll go.

He pants against your skin, face buried in your neck like he’s trying to crawl inside you. “You feel so good. So fucking good. Fuck, fuck, I didn’t know it could feel like this. I didn’t know.”

Your thighs are shaking. Your body’s practically goo. You can still feel him throbbing, whimpering through the aftershocks, every inch of him drenched in sweat and desperation.

The sounds he makes are guttural; half sobs, half praises, all of it needy. A little pathetic, a lot unhinged, and still somehow the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. He clutches you tighter, grinding shallowly even as he starts to soften, like he physically can’t stop.

“…I’m obsessed with you,” he whispers, voice cracked and breathless. “Like. Actually. Clinically. You’ve permanently altered my brain chemistry. I’m not gonna recover from this. I’m gonna dream about you every night for the rest of my life.”

When he finally stills, he pulls back just enough to look at you, hair stuck to his forehead, glasses askew, lips kiss swollen and pink. He blinks once.

“…I think I blacked out. Are you real?”

You cup his face, kiss his temple, and giggle.

“I better be.”

He collapses on top of you with a full body sigh, all jello like and trembling and muttering thank yous like he just survived a natural disaster.

“Thank you. Thank you. You're amazing. I love you. Thank you.”

“You love me?” you snort, threading your fingers through his hair.

“I meant spiritually,” he mumbles into your neck. “Like in a god blessed, wow I saw the light kind of way. Sooo, yeah, no, I love you.”

“You're welcome, I guess?”

He kisses your collarbone. Then your shoulder. Then your jaw. Then your cheek. Then your nose. “My god,” he murmurs, still breathless, still sprawled across you, “I should've confessed sooner.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut. "You think?"

Then he goes quiet for a moment.

“...Wait.”

Your brows furrow.

“...Did you just wanna fuck me? Or do you like me too?”

You pull back just far enough to look him in the face. Then flick him in the forehead.

He yelps. “Ow!”

“Are you for real right now?”

He rubs the spot with a dramatic pout. “It's a valid question!”

“I literally let you raw me in a Honda Civic and moan cry on top of me then stuff me like a twinkie,” you deadpan. “What do you think, Satoru?”

“...Okay, sooo...” he starts, grinning. “Are you my girlfriend then?”

You hesitate, a little smile tugging at your lips. “...Is that what's supposed to happen next?”

He beams like he’s the sun himself. “YES.” Then he lurches upright suddenly, pulling out of you so fast you gasp and instantly feel the mess dripping down your thighs onto your poor, innocent mattress.

You glance down. “Oh my god, Satoru.”

He's already halfway to his pants, naked from the waist down, one sock still on, digging through piles of clothes like a man possessed.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to tell the group chat.”

“What??”

He grabs his phone, dives back onto the bed beside you, shoves his face next to yours, and holds up the camera. “Smile!”

You blink, dazed and still spread out, covered in sweat and his cum, while he grins like he just won the lottery.

Click.

The photo's so awful it could be a hostage situation, but he looks so proud. Then he opens the group chat and types:

ME AND MY GIRL ARE SAFE AT HOME BTW!!! YOU HEARD THAT RIGHT!! MY GIRL!!!

You slap a pillow over your face. “I hate you.”

A second later, your phone buzzes.

Shoko: fucking FINALLY

Geto: I'm shocked you didn't pass out mid thrust tbh

Nanami: Unsubscribe.

Utahime: You raw dogged before a second date??

Haibara: wait WHAT HAPPENED I WAS ASLEEP HELLO

You groan into the pillow.

Satoru collapses beside you again, laughing so hard he's wheezing, and pulls you into his chest. “Best night of my life,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. “And you're my girlfriend now, sooo... yeah. No. I won. I'm metaphorically chaining us together forever now.”

the uncomfortable truth about relatability

here's what i think is really happening: people empathize with suguru because his response to trauma is relatably human. giving up when things get too hard? most people have been there. choosing cruelty when the world feels endlessly cruel? they can imagine that spiral. breaking under pressure and lashing out at the world that hurt you? that's a very human-sized reaction to human-sized pain.

suguru's villain arc follows a pattern people recognize: good person faces trauma → trauma overwhelms their coping mechanisms → they break → they choose a path that hurts others. it's tragic, it's understandable, and most importantly, it's something many can see themselves potentially doing under the right (wrong) circumstances.

but satoru represents something that makes people fundamentally uncomfortable: incomprehensible resilience in the face of circumstances that should have broken him.

he had every single reason to become exactly what suguru became—isolated, bitter, convinced that non-sorcerers were beneath him, willing to burn down the system that failed him. the fact that he didn't isn't just impressive; it's almost alien in its strength.

and because many can't relate to that kind of resilience, they diminish it. they rewrite his story to make it more palatable, more human-sized. they make him dependent on suguru for his moral compass. they act like his principles came from somewhere outside himself rather than from an internal strength most people can't even comprehend.

a personal perspective: why suguru's actions are inexcusable

as someone who tends toward pessimism about the world and human nature, i find it fascinating that i can't muster even a shred of empathy for suguru's choices. i understand being disillusioned. i understand seeing the worst in people and systems. i understand feeling like everything is fucked and meaningless.

but genocide? murdering innocent people, including children? deciding that an entire group of humans deserves to die because some of them are awful? that's not a trauma response—that's a moral failing. that's choosing to become the exact kind of monster that makes the world darker.

pessimistic people often have the clearest view of how broken systems and circumstances can be, but recognizing that the world is cruel doesn't make cruelty acceptable. if anything, it should make you more determined not to add to the suffering. the fact that people can empathize with "i'm hurt so i'll hurt others" while struggling to understand "i'm hurt but i'll try to heal others" says everything about what kind of strength they can imagine themselves capable of.

satoru saw the same darkness suguru did—saw it even more clearly because of his isolation—and his response was "i'm going to try to make this better." that's not naivety. that's choosing hope as an act of defiance against despair.

the myth of suguru as satoru's moral anchor

this might be one of the most persistent misreadings in the entire fandom: the idea that suguru was responsible for satoru’s humanity. that he grounded him. saved him. kept him kind. that without him, satoru would’ve become something monstrous.

but let’s actually look at what canon—and context—shows us.

suguru's background: he had a loving family, recognition, camaraderie, a sense of purpose. people looked up to him. his morality was affirmed and echoed back.

satoru's background: born into isolation. groomed for a title, not a life. dehumanized from the moment he displayed power. forced into leadership before he was ready. no one taught him how to care—he just did, anyway.

and here’s the key difference: satoru didn’t learn restraint from suguru. he didn’t need a moral compass handed to him. this is someone who, as a literal child with godlike power, never misused it—not even out of spite. he had every reason to lash out, to fall, to become everything the world feared he would—but he didn’t. he made the choice not to. over and over. alone.

people point to lines like “should we kill them?” and treat them as some crisis of ethics, as if he was one breath away from becoming a villain. but that was a teenager processing grief and asking for a second opinion—not a boy on the edge of darkness. the fact that he even asked proves he already had the conscience people think he lacked. and when suguru fell, when he committed atrocities, when word reached satoru that his best friend had massacred an entire village—he didn’t believe it. he couldn’t. not because he was blind, but because he didn’t want to believe it was true.

that denial wasn’t proof of emotional dependence. it was grief. real, raw, deeply human grief. but grief doesn’t erase autonomy.

because here’s the truth: if satoru had truly needed suguru to stay good, then he would’ve broken right alongside him. but he didn’t. he chose to keep going. he didn’t become bitter. he didn’t turn cruel. he became a teacher. he started reforming a system everyone else accepted as immutable. he chose the future.

their bond mattered—but it wasn’t his foundation. people reduce satoru to “the boy who lost his best friend” as if that’s the most interesting thing about him, as if that one rupture defines every action after. but that flattens him. suguru was significant, yes. but significance isn’t destiny. and grief isn’t identity.

satoru's emotional arc isn’t about trying to rewrite the past. it’s about refusing to let that past define him. his love doesn’t rot into vengeance—it turns into action. he protects kids who could end up like suguru. he shoulders responsibility others run from. he teaches. he reforms. and he does it despite the pain, not because someone pulled him back from it.

he’s not a weapon on a leash, held back from destruction by a single lost friendship. he’s the one who disarms himself. every time. not because anyone taught him how—but because he wants to do better. because he knows what he’s capable of. because he cares, even when the world doesn’t care back.

so no, suguru wasn’t his moral anchor. he was a companion, once. someone who could relate to the burden. someone he loved. but satoru’s principles were never borrowed. they were born in silence, held together through loneliness, and reaffirmed with every act of kindness he chose after he lost suguru.

and that’s the kind of strength people keep refusing to see—because it's the kind they can’t imagine themselves having.

the empathy that never arrives

and that’s maybe the most frustrating part: that satoru—despite carrying more weight than anyone else in the story—rarely receives the empathy people so freely extend to others. the fandom will analyze every angle of suguru’s pain, dissect his fall, explain his choices, mourn what he became. but when it comes to satoru? the same kindness isn’t offered. people praise his power, his technique, his fights—but they rarely sit with how hard it must have been to stay soft. to keep choosing others. to keep choosing hope.

it’s like he’s too strong to be seen as vulnerable, too capable to be comforted. even fans fall into the same trap the jujutsu world did: they assume he’ll always endure, so they don’t bother asking if he’s okay. and they certainly don’t pause to understand how lonely that endurance must feel.

he never asked to be the strongest. and yet he lives every day carrying the cost of that title, quietly making the right choices when the wrong ones would be so much easier. he shows up. he gives. he believes. and still—he gets picked apart more for what he didn’t do than he gets recognized for everything he chooses to hold back.

when people say satoru gojo is emotionally shallow, or arrogant, or only human because of someone else—they’re echoing the same erasure the jujutsu higher-ups inflicted on him. they saw a weapon. fandom sees a trope. both refuse to look deeper. and maybe that’s what makes his quiet strength all the more tragic: that even now, after everything, so many still can’t find it in themselves to treat his endurance with the same empathy they give to someone who gave up.

the strength nobody wants to acknowledge

everyone talks about satoru being the strongest in terms of raw power. six eyes, infinity, hollow purple—yeah, he's op as hell. but his real strength, the one that actually defines him as a character, is something entirely different.

satoru gojo looked at a world that:

isolated him from birth

treated him as a weapon rather than a person

gave him godlike power with no guidance on how to use it responsibly

failed to protect his best friend

constantly demanded everything from him while giving nothing back

would have been perfectly fine with him becoming a tyrant as long as he protected their interests

and he said “no, i'm going to be better than this.”

not because someone taught him to be better. not because he had a strong support system. not because the world gave him reasons to hope. he chose to be better because that's who he decided to be, in the face of every circumstance that should have made him worse.

he chose to:

become a teacher who genuinely cares about his students' wellbeing and growth

work within a corrupt system to change it rather than tear it down

use his power to protect rather than dominate

maintain his sense of humor and humanity despite carrying unimaginable burdens

believe in the next generation enough to literally bet his life on them

never stop trying to save people, even people who've given up on themselves

the mischaracterization that reveals others' limitations

the way parts of this fandom consistently underestimate satoru's internal strength reveals something uncomfortable about how many people process exceptional resilience. they're so used to stories where good people are broken by bad circumstances that they don't know what to do with a character who endures and remains good anyway.

so they rewrite his story. they make him naive instead of recognizing that he chooses to see the world's potential for good despite evidence to the contrary. they make him emotionally dependent instead of acknowledging that he formed deep bonds despite having no model for healthy relationships. they make his strength into a weakness, his principles into privilege, his resilience into denial.

but here's the thing: satoru gojo spent his entire life surrounded by people who would have been perfectly fine with him becoming a monster. the zenin clan would have loved a satoru who believed in might makes right. the higher-ups would have been thrilled with a satoru who saw non-sorcerers as expendable. a corrupt system would have welcomed a corrupted strongest sorcerer with open arms.

the fact that he looked at all of that and said “i choose to be kind anyway” isn't naivety. it's not privilege. it's not emotional dependence.

it's moral strength on a level that most people can't even conceptualize, let alone replicate.

why suguru's fall makes satoru's resilience more impressive, not less

suguru had advantages satoru never did: a loving family, natural social connections, validation from others, a clear sense of purpose. and when the pressure became too much, he broke. that's human. that's understandable. that's tragic.

but it also makes satoru's resilience even more remarkable. he had fewer resources, less support, more pressure, and greater isolation. by every logical measure, he should have broken first and broken harder.

the fact that he didn't isn't a failure of the writing or a sign that his trauma wasn't “real enough.” it's evidence of a kind of internal strength that's so rare it seems almost fictional—which, ironically, is probably why it appears in fiction.

the flower quote and understanding without reciprocity

satoru once said something about being able to admire a flower without expecting it to understand you in return. it was about his relationship with regular people—how he could protect and care for them without needing them to comprehend his experience or validate his choices.

that quote encapsulates everything about his character that people miss. he didn't need others to understand his burden to make it worth carrying. he didn't need validation to know his principles were right. he didn't need reciprocity to keep giving.

most people in his world either feared him, used him, or put him on a pedestal. very few actually saw him as a complete person with his own struggles and growth. and yet he kept protecting them anyway. that's not emotional detachment—that's love so profound it doesn't require understanding to exist.

the love that bears the unbearable

satoru himself said that “love is the most twisted curse of all,” but his entire character arc is proof that love—not romantic love, but love for humanity, for the future, for people who will never know his name—is also the only force strong enough to bear the unbearable.

he loved his students enough to die for the possibility of their future. he loved the world enough to keep protecting it even when it gave him nothing but pain in return. he loved the idea of change enough to work within a system he could have easily destroyed.

that kind of love doesn't come from external validation or support systems. it comes from a depth of character that's almost incomprehensible in its strength.

recognizing true strength when you see it

as someone who naturally tends toward cynicism about human nature and the world's capacity for good, i find satoru's character deeply moving precisely because his hope isn't naive—it's defiant. he sees the darkness clearly and chooses light anyway. he understands how cruel people can be and decides to be kind anyway. he knows the system is broken and works to fix it anyway.

that's not the behavior of someone who doesn't understand pain or hasn't experienced trauma. that's the behavior of someone who has looked directly into the abyss and decided not to become it.

people who truly understand satoru gojo recognize that his greatest power was never his cursed technique—it was his refusal to let the world's darkness consume his capacity for love. that's a strength so rare and so valuable that it deserves to be seen and celebrated, not diminished or rewritten to fit more comfortable narratives about how people respond to pain.

the real tragedy

the real tragedy isn't that suguru fell—though that is tragic. the real tragedy is that satoru spent his entire life being misunderstood, even by people who claimed to care about him. he was seen as a weapon by his enemies, a tool by the system, and apparently, according to large portions of this fandom, as incomplete without the person who ultimately chose to become everything he stood against.

satoru gojo deserved to be seen for what he actually was: not just the strongest sorcerer, but one of the strongest people to ever exist in any story. his power was never his most impressive trait. his most impressive trait was that he had every reason to become a monster and chose to be a protector instead.

conclusion: putting respect on his name

satoru gojo might be overrated in powerscaling discussions, but he's criminally underrated in character analysis. large portions of this fandom will write thesis-length posts about why various morally gray characters deserve sympathy and understanding, but somehow can't extend that same analytical energy to recognizing the almost supernatural level of moral fortitude it took for satoru to become who he was.

his greatest strength was never infinity or six eyes. his greatest strength was looking at a world designed to corrupt him and choosing love anyway. choosing hope anyway. choosing to believe in others anyway.

if that's not the most powerful character writing in the series, then people are reading different stories.

it's time for more people to stop underestimating satoru gojo's heart and start recognizing it as the most impressive thing about him. because in a world full of characters who break under pressure, he stands as proof that sometimes—rarely, miraculously—people can endure the unendurable and come out kinder instead of crueler.

his face is buried in a pillow that smells faintly of hotel detergent and lavender, but there’s no comfort in it. his back hurts from sleeping diagonally on a mattress clearly built for six people. the sheets are soft, sure, but there’s something existentially humiliating about being cradled by 1200-thread-count linens while your soul feels like an unpaid invoice. the room is too quiet. the air feels staged. everything is too perfect to be real.  

he groans. rolls over. contemplates the balcony. contemplates launching himself off the balcony. not in a dramatic way. more in a “float away and become a sea cryptid” kind of way. he settles for the complimentary robe and coffee instead. barely resists the urge to dunk his entire head into the ice bucket.  

half a cup in, he tells himself he’s fine. totally fine. absolutely not spiraling over being told off by a stranger in silk who looked like every repressed fantasy he’d ever tried to debug out of his system. it’s not like he’s going to see her again anyway. cruise ships are huge. full of people. you’re probably already at brunch being charming to someone taller. someone with broader shoulders. someone who didn’t fumble his laptop like a toddler with a juice box.  

still. he can’t stop thinking about the look you gave him. sharp and cold like a broken champagne flute. how your robe shimmered. how you looked at him like you were already halfway through filing a noise complaint in your head. it was humiliating. and weirdly magnetic.  

he tries to shake it off. fails. gets dressed with the quiet anxiety of someone preparing for a dentist appointment. he’s halfway to convincing himself he imagined the whole thing when he steps into the hallway.  

and hears your voice.

muffled. sharp. from the barely cracked door across from his. phone call. unmistakable.  

he doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. he really doesn’t. he just happens to be holding his keycard like a hostage and trying to sneak past without triggering another cold-blooded encounter. but then your tone shifts. and the words catch him off guard.  

“i’m telling you, it’s fine,” you snap. “i’m not crying over him. i’m just… tired.”  

a pause. breath caught. something soft in the silence.  

“he said i was ‘too intense.’ like, what the fuck does that even mean? sorry for having standards?”  

satoru freezes. half-bent. the card halfway in the lock. suddenly, he’s not thinking about yesterday. he’s thinking about how your voice sounds different now. still sharp, but thinner around the edges. like you’ve been carrying something heavy for too long.  

“i don’t even want another relationship. men are exhausting. they either lie to you or want to fix you. i’m not broken. i just don’t want to be anyone’s project.”  

the silence is longer this time. the kind that settles in the bones.  

“no, i’m not sulking,” you say eventually. your voice is clipped. distant. back to practiced coldness. “i just didn’t sleep well. some idiot was crashing around in the hallway last night. sounded like a drunk giraffe.”  

he winces. fair. really fair.  

oh. you’re not just mean. you’re hurt. that’s… actually worse somehow.  

there’s a part of him that wants to laugh it off. chalk you up as another hot, emotionally unavailable disaster he has no business being intrigued by. but another part—the quieter, more stubborn part that always wants to fix things he doesn’t understand—won’t let it go.  

you’re angry. bitter. wounded. and still beautiful enough to live rent-free in his prefrontal cortex less than 24 hours after slamming the door in his face. he should stay away. he really should. any sane man would.  

he doesn’t even know your name.  

but it’s already too late. his hands are still. his mind is loud. and for some reason, he’s wondering what kind of guy would ever make a girl like you feel like she was too much. too intense. too anything. he bets the guy wore loafers with no socks. he bets the guy said things like “let’s circle back” in bed.  

he bets the guy was boring. with weak ankles.  

satoru sighs, finally swipes the keycard, and slips into his room before he can learn anything else he wasn’t supposed to hear. the door shuts behind him with a soft click, and he paces. not because he’s in a rush. but because he doesn’t trust himself to stay still. his reflection catches in the mirror—hair catching light like spilled salt under moonbeams, sticking up in angles that suggest he’s been wrestling with gravity, eyes carrying that particular shade of overwhelming blue that makes people forget what they were saying mid-sentence.  

this is fine. he’s fine. he’ll go to the pool. swim out the restlessness. pretend yesterday didn’t happen. pretend he didn’t just mentally catalog the vulnerability in your voice. pretend his chest isn’t doing something stupid every time he remembers the way you said “too intense” like it was a death sentence.  

that is, of course, assuming you’re not also at the pool.  

and of course you are.  

because of course the universe hates him. or maybe suguru bribed fate. either way, you’re there, reclining like the closing shot of a perfume commercial. oversized sunglasses perched on your nose like armor. glossy limbs arranged with the kind of casual precision that suggests you’re very aware of your effect on the general population. a drink in hand—something pink and expensive-looking—and a look that says, “i’ve survived worse than you.”  

but here’s the thing he notices now that he’s forced to really look: there’s a tension in your shoulders that wasn’t there in his imagination. the way you hold your phone like you’re bracing for bad news. how your free hand traces absent patterns on your thigh—nervous energy disguised as languor. you’re performing relaxation, not actually experiencing it.  

satoru contemplates walking into the ocean.  

instead, he does what any self-respecting disaster of a man would do: he pretends not to see you and slips into the pool like he’s trying to become one with the chlorinated ecosystem. the water is warm. welcoming. a safe space where he can’t accidentally make eye contact or say something mortifyingly honest.  

the thing about being a decent man is that it starts with very good intentions and ends with a face full of pool wall.  

he’d meant to be strategic about this. swim a few laps. sweat out the self-pity. get ahead of the day before it could unravel him. something normal, something healthy. he was even proud of himself, gliding through the water like the picture of a functioning adult. clean strokes, calm breath, inner peace. or at least, the expensive, salt-chlorinated approximation of it. this was supposed to be the part where he heals or whatever. takes a breath. learns to love stillness. doesn’t spiral.  

but then you moved.  

it starts innocuous enough. you shift in your chair, adjusting the angle to catch the sun better. your legs uncross and recross, ankles rotating in small circles like you’re working out some invisible tension. the motion draws his eye against his better judgment—the elegant line of your calves, the way your skin catches the light like warm honey.  

then you reach for your drink, and the movement makes your top shift slightly. nothing dramatic. nothing inappropriate. just the natural consequence of a human body existing in fabric and gravity. but somehow it’s enough to completely derail every rational thought in his head.  

his stroke falters. water goes where air should be. his rhythm, previously clean and controlled, becomes something closer to aquatic flailing. the pool lane suddenly feels too narrow, too confined, like he’s trying to swim through a telescope.  

you’re going to think he’s having a medical emergency. you’re going to call the lifeguard. you’re going to—  

he doesn’t see the wall.  

what he sees is you pushing your sunglasses up to rest on top of your head, revealing eyes that look tired despite the early hour. the subtle way you massage your temples like you’re fighting a headache. how you glance around the pool deck with the wariness of someone who’s learned to check exits before getting comfortable.  

he swims right into it. a solid, echoing thunk as his shoulder smacks concrete. the kind of sound that makes lifeguards look up. the kind of impact that reverberates through water and skull alike.  

the silence that follows is deafening. he surfaces, blinking chlorinated water from his eyes, hair plastered to his forehead like wet seafoam, and finds you staring at him with an expression that’s part disbelief, part secondhand embarrassment.  

“did you just…” you pause, like you’re processing something genuinely confusing, tilting your head slightly to the left in a way that somehow makes the question more devastating, “swim into concrete while staring at me?”  

his face burns. not from the sun. from the crushing weight of being perceived accurately. “what? no! i was… checking the pool integrity!”  

you lower your sunglasses just enough to look at him over the frames, and he notices your nail polish is chipped on your ring finger. such a small imperfection, but it humanizes you in a way that makes his chest tight. “right. and i’m here for the maritime architecture.”  

“i’m just saying,” he says, already aware he’s losing, already aware his hair is doing something catastrophic and water is dripping from his nose in a way that’s probably not attractive, “if there were structural issues, you’d thank me.”  

“are you a pool inspector now?” there’s something almost amused in your voice. almost.  

“i contain multitudes.”  

you snort. it’s barely audible, but it happens. a tiny crack in the ice. your mouth quirks up for maybe half a second before you catch yourself and smooth it back into careful neutrality. and somehow, he feels like he just won something small but significant. it’s pathetic. he wants to bottle it. preserve it. frame it. he made you almost-laugh. he thinks. maybe. it’s progress.  

christ, his standards have officially hit rock bottom. making a stranger not hate him is not an achievement.  

he ducks under again. stays there longer than necessary. tries to pretend the water is washing away the fact that he’s never been more affected by a woman who actively seems to regard him as a minor inconvenience. the underwater world is quiet, peaceful. no opportunities for verbal catastrophe. no way to misread micro-expressions or overthink the implications of a near-laugh. just blue silence and the distant sound of his own heartbeat.  

when he surfaces, you’re sitting up now. long legs stretched out, ankles crossed with the kind of casual elegance that probably took years to perfect. your drink is sweating in the heat, condensation rolling down the glass in slow tracks. you’re scrolling through your phone with manicured fingers—nails painted that deep burgundy that looks expensive and slightly dangerous—but there’s something mechanical about it. like you’re not actually reading, just giving your hands something to do.  

he tells himself not to look again. and then he looks again. because self-control has never been his strongest suit, and there’s something magnetic about watching you exist in the world. the way you hold yourself like you’re made of something more expensive than other people. the subtle shift of your expression as you read—eyebrows drawing together slightly, lips pressing into a thin line like whatever you’re seeing is confirming some cynical suspicion.  

the fact that you haven’t acknowledged his presence since the wall incident somehow makes him more aware of his own breathing. his hands moving through the water. the way his hair keeps falling into his eyes no matter how many times he pushes it back.  

he gets out eventually. towel around his neck. pretending his pride isn’t leaking out of his ears like pool water. his hair drips in pale rivulets down his back, and he knows it’s doing that thing where it sticks to his forehead in ways that probably look more disheveled than sexy. water pools at his feet, and he’s suddenly hyperaware of every drop, every movement, like you might be cataloging his existence for later judgment.  

he settles on a chair three down from yours—close enough to be in the same general orbit, far enough to pretend it’s coincidental. close enough to notice that you’re wearing small gold hoop earrings that catch the light when you move your head. close enough to see that you’ve dog-eared several pages in whatever you’re reading, which feels like the kind of intimate detail he shouldn’t know about a stranger.  

his phone rings. work. of course.  

he almost doesn’t answer. almost lets it go to voicemail because the idea of conducting business while you’re within earshot feels like inviting judgment. but then he remembers the mortgage on his stupidly expensive apartment, the team of people depending on him, the fact that taking a vacation doesn’t actually stop the world from needing his attention.  

“satoru speaking.”  

“satoru, thank god. the jenkins build is failing again, and zenin is breathing down my neck about the timeline.”  

he can feel you listening. not obviously. not intrusively. but there’s a shift in your posture, a subtle angling of your head that suggests his conversation has entered your peripheral awareness. your phone is still in your hands, but your thumbs have stopped moving.  

“did you try rolling back to the previous commit?”  

“that’s the thing—the rollback worked locally, but production is still throwing errors.”  

he’s pacing now, barefoot on hot concrete that makes him do a subtle dance to keep from burning his feet, one hand holding the phone, the other gesturing like the person on the other end can see him. his voice shifts into something more authoritative, more confident. the work voice. the voice that closes deals and runs meetings with venture capitalists.   

“okay, walk me through the error logs. what’s the trace showing?”  

as he talks through the technical details—database connections, server configurations, debugging protocols—he notices you’ve gone completely still. phone lowered to your lap, sunglasses pushed up, attention focused somewhere in his general direction with the intensity of someone trying to solve a puzzle.  

“no, no, don’t restart the whole service. that’ll just cascade the problem. isolate the failing module and patch it independently. and for god’s sake, tell zenin if he wants real-time updates, he can join the slack channel like everyone else instead of panic-calling every twenty minutes.”  

there’s a pause on the other end. nervous laughter.  

“you sure you don’t want to hop on a zoom call? this would be easier with screen sharing—”  

“i’m on vacation, takeshi. a real one. with sunshine and everything. handle it like i trained you to handle it. you’re smarter than you think you are.”  

“but what if—”  

“what if nothing. you’ve got this. document everything, push the patch to staging first, run the full test suite, then deploy. same as always. and if zenin gives you grief, transfer him to my voicemail. i’ll deal with him once i’m back.”  

he hangs up. doesn’t look at you directly, but he’s hyperaware of the way you’ve shifted. phone down. attention somewhere in his general direction. not obvious about it, but present. calculating.  

the silence stretches. not comfortable. not uncomfortable. just loaded with the weight of recalibration. he can practically hear the gears turning in your head as you file him into a different category than whatever box you’d originally assigned him to.  

he’s grabbing his towel, about to retreat to somewhere he can spiral privately about whether he just impressed you or confirmed your worst suspicions about rich guys who conduct business poolside, when you stand.  

the movement is fluid, deliberate. you set your drink aside with the kind of careful precision that draws attention to the action. stretch your arms above your head in a way that’s probably unconscious but feels choreographed. and then you walk toward the pool steps with the kind of unhurried confidence that suggests you know exactly what you look like and exactly what effect it has on the general population.  

satoru tries very hard to look anywhere else. fails spectacularly.  

and then—  

the wardrobe malfunction. minor. barely worth mentioning. the kind of thing that happens to anyone who spends time in swimwear and sunshine and the general chaos of existing in a human body. your bikini top shifts as you bend to test the water temperature. nothing scandalous, nothing that would make headlines, but enough to warrant… attention. a slip. a moment. the kind of brief exposure that most men would file away for later private appreciation.  

he turns. immediately. instinctively. face away, gaze skyward, ears burning like someone set them on fire with a lighter. it happens in under a second. a reflex trained by years of trying to be better than his baser instincts. like a good man would. like someone who was raised to understand that staring makes women uncomfortable, that respect is an action, not an intention.  

his shoulders tense like he’s fighting his own nervous system. like every biological imperative is screaming at him to look, and he’s running interference on his own eyeballs.  

it’s such a small thing. such an automatic response. but in a world full of men who take what they want and ask permission later, automatic respect feels revolutionary.  

and you see it. the immediate pivot. the deliberate averting. the way his hands clench slightly at his sides like he’s physically restraining himself. the flush creeping up his neck that has nothing to do with sun exposure.  

“most guys would stare,” you say. your voice is different now. not softer, exactly. but less sharp around the edges. there’s something almost clinical in your tone, like you’re conducting an experiment and recording the results. 

“i’m not most guys, i guess?” he’s still looking at the horizon. at the clouds. at anything that isn’t the way your top has settled back into place. his voice comes out rougher than he intended, strained with the effort of being good when being good is harder than it should be.  

“no,” you say, and there’s something calculating in your tone. suspicious. not soft. your head tilts slightly, studying his profile like you’re trying to crack a code. “you’re probably worse. the respectful act usually means you want something.”  

the words hit him like cold water. suddenly, he’s not thinking about propriety or good manners. he’s thinking about how tired you sound. how suspicious. how many times you’ve probably been disappointed by men who performed decency until they got what they wanted.  

“i don’t want anything,” he says. too fast. too honest. the words tumble out before he can stop them, raw and unfiltered and probably too revealing. because what does that even mean? he wants nothing, and also he wants everything. wants to be seen, maybe. not leered at. seen. not wanted in the way that reduces people to their component parts. understood. respected. acknowledged as something more than a walking hormone with a trust fund.  

he doesn’t know how to explain that without sounding like a motivational poster or a serial killer.  

and the thing is, it’s true. he doesn’t want anything in the way you probably mean. doesn’t want to corner you or charm you or convince you of anything. doesn’t want to be another man who treats kindness like currency and expects change. he just… doesn’t know what to do with the way you make him feel. like he’s nineteen again and trying to impress the smartest girl in his computer science class, only this time the smartest girl could dismantle his entire sense of self with a raised eyebrow.  

and the worst part is he kind of wants to let you.  

you think he’s playing some long game. how does he prove he’s not when he doesn’t even know what game you’re playing? when he doesn’t even know the rules?  

you study his face for a long moment. really look at him. your gaze moves from his profile to the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers worry at the edge of his towel. like you’re running diagnostic software on his expressions, looking for glitches in his performance of sincerity.  

he feels exposed. transparent. like you can see right through the expensive haircut and the casual wealth and the fact that he’s never had to work for anyone’s attention before in his life. like you can see all the soft, stupid parts of him that want things he doesn’t have words for.  

“hm,” you say finally. which tells him nothing and everything.  

it’s not approval. it’s not dismissal. it’s assessment. consideration. the sound of someone who’s been burned before taking a cautious step toward believing in something.  

and then you turn and slip into the water with barely a splash, and he’s left standing there wondering what the hell just happened and why he feels like he failed a test he didn’t know he was taking.  

but maybe… maybe that’s not entirely true. maybe there’s something in the way you didn’t immediately walk away. in the fact that you bothered to test his reaction at all. maybe suspicion isn’t the same as rejection. maybe it’s just the first step toward something else.  

he walks away before he says anything else stupid. not fast. but definitely flustered. his hair catching the light like scattered starlight, unruly and damp and doing that thing where it defies every expensive product he’s ever tried to tame it with. his steps are measured, controlled, but there’s something in his shoulders that suggests retreat.  

and behind him, he swears he hears you exhale. not a sigh, exactly. more like the sound of someone releasing a breath they didn’t know they were holding.  

because the thing about being hurt is that it makes you suspicious of kindness. and the thing about being kind is that it makes you suspicious of suspicion. and somewhere in the space between those two truths, something is starting to shift. not quickly. not obviously. but persistently, like water finding cracks in stone.  

he doesn’t look back. but he doesn’t go far, either. settles into a chair on the other side of the deck where he can pretend to read while his brain runs endless loops of analysis on a thirty-second interaction that probably meant nothing to you and everything to him.  

this is what happens when you give an overthinker too much time and too little emotional supervision. this is what happens when you’re successful enough to afford first-class problems but too inexperienced to navigate them gracefully. this is what happens when you meet someone who looks at you like a puzzle to be solved instead of a prize to be won.  

he opens his book—something dense about distributed systems that usually puts him to sleep—and doesn’t read a single word. just sits there in the sun, hyperaware of the sound of you swimming laps with clean, efficient strokes, and wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.  

every few minutes, he steals a glance. can’t help himself. you move through the water like you were born to it, all controlled power and fluid grace. no splashing. no wasted motion. even your swimming is precisely calibrated, like everything else about you.  

and maybe that’s what gets to him. not just that you’re beautiful—though you are, in a way that makes his chest feel too small for his lungs—but that you’re so careful. so controlled. like you’ve learned not to trust the world to be gentle with you.  

he wants to know who taught you that. wants to know what happened to make you hold yourself like armor made of skin and skepticism.  

wants to know if there’s any part of you that’s still soft enough to let someone in.  

but mostly, he wants to stop wanting things from a stranger who’s made it clear she has no interest in giving him anything but her professional-grade disdain.  

his phone buzzes with another work message. then another. the digital leash that follows him everywhere, the electronic proof that taking a vacation doesn’t actually mean you get to stop being yourself.  

he ignores them all. closes his eyes. lets the sun warm his face and pretends he’s the kind of man who knows how to relax. pretends he’s not thinking about the way your voice softened for just a second when you said “most guys would stare.” pretends he’s not already planning excuses to run into you again tomorrow.  

pretends he’s not falling for someone who’s specifically designed to be unfallable-for.  

somewhere behind him, you finish your laps and climb out of the pool with the same quiet efficiency you bring to everything else. he hears the soft pad of wet feet on concrete, the rustle of a towel, the clink of ice against glass as you reclaim your drink.  

he doesn’t turn around. but he listens. maps the sound of you existing in the world like he’s trying to memorize a song he’s only allowed to hear once.  

this is going to be a long fortnight.

passenger list : @miffyliebe @heh123321 @jijijihanji @chuiisi @etsuniiru @hails-trom

You'd barely made it to the bedroom. You'd been teasing him all day; walking around in your tiny sleep shorts, stretched out in the sun like a fucking siren, being soft and bratty and effortlessly ethereal.

Now you were on your back, hair all mussed, lips parted, and his shirt falling off your shoulder as he kneeled between your thighs, practically spasming at the sight alone.

Satoru had been kissing every inch of your skin like it was the last thing he'd ever taste. Fingers grazing your hips, teasing just under the waistband of your shorts like he was about to discover fire and play with it regardless.

He hooked his thumbs in the elastic of your thong, leaned in close to murmur something filthy about how good you smell, how warm you feel, then gently tugged them down.

But then he paused.

A shift in the atmosphere. And a very distinct, very stunned: "Wait. Waitwaitwait... Is that a fucking Kuromi sticker on your pussy?"

You blinked.

"I had an ingrown. Shut up."

He didn't move for a moment; he just... stared in awe. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted with a look on his face that said he was witnessing the face of god and also getting his ass kicked by it.

"You- you put a Sanrio pimple patch on your pussy and thought I wouldn't fall deeper in love with you?!"

"It's not-"

"No, because... oh my fucking god. You're so sexy and so stupid and so you. You could've told me you ascended and I wouldn't have believed you. But THIS?" His voice cracked. "This is proof."

You rolled your eyes, trying to tug your shorts back up, but he caught your wrist; gentle and reassuring while he leaned down, one hand planted by your head, the other tracing the patch like it was a sacred relic. "Satoru, it's not even on my pussy, it's just above it-"

"Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" he whispered, interrupting you. "I'm gonna tell our kids about this. I'm gonna write a ballad. 'The Day of the Kuromi Coochie.' It'll be taught in schools."

You choked out a laugh. "It's just a sticker, you dramatic ass-"

"No. It's not just anything. It's the embodiment of everything I love about you. You're so tough and have this haunting, scary little face and yet you put a fucking cartoon goth cat on your pussy because you had an ingrown. That's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

He kissed your thigh. Then the inside of it. Then the spot right above the sticker, nose brushing your skin.

"I'm going to worship you so good, baby. Like a Kuromi cultist. Like a sanriosexual."

You were crying from laughter. "That's not even a thing!"

"It is now. And I'm the president. Now shut up and let me respectfully lose my mind."

His mouth was on you like he hadn't eaten in days.

No. More like you were the first thing he'd ever tasted and he didn't know how to stop.

Tongue buried deep, lips wrapped around your clit, hands gripping your thighs like he could pin himself there and stay forever. He moaned against you with every breath, messy and relentless, like the sound of you losing your mind was the only thing keeping him alive.

"Satoru- fuck baby, I'm gonna-"

"I know," he cooed, mouth slick, voice wrecked. "I want you to. Make a mess for me, my pretty Kuromi baby."

You came with a choked cry, thighs latched and twitching around his head, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripping the sheets like you might actually levitate. He didn't stop. Didn't let up at all. He kept licking and slurping like the fucking demon he was, slowing down ever so slightly, savoring every drop of the little puddle you made on his face.

By the time he pulled back, his mouth and chin were shiny with it. His lips were kiss swollen, his eyes glazed over, dazed.

He looked absolutely fucked.

"Jesus," he whispered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand but still smiling like an idiot. "You're insane for that."

You tried to respond but couldn't even form words. Instead you looked up at him, panting, fully limp, body still spasming in tiny, pathetic aftershocks.

Satoru leaned over, kissed your thigh as if he was saying thank you, and sat back with a grin.

"Stay right there," he said, voice soft now. "You know the drill, princess. Stay. I clean you up."

You nodded, blinking slowly, brain soup.

A moment later you heard him mutter something like "she's gonna lose her mind" followed by the distinct sound of a plastic seal being ripped.

He came bounding out of the bathroom a few minutes later like a golden retriever in heat, towel slung low around his hips, grin stretched damn near ear to ear.

"Okay. Okay. Are you ready for the greatest thing I've ever done? Like, in my life? Spiritually, artistically, emotionally... this is my magnum opus."

You blinked. "You're terrifying."

"Shhh. Behold," he said, and with absolutely zero shame, he ripped the towel away like he was unveiling a Renaissance sculpture.

And there it was. A Kuromi pimple patch. On. His. Balls. Dead center. Like a fucking target.

You howled. "STOPPPP-" you shrieked, falling backward, wheezing. "You did NOT-"

"I DID," he announced proudly, standing with one hand on his hip and the other dramatically gesturing downward like he was introducing a contestant on The Bachelor.

"LOOK AT HER. ISN'T SHE CUTE?"

"WHY IS IT CENTERED LIKE THAT???"

"Because that's where the power lies, babe. That's the chakra point. Kuromi is guarding my lineage."

You were crying. "You're insane."

"No, no, wait. Don't look away. I have more."

He plopped onto the bed, legs spread like this was a damn show and tell, and pointed excitedly.

"See this one? That's the one with the little purple bow. I put her on the left nut. I think she's shy. But powerful."

"And then there's this one-" he gently tilted himself to the side like he was adjusting fine china, "-on the right nut. That's the sassy one. I think she'd call you mommy."

You smacked his shoulder with a pillow. "I CAN'T WITH YOU."

"No wait," he laughed, catching the pillow and pressing a kiss to your cheek. "I'm not done."

He scooted closer, so close his stupid pimple patch decorated balls were nearly on your thigh.

"Babe. Listen to me. We're matching. This is... this is peak intimacy. I hope you get more ingrown hairs. Like, actually? This is the cutest shit I've ever seen. Forget rings. Forget matching tattoos. This? This is soulmate behavior."

You were wheezing, clutching your stomach.

"You're unwell."

"No. I'm in love."

He flopped dramatically onto your chest, pouting into your skin. "You're never allowed to remove it. I'll reapply it myself if I have to. We ride together, we Kuromi pimple patch together."

You choked out, "You need to be institutionalized."

He just kissed your shoulder and whispered, "Institutionalize these balls."

He then laid you flat on your back, still completely spent; breathing heavy, sweaty, and ruined in the best possible way. And he did it again. And again. Went down on you like a man fucking possessed by you and the stupid pimple patch.

Your legs were on the verge of giving out, your chest is rising and falling in that post orgasm haze, and Satoru's lying next to you like he just saw the face of a deity and came about it.

One arm is thrown over his eyes. The other is lazily tracing circles on your thigh.

Satoru was still kissing your thigh like a man starved of human intimacy (which he absolutely was not when it came to you), hand smoothing gently over your stomach with the kind of worship reserved for saints and ancient deities. You'd just barely survived round three, maybe four. You lost count after the first time he said "I'll stop when you stop being so pretty," which was clearly a fucking trap.

He was soft and flushed, hair messy and damp against his forehead, cheek pressed to your skin as he sighed, completely fucked out; but still somehow vibrating with energy like a feral little post nut wind up toy.

"You know what I've been thinking about this entire time?" he mumbled.

You groaned. "If you say the sticker again-"

"The sticker."

You slapped his forehead lightly, and he giggled. Full on fucking giggled. "It's just so iconic. Like. There she was. The Kuromi coochie. Just staring back at me with attitude and vibes. I feel like I should frame it."

You rolled to the side and buried your face in the pillow. "Stop."

"I can't. It lives rent free in my brain now. Can I poke it? Just a little... like... boop!"

"Satoru, no."

"Fine," he pouted, rolling over and dramatically flopping across the bed. "But now I want more. I think some of mine fell off because I was fucking the bed while eating you out."

You blinked, sitting up slowly. "You're not serious."

"I've never been more serious about anything in my life," he said, already standing up and walking ass naked toward the bathroom again. "Stay right there. This is about to be the most powerful power couple moment in history."

"...You're not really gonna-"

"For love!" he shouted, slamming the bathroom door.

You heard the sound of drawers opening. Clippers buzzing. The rustle of sticker sheets.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned, glowing with pride. Literally glowing. Like he'd put on fucking highlighter.

You were silent. Then you collapsed into laughter so loud your neighbors probably called the police.

He looked so pleased. So proud.

You reached for him, dragging him back onto the bed.

"You are the dumbest, most beautiful man I've ever met."

"Yeah," he grinned, kissing your forehead. "But I'm your dumbass. With pimple patches on his dick. For you."

And then, very softly, with a voice hoarse from moaning, "I still can't believe you had a Kuromi sticker on your coochie."

You groan into the pillow. "You're never gonna let this go, are you."

"No. I'm not. I'll be talking about this in therapy. I'm gonna get a tattoo of it. Actually, wait, can I poke it now?"

You swat at him weakly. "It's for healing, you dumbass."

He sat up, looking at it again like he's checking on a sacred wound. Fucking obsessed. "God, it's so cute. You're so cute. I want a sticker on my dick now at all times. For solidarity reasons, of course."

You started wheezing. Full on cry laughing, a blanket clutched to your chest.

"Anything for you, baby. Now we're bonded. Two souls and some stickers. The prophecy is complete."

He climbed back into bed, dramatically spooning you from behind. "We need a couple name," he mumbled into your neck. "Sticker Sluts? Sanrihoes? Pimple Patch Power Couple?"

"Satoru."

"No, wait. Pussy Bump Buddies. Final answer."

You’re practically voiceless from laughing so hard. "You're actually insane."

"Insane for you. And your adorable, wounded coochie."

He kissed the back of your neck and sighed contentedly, stickers lightly brushing against your thighs.

"Now go to sleep, princess. Tomorrow we shop for more."

Later that night, long after the chaos, after the snacks, after the cuddle nap that left your limbs tangled and warm, you wandered into the bathroom to brush your teeth. That's when you heard it.

A faint, distant gasp. Followed by:

"No... no, no, no. SHE'S GONE."

You froze, toothbrush halfway to your mouth.

"Satoru?"

The bathroom door slammed open. He stood there, butt ass naked again (at this point, probably on purpose), face devastated.

"She fell off."

"Who."

"Kuromi. My left nut Kuromi. She's... she's gone."

You tried not to laugh.

"Maybe she got tired of your bullshit and flung herself into the void."

He ignored you completely, already searching the floor.

"I can't just replace her! That one had memories. She meant something. I named her."

You blinked. "You named her?"

"Yes. Kuromiette. Don't judge me. She was sassy and brave and she understood me in ways no one else could."

"Babe. It was a fucking pimple patch."

He turned dramatically. "It was a shared experience," he whispered. "A love story. A sisterhood. And now she's gone."

He sighed, tragically, then dropped to his knees with a hand over his chest like he was performing Shakespeare.

"Should we... have a funeral?"

"No."

"I think we should."

You watched as he slowly picked himself up and shuffled out of the bathroom. Five minutes later, he returned.

"I found her," he said solemnly, holding something tiny and slightly lint covered between his fingers.

You raised an eyebrow.

"She was on the duvet cover. Alone. Abandoned. But she's still perfect."

"You're not gonna-"

"Frame her? Yes. She's going on the wall."

He kissed your forehead softly.

Your poor mother, who was sheltered from these things by her mother her entire life, had no idea how to help you acclimate to these things. Fortunately, your grandmother was still around then; she exorcised your friend without telling you, and for days you were bedridden after crying yourself sick, missing your best friend . 

Things were never the same since then; you struggled through kindergarten and elementary school, unable to make friends. And when you did, they were always creeped out by you. It was either you'd bring a friend with you to play with everyone else, who couldn't be seen by others. You'd be petting a cat, again, that no one could see. They'd find you helping a grandpa, who also was not visible to bare eyes.

Around the end of elementary school, your parents finally sat you down and explained what was wrong with you.

And eventually, before you even entered high school, you were named that one creepy kid. The high school kids were more brutal than the elementary or kindergarten kids. The bullying, the silent murmuring, rooms going silent when you'd walk in, getting weird questions like,

‘Hey, can you really see ghosts? Or are you just faking it for attention?’

Rumors were circulating that you'd curse people if they spoke to you. Which did help with not getting asked weird questions. But that meant things became more physical. Your books would be gone before class, the desk would be pushed off to the side, juice spilled on your chair—and even the teachers wouldn't help you. How would they help if they can't even look you in the eyes themselves? So you were left to your own vices, except for this one kid from the class next door to yours. Who would not stop pestering you, saying things like ‘who cares’—when you’d yell at him to stay away from you, telling him how no one would talk to him if they saw you with him. He was the only person ever to stand up for you then, when you would also refuse to stand up for yourself. Back then you found him quite annoying, but now you’d say he is the only reason why you can still think about that time without spiraling.

So your parents moved around a lot for your sake. In the few years of high school, you lived in approximately 7 different places. So when you graduated from high school, you knew you wanted to move out of the country for at least these 4 years of university. The rumors caught up with you one way or another, whether you were in a big city or some small town. So in your opinion it was the best possible solution.

So you moved away. And things were somewhat better; no one came up to you asking whether or not you were faking your powers for attention, but it did not improve your social life. You remained all by yourself throughout college, in an unknown place, miles away from your parents. But you did master how to ignore the floating entities around you. 

The more you ignore them, the more they slowly start to pester you less and less.

It was around the time just before your graduation that your grandmother died. And unfortunately, you could not go back home to see her one last time, and neither could your parents fly out to attend your graduation. 

Just like that, you graduated all alone. Like you started college all by yourself. 

After a few months, you moved back home and found yourself a job with good pay and an apartment in a nice place. Your parents moved back to your mother’s ancestral home and visited you as often as they could. But that didn't solve your loneliness. Parents can only give you so much support, but the lack of a social life can't just be mended by great parents, unfortunately. 

At work, people never became comfortable enough around you to call you a friend; you were intimidating to them. It was hard to approach you, and the cloud of gloom that floated around you may not have been visible to them, but it ran a shiver down their spine. So your colleagues kept it short and concise when interacting with you. During lunch you either ate by yourself on the rooftop or went out all alone. 

Dating was equally hard. If not harder, you tried almost everything. Meeting new people, which only ended up with creepy men trying to hit on you; online dating, which never worked out; and even meeting some people through your parents, who always brought up the rumors from your past. 

No matter what you did, you kept being haunted. 

Like right now, a lady kept peering into your room from outside of your windows with this creepy smile while you tried to ignore her as much as you could and focused on the people getting it on on your laptop screen. Fortunately, the talismans all over your apartment kept these things out. But it did not stop them from lurking.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mumbled to yourself, trying to focus on the couple moaning on your screen but getting constantly distracted by the smiling lady outside of your window.

Being unable to focus on your screen and unable to use your fingers precisely, you gave up on trying to relieve yourself, slammed your laptop shut, and went to bed. Defeated and frustrated. 

The next morning you woke up to something poking your nose. 

You didn't live with any pets. And no one other than you and your parents had access to your apartment. And there are spiritual bindings and talismans all over your apartment to keep entities out. Then why is there a guy floating on top of you? 

He has white hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and nothing on his body except basketball shorts. He did not look translucent enough to be an apparition. His poking ceased as you got off your bed to get ready for work, seeming as nonchalant as you possibly could. If this entity is strong enough to infiltrate your home, who knows what else he's capable of? 

You headed to the bathroom with him now, walking closely behind you. Before he could come in, you closed the door on him. Which was so helpful; the guy just emerged behind you, and you could feel him standing close to you, holding you by your waist, putting his head on your shoulder. But you couldn't see his reflection in the mirror. From the side of your eyes, as discreetly as you could, you saw him smiling and looking at you in the mirror. Then you saw his fangs peeking, not extremely prominent, but visibly there. And felt his claws digging through your shirt; his entire hand was the color of the midnight sky, which went up his forearms and faded into his pale skin around his elbows. 

It was hard to classify this guy; usually entities that manifest from previously alive beings just float around, and if they are brave enough, they try to possess you, which results in them instantly burning due to the locket that your grandmother left behind. Which held a fraction of her life source. The most probable answer is that he is a demon.

It was fairly easy to distinguish apparitions, phantoms, ghouls, etc. But demons, on the other hand, were complicated because they are more deceitful than others. It was easier for them to possess people, form a disguise, or use veils. You only ever had to face one demon in your life, and fortunately it was just a dog. Also, it was extremely friendly to you. 

This guy doesn't feel like a normal entity. If he is powerful enough to cross your spiritual boundaries and just touch as he pleases, he is not something you want to mess with. So the best bet is to ignore him until you can figure out what his intentions are.

But it is not easy to maneuver with an guy above 6’3 holding onto your waist and floating around you. 

And how are you even supposed to do your daily routine? You can't just not do anything because there is some entity attached to you. Without risking your powers being exposed, you have to get rid of him. 

So you tried to recite some spells of protection to get rid of him. Didn't work. Next, you made it seem like you were stretching while the guy was standing still in front of you and trying to follow your movements, and just when he bent down like you just did, you placed a talisman on his back. It burnt away just as soon as you placed it. 

You didn't have many choices, which kept your secret safe from him, the fact that you can see him.

Feeling annoyed and becoming more and more anxious, you went to the kitchen; maybe some coffee will help. The water was boiling in the kettle, and the coffee beans made a coarse sound while they were being ground. And the white-haired entity sat on your countertop, kicking his feet like a kid. Perhaps the frustration of last night and this guy showing up was getting to your head, because you reached out for salt instead of the sugar. You are also at fault here for keeping similar-looking products next to each other in similar containers without any labels. Your father definitely would nag you if he saw this. 

But maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Between you almost putting salt in your coffee and the white-haired, blue-eyed entity sneaking his hands under your shirt, you shrieked and your hands jerked up. Which resulted in the salt being thrown at the guy behind you, resulting in his instant disappearance.

Huh? For a being that powerful, it sure is silly that it was the salt of all things that got rid of him. 

You really thought he was gone; if not fully, then maybe at least he would not dare to come close to you now. So you made your coffee, with sugar this time, and reminded yourself to rebind your home with stronger protection. 

Unfortunately for you, this was not the last of the white-haired, blue-eyed entity that you'll be seeing. 

The rest of that day you spent anxiously looking for that white-haired, potential demon. You looked around your desk, under your desk, around the rooftop of your office building, where you usually eat your lunch, and even around the bathroom cubicles. To the point where you were anxiously looking behind yourself while walking down the hallways, walking to the subway station, on the train, and at the grocery store. 

And fortunately, except for random apparitions and ghouls, the particular guy with sharp claws didn't show up. Yet still, you didn't get any sleep that night, which was the usual without any melatonin gummies, though things have been a little better for the past few months. Instead of the usual 3 hours of sleep, you've been getting 6 hours! But the worry kept you up until it was 4 AM in the morning, and you felt somewhat reassured that he wouldn't be showing up.

The white fluff of hair and boring blue eyes reappeared around 5:30 AM. Honestly, he appeared way later than you anticipated. Also at a very inconvenient time, which is about to become a pattern with this thing that you've attracted.

Instead of your 7:30 AM alarm, you woke up to a pair of cold hands and sharp nails gliding over your skin. Coldness like you've never felt before, yet burning like hell itself, resided on those fingers. Those hands seemed to have no strategy or plan of where they wanted to run wild; they started groping on your thighs, leaving indents of his sharp claws on the sensitive skin. Just enough pressure to leave marks but not to make you bleed. 

And you knew when your eyes snapped open that he was back. It took a lot of holding back to not instantly sit up and throw salt at him; he'd realize that he's visible to you. But the way his hands were creeping upwards from the side of your thighs to your hips, then stomach, and nearly up to your chest—you sprinted towards the bathroom and locked yourself in there. 

As embarrassing as it was to have a floating entity hovering in front of you as you tried to get your scheduled toilet routine done, you had no choice but to let him simply exist. This time around he was in a set of pajamas, which was very strange.

Entities, who emerged from human beings, either always were naked or were adorned in clothes they were either buried or cremated in. It was not usual for them to change clothes or reappear after being shunned away. There is a ritual of giving entities clothing or other things—it is a process of making these objects as offerings meant for the specific spirit you want to give them to and then incinerating them at the end so the objects reach the realm of the dead. And since this guy can change his appearance at will, this means your suspicions were correct; this is a demon. And if you are accurate in your guess, this is a sex demon, an incubus.

That is the most plausible explanation, given his behavior so far: touching you, twirling your hair, even sniffing you. But you wish, oh so badly, that you were wrong. It'd be a pain in the ass to deal with a demon, and it'd be a million times worse to deal with a sex demon. Because look at the state of you; what vitality do you have left in you to feed this demon? 

Plenty, it can be assumed. From how he basically attached himself to you for the rest of that day.

From showering, with his intrusive hands and stares, barely dodging his perverse attempts. Getting ready for work and rushing out with just some toast with coffee in your stomach and a demon floating behind you, you went about the day by ignoring his entire existence. Especially his hands. Which seemed to have a mind of their own and a sleazy look on his face that could only be explained through one word that you kept repeating to yourself the entire day in agony and rage.

‘ Demonic little Pervert.’

Lying on your bed after an exhausting day of trying to run away subtly from a demon in the hallways, the rooftop where you eat lunch, and even the restroom, which was all just futile; the entity made himself at home in your cubicle, just around you in general. 

Never did you ever feel so comfortable in your own skin as the way the demon felt touching it.

And now he is pushing his hands up your wrinkled skirt, trying to unbutton your blouse. So you just turned to your side, with an arm under your head, and stared at your curtains. Wishing for this demon to finally clock out as well and leave you alone. Do demons have working hours like a corporate employee crushed under a hyper-capitalistic system? Most probably not.

Therefore, unfortunately, it means he is not disappearing anytime soon.

If it came down to it, you'd just have to put on a show of trying to come across clumsily and mistakenly spill salt over him. But for now he just lay beside you, facing you, similarly on his side. Smiling from ear to ear and tracing a finger around the features on your face. Your jaw, the bridge of your nose, the tip of your nose, your bottom lip, your chin, and finally the little mole under your eyes. When you thought he was done, his finger poked you in the eye.

“OW!” You shrieked and sat up, covering your tearing eyes.

“YOU HORRIBLE FUCKING DEMON! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” All it took was one poke in the eye, and all your pretenses evaporated.

There was a long pause in the air. Along with some confusion from the pajama-clad demon, whose confused face and tilted head soon turned into an eager and smug audacity.

“Oh? You can see me?”

Shit.

“N-no?” 

“Oh, really?” 

If even for a second you thought your very poorly blurted-out lie worked. Oh, how wrong you were for that. 

In a mere blink of an eye, the demon is above you, and you are pinned down beneath him, with no power in you to move. As if you were paralyzed for some weird reason.

This shitty little demon.

You were, in fact, pinned down by demonic powers, way out of your league of understanding, of the incubus above you. You were rendered nothing but helpless prey to the predator, whom you've managed to lure into your home. 

You could lie there and think about everything, trace back your every step, and wonder what exactly had you end up with a demon leeching on you. But that’d require sanity and clarity, both of which you currently lacked severely. Due to the demonic entity and his fluffy white hair, covering those blue eyes, nothing is as dark as electric blue, but more shocking than ever.

“Aw, angel, you ignored me for the entire day when you could've just let me know you were busy admiring me.” His whispers fanned your neck, and his left hand slithered up your thigh as he made his legs comfortable. One right in between your own very thighs, opening them up, despite whatever left protest in you, while his other leg pushed one thigh from the outside. Positively putting you in an unknown, uncomfortable place. But the heat between your legs was growing rapidly.

“Should I assume yesterday the salt was intentional too? Hmm? So mean, angel, aren't you?” The faux hurt in his voice felt slimier than his hand on your throat. Gripping, not choking, yet.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, but I am trying !”

His laugh echoed through your half-empty room. Which truly looked unlived. No furniture other than what was necessary. No wonder you kept attracting these entities with your truly haunted-looking apartment. Even the bed was forced upon you by your parents; otherwise, it would’ve been just a mattress on the floor. And now it is the same bed where you lay helplessly at a demon's whim.

“Let’s become acquainted with each other, yes?” The hand that held his weight was now on the crown of your head, caressing. And the one on your throat made its way under your skirt. First it was just one long swipe over the shape of your pussy, covered under your panties. Then it was a finger pushing itself between your folds; despite the cloth being a barrier between your skin and his touch, it still managed to find your clit, and he pressed down on it. It was enough to make your entire body jerk, having your thighs close down on him. 

“Oh angel, are you weak there?” There was no pity in his voice. It was patronizing. Just a lion playing with his prey before mauling it to death. 

“Let's see where else you’re weak.” 

The hand on your head caressed your head while the other played with your panties. Pulling on it, letting it snap back and cling to your skin, feeling the dampness through the thin material. And you lay there anticipating his next move, with eyes closed tightly shut. Waiting for him to just incinerate those panties off you and take his fill. 

But when nothing came after for a long while, you slowly opened your eyes. And you felt your body lighter than how it felt before; you felt the sheet of metal like a heavy veil covering your body was now absent. 

And so the demon was gone.

Incubi, or sex demons, are said to haunt people who are sexually frustrated. Because they are a great source of food for the demon.

And as a sexually frustrated, haunted, and isolated person—this should be great for you! Oh, how you wish it could be said things were like that.

Instead it was waking up the white-haired demon under your sheets, with his face between your boobs, hands groping them, while his hips rutted into yours; he was very clearly hard and possibly leaking. You could feel the sleazy smile on his face, even when everything below his nose was buried in your chest, and his eyes looked at you through his white wispy hair. They looked hungry, to say the least, and threatening, to say the most.

“Good morning to my sweet angel.” He tilted his face, and it was now visible, the sleazy, dopey smile on his face that said he'd rather be nowhere other than where he is right now.

“Get. Off. Me.”

“Ooh, now call me a bad boy; that'd just make me cream my pants!” 

Before you could sit up and throw a few punches at him and maybe reach out for that salt shaker you put on your bedside table, he disappeared again. It was now just you, in your disheveled bed, your tank top pulled up to your neck, and your wet panties.

Well, he is hot; you have to admit to that. And you are very frustrated, needy, and sensitive. That is all.

The train that morning was disgustingly full. All because of a certain demon. Usually you leave a bit early to avoid the morning rush, but today you have to be crushed in between a bunch of sweaty people in a suit. 

In these situations, there are always a few creeps among the crowd. And at this point it is hard to say whether it is your bad luck or some sort of you were the target of one of these creeps. 

An older man moved behind you when the next station came, with a bunch more people getting in. When he initially pressed against you, you didn't think too much about it; everyone was pressed against one another whether they liked it or not. The man's intentions only became clear when a hand crept up the side of your thigh. 

Unlike the demon's hand, it felt rougher, unpleasant. You felt like throwing up; somehow you couldn't even do anything. You just froze up there. Unable to do anything while some stranger tried to fumble with your belt. It was as if there was something entirely unworldly holding you captive. You looked around; anyone could barely see you in the corner like this. But they should still notice something like this.

And then you looked down; the hands that were trying to take off your belt were translucent. The set of feet beside yours was hardly noticeable.

You got ready in a hurry this morning. In fact, you happened to be in such a hurry that you mindlessly left behind your previous locket. The same locket that protects you from this sort of situation.

“I see you on this train every morning. Yet I can never do anything. Hah. I am lucky today.” You could now feel the coldness of the apparition behind you. Presumably this man somehow died on this train, and unfortunately, like any other entity, you caught his eye.

His hands were almost done with taking your zipper down. That's when you looked to the side, with teary eyes, and you saw the white-haired demon in the overhead luggage carrier. His blue eyes were boring into the man behind you. 

“Aw. You're trying to find a replacement angel?” In a flash he was by your side instead of where he was previously. 

“H-help me. Please, please.” One of your hands reached out to grab onto the demon, who was now weirdly in a suit. Your other hand grabbed onto the apparition's hand, which tried to creep into your underwear. 

“JUST HELP ME PLEASE!” You whisper-shouted at the demon as quietly as you could without alerting anyone around you, and your grip on his jacket tightened.

“Since you asked so nicely, angel.” He flashed you a smile before his gaze shifted to the guy behind you.

“Hah. Yeah, try me, motherfu—” Before the apparition could even finish, the demon lifted one finger towards him, and within mere milliseconds the guy was gone.

Maybe you've taken this demon for granted, given how he acts around you. But it seems like he is immensely powerful, beyond anything or anyone you've ever seen. You've never felt power like this. Why is this demon even trying to feed off of you in the first place? Someone, or something, this string needs more vitality than you could ever produce.

“Wouldn't you kiss your hero as thanks?” Once again, you are pinned to the train's walls. This time against the blue-eyed demon, who just saved you from a creepy apparition. 

“I only got in this situation because of you anyway.” You scowled at him, trying to push him off of you, with not much protest to actually get him off this time. 

“Aw, how so?” Oh no, he looked adorable with that pout. You need to get a grip.

“If you didn't bother me this morning, then I—ugh. Whatever. What is with your outfit changes anyway?” You tried to whisper-shout at him again and hoped that no one else noticed what a nutcase you must have come off as.

“Hmm? Why? Don’t you like the suit? Want me to come naked next time?” That smirk on his face was doing things to you that you did not agree with.

“No! And stop suddenly disappearing and reappearing!” You felt his hand, which somehow was now on your waist, tighten, and another hand moving up between you two.

“Why? Y’miss me?” You could feel the heat creep up your neck, to your ears, and spread through your face. 

“No. But, I can't believe I am saying this, thank you for being here.” His face lit up with a big, toothy smile. And you just had to look at his stupid fangs and his blue eyes and his tail-wait. He has a tail? 

“I would've liked a kiss better, but I'll take what I can!” A thin, warm, pointy tail curled up your ankle when you looked down to confirm your thoughts. And indeed it was, as jet black as his hands and claws, a sharp tail. Before you could ask him where it even appeared from? You felt his claw on the waistband of your panties. Pulling on it with one sharp nail and letting it snap back on your skin, making you yelp in the process.

“That is a very pretty shade of blue you have there.” His hands slipped into your panties as the words left his mouth. His eyes trained down between the two of you, where your one hand flew to his wrist to prevent his claws from further slipping beyond the mound of your pelvic bone.

“St-stop!” Your other hand once again grabbed onto the arm of his jacket for support. 

“Why? Don't I get my reward?” His head tilted in pure confusion.

“But—I said—” “That's not enough.”

Now that he looked up and stared you right in the eyes, you could not stop him any further. What it was was unclear—the charm of an incubus or your years' worth of frustration—nothing made sense.

You were basically breathless, unable to inhale or exhale anything. The sensation of his claws scratching against the sensitive skin between your legs and the grip on your waist in the crowded train. You could feel how his fingers inched closer and closer under the pad of his finger on your clit, and the sharp end of his claws was digging into your inner thighs and grazing your hole—it was all too much.

“Your, your claws.”

“Oh, that can be fixed in a second, angel.”

You could feel his fingers putting more pressure on your cloth, rubbing it, drawing figures of eight on it. While the rest of his fingers dug themselves into the flesh of your pelvic area. The claws were gone, just like that. Like how his clothes change with every appearance, his tail grows at his whim, and even his claws retract back into his skin. 

Honestly, you were not sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. The claws were a good excuse to put a stop to what was happening, unless he did not give a shit about your well-being, which it didn't seem like he did, to an extent. But then again, when you brought up his claws, you genuinely just didn't want them to get in between you and his fingers. Sure, the sensation of the claws was something else, but not worth the bloodbath.

“Aw, look at my pretty pussy, so wet f’me?” He leaned in to your height to whisper in your ears. And you just prayed to whatever was out there that you don't get arrested for indecency in public.

It was truly humiliating. Having your back pressed to the doors of a public train, face turned just enough to catch a glimpse of the demon in front of you and the reflection of your own fucked-up face in the black glass of the doors. You'd rather look at your own humiliating expressions than know what was going on down there.

“Oh, she is so wet f’me, right? All for me.” His fingers were inside of you, two fingers deep, thumb on your clit, other hand on your waist—probably leaving marks—and everything was more visceral than ever.

It was maybe the train full of people almost finding out what you were up to, maybe it was his ink-tinted hands, which felt different than anything you've ever felt, or simply the fact that a demon of all things is making you feel such pleasures.

“Y-you have to—”

“I think you should be more concerned about what you have to do, angel.”

Even though he left the most important part unspoken, it was clear what you needed to do. You needed to cum on his hand in this train for him.

And with motive, his fingers both stretched in different directions inside of you. Pushing your walls and trying to remember every inch of you, memorizing it all. All the while his thumb kept going faster and faster, drawing little circles on it, making sure your clutch on his jacket remained as is.

“OH-Oh. Oh my—fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I am—” It was about time his fingers found the spot on your wall, that textured part of you from within, just around the backside of your clit. He found the spot that had your hands fumbling all over his shoulders, trying to steady yourself. So with the help of his free hand, he placed them on his neck, and they instantly went to his hair. 

“I will, please, please, I will.” Your legs were giving out. Another second like this, his fingers pushing that spot over and over, his thumb pressing down on your clit any harder, and you'll fall on this disgusting floor.

“Go on, come on, you can do it, angel, all for f’me, right? You’ll feed me well, right?” His head was down on your shoulders, just too close to your ears; his voice was just too raspy; the whispering, the little huffs of air coming out of his mouth along with groans—it was dizzying.

“Cum on my fingers, won't you?” It was not fair. Holding you basically hostage while also pleading with such command, it was so unfair.

But you did not care about all that when you came gushing down his fingers. More than your usual ten seconds, it lasted probably for minutes, sending shock waves through your body, until you had nothing more to give to his fingers—that made sure to ride you all through your orgasm by keeping themselves mobile. 

While you were a twitching, lifeless, drenched underwear-wearing mess, tightly held in his hand, he took out the fingers from your cunt. He did his best to gather everything he could, making you jump in the process. And all of that went right in his mouth.

It was honestly too generous to call it nasty. The way his tongue slipped between those slick fingers and wrapped around them. That long and sharp-looking tongue lapped all of you off his fingers, allowing his fingers to enter his mouth as fast as they wanted to deposit their hard-earned prize. All while his free hand held your face up by the chin, and he looked right down in your eyes while doing all those unfathomable, obscene things.

“So sweet.” You were not even sure if the comment was meant for you or just a general note for himself. 

As his tongue cleaned up all that was left over on his hand, you witnessed the sight of his claws growing back, sharp and still equally black as some void, like the rest of his hand.

“You want some?” He leaned down to your face, nose touching yours, eyes blue as ice, before leaning down to kiss you. 

It was the first time he kissed you. It was the first time anyone had ever kissed you, other than cats and dogs—but that does not count. You always thought first kisses were too overhyped; it cannot be some magical or whatever thing that people go on and on about. 

But the way his lips slotted with yours and the little smile that crept onto his mouth was everything that was wrong with this situation.

This was a demon, pushing his tongue into your mouth, and you were letting him. Tasting the lingering taste of your own cum in his mouth. How his tongue tangled with yours, chased after it, and the subtle taste of his spit. It was unlike anything you've ever tasted before. You could feel his fangs against your tongue and then digging on your lips.

Nothing about this made sense. But it felt so undeniably good. So good that you almost felt as if this was it, this was right. This is what was missing. This is what your toys and fingers could not recreate. 

And that did not make any sense.

If someone told you one day you'd have to call into work, informing them that you were too sick to clock in on time from a subway station. With a clingy demon in an expensive three-piece suit attached to your side, you’d probably tell that person to shoot you.

But here you are. Head in your hands, elbows on your knees, and a demon hugging you from the back. Life sure is crazy.

“Just skip work altogetherrrrr, let's go home and fuck.” His face tilted on your shoulder, and he batted his eyelashes, making attempts to coerce you into his wishes.

“Will you fuck off already?”

“You’re hurting meeeee!” 

“Good.”

A pout made its way onto his filthy lips while he muttered something that sounded like ‘so mean’ under his breath. And he floated away from where he was previously annoying you to take the empty seat beside you to annoy you. He looked too cute and innocent for a demon. But maybe that is part of the deception. So you sat there with your elbows on your knees, leaning forward in your seat, to take a better look at his face. 

Still gorgeous and still evil.

“I am wondering when you're going to leave me alone.” You looked forward at the empty tracks in front of you and the basically empty station. It was already well past 12:00 PM, so at least there was no one to witness you, or what it looked like to bare eyes, talking to yourself.

“Aw. I have been getting rid of pests for you, and this is how you talk to me!?” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat with a more intense pout.

“Wait. You've been doing that before, just not this? Not just today?” His little comment had you sitting up in your seat and moving your body enough to face him.

“Mmhmm. I've been making sure no pest gets to you, you know! Not my fault you forgot your pendant at home. I was bringing it back for you, but I guess some cockroach found you before me.” You just stared at him in silence for a solid few minutes as he smiled at you sweetly.

“You bought my pendant?” You blinked at him in confusion. Just how powerful and how fucking dense is this guy?

All he did was reach into the breast pocket of his jacket to pull out a silver chain with a dangling pendant on it. He leaned forward and reached behind your neck to clasp the chain back on you. With a little kiss on your forehead and a big toothy smile, he yet again disappeared on you.

Since it did not look like you're getting rid of this floating demonic thing anytime soon. It was the best bet to use him to your own advantage.

So this time, you waited for him patiently and eagerly to pop up in your room. After the last time you spoke to him at the station, he didn't show up for the rest of the day. Leaving you to think things through with the newfound information you got from him. 

And what better time other than a Saturday night to negotiate a deal with a demon?

“So what do I get in return?” The demon looked down at you from where he was floating in the air, above your head, in just some gray sweats. 

“I don't immediately end your entire existence.” You deadpanned, trying not to stare too long at his back muscles flexing from the way he folded his arms under his head. There were faint black lines, resembling strikes of lightning. They ran from the back of his arms, up to his shoulder, from his nape, down under the waistband of his sweatpants, where his pointy tail started and swished around in the air.

“Ok, ouch, angel, and here I was already choosing names for our children.” He pouted and slowly came down to your eye level, with his arms cartoonishly and lifelessly hanging in the air. 

“Do not make me throw salt at you.” You leaned back on your headboard, and your hands clutched the pouch of salt.

“Alrightttt. But you can't expect a demon to just do you favors, like keeping pests off of you, and not ask for anything in return.” With a shrug, he continued. “Then I would've been the angel here, right?” 

As annoying as it was to look at him smiling like he had you exactly where he wanted you to be, you didn't really have any other choice. Your pendant isn't working anymore; your grandmother's life essence and the effects of her spell are depleting from the pendant by the second, making the pendant’s barrier weaker by the second. And you don't have enough knowledge to do something about this. This annoying, sly, and very gorgeous demon is your only hope. 

And unfortunately, he knows it too.

“Ok. You can feed on my life essence.” 

“SO WE CAN FUCK!?” You rolled your eyes in defeat as the demon suddenly plopped on your bed with excitement, making you bounce on the mattress in the process.

“IF MY BED BREAKS, YOU'RE MAKING ME A NEW ONE!” 

“Oh, no worries, I'll get you a new one every time we break one.” His cheery tone just made the words spouting out of his mouth more filthy sounding. 

“You—never mind.”

But you were already too tired to say anything more. So you lay back on your bed, with your arms over your head, trying to push down the headache you could just feel coming over. The demon, on the other hand, lay right beside you on his side, taking it as an invitation to initiate his first proper meal .

But before he could get his grubby claws on you, you sat up on your elbows, making his eyes pop in slight surprise and disappointment.

“Oh right, what am I supposed to call you?” Usually you can perform a ritual, burn a spell, and get the entity's name and some other notable information like when they were born, when they died, type of death, what type of entity they are, etc. and other stuff. And you tried that for this demon as well, but nothing came out. Each time the visions were blank. It made you wonder how bad your luck must be to come across something so terrible.

“Ah! Hmm…. You can call me… Toru!” He smiled wide, looking proud of himself. 

“You said it like you just made that up on the spot.” The possibility made you frown. Maybe he is being cautious so you don't find anything about him.

“Nope! That's my name!” He smiled ear to ear, eyes closed, looking like an innocent creature, like he was not even a demon.

“That just sounds more suspicious.” You squinted your eyes at him, while he just smiled ear to ear.

“Oh, come on, I thought our relationship had more trust than that.” He let his entire body fall on you, pinning you down to the mattress under him.

“Firstly, we do not have a ‘relationship’; what we have is a deal . And like hell I'll ever trust a demon.” Even though you rolled your eyes at him with a scowl on your face and tried to push him off of you, his pout just morphed into a smirk. 

“Can't trust a demon, but you can let him fuck you, right?” 

He pressed his hands, or claws, on either side of your head to hover over you. With that annoying smirk on his face, which made your head boil and stomach tighten. You could feel your chest getting heavier; it was getting hard to breathe normally with a demon over you and his pointy tail wrapping around one of your ankles. You tilted your head away from him, not answering him, letting the tension in the air speak for itself. The anticipation was heavy in the air for what was to come next. 

Toru, as he told you to call him, nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck. Moving his face up to your jaw, planting a kiss there, and going back down to dig his fangs into the side of your neck without any warning. You shrieked under his constant sucking and biting, while your left hand went up to pull on his hair, and your face scrunched up in something between pain and pleasure.

“A-are you even a demon… or a fucking vampire?” Your right arm wrapped itself around his shoulders. You could feel the flex of his muscles and even his skin that felt too human, too soft, and too warm to touch. He didn't retort to you with a verbal answer, just hummed in the crook of your neck as a smile stretched along his lips. 

Once he was happy enough with the marks on your neck, he moved down to your collarbone. After licking the expansion of the bones with his sharp tongue, he moved lower to rip the front of your tank top with a single claw nail. You could feel his nail grazing on your skin, making your back arch off the bed. It felt as if your skin would break any moment and there would be an open wound, but there was not; he was too careful to not have a single drop of your blood flow out of your veins. But if you could see, you'd see a single line drawn from the middle of your chest up to your belly button. And you didn't mind that tingling sensation on your skin, the feeling of being on the edge of an almost injury, or the destroyed shirt under you. 

All you could care about and focus on were his lips sucking, biting, and pulling on one of your nipples and one of his hands squeezing and kneading your other tit, while his other hand dug into your skin and pressed you into the mattress. 

“Ugh— fuck— Toru.” Everything felt unreal. As an almost twenty-something touch-starved virgin, you were sure that for the rest of your life you'd have to spend it with your hand and vibrator. Yet here you are, under a demon. 

“Mmhmm, what does my pretty angel want?” He moved back to place himself between your legs and placed his chin on top of your lower tummy. And both of his arms wrapped around where your thighs met your hips 

“Please, Toru.” You were already exasperated, covered in sweat, clutching your sheets, trying to focus your pupils on the demon between your legs.

“Ugh, beg more, I'm so close!” He jokingly moaned and morphed his face into an expression similar to yours. Earning a weak slap on his hand, causing him to giggle while he ripped open your shorts. 

“WHY ARE YOU RIPPING EVERYTHING LIKE A DOG?” At that point you felt pissed enough to gather some air to shout at him and sit up on your elbows. 

“They’re annoying.” 

“ You are annoying!” 

“You're so mean to me!” He looked like a dog who just got reprimanded for trying to sneak into the food cabinet. And he nuzzled his face into your panty-covered cunt, then fully burrowing his nose on the mound to take a long sniff as your thighs clenched around his head. 

Once he was done taking in your scent and possibly embedding it into your memory, you thought he'd move onto the next part. What, you didn't expect that he'd start licking your pussy through your panties? Not some lacy, sexy, black underwear—but some pastel pink cotton underwear, discolored on the crotch from years of wear and the horrors of periods. He bit your folds, wiggled his tongue between them, and pressed his tongue heavily on your slit. Soaking the panties in your juices and his saliva, he bit your clit along with some fabric of the panties and proceeded to suck on them as much as the barrier between his mouth and your clit allowed him. In conclusion, he was basically eating you out through your panties—like the freaky demon he is. 

“J-just, fucking get rid of it.” You pulled on his hair with both your hands, one hand shoving his head further into your cunt, the other trying to pull him away.

“You said not to rip anything off.” His words came out muffled from still being stuffed between your legs.

“Just take them off normally.” You were getting too impatient to even shout at him.

“That's no fun.” Yet he knew just how to provoke you enough to have you reach for the bag of salt under your pillows. 

“OK, SORRY, HERE, TAKING THEM OFF!” He sat up hurriedly when he noticed your hands were gone from his hair. “You're no fun.” He pouted and put both of your feet on his shoulder to drag your panties off.

And suddenly you felt too exposed, nervous, hyperaware of his blue eyes boring between your thighs, and hands holding your thighs open. A part of you felt like it was better when he had just left your panties on, and the other part wanted nothing more than Toru back where he was. The picture of the demon’s claws retracting back into his skin, the one last feeling of them scratching the skin of your inner thighs, was what finally made you realize the situation at hand.

You're losing your virginity to this demon, and you actually didn't mind it; you were kind of looking forward to it. It was a bizarre realization. But no more bizarre than having a demon's tongue stuffed in your hole. 

Toru’s sharp tongue wiggled around trying to explore every nook and cranny inside of you, memorizing all of it. While his tongue busied itself inside of you, one of his fingers slipped in to help stretch you out more, and his other hand rubbed random shapes on your clit. 

“Fuck—fuck. Ugh. There.” You couldn't help but let the groans and moans slip out of you, letting them get absorbed straight into his ego. 

Toru hummed in accordance and pressed his tongue up where it had you tightening your grip on his hair. The vibrations from his moans had you twitching. And you could feel something building up, something familiar but a thousand times more intense than what you have ever achieved by yourself.

“I-I am—” You couldn't complete your warning, and yet he hummed like he understood.

He was ready to lap up everywhere that you had to offer. And when you came around his tongue, that's exactly what he did. He didn't leave behind anything that he could have the pleasure of tasting on his tongue. Sure, demons don't eat regular human food, but this was basically his human equivalent to a five-star meal.

“What?” You were either too busy staring into his eyes or just went brain-dead from that orgasm.

“Not done with ya’.” Toru pulled you towards him by one of your ankles, and the sheets under you bunched up. 

“God. I've been waiting for this so long, angel; you have no idea.” He pulled your thighs to his sides, and your legs, although feeling like jelly, automatically latched around his waist. “Y’just can't wait, can ya’? Pretty cunt wants me inside so bad. She's feeling empty, huh?” 

His sharp tongue went on to spout more bullshit. Like, “Don't even have to show you how to use those legs, huh?” He kept rubbing the tip of his cock at your entrance, letting it slide in a few times, and each time all he had as an excuse was “oops.”

“FUCKING PUT IT IN!” You threw a pillow at him, fed up with his antics and getting edged even before having his cock fill you up. He caught the pillow with his left hand while his other hand finally helped him put the length of his cock inside of you. 

“ Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ahh!” Your back automatically arched off the bed. 

“There ya’ go. Happy then, angel?” He pushed the entire thing inside of you in one go after throwing the pillow on the floor. His smile got all dopey as he leaned forward and put his weight on both of his hands on either side of you, getting a better look at your eyes rolling back behind your sockets. “You feel so much better than what I imagined, ugh—fuck—ughh, so perfect, my pretty angel.” His right hand came to your waist to rub soothing circles.

“Good heav—”

“Wouldn’t— fuck —hell be more— ughh — appropriate?” 

“S-shh—ut up.” 

He leaned forward to dive back in the crook of your neck; with his signature sleazy smile on his face, he continued to thrust his hips at a pace where the stretch down there burned, but it also brought you pleasure you couldn't describe. He went back to bite down on your neck as some form of holding himself back, supposedly. Even if he was moving at a pace you couldn't comprehend but felt good with, you could feel Toru, on the other hand, was holding himself back.

“Bite me again and—”

“Threatening me some more, angel?” He murmured in your ear before biting down on your bruised skin once again.

You retaliated by moving up slightly to reach his neck and bit down hard enough to have the raw and metallic taste of his blood bleed out a little. It tasted different than what blood is usually supposed to taste like; you'd know as a chronic lip biter. Sure, it was metallic and salty, and then it was sweet in the beginning and left a bitter aftertaste. 

“F-fuck. You want me to pass out or something, angel?” He snapped his head to the left to face you, and in mere seconds his lips met yours. It was no gentle kiss; it was greedy. He was being so greedy with how he licked around your lips, sucked on them, forced your mouth open with his tongue, and slipped that sharp muscle inside of your own mouth to explore every nook and cranny inside, to remember the differences in how you.

“There ya' go pretty, ugh aren't you the prettiest? My pretty angel's pretty pussy—so lethal.” Toru moved around to sit back on his knees.

“Legs up, sweets.” He grabbed your legs together and placed them on his shoulder to thrust deeper and harder like that.

“FUCK. Oh, ugh—”

“Yeah, you like it, huh? Are you happy that I took your virginity? Yes, baby?” He cooed at the state of you, eyes rolled back, littered in marks, and his saliva  Everything was a mess around and on you, your hair, the sheets, and you especially looked the most messed up, holding onto the sheets like your life depended on it and sliding up on them from the force of the demon's thrusts.

“Y—yes. YES!” 

He giggled at your reply and focused on hitting the same spot that had you thrashing around and digging your nails into his thighs. Your groans and moans filled your little bedroom, echoed on your nearly empty walls, as the movements of his hips got sloppier. 

“I—Oh gosh, I—,” 

“I know, baby, cum on my cock, angel.” 

And so you did; just as his fingers moved to rub your clit, you could feel the knot in your stomach detangling. When he felt your walls clench around him, he threw his head back. He was just as close to his own release, but your satisfaction came first. “Fuck, swallow me whole, you sweet thing.” His hand tightened around your ankles, still hanging on his shoulder, while his other hand moved from your clit to your lower belly to press on it as you came undone. The claws on his hand started to grow as he pressed right under your belly button, and that is probably where everything went blank for you. All you could see were white beams of light in the blur of your room, and your legs slacked off of his shoulder, shaking like you went up five flights of stairs.

“My good girl, look at that angel, shit. ”

The indents of his sharp claws left behind a shape, which could be connected to draw something resembling a tilted heart. Now it's open to interpretation whether it was intentional or not, but given he is a literal demon, there are barely any actions he does without calculating the consequences. 

Before you could even realize anything, the demon cock started twitching inside of you, your own twitchy legs tightened around him subconsciously, and he stumbled over on top of you. You held him in your arms as he shot ropes and ropes of his cum inside of you. 

“My pretty, pretty angel, goin’ to fill her up, breed her good.” 

“You're a demon.” You said to him very matter-of-factly once you found your vision coming back. “So?” 

“So, how are you going to get me pregnant?” He raised an eyebrow at you and flopped down on you, then buried his face by your head and tilted his head to look at you with a sly smile.

“Who said demons can't get you pregnant?” 

“WHAT?” You almost sat up and shoved him off before he started laughing and pushed you back down.

“Wait, wait, ok, so yeah, it's possible, but it's more complicated than that. So no worries, you won't get pregnant unless I actually try to do that.” He smiled at you and rubbed soothing circles by your side. He looked finally content, like you do after a scrumptious meal.

“More reasons to not trust your ass.” 

“Oh, you can trust my ass; touch it if you want real bad.” He said in a playful sing-song voice and ended his sentence with a wink. It made you slap his shoulder, but you couldn't help but let a few chuckles slip out.

Your laughter died down, and everything around you started dimming down too. The weight of his body, the feeling of his tail wrapping around your ankle, his hands holding you tight with his claws back in his skin, and his cum seeping out of you—it was a recipe for deep slumber. And sleep you did; this was after a very long time. Your eyes got heavy to the point you couldn't keep them open anymore. This felt nice; this felt like something you could get used to.

But when in the morning, afternoon to be exact, well past 12:00 PM, you woke up after a full night's sleep, he was gone. It felt like you just went to bed, and without any dreams disturbing your sleep, when you woke up it felt like just seconds had gone by. But he was gone. 

Maybe you shouldn't get used to this.

Making deals with a demon never comes without a price. 

For you, that cost was probably your sanity. Honestly, what is worse? Entities roaming around you or a demon tiring you out. Not easy to answer, but the feeling of his tongue inside your tongue first thing in the morning, accompanied by orgasms, wasn't such a bad thing. 

“I loveee breakfast in bed!” He’d moan in your ear while thrusting into you with full force, like he didn't have dinner the night before. Plus now you get to sleep like a normal individual at night, well, after getting fucked to a puddle of nothing, that is. 

“You look so good in this shirt, fuck, I just wanna tear it off of you.” The demon muttered right in your ears while floating in the air just beside you.

You were at your desk, at work, inside of your office building, trying to focus on your tasks for the day, yet somehow every one to two hours the demon would show up to terrorize you. Some days he wouldn't show up during working hours, some days he'd be here for way too long, and some days he'd come and go in intervals. The inconsistency made it harder for you to come up with measures to prevent the demon from trying to let his claws wander anywhere he'd like or run his tongue to spout the most vile things in broad daylight.

“Ughhh, I wish I was inside you right now.”

“You are so focused, it makes me want to bend you over on this table.” 

“I want to eat you out right here and have these people watch me. I bet you'll like it.”

The whining was tolerable, but the words that came with it were the problem. To be fair, it was the demon in it of itself who was the problem. But then again, since he has been around, you have not seen a single other entity around you; things have been so smooth, if you don't count the whole demon situation. 

But change is always taxing. That's what you told yourself when you suddenly got sick after a week and a few days of having the demon around. He is basically becoming an usual part of your routine; the only reason why he is not is because he is extremely unpredictable. Like catching a cold, you're fine, sucking on a popsicle one day, and the next day your throat is hurting, so you brush it off thinking it'll go away at the end of the day. But it's not; it only gets worse the next day, and by the third day you're bedridden with a high fever. 

That's exactly what happened to you. 

Figuratively and literally. A demon latched onto you all of a sudden, and now he is freely using you as he pleases, and you are also bedridden, sick from god knows what, counting down your days because it feels like death. 

“It’s not that bad, angel.” 

The demon suddenly appeared next to you on the bed. And you could feel your temperature about to rise. You were well enough to see a blurry image of his face hovering over yours, but not enough to shout at him or move away. You were in no shape to feed him. And if that's what's going to be happening to you in this state, you might have to soon find a way to get rid of him, or better, think about how you're going to even get rid of him in this moment. 

“Oof, you're burning.” Instead of the impact of his lips, you felt the back of his obsidian hand on your forehead. Taking your temperature and assessing your condition. You could barely open your eyes to look at his face, and it looked worried. His brows were scrunched, his lips were jutted out subconsciously, and he looked focused—almost human. 

Toru vanished in a flash in your bathroom and then floated into your kitchen. After rattling around in there for a few minutes, he came back with a bowl of water and a cloth, a glass of water, and some meds from your bathroom cabinet. He sat you up carefully to wipe away the sweat covering your body, gently gliding the small towel over your neck, back, arms, face, and belly. He gave you the meds and helped you hold the glass. Then he gently laid you back down and adjusted the air conditioner’s temperature. placed a bottle of water by your bedside, sat down on the floor, and placed his head on the bed to stare at you, like some puppy.

“Do you want something to eat? Some porridge, maybe ?” He looked worried, helpless even, more than how helpless you look right now. 

“How are you going to order anything?” You mumbled with your eyes closed, almost drifting away to sleep.

“I can cook!” He excitedly sat up and lifted his head off the bed. 

“I don't want to be liable if you use my kitchen to burn down his building.” 

“If you keep doubting me like this, angel, I'll cry.” He folded his elbows on the bed to come closer to your face.

“So you want to burn down this building with your tears?”

“Now you're stereotyping me! All because I am a poor little demon!” 

“Sure, you helpless creature.” A grin pulled on your lips, and even with your eyes closed, you know there was a similar one on his face. 

The conversation died there as you lost your consciousness. And the demon got to work in your kitchen. He found some sad-looking vegetables in your fridge and other things to get to cooking. He also made a mental note to remind you to go grocery shopping. He found no problem working around in your space; at this point he was more acclimated to this apartment than you, and he looked after it better than you. He gathered your dirty clothes you always left scattered on the floor, made your bed, did your laundry, folded your laundry, and cleaned your dishes and the toilet, and now he is cooking for you. If he wasn't a demon, he would be the top contender for the best potential househusband. After about an hour, he was already done.

“Angel? Wake up, eat a little, ok?” He got the little folded table on the side of your bed to place it by your side and put the plate of food on it. 

“Mmhmm.” He helped you to sit up and handed you a glass of water. 

When you didn't even reach out to hold it and sat there with your eyes closed and hair looking like a bird's nest, he helped you drink some water. And even spoon-fed you the food. He blew on it gently to cool down every bite, brought the glass of water up to your lips from time to time, and then also cleaned up after everything. Like the good potential househusband he is, he did the dishes, set your meds by your bedside table, and tucked you in bed. 

“Get well, angel.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, and you swear you heard him mumble something else. But you were too sleepy, and he was too quiet. You didn't even have any energy to ask anything; your eyes were betraying you, and before you made up your mind to ask him what he said, he was gone. 

The next few days went by like that. The demon came in more often than usual to take care of you. Because what you thought was just a light cold from the changing seasons turned out bad enough to make you unable to get up from your bed for 4 days. You wish you could take more time to fully recover, but then also you couldn't ignore work anymore. So for the rest of the week, with your own little demon helper, you worked from home. Making that little demon helper feel a little angsty and neglected. 

“Let's just go back to the bed.” The demon floated around you like a toddler whining for candy. He has been persistently trying to pry you out of your chair for the last 1 hour, and so far his efforts have been futile. 

“I have a lot to do.” You kept your eyes trained on your monitor. The light reflecting off your glasses made it harder for him to gauge whether you were just annoyed at him or being hard on him as usual. 

“And I want to do you .” He said that with a stone-straight face after he popped his head between you and your monitor.

“Go back to hell or something.” You tried to look past him and continued typing.

“Do you hate me, angel!?” His face morphed into an exaggerated desperate expression, eyebrows scrunched and both corners of his mouth turned down. He cradled your face in his hands, his claws adjusted to a medium length so they wouldn't scratch you by accident. You noticed that from the corner of your eye and felt something fluttering in your chest. 

“You're making me hate you.” You pulled his hands off your face and moved him to the side like a floating balloon.

With a sigh he deflated down on the floor and placed his head on your lap. You looked down at his sulky face and the way his tail thumped on the floor in annoyance. It made the corners of your lips tug. Hesitantly you placed your nondominant hand to pat the floor of his messy, white, pearly hair. And he immediately moved his head towards your touch and looked up at you from where he let his face rest on your lap. His lips didn't move anymore than the usual smirk that always adorned his lips, but his eyes tugged into a smile. You looked away from him and went back to typing away on your keyboard, but you didn't shove him off your lap. You liked the warmth of his face, the way he looked up at you, the way his eyes smiled, and how his hands wrapped around your legs. 

The moment was filled with sweet silence. It felt like you might as well get used to this. But like you can't trust a crocodile’s tears, you can't just assume that a demon would be content with head pats. That'd be wishful and naive of you. 

First you felt a kiss on your thighs, right on the valley where they pressed together. You didn't think much of it. Then he started sucking on the skin there; it bruised easier than, say, your neck. By the time you barely typed two incorrectly spelled words, he had your thighs parted, face buried in between your legs, sniffing your cunt through your shorts. His arms curled around your knees and kept them open with ease. So now you have a demon between your legs, licking and sucking on your cunt through your cotton shorts. 

“F-fucking hell, Toru.” The demon only hummed and looked up at you from where he was positioned on his knees. Your hands were off your keyboard at this point, buried in his hair, pulling on it. He pushed your chair back, and it wheeled backwards while he dragged your shorts off you. In that sudden moment, you couldn't figure out what was even happening when he moved under your desk and dragged your chair forward and went back to the position he was in.

“Ooh. No underwear? Finally taking my advice, angel?” He kept gawking at you, at your cunt. It was better to not wear underwear at home; it felt more comfortable. But not that you'll ever tell him he was right. Toru dove right in, licking at your slit and sucking on your clit like he hadn't been fed in days. Which is not wrong; he has been starving. You were honestly surprised by how much the incubus strained for your sake. It softened your heart. But you won't admit to that as well. 

“Go on. You said you were busy.” 

You tried your best to ignore the fiend between your legs—eating you out like his life depended on it. It was sort of a discovery for you, seeing him on his knees for you, hidden under your desk; there was this sense of guilt that gnawed at you. But you couldn't help but get wetter with every lick and couldn't help but tighten your thighs around his head as you came all over him.

“So. Now shall we head to the bed, or do you want me to carry you?” He rested his head against your thigh as he licked around his lips to clean up everything you left behind. His smile was soft and his eyes were coercing; there was no way you were about to get out of the clutches of temptation personified, who's kneeling between your legs. With a sigh, you reclined in your chair and reached for the little satchel in your drawer.

“Sorry, Toru.” “Huh? What do you—”

Just as the sprinkle of salt hit his head, the demon disappeared from under your desk. You felt bad somewhat, but it's not like you had any other choice. It'd be easier to deal with a sulky demon than drowning in overdue work at the end of the month. 

He didn't show up for the rest of the day. 

Not even the next morning for his usual ‘breakfast.’ You thought he was angry with you. And it worried you. What if he was actually angry with you? What if he didn't show up for days? Was he going to be alright without getting his fill for days? Will you be alright without him around? But wait, isn't it better? To not have him around? Sure, you weren't even close to finding a replacement for your pendant or him, but wouldn't it be easier without an incubus always floating around you and whispering dirty things in your ear? Ruining your panties and cleaning up your apartment? Cooking for you and taking care of you when you're sick? 

You're really getting off track.

“Hey! Good morning!” Your coworker, Ms. Miwa Kasumi, passed by and greeted you; she was pretty new. Which is probably why she has been the only person in your department to greet you without any obligations and without any stutters.

“Oh, good morning.” You did your best to return her a smile, but you were sure it came off weirder. But she still looked appreciative nonetheless and then started walking beside you towards the meeting room. 

“Ugh! I hate meetings first thing in the morning; it sucks!” Ms. Kasumi whined while walking with you. Of course, who would like meetings, especially when their entire department, except for one junior maybe, behaves oddly with them? Working under a big-name company almost always sucks. Especially when it's going through new changes like getting a new CEO. So things have been hectic lately anyway. So on top of everything, imagine walking into a meeting room full of people, where your designated seat is occupied by a sex demon in a suit, who has been haunting you. 

“Everything alright?” You froze in the door of the meeting, and Ms. Kasumi looked back to check on you. 

“Uh—yeah!” You tried to enthusiastically answer and follow her inside where everyone was already gathered. 

“Good morning to my sweet angel!” The demon piped from your seat as you walked up to it and lingered with placing your things on the table as slowly as you could. Giving  plenty of time to get off your chair. 

“Sit down, Ms. L/n, we're starting.” Your department instructed, and when you looked at the demon with a glare, he patted his lap with enthusiasm and a smirk on his face. You got fully cornered.

“This is punishment.” The demon said as he got comfortable under you. Maneuvering you to sit as closely on top of him as possible. 

“I was just busy.” You tried to whisper back to him as nonchalantly as possible while keeping your eyes on the presentation on the screen.

“I know, but you were really mean.” He whispered back in your ear like everything that was happening between you two right now could be heard and seen by everyone.

His hands just toyed with the hem of your skirt at first. And as you got more comfortable with being on his lap, as you let your guard lower—his hands started roaming all over your body. It started innocently with drawing circles on your knees with his sharp nails, then his claws retracted back into his skin, which is never a good sign. His hands went up and up until they were just below your breasts. They stopped there and squeezed them, making you hunch defensively.

“Don't make it obvious, alright, sweets?” 

He opened up your shirt and started running his fingers over your collarbones. And soon after pulled your bra down to put your tits out on a show. There you were, in a meeting room full of your coworkers and colleagues, looking down at your lap because you couldn't bear to look up to see the horrors in everyone's eyes. But the demon under you couldn't be less bothered. He played with your tits like he could smell the embarrassment and agony on you, but he could also see right through you. As if he could tell how much this was turning you on.

“What a dirty little angel you are.” He chuckled slightly right beside your ear, placed his chin on your shoulder, and bunched up your skirt. Then he pushed aside your panties, and without any prep or warning, he rammed his cock inside of you. You were on the verge of screaming out a moan; your grip on the hand rest got tighter and tighter as you felt like the room was getting smaller and smaller and hotter by the second.

“Now don't whine like I didn't offer to stretch ya’ good last night, but you threw salt at me, hmm.” The pointed tip of his tongue slipped around the ridges of your ear. “I think you are forgetting that you are dealing with a demon.” 

And maybe you were. You were getting confused by his kindness and compassion, so maybe for a while you forgot he is a literal demon. Feeding from, or maybe feeding on, you. 

“Distracted? Am I going too soft on you, angel?” Toru noticed how you leaned on the table with your elbows pressed on the surface for your life, but you seemed distracted. You were distracted from the meeting, from the way his hips pistoned upwards into you; you were thinking about something else, and he couldn't have that. You had to just sit there with your lips pressed together and sit there drenched in your cold sweat. 

“Look up, sweets, won't you? Don't you wanna see how good I'm fucking you in front of all these people?” His hand gripped your throat, and at that point you were fully hunched over the table. All the while he thrust into your cunt with enough vigor to shake the entire table with you. His balls were basically slapping against your skin, and the tip of his cock was hitting places you did not think existed before.

“I’m gonna fucking cum inside you. Have you dripping with my cum all day? You'll like that, huh? walking around in public while m’cum fucking seeps out of you?” Toru leaned forward and pulled you back towards him by your throat. “But you have to keep it nice and warm inside of you.” 

“F-fuc-k.” You muttered under your breath; you were about to orgasm in a meeting room at your office. But in this moment all you knew was that Toru was whispering shit in your ears, thrusting into your pussy, and you were about to cum all over him.

“C’mon, do it. Gush all over me like my good angel.” And like on his command, you came just like that. He bit down on your nape, and soon after came inside of you, like he promised. After he pulled out, he went and shoved everything that leaked out back inside of your pussy with two fingers and a kiss on your cheek. 

“See ya’ later angel.” And like that, he was gone. And you were just left there drenched in your sweat and filled with his cum, sitting in your chair confused and scared. 

“Are you ok, Ms. L/n!? I've been calling for you for the last 5 minutes.” Your boss asked from the end of the table. You were too scared to look up at him. While contemplating, your eyes landed on your shirt, perfectly buttoned just as it was, and your skirt was wrinkled the exact amount from this morning when you got off the train. 

“Yes, sir, just feeling a little hot.” You do not know how you held yourself together to not stutter while replying to him while everyone in the room looked at you weirdly, except for Ms. Kasumi, who just looked concerned.

“Are you sure? Is your fever back? Do you want to step out for a bit?” 

“It’s alright, sir; I'm perfectly alright.” You shook your head and told him you were just fine and took a sip of your water to cool down. 

“Alright, if you say so.” 

He nodded hesitantly and proceeded back to the meeting. As the meeting went on, even though you tried your best to focus on the contents of the presentation, all you could think about was one cunning demon and his cum pooling in your underwear.

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT! HOW DARE YOU—WHAT IF—” You held the demon by his collar and shook him back and forth while he just giggled.

“It's ok, angel, they can't see anything.” You stopped in your tracks and pulled him closer to your face and squinted your eyes.

“elaborate.” He sighed and held your hands with his own. “They can't see me and therefore can't see anything I do to you unless I want them to.” You blinked at him, feeling somewhat at ease by his confirmation. 

“Are you sure?” He nodded and kissed right under your left eye. “Why would I lie?” 

“To make me feel at ease or something.” He giggled some more, and you couldn't help but stare at his blue eyes squinting as his lips stretched. “Yes, but I wouldn't lie to do that.”

“Says the demon.” You snorted incredulously as he snickered some more. But you felt fully at ease. 

“You do know this opens up soooo many possibilities.” The demon slyly said while moving his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

“You—” “Ms. L/n! Are you there?” 

You got cut off by Ms. Kasumi while trying to curse out the demon some more for his suggestion. In a panic, you asked the demon to stay where he was, at the end of a hallway, in front of the elevator, and you walked towards Ms. Kasumi as fast as you could. When you got to her, she just immediately started asking if you were alright and if you needed to go back home. 

“Are you sure you're ok?” She really genuinely looked worried. 

With some reassurance, she was convinced by your pathetic excuse about the thermostat. Nonetheless, she still offered to take up some of your work and didn't take no for an answer. It was refreshing, really. Instead of people quietly putting more work on you because apparently you are more competent than them or some other excuse, even though they always have something to say behind your back, she wanted to take some load off your shoulders. It was new, but you appreciated that.

once you made sure Ms. Kasumi was gone, you walked back to where you left Toru. When you reached the end of the hall, you took a turn to find him standing in front of the elevator, looking like he was waiting for it to get here. 

“What are you waiting for, the elevator or something?” You jokingly said as you went to stand beside him. And the demon, on the other hand, looked fully flabbergasted to see you. It was as if he was seeing you up close for the first time. Then he looked confused and just panicked. Like he was going through too many emotions at the same time. And it made you confused in return. Why is he acting like he didn't make you think that you were about to be on the verge of losing your life just an hour ago? 

“Yeah—yeah. I am.” 

His voice sounded different. Deeper than how he usually speaks with you, calmer as well, but not really calm in that phony way that you know all too well. You couldn't help but scrunch your eyebrows and mirror his confused expression. 

“Mr. Gojo! I found the file!” Just as you were about to interrogate him some more, an exasperated and tired-looking man ran up to the demon with a bunch of files under his arm and one in his hand. ‘Mr. Gojo,’ that's what he called the demon, you know, as Toru. If you were suspicious and confused before, now you are panicking and confused. What was happening, and why did that name sound so famiiar?

“Yeah, this looks good.” Toru—or Mr. Gojo—looked through the file he was handed with a stern and serious expression that you've never seen on the demon. But what surprised you more was when he pulled his hands out of his pockets to grab the file, his hands were not the same glittery obsidian anymore. And that odd anomaly made you look around for his tail, which was also gone. When he turned towards you, who was too stunned and frozen in place to say anything, the elevator doors opened with a ding. ‘Mr. Gojo’ looked hesitantly between you and the elevator while the sickly-looking man, possibly his assistant, looked between you two. He opened and closed his mouth and then just walked inside the elevator with his assistant quickly following behind him.

“See you around, Ms. L/n.” That's all he said before the elevator doors closed between you two and he was gone. 

What the fuck is happening?

In your entire supernatural life, you've never encountered anything stranger than this. He had the same cerulean blue eyes, the same shade of platinum white hair, the same features, and the same three-piece suit the demon was wearing this morning. How can there be a man who looked exactly like a demon. Or was the demon disguising himself as this man? But why would he do that? What was his motive? That was all you could think about while aimlessly walking through the hallway to get to your desk. You spent the rest of your day in a trance. Typing at your computer in a daze, making more mistakes than progress. That even your boss noticed. This was not how you work; he has seen you sick, and you always push through it. But he didn't want to pressure you with too many questions and just left you alone.

At the end of the day, Ms. Kasumi tagged you on your way out; she was talking about something. But you couldn't hear anything; you were wondering why the demon didn't show up since you saw his lookalike. 

“You know, Ms. L/n, the new CEO is so gorgeous! I ran into him in the hallway today, and OMG, he is cooler than what the rumors say!”

“Mmhmm.” 

You disinterestedly nodded along, wanting to get home as soon as possible and put this day behind you. But just as the elevator doors opened, there he was again, right in front of you. 

“Hello, sir!” Ms. Kasumi bowed down in front of this, Mr. Gojo. Like he was an important figure, which you assumed by how he walked around with the amount of power exuding off of him.

“Oh—um, you don't have to bow.” He awkwardly shook his hands for Ms. Kasumi to stand straight back up again. All while his eyes remained trained on you, maintaining perfect eye contact. You weren't one to hold eyes with someone, but here you were, refusing to look away first, maybe to find any answers behind his cerulean eyes.

“I assume you are clocking out? Thank you for your hard work. Have a good night.” He smiled at you two, and his eyes finally wavered away from you. You could see a flush of red creeping up his neck under the dim lights of the lobby. 

“Thank you, sir! You have a good night as well!” Ms. Kasumi enthusiastically said as you two stepped out of the elevator for Mr. Gojo to step in with his tired-looking assistant.

“If you'll excuse me, then.” Mr. Gojo nodded one last time at you two. Mr. Han walked ahead of you, but you still kept standing in front of the elevator, staring at him shamelessly. And before the doors could close between you two once again, he smiled at you, a smile that reached his eyes, and he looked exactly like the demon you've come to know in the last few weeks. 

“Bye, Ms. L/n.” 

This was definitely the same guy. There is no way they're two different individuals. They're somehow connected, and you do not know how, but you need to figure it out. As soon as possible.

“See! Like I said, he looks better up close!” Ms. Kasumi enthusiastically looked at you for your agreement while you two walked side by side up to the entrance of the building. 

“Who?” 

“The new CEO! Mr. Gojo! You are really out of it today, Ms. L/n; please get some rest when you get home.” Unfortunately for Ms. Kasumi, you tuned out everything she said after Mr. Gojo. 

There is something weird going on right now. And you, honestly, have no idea what it is. You do not have any clue other than the fact that your new CEO and the sex demon you made a deal with look exactly the same and behave exactly the same and feel exactly the same, but not entirely. And it's giving you a headache. Whatever it is that is going on, you will get to the bottom of it. 

But first, you need that damn demon to show up, who's made a mess of your already tiresome life.

PART TWO soon!

FIND MORE OF MY WORKS HERE

a/n: dividers by @/enchanthings-a & @/omi-resources. fanart by @/3-aem, lyrics info in image, and other one is just from Pinterest.

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!):

you used to be an ambitious young woman. your previous everyday life was defined by schedules and a plan that was expected to last you for as long as you would have wanted it to. as long as you kept working and pushing towards your goal, nothing could come between you.

at the age of 17 you got into a prestigious school of arts for ballet. you lived and breathed ballet. it was your everlasting passion. whatever happened in a dance studio was between you and your ambitious heart. 

your parents supported you through it all. they funded your practices and everything in-between–from attires to entrance fees for special events.

they were more than proud and excited for you when you shared with them the news of your acceptance. it was like their dream came true through you. your happiness was theirs. 

thankfully the university was not more than 2 hours away from home, so coming and going was as easy as filling in a coloring book. 

weekdays were spent in studios for dance, and regular sit-in classes for your core courses. not that it interested you in the slightest, but you excelled none-the-less. 

whereas weekends were split in between extra studio practices (saturdays) and at home (sundays). some days you had to stay on campus to participate in rehearsals for upcoming showcases, competitions or the events themselves. for these occasions your parents were happy to drive down there to see you. 

never missing the opportunity to see their darling girl.

you were an only child. it’s why your parents always spoiled you. they made sure nothing was missing in your life. it’s why they were behind you in every decision you made, making light of the good and bad.  

3 years as a student and you were at the peak of your dance career. you were constantly booked for the lead roles in ballet recitals, sought out for tips from the lower classmen, praised by your professors, acknowledged constantly by your peers, and offered countless opportunities to advance in your pursuit of your goal. 

it was possibly the happiest you could have been. 

unfortunately, good things don’t last. no matter how much you want them to, or fight against all forces to prolong them.

in your last year as a student, tragedy struck. you met a boy. a boy who would soon ruin everything you worked so hard for. 

a man, who at the snap of his fingers, could demolish every single step you’ve carved out for yourself. 

you met him on your way to class. he had dark black hair with white strands grazing the tips of it. chocolate brown eyes that reflected against the sun. he was tall, some could say handsome, and a charming yet unjarring smile. any girl would fall for him. 

just not you. to you, he was a distraction–an unsettling one at that. 

he had introduced himself to you as naoya zenin (bitchass naoya). a sweet name for the devil in disguise. he never failed to emphasize the last name: zenin. a remarkable yet well-known name. given that it was the same one as the president of the school. 

the declaration itself caused a nasty shiver to run down your spine at the mere thought of it. 

one thing lead to another and he continued to pursue you, in which you continued to politely decline. 

“i’m sorry but i’m not interested in a relationship right now. you’re a great guy, surely there are many girls interested in you.”

“yes, but they're not as great as you.”

it was then that you realized that he wasn’t necessarily interested in you. but rather what you brought to the table, which was ultimately, the status of a talented young woman at her peak. 

men like him want someone they can have around their arm. they want someone that’ll make them look good. someone to be there as an accessory to their greatness. 

unfortunately for you, naoya came to the conclusion that it had to be you. whether you liked it or not. 

no way in hell were you going to let this boy use you this way. so, you didn’t, but he offered an ultimatum. 

“alright then, why don’t we just become friends then?” you had to play it safe with a boy of his status.

you accepted. what was the harm in a friendship, you knew you wouldn’t have time to maintain it anyway. with how busy your schedule was, he’d get bored, lose interested, and leave you alone for good. 

but the zenin’s are insistent, and naoya was no different. 

always at your doorstop. constantly sending you messages, looking to hangout, begging to see you or know your schedule. anything that you knew, he wanted to know. 

so you would leave him on delivered, seen, or just completely decline his advances. 

if he wanted to be your friend, he had to know that this is how it was going to be. and that simply didn’t work for naoya. 

“come on. just one party, and we’ll leave it at that.” 

“fine, but im leaving at 10, i have a dance rehearsal tomorrow morning at 8”, after this you were going to put your foot down and let him go from your life, given that he’d brought nothing but distraction. 

“wonderful” was, sadly, the last thing you remember from that night. you woke up the next day, wearing clothes that weren’t yours, in a room that wasn’t yours, next to someone you most definitely recognized, and a camera pointed in the direction of your sleeping position. 

your heart was in your stomach. you remember the countless notifications on your phone, the one you found tossed haphazardly on the floor of the living room in the unfamiliar apartment. the way your hands trembled like an after effect of a drug that was yet to wear off.  

you quickly and anxiously looked for the remainder of your things. after gathering it all, you zoomed out of the apartment, praying that whatever you may have thought happened at the apartment didn’t. 

a buzz came from the back of your jean pocket, but you ignored it. desperately trying to get to where you needed to be: dance rehearsals. you tried to ignore the weird looks you received while on your way to the studio. 

after arriving, you dashed to the locker room, thankful to your past self for always being overly prepared, having had an extra pair of ballet shoes and practice clothes. 

quickly changing into the clothes you're quietly and quickly slipping into the dance studio, positioning yourself in the back. hoping your instructor does everything but notice your tardiness, but as the top student of the program, your presence goes anything but unnoticed. 

“miss LN,” your professor's voice echoed painfully across the studio and her tone made you stiff, “a word please.”

you felt about 20 sets of eyes turning to look at you. you follow behind your instructor, entering her office stationed beside the massive studio. 

you hear the door shut behind her, yet you remain rooted in your spot in front of her desk. 

“why are you here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. her eyes were nothing but deep pools of emotionless cobalt, and her dark red stained lips do nothing but give her a harsher look. 

you’re a little taken aback by her question, confused to say the least. “excuse me?” you chuckle awkwardly and nervously. 

“we had a dance rehearsal this morning at 8 for the upcoming showcase, didn't we?” you question. 

she purses her lips, “yes we did, but i am afraid that statement no longer includes you.” she says coldly.

you stare at her with wide shocked eyes. “by the look on your face i am quite certain you are not aware. i suggest you check your email.”

she rounds her desk once again, heading for the door, but halting her movements to get her last words in, “and by the time rehearsals are done, i want your locker cleared out, and your access key to the studio left on my desk.” 

the door slams shut behind her. the slam of the door echoes into the deafening silence.

you’re shaking in your seat. what the hell is going on?

remembering you left your phone in your locker—given that the only thing you’re allowed to bring inside the studio is a water bottle. you retrieve your cellphone, and unlock it. 

you tremble a little as you scroll through the endless amount of messages, until you settle on the email sent by the institution. 

Dear Ms. YN LN,

It is with deep regret that we inform you that after careful consideration we have decided to terminate your position as a student at our institution. Effective immediately. 

We also have to acquaint you with the reason for this decision. On May 24 of 2025, we received an anonymous tip accompanied by a link to an adult website. The link featured a public accessed video of you, in which you were identified, and another faceless individual engaging in less than appropriate behaviour. This video was reviewed by a university appointed council to verify your involvement. 

While we respect personal freedoms and the autonomy of our students outside of the classroom, participating in publicly available adult content, undermines the core values of our university.

A permanent notation reading “Dismissed for Conduct Violation” will be placed on your academic transcript. This status may impact future applications for admission, transfer, or professional certification.

We encourage you to take this time to reflect on the importance of personal accountability and the broader implications of public conduct.

Sincerely,

Naobito Zenin Dean of Students  Office of Student Conduct and Academic Integrity Shibuya School of Arts University

now, you’re 25 years old. existing in a bustling city with nothing worth living for. 

after you read the email, your entire world fell apart. you cleared out your things from your dorm and the locker room.

you didn't break the news to your parents. so, you pretended that you were still attending school. your plan was complete school in any way shape or form. but higher education comes with a price. an expensive one at that.

it was difficult. the video blew up and it completely shattered your reputation. not like it was your choice, considering that pieces of that night were foggy to non-existent.

however, things never stay hidden forever: your parents somehow found out about it. so you ran away. back then, you didn't think you could have faced your parents. you still don't think you could. you were a coward.

the only thing that plagued your mind was that the image of their picture perfect-talented daughter was completely tainted.

what would they think of you? how could you face them after everything that happened?

fearful that they'd somehow track you down, you left everything behind. took a bus to the next city over, and stayed with a dear friend of yours: utahime.

utahime worked at a nearby high school as a supervisor. she insisted on helping you find a job, but who would hire you? most definitely not a school.

the only thing you knew to do, was dance. so, you looked up strip clubs looking to hire pole dancers, and came across a decent ad online.

it’s sickening how fast anything can be swept away from beneath you, even as you stand on it. some are lucky to remain standing, while others fall straight on their ass–like you. 

you weren’t supposed to work tonight, but your boss called you, hoping that you’d perform a solo show tonight. he said he’d pay you double your regular pay. something about a big name in the crowd tonight. 

you couldn’t care less. you needed the money. 

you tuned out the rest of the call after the talk about the pay. it was an offer you simply could not refuse. 

even if it meant missing utahime’s monthly gathering dinner. you’d just have to explain to her when you arrived at the apartment later tonight. 

you fix your lip stick in the tiny mirror taped to the door of your locker, making sure it’s perfect. 

you swallow the lump in your throat when you remember how it felt to get ready before a rehearsal, your mom was always there to adjust your hair accessories, but now it’s just you. 

“geez angel, leave some for the rest of us will you?” your coworker beside you jokes. you have moved to adjusting the straps of your tight pink performance bra when she breaks you out of your melancholic day dream. 

angel. the stage name given to you after your audition for this job. something about the way you danced resembled that of a soft angelic ballerina. 

you still remember the way your face slightly dropped at the mention of it. 

you find nothing humorous in her statement, nor her implication. 

the locker room however, finds it quite enlightening, “yeah angel, always stealing all the clients”, the grip on your locker room briefly tightens in an attempt to ground yourself. i don’t mean to, you internalize. 

you’re far from proud about what you do, dancing on stage in front of men makes your skin crawl. it wasn't necessarily about dancing on a pole, but rather who you did it for.

their faces full of lust and dark fantasies make your stomach churn. the look on their faces shows you how their sick minds envision you. the way they’d jump on stage if given the chance.

despite it all, it’s about whatever keeps you dancing. regardless of the audience, this was the only way you could continue your passion. in some sick way, it was the last piece of yourself you could salvage.

your expressions stay neutral, staring blankly at the vacant inside of your locker room. a stark contrast to everyone elses. while they have pictures, sparkles or some sort of personal touch. yours is lifeless and empty. 

you’re starting to feel a little resemblance to it. 

you sigh and close your locker room, body glitter at hand. “sorry,” you mutter, not really knowing what else to say. 

glitter particles stick to your body as you spray it all over yourself. 

“angel you’re up next,” calls the stage manager. years ago, the words would have thrilled you, now they fill a void–a void you try to fill when you pretend you’re doing something else on stage. 

you tighten your mountain high heel straps and make your way over to the stage. 

you shut down your conscious when you take the first step of your heels lands on the stage.

the lights dim and your hand grips the pole. you shut your eyes, and pretend you’re somewhere else dancing ballet. 

a place where the music is something else, and your purpose belongs for your own pleasure. a place where no man could hurt you again. 

the music starts, and you dance. 

2 HOURS AGO

gojo feels sick to his stomach. it’s his 29th birthday and geto thought it was a bright idea to bring him to a strip club. 

“come on loosen up,” he says, patting him down. they’re both still in their expensively tailored work suits. fresh out of a boring birthday dinner with the higher ups. 

gojo shoves geto away, “how can i loosen up when we’re here?” he bites back, “at a fucking strip club,” he says in disgust. 

geto gives him a look, “hey”, he warns him with a level headed look, “don’t be such a dick, i know you’re just being an asshole because of how pent up you’ve been with work.” 

gojo stares at him with an unimpressed stare. any other day he’d be more than happy to just be anywhere in the city doing anything that wasn’t work related. 

however, the mountain of piled up work cases he has to look over sit—not only physically, but mentally—as a constant burden. 

he’s been needed at work more than usual. all thanks to his grandfather who had stepped down as the CEO of Gojo Law Co., and stood up as the chairman. he had handed down the business to gojo less than a month ago. 

with absolutely no heads up. anyone can imagine how stressed he is. 

thankfully, geto was promoted to president. 

given how powerful they were as a duo in the courtroom, one can only imagine how great they’d do managing an entire firm.

geto sighs before looking at gojo, “listen i get it, you want to live up to his standards, but you can’t do it with a stick up your ass. so stop moping around and try and get your dick wet once in a while. you didn’t seem to have a problem doing it in college.”

he slings his arm around gojo’s shoulders and drags him into the strip club. 

thankfully, gojo doesn’t put up much of a fight. 

-

a whiff of cigarettes hits gojo’s sensitive nose immediately. 

the place seems well kept, better than most he’s seen in the past. security seems tight and well established, given the big bulky men stationed in different parts of the club. the music is loud and the lights are dimmed down, and different colors dim in and out. 

it’s quite a massive place. it’s spacious now but he knows that during rush hour it’s incredibly packed. he can tell that whatever they have going here, sells well and is provided on an expensive silver platter.  

there’s women walking around in tight revealing waitress costumes, holding bottles or serving platters with perfectly decorated beverages. their walks are elegant as they stride in their towering high heels. 

their smiles are bright, and certain. one could mistake them for genuine happiness. 

there’s small table dancing poles scattered around the place accompanied by comfortable booths surrounding them, but what captures his attention the most is the empty massive stage positioned towards the far end of the club covered by heavy curtains. 

the lights are completely turned off for that section of the club, but the timer displaced at the top of the curtains gives him something to anticipate. a timer that piques his interest.

he nudges geto in the midst of their journey to the bar. he tilts his chin in the direction of the stage, "what's that?” he makes an educated guess that it’s why his best friend brought him here in the first place. 

geto looks over to the direction he gestured to, and grins, “that,” he points, “is the countdown for the main event tonight. it’s actually why i brought you here.” he confessed, confirming gojo’s initial suspicion. 

gojo continues to stare at the stage. before geto interrupts him with a gentle shove towards the bar. 

two drinks in hand later, they slither their way through the crowd and to the front row. where their vip section awaits them. 

geto nods at the security surrounding their booth, and they move to create a path in the direction of their seats. 

once they’re seated and comfortable the lights dim further, leaving the club almost pitch black. aside from the lights directly above the stage. almost like it’s putting whoever will dance in their own bubble. 

gojo watches intently as the curtains open, and there stands a woman. 

you grip the pole, but your eyes remain gently shut. your pose is enticing, the music is yet to start, but you’re already setting the tone. 

gojo's mouth gapes open a tiny bit when your head rolls back, and the hair previously covering you exposes your neck. 

when your head returns forward again your eyes are open, but they hold an unreadable emotion, almost as if you were on autopilot. 

you’re nothing short of stunning. a woman with a face like yours could entice anyone. gojo was no exception. 

gojo studies you intently. from the clothes you wear, to the look on your face. the transparent slip on dress makes you look like a model on the cover of a lingerie magazine. beneath it you wear lingerie. 

the lighting of the stage defines your face in a manner that sharpens your already defined features. with the slow movement of the lights, they catch the sparkles scattered around your revealed body. 

it almost drives him insane how breathtaking you are. 

almost. but he knows what this is. it’s your job to make him feel this way. he doesn’t want to say it’s in your nature to evoke these feelings but something in the back of his mind nags at him that it’s far too easy for you to kindle these feelings in any man. 

he’s confused. 

gojo has had more than his fair share of sexual encounters. and he means more than fair. but he doesn’t think he’s seen anyone of your caliber, and he’s only looking at your face. 

there's cheers, and an ‘oh yeah baby!’ shouted from the crowd. a few whistles are scattered around too. 

gojo can’t find it in himself to do the same. despite the incredible pull he currently feels towards you all he can do is lean forward from his seat, inching his way to the edge of it. all he can do is gape at you. 

the slow sensual tune of a song begins, and you spin around the pole. your moves are elegant, fluid, and slow. it’s like you’re floating. there’s a certain gentle yet precise form in which you move. 

almost that of a ballerina, he notes. he doesn’t know why, but it hurts to watch you up there. 

his eyes desperately try to remain staring into yours, but occasionally a strands of hair will settle on your face, shielding you from the audience. 

your eyes are glazed over. 

despite your obvious attractiveness, he feels far from aroused. 

you spin on the pole before descending onto the floor, you’re now laying on the floor. within gojo’s reach. but he has no desire to invade your space. you’re in your element. 

your back arches, like the invisible string tied to your heart has been pulled. seconds later you’re back on the pole, moving again. 

gojo’s completely entranced by you. sucked into your world, but he can’t envision what you’re seeing in your head. he can’t understand it. all he can see is a shell of you. 

when your performance finishes, he’s left with a tiny gaping hole in his heart. 

one he’d like to expand by getting to know you. 

even if it means coming here every night to see you.

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 . join my tag list : ⟢ join my girlypop disc: link ‹𝟹

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“That’s it, babe. So close… keep going.” It’s like the one sentence of praise needs to be sucked from his very lifeform, because he’s chewing on his words, throwing them at you all mangled and sloppy. There’s no care anymore; gentleness is lost as he grabs your hips and slams them back down on his length. 

You’re reeling, so close, yet so far from any kind of release your body’s begging for. You need Satoru to give you something – to touch and tell you he loves you so gently, but there’s nothing. Fucking nothing. Just grinding bodies lost in the tangle of bedsheets. 

His eyes snap closed, head tilted back as he bares his neck for you. Two years prior, you would’ve gone in, marking every inch of that luminescent skin with love bites. Now, you watch your nimble fingers spread across the soft, veined expanse, fingers concentrating at his Adam’s apple. You squeeze, he breathes out a moan. 

“Ahh – come on, comeoncomeon.” 

“Cum for me… please.” You’re trying your best to come off genuine, to dip your tone into a needier drawl he doesn’t see much anymore, just for it all to be over sooner. Right now, you’re just fulfilling your bodily duties as Satoru Gojo’s wife. He did just buy you a Cartier bracelet, giving you apologies with wide, blue puppy eyes. As fucked up as it sounds, the least you can do is get him off before he goes to sleep. 

“Mm, say my name, baby. Gonna fill you up, give you so many babies.” 

You’re nodding, letting him spill his orgasm thoughts into your lap. You know him far too well, can read his breeding kink inside out. What Satoru doesn’t know is that you went on birth control the second you started drifting apart. There would be no loose ends; you’ve been planning your escape for months. 

So you let him come inside of you, calling him baby and telling him lies about how turned on you are. Satoru knows you too well that he’d notice a fake orgasm, so you don’t even try. You just let him have his moment, kissing up your arm with ruffled, white hair, pumping shot after shot deep inside of you like he’s on a mission. 

And when he’s drained and limp, you’re climbing off of him, not even offering a word as you head straight to the bathroom. 

You and Satoru thought you had it all figured out pretty early. He graduated from university prematurely and got an immediate position doing what he loved – teaching psychophysics as a Professor's Aide. It’s where he met you, not his student, but definitely a co-worker he shouldn’t have approached, because you fell hard. Head over heels, mind over body – you made him your life. 

That lifeline only had about five good years once you got married, and now you two are overworked strangers bumping shoulder to shoulder on a shared lease. Though you’ve mourned the relationship that shaped you into the woman you are now, you don’t have any regrets. There’s no hatred for Toru in your heart – quite the opposite. You love him to pieces, but can’t give him what he needs at the cost of you. It’s just not worth it anymore. You feel like an object manufactured to please. 

So you chase your solace against the hot spray of the shower, letting it drown out your thoughts as water-mixed come seeps down your thighs. 

Now that you’re alone, you can cry. So, you do – for the unborn children you promised you’d give him, for the life and love you manufactured with your bare hands. He didn’t know that you’d be packing your bags and escaping tomorrow. It’s hard for you even to swallow, though you’ve been planning this day for months. Sweet freedom… only hours away. 

Why is it, though you’ve wished so hard and lived in daydreams, that you’re afraid? You don’t want to be alone in any form of the word, but you couldn’t stay here. It’d kill you long before you hit your grey years. 

Your sweet, smiling Toru with that permanent sparkle in his eye would kill you. 

“Suguru and Shoko want to grab dinner tonight after work.” 

Toru’s voice is slow and controlled as he steps into the bathroom, naked as the day he was born. His silhouette moves intently in front of the glass shower door, stopping at your soaking wet shadow. He hears it, the sniffle amongst the spray – the way you’re hunched in on yourself, curled in the corner of the spacious area. “Are you crying?” 

You scoff, shaking your head as you wipe water from your eyes. “Fucking ignore it.” 

“Hey.” He steps forward, pulling the shower door open. Just like he thought, you’re posed like a wet puppy, legs crossed to keep your decency, and arms over your chest in the farthest corner. “Crying after sex is not your style.” 

“Just… weird post-nut hormones.” You’re shrugging him off with a distant look in your eyes. More recently, everything turns into pointless bickering, so you feed him lies to keep him agreeable. 

But, Satoru’s looking at you like he knows you’re a liar, light eyebrows all screwed up. “But, you didn’t even cum-

“Close the door, Satoru.” You’re grimacing, stepping forward to yank the door closed in his face. “What do you want? What about Suguru?” 

“Suguru and Shoko invited us to dinner tonight…” He’s speaking slowly, like he’s trying to gain his bearings. It’s not really an argument, but Toru feels the rush of one in the steamy air. It wouldn’t be the first time this post-sex daze made you two hot-headed. “I was going to say, it’d be good to all be together again, but you’re acting weird… They don’t need to be around that right now.” 

You scoff, forehead falling into your open palm. The water burns you from within, but you stand under it like you want to be scalded. “Did you follow me in here just to fuck with me? Huh!? You see me trying to get away from yo-

Then, when the seal breaks and you’re yelling, that’s when Toru starts – deep voice banging off the tile walls. “You’re a livewire! You sat there and let me fuck you, now you’re acting like I’m the biggest inconvenience to ever cross your path!” 

“Get out! For once in your life, just leave me alone!” 

He really should listen to you – let you have the upper hand because he knows you’re sensitive, but Toru just shakes his head. “A man can’t even take a piss in the bathroom he pays for.” He adds, stepping away from your vengeful, blurred reflection. The toilet is just over from you – he can’t see the shower, you can’t see him. 

For those few moments, you’re holding your breath. The shower drowns out the sound of him relieving himself, but you can guess well enough what he’s doing. When you’re married, intimate moments like this go unsaid – even on the brink of divorce. And when he’s done, he’s lumbering back over to the shower, long arms limp as they reach to pull it open again. You roll your eyes. 

This time, your back is turned to him, water beading at your shoulder and trailing down the curves in your back sensually. His crystalline eyes catch it, and he parts his lips. “Mind if I join you?” 

You don’t answer him, deciding it’s enough just to regard him briefly with a downcast look over the shoulder. You’re still covering your chest with crossed arms, mainly because you’re cold. Toru keeps opening and closing the door like a nuisance. Now, he’s climbing under the spray with you, big hands holding your familiar shoulders. He leans down to kiss your left. 

“Maybe if we had a baby…” He mumbles that same tired argument into your wet skin, hoping for a different response. “It would bring you back to me.” 

“I don’t want babies with you, Satoru.” The realization is heavy, but you know he can take it. All Toru wants besides you and money is a child – a mini little version of him that you adore to the ends of the Earth. When you became a Gojo, you promised you’d give him what he wanted – every breathless reminder in the heat of the moment was fuel. You two were trying… until you weren’t. Until you were shrugging off to appointments without telling him, taking prescription pills once he tucks in for bed. You just haven’t told him yet. 

Now, he’s standing with it, breathing into your skin as he works up a response in his head that covers the devastation. “You know how my family is–

“I don’t care.” It’s a force of habit, you’re leaning back into his cradle. “Bringing a child into this mess is just inhumane.” 

Then, Satoru says it – what he’s been wanting to tell you for weeks. Months, almost. He whispers, “Then why do you stay?” 

All you can do is shake your head. You don’t have it in you to lie, and you surely wouldn’t tell him that you were leaving tonight. So, you reply, “I love you.” 

“Love isn’t enough to keep a marriage going.” 

You know that. You know Satoru loves you more than anything, but you didn’t feel like it was right for him to say it. In your mind, he’s clueless to the cool air you’re exerting every time he draws near. You’re not buzzing in his company anymore, going out of your way to be seen by his blinding eyes. 

So, you don’t answer him. You nod, easing your shoulders from his grip as you collect the rest of your sanity and move to leave the shower. He watches you go, fine white hair nearly translucent on his pale scalp as he stands soaked.

Toru’s long eyelashes are sticking together, clumped and prominent as he watches you move and dry off through the fogged door. The lingering, soft scent of your signature bodywash sits sensually in the air, wafting from your skin every time you bend or bow. He studies that fuzzy reflection as if it's the last time he’ll see it, and thinks he feels sad. Devastatingly sad, it rises in his throat like bile he must swallow. 

You’re slipping into a soft, ivory robe that Satoru’s mother gifted after the marriage; he has a matching one – it’s your favorite robe with his embroidered initials sewn across your heart. He notices your choice to wear it as you walk out of the bathroom, not even offering him a look over your shoulder, and thinks it’s a sign. You’re still sporting him around, telling him you love him even though you don’t want to bear his children. 

But Satoru isn’t stupid. He’s far too smart to feed himself lies in hopes of lengthening this relationship that has always had a timer on it. But he is reeling. There’s nothing he falls short on, in his opinion. He treasures and calls you beautiful, any chance he gets. Vacations, expensive gifts, words of affirmation, and mindblowing touches are just scratching the surface of what he offers you. 

Alone, he sits with these thoughts, thin eyebrows knitting together as his dripping head hangs between his shoulders. Standing statuesque in the shower, palms pressed to the damp wall, keeping him upright because you’re not here to do it. Mentally, you’re not here at all. 

He can hear you in the bedroom stewing about – opening and closing doors, the shuffle of fabric, and the barely-there sound of your breathing. Toru has you all down to a science, now. He knows you’re slipping into bed, likely naked or covered loosely in some silk slip he loves to bury his head in.

That’s where he wants to be now – three years younger, your hair tangled in his long fingers, words of devotion damp in the air. Instead, he’s breathing in shower steam, a cruel metaphor to the heat the relationship used to hold. 

Everything is a metaphor, now. Toru sees that when he’s walking out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, wide, adoring eyes glossed over with humidity and exhaustion. Still, they never lose their supernatural sparkle when they fall on you, eyes closed peacefully as you feign sleep. 

He was right; you’re in silk, your eyelids twitching as the bathroom light spills a sliver of golden light across your face. Blankets are bunched loosely at your hips. Satoru can’t help but feel the beauty you emit, it’s why he married you – it’s something in your mere presence that makes you so addictive. 

Crawling into bed with you, naked and damp-haired, is so familiar it’s almost sickening. He’s leaning over your shoulders, so gentle as he settles over you, and kisses your cheek. In your daze, you shift. 

“What?” 

Satoru slides up close to you, chest pressed to your back as he winds an arm around your waist. “Good night. I love you so much, beautiful.” He’s whispering in your ear, kissing over the shell with bitten lips. You can feel the cool wetness of his hair brush your bare neck, beads of water falling onto your skin. 

He continues, arm sliding right between the canyon of your breasts, pulling you deeper into his body. You’re lifting your head, eyes shut, because you can’t bear the light right now. 

“Shh, just lie with me.” 

For some reason, you’re taking it. You’re listening to him, pressing your head back into the pillow, sighing softly. Nowadays, you’re impartial to bedtime cuddling, but Satoru insists. It’s become a nasty habit because now he has trouble nodding off if he’s not pressed skin-to-skin. 

It’s the only reason you’re not pushing away. Or, maybe it’s the fact that you’re too far gone to be annoyed or unsettled. His touch feels good, just too warm, too close, like he’s slowly trying to ingest you into his bloodstream. 

You two stay like that for hours. Satoru falls asleep right on the cusp of Midnight – his breath steadies over, and you’re still awake, gazing longingly at the bedside clock. Hands tucked under your pillow, you’re fiddling with them, doing anything to dull those uncertain thoughts away. In seven hours, you’d be standing in a train station, life passing you by as you leave the city, leave your husband. 

You wonder how he’ll act, you wonder if he’ll cry for you. 

No, Satoru never cries. 

You bite your lip, gathering strength in your bones to shift and turn around in his arms. When you do, he’s mushing his face deeper into the bed, arms constricting back around you once you’re settled face-to-face. You can feel the softness of his breath over your skin, can hear the soft hums behind each of them like he’s dreaming uncomfortably. 

Still, he looks so peaceful. Beautifully asleep, like his life wasn’t crumbling and burning all around him. 

In that soft, settled face, you’re staring at the boy you fell in love with – bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, flushing and looking away when you’d counter his initial advances. Your friends were always around that early on, egging it all with a jump in their voice. Everyone felt so accomplished when you and Toru got married, as if they pieced together a match made in Heaven. 

You just can’t fathom what went wrong… You don’t want to see it. 

You don’t want to see him, anymore. So, you close your eyes and rid your consciousness of struggle – if only for a few hours. 

Day comes with a vengeance – a gross, salty taste in your mouth as your brain slams awake. Your body is slow to react, cocooned comfortably in Toru’s thick chest. You’re too warm, alarms are blaring, and you realize you forgot to close the curtains last night. The morning sun is deviant. 

You slip out of bed easily, undoing his arms' knot around your body. The silk of your slip is darkened with sweat, most likely Toru’s, but definitely mixed with hints of you. It takes you a while to come to from the cruel awakening, and you’re half alive as you shift to the edge of the bed, feet planted on cool ground. Toru shifts, and you hold your breath. 

Your last hour together, and Satoru refuses to wake up. 

You’re letting him drag the morning out, not bothering to wake him as you head for the bathroom. Time moves languidly with a solemn undertone, hovering over you like bad memories as you scrub your face and teeth raw. There’s so much tension in your body this morning, and you’re taking it out on yourself – swishing mouthwash, swallowing pills, securing jewels and ornaments. 

You’re sure this is the fastest you’ve gotten ready without plans to work. You just think you’d rather be put-together when you disappear from Satoru’s life forever. You want him to have this reflection to remember you by – exposed shoulders, soft skin, dripping with his money in gold. 

When he wakes up, stumbling into the bathroom sleepdrunk, he smiles when he sees you in the mirror's reflection. “Why didn’t you wake me, beautiful?” 

“Figured you’d want more sleep.” You reply, not even meeting his frosty gaze. You’re fixated on securing a bracelet to your wrist – one, of course, from Satoru. It’s a gold-plated Gojo Clan crest that was passed down through matriarchs, eventually given to the prospective head. 

His family is so traditional, overbearing in the worst ways. Since you two started dating, they’ve had a magnifying glass on the relationship, stating it’s just out of care. Sure, the money is endless and overflowing, but it’s not enough to overshadow the abusive balance of power. Toru doesn’t want to lead either – you don’t want to be next to him if he does. He promised you that he’d completely shut down the proceedings if you married him, but keeping his promise isn’t enough.  

Nothing he seemed to do was enough. It’s all just a lost cause. 

“Now I have twenty good minutes to leave the house.” Once your bracelet is secured, he’s crowding you against the sink, his shirtless body pressing hard into your back. You’re humming, leaning back into his frame. 

“At least you showered last night.” 

“You got me on that schedule.” He whispers into your neck, big hands squeezing your hips as he kisses you there. “I feel terrible about last night… Followed me in my sleep.” 

You knew it, you could sense the stress in his breath even when he looked so peaceful. “We both said some things.” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make you finish.” Another kiss to the neck, Satoru nuzzles himself deep in your skin, white hair fluffy and strewn about. You look up at him in the reflection and shake your head. 

“Just cause I was on top. I was trying too hard – It’s not your fault.” 

He doesn’t take that well; he sighs into your skin. “You know I don’t believe that.” 

Of course, he doesn’t. One of the most significant parts of your relationship is your uncanny sexual chemistry. There’s never been a time when you two stopped at one round – you both finished multiple times, every time. 

“Then, you know I won’t tell you the truth, you should just stop trying.” Both hands are pressed to the countertop, and you’re still covered in your sleep dress. Toru’s hands start to wander. “No, get off of me.” 

It stings, but you don’t have to tell him twice. Satoru steps back with an odd look in his eyes, moving to your side. Though you’re rejecting sexual advances, you let him pull your chin forward for a sensual kiss to the lips. It lasts for a few seconds, his hand wanders across your jawline, slotting perfectly in your hair. 

“You’re not on campus today, right?”

You shake your head, lips rolling together as you evaluate his lingering taste. “No, you should really brush your teeth.” 

“Yeah…” He starts, reaching over you for his blue and white brush. “Haven’t been on the grounds in a while, everyone’s asking about you, saying we should go to dinner to catch up.” 

“You’re sure I’m acting normal enough to see them now? Isn’t that what you said last night? That I was acting ‘weird’?” 

“You were acting weird last night. Moody.” 

You scoff as he begins to brush his teeth. You two are stealing glances in the mirror, too distant to hold contact for too long. “Why do you say things like this if you’re not trying to make me mad?” 

“I’m just making an observation.” He shrugs like he’s not being a tool, brushing his teeth slowly as he looks at you. You’re staring down at your hands, shaking your head silently. “I’m sure it's news to you, but I never try to make you mad. I just say what I feel, and you jump down my throat.” 

“Just brush your teeth.” You bite out in resolve, standing up straight as you go to walk away. 

You're breathless, clutching a fist to your chest as his words wash over you with time. They fall like dominoes, slow and calculated, as you dress for the day. Satoru thinks you’re working from home once he leaves, so you lean into it, picking something easy to wear, yet professional enough to be on camera. It’s the perfect outfit to run away in – something he sees all the time. 

But even as you dote over your reflection in the bedroom mirror, adjusting necklines, pulling jewelry, smudging lipgloss, you’re thinking about it – him. 

You don’t know why it’s so hard to sit with the fact that Satoru has always been like this. You two are polar opposites in social settings – he’s the life, you’re the longing. In crowded city bars, you’d be the girl tucked under his heavy arm, bearing the weight of his light. Satoru stopped drinking years ago, but when he did, he’d tower over you on the dancefloor, long arms slung over your shoulders as he shouts just how much he adores you – it’s a lot. Everyone’s around. 

Reading your hunched demeanor, he doubles down. Yes, all these people are around… these undulating, nameless faces lost among the neon glare, but none of them held a flame to you. He chose you. 

And when you’re alone with him, sober to the bone and drained after a work week, all of those sweet memories seem to fade away. 

He’s always too loud, too close, overbearing, but never at arm's length. This monstrous, silent loathing is a hard feeling to live with. It eats you alive, until he touches you and takes it all away again. 

It’s all you want, right now. Satoru’s touch. 

“Staring introspectively into my bedroom mirror whilst my shitty husband calls for me repeatedly. That should be the prompt on your next scholarly paper.” 

You turn around, brows furrowed as reality hits again. “What are you talking about? I didn’t hear you.” 

“Let’s sync our breaks – meet up somewhere to eat.” Right as you open your mouth to blow him off, he’s rushing back. “It can just be ramen, nothing serious. Come on, just give me ten minutes.” 

His begging for a sliver of emotional affection isn’t new, but it usually isn’t so blatant. Then, your eyes wander, wondering if those ten minutes would be worth your time. 

No, you have a train to catch. A one-way ticket out of here. 

“I’ll let you know how I’m feeling later.” You nod, smiling softly as you dodge that falling stare settled on you. “I-I’m just… I’m tired.” 

“It’s okay.” He replies, whisper-soft. He’s trying to hide it, but the shine in his eyes falters for just a second, the only hint you get to his disappointment. 

When you see him off that morning, your stomach hurts. 

There’s an ink-black, bitter pit there as you watch him jog down the pavement in his endearing little Professor's Aide sweater vest uniform. There’s a bag slung over his shoulder, packed with a Bento you made for him in case you couldn’t see him for his break. 

“Bye, love! I will text you!” 

You’re silent, passing him a kiss you press to your fingers. Your stomach hurts, and now your heart aches – it burns, you’re on fire, soles of your feet scalding on coals fueled by guilt. That blue glimmer in his eyes is so oblivious to the obvious that it hurts. 

If you could help it, this was the last time Satoru would ever see you, and he waved you goodbye with the sweetest smile on his face. 

“I love you,” You call back weakly once he’s comfortably out of earshot. Then he turns the corner, and he’s gone – just a lingering presence in the air that only affects you. If you could cry right now, you would. But, you’ve cried enough this last week – more than you ever have with him. Everything was just so terribly bittersweet. 

When you made your decision, it didn’t feel real. Somehow, it does now. You wonder how your friends will take it and if you’ll see them again. Sure, they’re your friends, but they’re Satoru’s too. You wonder if you’ll see his family, his mother took you in and doted on you when her son pushed her away. His father gave you advice and priceless memories. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Kin – all of them. You knew all of them. 

Being a Gojo was so deeply rooted in your life that you’re not sure it’s possible to change your name. They’ve truly made you feel like one of theirs, as deafening as that sounds. 

A minute in the doorway, and you’re turning around to finish out the rest of your morning. All of your bags were packed and stowed away with the laundry, where Toru never treks. It’s just one suitcase – half of your wardrobe. You’re sure you’ll be back to collect everything else. 

In any case, you wouldn’t miss anything with his lingering scent on it, so you stare longingly at your art on the walls – the blankets on the couch and the crystal sitting on display in the cabinets. 

And just before you’re about to leave, you stop at the counter and rip off a piece of a napkin on display. You brought out a pen from the study, hands shaking as you pull the cap. 

Satoru,  Keep whatever, or you can sell it. Just don't reach out, i’m leaving you I’m sorry and i really really do love you

A small, wet teardrop lands on the dingy napkin, and it’s the first sign of crying. You’re surprised you still have it in you after so many rivers you’ve wept. Writing his name carried a terrible feeling, scripting out the letters to tell him you were leaving was like bricks falling from your pen. 

Shaking hands, you let it drop on the counter beside your note. If this is the last thing you give him, you want it to be candid. Just like your relationship – winging it all until the silence grew inescapable. 

You call a cab, heading downstairs with your bags in hand. It’s a conscious decision to leave the door unlocked, but you have the keys stuffed in your pocket. You’re not really thinking about it or anything at all. You’re focused on not falling on your face as you jog down the steps, breathless without a cause. It feels like fire is burning hot in your tracks. 

Your suitcase slides into the back, the city breeze rolls your hair back, and a chill envelopes your face. The entire time, you’re silent, bowing for your driver and showing manners, but silent and dreary nonetheless. 

The ride is shaky, music drowns out the noise, and emptiness fills the void. 

It’s all you can muster up the courage to feel right now, as the city passes you by. It’s an odd kind of comforting melancholy, like when you know the storms have faded and all that’s left is the rebuild. 

You have your family waiting at home. A room with a view of nothing but countryside and rolling rivers. You’re giving yourself four weeks to get back to yourself, two to file the divorce properly, and one without any work before returning to just virtual meetings in your childhood bedroom. 

Morning jogs, bike rides down the riverside, fresh delicacies to buy – yes, your life would be too rich to worry about Satoru. You feel like a caterpillar slowly slinking towards its cocoon with the joyful unease of what's to come. But you’re still so sad. 

It’s hard to believe that anything can feel as good as the way Satoru made you feel, even when his tendencies made you want to pull your hair out. In the end, you made your decision. You slept on it, stewed over it, cried about it, and now you’re living through it. 

Reality hits when you’re stepping out at the station. Bodies are everywhere, making it easy to pay your fee and slip into the chaos. You lose your sense of self walking against the foot traffic of the busy morning commuters, sucking back even more tears as you crawl the descending stairs. 

Once you reach the bottom, you’re alone enough to breathe, luggage firm at your side as you dig for your phone. You’ve been meaning to do this forever — actually tell your closest friends about your decision. All they know is what you let them see. The second you and Toru start arguing in front of them, you’re walking away. It’s all smiles and love when they bring him up, even after that day you kicked him out of the apartment and made him get a hotel. Lying about your relationship is your forte, but you couldn’t lie anymore. 

Shoko picks up two rings deep, bored but aware. ‘What’s up?’

“Hey, I know you’re at work… Just wanted to let you know that I’ll be out for about a month.” 

There’s shuffling on the other line – the echo of familiar voices. You can guess she’s walking down the lecture hall during the transition; it was around that time. ‘You’re such a slack. And guess whose gonna be stuck doing all your work? Me.’ 

“I mean, I’ll be out, but I’ll still be working.” Intercom, robotic voices control the flow as a train departs before you, sending a noisy rush of air into your face. 

‘Are you going on vacation or what?’ 

“Visiting family.” You reply, no emotion. 

Shoko silences for a moment, humming under her breath. ‘Without Jo?’ 

“Yeah… I’m leaving him.” 

More silence. You expected nothing less. 

“Shoko?” 

‘Dude, what? Why?’ 

“He didn’t… cheat or anything, we just haven’t been happy for most of our marriage. It’s like people want to see us together more than we want to be together.” 

‘Okay, coming from the outside — No, you guys are so obviously in love, I mean… All he does is talk about you, it’s genuinely the most annoying thing ever.’ You can see her now in your mind's eye, jaw working a piece of fruit gum between her teeth, talking with her hands. 

“Yeah… well… you’re not trapped inside four walls with him once the sun goes down.” 

‘That’s so fucking sad, I- wow.’

“I’ve made peace.” 

‘-And I don’t even blame you, because I wouldn’t touch him with a long, long stick. He’s too annoying, and that’s just the least of it. So arrogant, too. He’s not as sexy as he thinks he is.’ It’s like once you pull the bandage off, it gave Shoko ample room to talk shit. Yes, she loves Toru – she loves you more. It’s always going to be you that she defends. 

“Yeah, but it’s more just, like – he knows what buttons to push and makes pushing them a game. The only time we talk… like, actually talk,  is when he thinks I’m mad at him and rushes in for damage control… then, it’s all like, ‘well, baby, if you would talk to me and tell me how you’re feeling, I’d understand.’ – But, whenever I tell him how I’m feeling, he fucking invalidates it like I’m the crazy one! Why am I still begging to pay some bills five years into the marriage?! He doesn’t listen to me.” 

‘Let that man pay the bills.’ 

“It’s the principal-

‘I know, I know.’ She sighs, chuckling softly before she continues. ‘I’m not going to hear the end of this – does he know you’re gone?’ 

“No… and don’t tell him. I want him to find out for himself.” 

‘Harsh.’

“It’d be harsher coming from you.” 

The announcement comes from your train, the rush of wheels skidding against tracks inches closer, you’re stepping back from the platform. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go. Don’t really want to be on my phone this week, so I’ll probably turn it off. Call my sister if you need anything.” 

‘I’ll be thinking about you – stay busy.’ 

“I will.” You reply, voice bittersweet in your chest. Shoko goes away, and you’re alone again – thoughts rush to the front of your mind. You’re staring at the lockscreen of you and Satoru in Kyoto when things were still good; a friendly stranger took it. Your arms are slung over his neck, and you’re smiling in his face. You remember that day so well – he was all over you and made the sweetest love to you that night. It was all so good back then. You never wanted for anything. Not space, touch, emotion, or love. Satoru gave you everything you needed, including some. 

Then, the feeling finally, truly settles. 

You miss him. 

From: Satoru No news on lunch?  Don’t worry about it, baby. Thank you for my bento, I’ll make sure to return it empty.  From: Satoru On my way home! Running real fast to you Had the shittiest day, gotta rant when I get back From: Satoru Hey, what’s with the cryptic note?  Did someone snatch you up for ransom?  Babe?  [incoming call]

You glance down at your phone, grunting as you swing your suitcase over your small childhood bed. 

You made it back home a little less than three hours ago – just as your sister left for class and your father for work.  Stepping out of the cab, your mother was the one waiting for you with a solemn look in her eyes. 

Breakfast was waiting, traditional, just like always. Natto, fish, rice, soup – she stuffed you full. Now, you’re finally getting a chance to settle in and unpack, staring down the room that faced the worst of your teenage angst. 

When Satoru’s name flashes over your screen, bile rises in your throat. Immediately, you turn it back over, your finger finding the power button, and rid yourself of the stress. You’ve just glanced at the string of messages – he’d been sending them all day, which isn’t unlike him, but it felt wrong. 

You two would hide phones under desks and banter on and off all day. In the same room, you two would exchange playful glances like he wasn’t describing every lewd thing he wanted to do to you that night. It’s just a habit; he doesn’t mind when you don’t text him back, but hates when you ignore his calls. 

You’re sure it’s how he realizes you’re actually gone – that one missed call. 

Then you’re trying to distract yourself from crying by unzipping your case, pulling out shirts, tears flooding in your eyes. But it’s too much to handle. 

You collapse next to the suitcase, pulling your knees to your chest, and sob. 

It burns so hot in your body, your cries sound like they’re breaking through the barrier, eating you alive. Your open-mouthed sobs are akin to the sound of prey being gutted alive – it’s piercing and raw, cutting your vocal cords. 

It’s like you can’t stop. You let it all out, here – fingers bunched in the sheets, drawing blood in your palm from the strength of your nailed grip. The pain goes unnoticed because the aching in your chest is so cruel. Your mind is screaming at you, damning you to fiery hells and telling you to go back. 

Go back and deal with it, it’s what you deserve. 

You know you’re too weak to be alone. 

Suck it up. Just like you always have. 

Numbness sets in with time. You watch the neighborhood kids run down the cracked road through your small window, never shifting from the position you cried in. The sun travels through the sky, and late morning morphs into afternoon, afternoon to evening. 

Downstairs, the home lights back up from everyone’s departure this morning, but you want nothing to do with it. You’re sure your mom has been home this entire time – most likely heard you crying and decided not to intervene. You’re glad. You didn’t want comfort. 

Now you’re staring at the sky as it morphs into grey, and rain begins. You feel lonely. 

Grey turns to black, you’re tired. 

As blackness settles in, so does sleep. Right in that same position. Nobody bothers you. 

Until you’re cracking open your eyes, it’s daytime. 

You sit up immediately, regretting your choice as a mean wave of dizziness falls over you. Your stomach aches with hunger, breath ripe, and skin swollen from the tears. You’re still in your clothes from yesterday, the button of your pants digging into your soft skin painfully. 

You breathe out a yawn, grimacing at the feeling before looking around for your phone. 

It’s precisely where you left it, face down and completely off. You didn’t want to see Satoru’s messages right now. You just wanted to check the time. The house is quiet. 

From: Satoru I wish I could kneel at your feet and emphasize just how sorry I am. I can’t believe how stupid and selfish I was when I had you, but I see it now.  I could see that you were hurting for a while, but I assumed it would just pass in time.. I don’t know why I assumed, but I regret it so much.  Take your time, my love, but don’t forget about me. Please, let’s talk this through before you make any hasty decisions. 

You can feel the tears – they’re there before you even skim over the message. 

With Godly timing, the softest of knocks fall to your door. It’s the only thing keeping you from breaking down again. There’s no real privacy here; you’re lucky your mom even knocked before slowly pushing it open. 

“I figured you would be awake by now.” She smiles at your ruffled reflection – bed head everywhere, sleep lines on your face, drool on your lips. “Would you like some food?” 

“Please.” You nod her in, dragging your arm across your face to wake yourself up. “Thank you, Mama.” 

She has a tray of the same spread she served you yesterday in her familiar, comforting hands. Green tea steams wantonly at the corner, flailing in its porcelain confines when she lowers it before you. “Didn’t want to bother you much yesterday…” 

“Thank you for that.” 

“Your father peeked his head in last night.” She continues, reaching out to stroke your hair as you reach for the tea you’d been eyeing. There’s just something about crying that dehydrates you to the bone. “Said you were sleeping so hard that you were snoring.” 

“Probably. Hadn’t had a good night's sleep in a while.” 

“You can do better than sleeping on top of your bed in all your clothes.” 

“Wasn’t really worried about that.” You can tell she wants to bring up Satoru – ask how he is, just out of force of habit. Maybe she wants to ask you about your divorce plans, but she stays silent, nodding slowly. “Thank you for the food.” 

“Bring it back down when you’re ready. Take your time.” Her gentle tone is welcomed, but so is her departure. The door clicks shut, and you’re taking a slow, deep breath, suddenly overcome by the burning of oncoming tears. You thought you had expelled them all last night, but Satoru’s message hung over your head like a dark precipitating cloud. It’s all flowing over you like hot rain, downpouring over your mental clarity. 

You’re drawn to deep, soulless staring at the poster-covered wall before you as your tea warms. Hunger is lost on you, you reach for the short ceramic cup and bring it to your lips with shaking hands.

You just can’t understand how you can miss someone so much after envisioning life without them – welcoming it, yearning for it. Your heart and mind are tugging you across two playing fields, never letting you get an ounce of rest or peace. 

~

Satoru has been staring into space for far too long, blinking at the wall like it’d somehow make you appear before him again. The note you penned is sitting on the counter, cursing him silently, pulling him to its angsty whims. He can see the small tear stain – can read the shake of your penmanship in the sloping letters. For once in his life, Satoru doesn’t know what to feel. 

This has to be a joke. 

He steps away for a second, staring unblinkingly at the floor as he reaches for his phone. It’s in his back pocket – he has to shuffle blindly. 

Now he understands why you haven’t been responding. 

To: gojo 💍 Hey, what’s with the cryptic note?  Did someone snatch you up for ransom?  Babe? 

He gives it a second – that’s all he knows he needs. If you don’t answer in a second, you’re really gone. 

His heart burns when you don’t answer at all. He’s paralyzed as the thought of being alone rushes over him. Just like you, he doesn’t understand what went wrong. Yes, you two fought often, but doesn’t every couple? The fighting always led to something better – deep discussions or love-making. He made sure to cover his bases every single time. He even found himself cooking and cleaning for you with a guilty conscience. So much of himself is rooted in you and how you loved him; he’s not sure he knows how to be without you by his side. Of course, it’s more than the money, sex, or power. It’s the fact that your lives are completely intertwined. There is no Satoru without you – there’s no you without Satoru. 

That’s what eats him alive. 

It’s what makes him stumble to the couch you picked out, head in his hands as he collapses into the downiness. He wants the cushions to swallow him whole – maybe then he can get lost in the wealth of your scent and sincerity. So many times you two have found yourself here, kissing the night away, hands under clothes. Movie marathons that led to falling asleep on shoulders, deep conversations that made him actually crack a tear. It’s all embedded in the upholstery, and he can’t even move. Satoru just feels so pathetic – it’s a new feeling for him, a disgusting one. 

“Oh, fuck.” He states as if reality just washed over him. Now, all Satoru can do is sit with everything. He keeps rereading the note he memorized in his head, like there were hints as to where you were hidden behind the script. You told him that you loved him, and as good of a sign as it looks like, it feels counterfeit. 

He loved you more than he loved anything – including himself, and he’d never leave you. He has to know why you felt the need to leave him so easily, and it’s not like five years is a long marriage in any form of the term. Satoru wanted a family with you. He wanted to see you swollen with his baby, ripe with hormones, and caring with a blue-eyed infant. It’s all he yearned for – stability, endless, overflowing love, and mutual support. 

He’s almost… mad that you gave up. 

No, not almost. He’s mad. 

Not even thinking, knowing his efforts are for naught, he snatches up his phone and dials you with scary precision. A piece of him knows that you won’t answer, but his hands are shaking. He just needs to try. 

He counts – the line rings six times. 

Then, it clicks, a stupid robotic voice telling him you’re unavailable. Yes, he fucking knows you’re not available. Or, maybe you are. Perhaps you’re just watching your screen as his name brushes against it. Satoru hates when you let your cowardice take over, and he knows that’s what you’re doing. 

In a sudden fit of rage, he takes his ringing phone and throws it across the room, hearing it shatter on impact as it hits a window. As satisfying as it feels, he feels more like a dunce. If he waited a second longer, maybe your sweet voice would brush the rusty, waiting dial tone. He wants you in his arms, but this feeling is so unfamiliar and nasty that he doesn’t know what to do or what to think. He knows he wants you back, he just can’t fathom what he did wrong.

At work the next day, Satoru doesn’t feel any better. In fact, he feels worse. He didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, scared and cold as he tried to hug himself to rest. He hasn’t been in a bed without you since he was a teenager, and he doesn’t think he could exist without your body heat safe in his arms. 

The lack of sleep is making him irritable, it’s wafting off of his body as he walks down the hallway to his lecture hall. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to teach anything, but he’d have to sit and annotate – he’s not sure he can keep his mind straight long enough to pen an entire two-hour Sociology lecture, let alone stay awake. That scares him – he’s letting his personal life seep into the fabric of his work, but it’s impossible not to when this is where he met you. 

Sweet and young, shy as all hell, too. Satoru would make excuses and drag his friends to the admin office on bullshit bases, all to see your little smile when he complimented your outfit. You were always right there next to Shoko, using her long hair as a security blanket. Everything was good back then… everything was sweet. 

Satoru can’t believe he’s fighting back tears as he steps into the vast, vacant hall, bag slung over his shoulder. He must be a walking ball of bad vibes, because his professor is noticing immediately, commenting on it, too, which is supremely unlike him. 

No, Kento Nanami was much more of a don’t ask, don’t tell, zero-bullshit type of instructor. Him and Satoru often butted heads, but butting heads was more like purposefully ignoring the other – their relationship is far too compliated for him to dwell on for too long. 

“You look like Hell.” 

“My wife left me last night.” Satoru finds no need to lie. Yes, he’s struggling. He needs grace; the only way he’d get it is to let Kento know he’s distracted. 

Kento turns slowly, watching Satoru move in front of his desk to settle in the front row of chairs. When he’s still, Kento can see the darkness around his usually perky eyes, but he doesn’t know how to feel. “Well… I am sorry to hear that. If you need to take the day off, I unders-

“-just need to distract myself.” Satoru cuts him off like he doesn’t want to talk, sucking his cheek as he pulls out his work laptop. “I forwarded those papers you sent me the other night. Everything’s looking good. From my initial glance at the collection of scores, it looks like this period is sitting at 83% accuracy. Pretty good.” 

“I didn’t need those scores until the end of the week.” Kento turns back around to his board, propping himself against the desk he’s occupying. He’s been sketching out the lesson plan against the chalked surface for most of his morning. Traditional for the introduction to a new unit. “But, I’ll start putting them in. Thanks, Gojo.” 

“Sure.” Satoru swallows as he types out his password to get into the device. It’s your birthday. His heart hurts. His wallpaper is you at the zoo, holding a little lion cub, totally fearless with the biggest smile on your face. The way the sun touches your features – God, it just makes him weak in the knees. That era of your relationship is so well documented because you two were on cloud nine. He wants it back – he wants you back. 

“Satoru,” that familiar, whiny voice is just what he needs right now. It’s the only thing that can pull him from the depths your pretty face dragged him to. “I’ve called you like ten times, they won’t even go thro- hi, Kento.” 

“Geto… hello…” Nanami mumbles, not even looking at the visitor, because he knows who it is. The five of you are like a clique, and he hates it. Not because he’s not in it, but because they’ve definitely tried to rope him into the madness, but he’s just in a different league. All he thinks about is work, not friends. 

“Sator-

“Gojo left me last night. I broke my phone.” Satoru spits out like it's the easiest thing ever. He’s hiding his emotions like he always does, and he knows Suguru is due to find out at any moment. “Reckless, I know.” 

“What?” Suguru walks up to him, long hair pulled back in a low-hanging bun. They’ve known each other damn near since childhood – completely inseperable, face-deep in platonic love. Right now, Satoru knows that Suguru would be the only human capable of picking up the pieces you shattered. 

“Packed some clothes, left me a note, and skipped town.” 

“That’s crazy – it doesn’t make any sense.” Suguru plops down right next to him, entire body turned at attention, only for Satoru to pour every vapid thought into. He’s not supposed to be in this hall, but he’s friendly enough with Kento to skate by during the last half hour before lectures start. “I just saw her the other day with Shoko and Utahime. They… didn’t invite me to lunch, but I understand the whole girls’ day aspect of it all. She just… I’m sorry, she seemed so at ease.” 

“Because she was with Shoko.” 

“Does Shoko know where she is?” 

“If I asked, she’d just lie for her.” 

“Where could she have even gone?” 

“Probably back home.” Satoru’s sucked into something on his laptop, opening a new document and labeling it under todays date and the topic Kento wants to cover. If he wasn’t going through a breakup, he’d be excited for this new unit, though he’s experienced it year after year. “Been saying she misses her family a lot.” Then he thinks about it, sitting forward with his chin pressed into a closed fist. Satoru has never barred you from doing what you want – staying out all night with your friends? Of course, he didn’t care. He welcomed it. Solo trips back home? Oh, Satoru encouraged it. 

He was the perfect husband – what happened?

At his side, Suguru watches him stew over the matter, thin brows knitted in pity. He reaches out, hand smoothing over Satoru’s shoulder. He shakes him softly. “If you don’t want to be alone, my guest bedroom is empty. There’s probably still traces of you in there – not like anyone else uses it.” 

Satoru hesitates, knowing that a night with Suguru would lead to little sleep just because they have everything in the world to talk about. They have the same favorite shows, movies, foods, and conversations – it’d be a perfect distraction, but Satoru just wants to get you back. 

“Or, we can go to a bar. I know you don’t usually drink, but it is Friday, I’m sure if we bribe Shoko with free drinks, she’d help you find her.” 

“I really shouldn’t…” The sane part of his mind is telling Satoru not to seek out one who doesn’t wish to be sought, but he wants to. He knows Shoko knows where you are – Hell, Utahime probably knew, too. You’re surprised Suguru’s seemingly the only one in the dark. “But, I don’t think I want to be alone.” 

Suguru nods slowly, not pushing Satoru for eye contact when he knows he’s sensitive to the touch. “We don’t have to get drunk and emotional if you don’t want to.” He continues dropping his hand to cross them in his lap. All Satoru looks like to him is a shell. He’s staring at his screen like it’d tell him what he needs to know, and Suguru finds himself, for the first time ever, genuinely worried for him. 

“I’ll… uh— I’ll text you about it later.” 

“Sure.” 

“Are you going to sit this one in, Geto?” Kento turns around, snatching up a beige rag from his desk to dust his hands. “Bells about to hit.” 

Satoru feels both of their stares zero in on him, and he knows he’s not hiding anything. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair disheveled, and flat over his head. Feeling some kind of insecure, he reaches into his bag and slides on a dark pair of square glasses. 

Suguru sighs. “Nobody would blame you if you went home.” 

“She’ll come around.” He whispers, pursing his lips as he leans back in his chair. His hands are shaking, so he tucks them close to his chest. “She always does, doesn’t she?” 

-

Doesn’t she?

Two weeks down the drain, completely wiped from your memory. Sober days and sleepless nights – that moody in-between when you’re gasping for air. Still, you battled it through in your childhood bed.

You got over it, just like you knew you would. 

Work started again last week. You’ve been slowly scouring through emails, working your way forward by combing through backlogs. Most of the time, your job falls to scheduling Dean meetings, prospective professor interviews, and prestigious tours, but it varies. Without you, all of this work would have fallen onto Shoko, but you can’t feel bad. She’s been doing this way longer than you and is ten times more efficient. However, she liked to complain. You let her have it this time. 

Now, you’re planning your trip back to the City. The apartment you’d been keeping an eye on since the marriage had just closed with the money you saved, and you’re finally confident. 

Rather, confident enough. 

You will definitely have to see Satoru when you go back to work, but it’s just something you knew you’d have to deal with. It’s the unfortunate downside to working with your partner, and you think that’s what did it in. 

You’re sitting at your family’s dinner table, bags packed all around you as you wait for your ride to the station. You’re sawing your lip in concentration, pen scribbling messily in your lax grip. 

It was an exercise you’ve been putting off since you left the city – writing Satoru a note letting it all out, and then freeing yourself from the burden by throwing it away. His eyes would never lie upon these scribbled words, so you let it out. You’re not sure what you’re even writing anymore, your wrist is moving at its own accord. 

Satoru, I love you.  It might not seem like it right now, but I love you to the ends of the Earth and back again. Being married to you felt like a dream in more ways than I can fathom, but I’d wake up at night, and that bliss fades into loathing. You have no problem sticking up for me in front of your friends, so why, when I’m faced with impossible decisions from your family, do you go radio silent? We agreed it’d just be us. We decided we’d focus on each other and our work, not on family nonsense that drains my psyche and leaves me exhausted. They want something from me that I can’t give, and I didn’t know how to tell them no - everyone is so pleasant to me.  That being said. It’s not why I left… I’m actually not sure why I did it, or I just don’t want to see things for what they are. Every time we’d see each other for over an hour, we’d fight. I admit that I was the catalyst for most of the arguments, but you never reassured me. I’d fall asleep next to you afterwards, sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe, and you would just turn around and pretend not to hear. Why?  I guess that’s all I want to know, now. Why? I’ve always given you everything you needed without a question – why was it so easy to push me to the wayside? Why is it so easy to ignore me to my face for days on end? And why can’t you see me as more than an incubator for your unborn children?  I just can’t help but wonder… 

As you’re writing, the car your family called for you pulls up outside. You wanted to leave while they were all predisposed with work and school because you know you’d cry and cave if you saw their pitiful goodbye faces. They insisted on the fare, you’re insisting that you’ll be back as soon as you can. You take the half-finished note, folding it lax in your fingers as you stand and grab your bags. 

You’re leaving with more than you came with. Typical. 

And you’re leaving like you were never here, with the wind peeking through the front door and the sun on your skin. 

You thought you’d be more excited to get back to your life, but there’s an invisible feeling of longing planted deep in your chest that’s making it hard to swallow. The letter you penned to Toru is balanced between your fingers as you swing your heavy bags into the vehicle. This time, the driver watches you from the side with a cigarette between his teeth, mentioning your destination softly and how the fare was already pre-paid. You nod the older man along, giving him a phony smirk when the boot closes and you’re stepping into the backseat. 

You don’t care that he’s still lingering outside. It gave you time to settle in, rustling the soft paper, trying not to give the flustered words your attention. All this note is is a weak attempt to try to understand where things went wrong. Satoru was never unhappy in the relationship, not like you were; he just didn’t know how to approach your angst without being struck in the crossfire. He exercised the same cowardice he condemned you for, and now you two exist worlds apart. 

Still, you can’t help but wonder where he is… What he’s doing. 

Around this time of day, he’d be wrapped up in lectures. You can almost see his slumped figure over his laptop, typing without giving the keyboard a second glance. Toru’s always been an overachiever – too good at his job. Too good to still be an aide, but waits patiently for his time to come as a professor. 

It’s always been his goal to buy you a big house that you two could grow old in together. You can close your eyes and hear his sweet voice lost in your sheets, whispering every detail about your future in your ear. But when you open them again, it disappears. 

The car door slams on the rest of your shriveled sanity, and you’re standing in front of a home that wasn’t yours… Yet. 

You just signed papers online, carrying cold, hard cash in your bag that’d leave you with virtually nothing once you hand it over in exchange for keys. It’s like being in a wind tunnel – feeling the city pulse and move around you as you drag your measly two suitcases against polished concrete. You didn’t know what time it was – your phone is too buried in your luggage, but you know you just got off a nearly four-hour bullet train, and your ears rang. 

Luckily, the property owner isn’t too far behind you, and you can exchange cash for keys within two minutes of your arrival. 

You thought once you had a place to call your own, that you’d feel completely comfortable, but standing in the echoey, semi-modern space, you feel devoid of life. You don’t even own a speck of furniture – this is not your home. 

So, you leave your bags at the locked entryway, sliding off your shoes out of habit as you head to the back wall of covered windows. Your apartment is on the ground floor, and humans walk by, not knowing you’re looking over them. You take your time, pulling each curtain so the sun can bleach the wooden floors in gold. 

Right there, under the sun like a contented cat, you pull your knees to your chest and sit… for hours, just grounding yourself. Losing time as the sun floats through the sky. 

All you can do since the separation is to sit with the pain and waste time. It’s the only thing that keeps you sane. 

You can’t recall what time exactly you stood to relieve your throbbing bladder, but when you’re walking back into the empty expanse, your phone is dinging from the confines of your bag. Sighing, you lean down to flush it out. 

From: Utahime Are you back in town!! Suguru invited us out for free drinks  From: Shoko Don’t worry, i told him to fuck off if he already invited Gojo He said he didn’t To: Utahime, Shoko I don’t really think I’d be good company  From: Shoko One drink and you’ll forget about that maniac.  From: Utahime Please!! We miss u To: Utahime, Shoko I don’t trust Suguru. There’s no way he didn’t invite toru From: Shoko Okay, well i trust him enough. If we see him, it’s no big deal we’ll just leave From: Utahime You know he doesn’t drink anyway From: Shoko Tired argument, babe. He’s wherever Geto is To: Utahime, Shoko Yeah, well maybe he should marry suguru next.  From: Shoko Girl…  To: Utahime, Shoko I told you i wouldn’t be fun to be around right now. Enjoy your free drinks, you two deserve them 

The group chat goes silent enough for you to tuck your phone away, breathing in deep through your nose as you watch evening set in outside your windows. 

You’ve been putting it off since you returned, but there isn’t a speck of anything in this space, and you were exhausted. In some form of the phrase, you’d have to pick up your feet and carry yourself to the store to get an air mattress. 

That ten-minute walk felt like a marathon in your exhausted mind. But like everything in adulthood, you must be uncomfortable for twenty minutes to be comfortable for eight hours. You peel your body into action, rubbing at your eyes until you see stars. 

You’re only bringing your phone in case of an emergency. You didn’t want to see it – you didn’t want to see the lockscreen picture of you and Toru that you didn’t have the guts to delete. It’s better not to look because you can’t delete him; it just didn’t feel right yet. Somehow, someday, strength will take over, and you can rid your life of his shadow. One day, you’ll fall out of love and stare at someone else with the stars you’re rubbing into your eyes. 

It’s all you can hope for. It’s the only thing that keeps you warm and sane as you leave your apartment. 

You moved to a new neighborhood, and although you’re not unfamiliar, it’s different. The alleys are darker on this side of the city – street lights flicker, but you welcome it. Nobody is really around; convenience stores light up the area in neon, but that’s not where you’re headed. The local department store is just down the street. Foot traffic gets heavier as you approach the business district, which is still booming with the promise of night. 

Your one-track mind gets you in and out of the stark-white space in less than ten minutes. Your feet are moving so fast that your legs are numb, and you can’t see anything that’s not shrouded in inky blackness. If you cared to see anything for what it truly was, you’d notice just how depressed you are. You’re in pain – full, bodily pain like you’re recovering from an injury. 

It hits you all at once, and you’re almost back to your apartment. 

Then, you make a decision that doesn’t fully set in until it’s finished – you slide into a 7-Eleven, air mattress tucked under your arm, and pick up two cans of dangerously strong mixed drinks. You’re lying to yourself, thinking that they’d just be a vehicle for sleep so you can start work with a full night. 

You’re an incredible liar – even you believe the nonsense your brain is pushing. 

As you make it back into your door, bags hanging from your fingers and yawning sleepily into the night, you can hear your phone ping quietly in your pocket. Once you step inside and place your loot at your feet, you shrug to grab it. It’s the group chat again. 

From: Shoko

[1 image attachment]

Geto said hiiiiiiii

The picture is of the three of them, side by side at a bar table. Suguru’s in the middle, cradling a frosted pitcher of beer with the biggest close-eyed grin on his face. Utahime is behind him, peeking from around his back, sending you a friendly, stoic wink. Shoko’s barely in frame, but her smudged eye makeup and gently smoking cigarette between her teeth is undeniable. 

You crack a smile and send back a quick message. 

To: Shoko, Utahime Love u guys ♡ have fun From: Shoko Goodnight, we love you! Missing you like hell

That’s the last of it. You turn your phone off again. 

Before you can even set up the mattress, you’re cracking into your first drink, taking a deep breath to keep your taste buds at bay as you swallow the entirety in just under a minute. 

Thank god you can’t taste it, because you hated drinking like this. It’s pointless and depressing, but you were feeling so much that you had to numb it out. If Satoru could see you now… You don’t even want to know how he’d react. 

You drink more to chase him away. 

Uncoordinated and dizzy from the mixture of alcohol on an empty stomach, you drag the air mattress box into the middle of the open room. You didn’t want to carry it all the way to the bedroom, so you kneel, manicured fingers sharp as you rip into the tape and cardboard. 

You’re half-awake, blinking drearily as you throw the empty box behind you, crawling over the tufted, flat expanse to spread it out. You splurged on a bigger bed, needing something to roll in without fear of falling onto cold, hard flooring. It’s so big that you have to stand up, hiccuping softly as your feet spread it to full size. 

You stand over it, out of breath with your hands pressed to your hips. You can’t really see clearly through this drunken haze, but it dawns on you that you don’t have an air pump. You forgot to buy one. 

“Fuck.” You whine, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. You’re seeing splotches of white – they dart across your sight like scurrying mice, driving you into a feeling so sick that you’re almost anxious. 

Not thinking twice, you sit back on your knees, crawling to the air hole, and giving it one last push. You bring the nozzle to your lips, taking a deep breath before blowing. It’s weak, comically so. You can’t hold a stream for less than half a minute, and your head is already spinning. You’re whining again like a tired child, thoroughly beaten down and hopeless as you size up your situation. 

If only Toru were here… He’d make it all better. 

You’re standing on shaky feet, peeking around the darkness for the promise of your phone. It’s right where you left it, completely off and face down on the kitchen counter. Dragging your bare feet, you go to grab and turn it back on. 

You call him. All inhibitions are lost. 

He answers… right away. The phone doesn’t even ring twice. 

The line clicks, but he doesn’t speak–not yet. His breathing is shallow. 

“S-satoru?” 

More silence. You want to sob. 

“Toru, I jus- I know I’m the last person you want to hea-

‘You sound like you’re going to cry.’ He blurts out suddenly, voice so familiar it makes you sick. There’s no animosity when he’s talking to you; he just sounds worried. 

“I’m back in the city and I… I just – I don’t have any furniture at my new apar-

‘Come home. If you want to sleep in the spare room, it’s fine, I’ll let you have it. Just stop this madness and come home. I’m waiting for you.’ 

You have to hang up before you can respond, because the tears are coming and they’re disgusting and heavy. You’re sobbing into your hands, feeling so overcome and pathetic with yourself and this turn of circumstance. Of course, Satoru is being nice about it – he loves you and you blindsided him, he’ll take any grasp at you that he can get. 

You sob as you slip on a jacket and your shoes, tears and snot dripping onto the floors and leather. You’re shaking as you reach to wipe it away, unable to look at yourself in the reflection of your lock screen as you glance at the time. 

There are no trains running at this hour. The only things that lit up the streets are twenty-four-hour convenience stores and old, late-night family restaurants that make most of their money from the after-bar crowd. Your friends are likely tucked behind one of those doors, laughing, living, and feeding off the dopamine they pour into each other. You belong with them, leaning drunkenly into your husband's chest as he dotes on you. So many sleepless nights were spent in that spell. No cares in the world. In love. Young. You want to go back. 

So you walk that twenty-some minutes back home – Satoru’s home, now. Yes, you picked it out. Yes, you decorated it, but you had to be okay with letting it go, so you are. You just have to lie to yourself a little more every day, and hopefully, the breakup will morph into reality. You just don’t want to suffer anymore. 

In your daze, the front door code is still etched into your memory. So is the way to the fourth floor – you climb the steps, breathless by the time you get there. 

Your and Toru’s apartment was nothing less than luxurious with the money he poured into it. Though he promised that you two would split bills before you agreed on getting the place, that quickly fell by the wayside when he looked at you with those bright doe eyes, mentioning he’d love nothing more than to take complete care of you, so all you had to focus on was your work and sanity. He also had a mind to make you a mother, but he conveniently didn’t add that to his point that night. 

You hold your breath as you reach to knock on the door. Before your knuckle even hits wood, it’s swinging open. All the lights are on – you squint. 

Satoru is on the other side, loose shirt hanging from his shoulders, bone-white hair all ruffled with relaxation. Seeing him again after all this time nearly kills you. Of course, you can’t look him in the eyes. “Hi. Come on.” 

“I don’t want to talk.” You start, just protecting your heart from his musings before anything could transpire again. “I don’t want to fix things, I just want to sleep.” 

“Okay.” He mutters, standing off to the side so that you could step in. “Okay, come on. We don’t have to talk.” The door opens wider, and light spills across your face. It takes you a minute to gather strength to step inside, but when you do, rivers of ease flow over your shoulders. You sigh. 

“Your hair is longer.” He mentions in passing, catching himself as he goes out to touch you. Stagnant – midair, he hovers, telling himself no. He respects your space. “I changed the sheets in the room for you.” 

You ignore him, shouldering past his hard body with a singular goal in mind. Your stomach is in knots – your head lighter than air. Everything is fuzzy, and if you didn’t fall into the warmth of a bed right now, Toru would have to carry you to his. 

“Or you can sleep in our bed and I’ll take the spare room.” 

Again, no answer. He follows behind you loosely as you stumble down the hall. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Leave me alone, just stop talking.” You slur, stupidly thinking that not giving him any of your attention would make him stop trying to squeeze words out of you. 

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer to me. You’re the one who left.” 

“Shut up,” you bite, turning into the cracked doorway of the spare bedroom. He’s still hot on your trail, sleepy eyes begging for more where you couldn’t see. 

“We can fix this if you just tell me what I did wrong-

Before he can finish, you’re turning around in the doorway, not giving him any mercy as you slam the door on his face. It locks shortly after, just rubbing salt in his festering wound. At least he didn’t lie about switching out the sheets – the whole room smells fresh, like comfort materialized. You’re fumbling with the button on your jeans as you lumber to the warm, soft expanse, exerting as little effort as you can before collapsing into bed. 

You don’t have the energy to flip the lights off, so they stay on as you roll around in the sheets, trying to swallow down the oncoming doom of nausea and dizziness. You know Toru is still standing outside of the door, you can see the shadow of his feet under the crack, but he can’t come in – or, he doesn’t want to break the lock out and piss you off even more. 

After a few silent minutes, he shrugs off, and you fall in and out of consciousness. Sleep doesn’t come – not for real, at least. Whenever you think you’re getting there, you’re startled awake with your vapid inner thoughts. His pull is supernatural; it’s like you’re struggling to cope with being so close, yet so far. Right in the other room, you can hear Satoru moving around restlessly – shuffling in and out of the bathroom, talking to himself. 

He’s alone, you’re lonely. 

You blame it on the alcohol wearing off in your blood. That’s what gives you the push to roll out of bed and stumble to the door. Satoru stills in the other room right as the lock clicks – you know he hears you. He knows you’re on the way. 

It’s why he’s not in the bedroom when you crack open the door. It’s like he tucked off to the bathroom on purpose, using the shower as a distraction while you fall into your old side of the bed. It’s made neatly – your throw pillows are fluffed, and you’re succumbing to your weakness again. 

You dozed off for about ten minutes before you heard the door creak softly. Satoru’s footsteps are featherlight, and he knows you’re awake. Your breathing isn’t as shallow as it is now when you're sleeping. He doesn’t say anything about it–not yet. 

Satoru waits for you, gathering the towel wrapped around his waist as he sits on the bed. He knows you too well. 

So he doesn’t flinch when he feels the bed tremble beneath him. Sheets ruffle around your knees as you rise blearily. He hums when your arms wrap around his hard, broad shoulders, then mumbles, “You’re predictable.” 

“I’m burning up, I need help.” You plead weakly, lips focused right above his sharp collarbone. His skin tastes like it always has – sweet, for some reason. Like he was sculpted out of sugar. 

“Have you been drinking?” 

You pause right at the stubble of his undercut, the translucent shag tickling your nose. “I don’t need to be scolded.” 

“Well,” he peeks over his shoulder, pulling your chin close. The glow of his eyes amongst the darkness of the room is frighteningly familiar. You can’t look away. “I know you don’t want to talk about it.” 

You’re waiting for him to do something – to take control of this situation and steer the reins in your favor. Right now, you want him to annihilate you in the gentlest way only he can. Touching yourself will never be enough now that you’ve tasted him. It hits you like a craving. 

You’re left flicking between his eyes and his shiny, pink lips. They’re drawing you in like a siren song, weaving incantations that only your drunken mind would bend to. And finally, he kisses you. Something inside of you shrivels up and dies – your pride. 

Now, you’re shedding everything for him, gentle grip turning into claws in his shoulders. His skin is soft after his shower, leaving bright red marks against the pale ocean. Toru grunts into your mouth, shifting over to his knees as he crowds you against the mattress. Big arms cage you in – your back is lodged in the sheets, you’re reaching to pull him closer. 

Through it all, you don’t talk. When you’re needily grinding up into his thigh, he’s silent. Reaching down to your core, he doesn’t say a word. 

Lips hot and panting into the hard skin behind his ear, hands clawed in his hair, you don’t whisper his name. 

Your legs open for him, thighs parting like the Red Sea. He’s so hard for you, twitching against the towel he rips away and abandons somewhere in the room. Right now, every single move mattered. There are no words to dull your mood – nothing for him to say that hasn’t already been said. 

Satoru’s spent a short-lived lifetime telling you how beautiful you are, how well you’re taking him, how sexy your body is. You know that’s what he’s thinking; he just won’t waste his breath telling you again. 

After all, you couldn’t be bothered to waste yours, telling him that you were leaving to his face.

To you, this hot, grinding silence is deafening. Toru’s biting at your neck, kissing you holy, but it’s so foreign that you couldn’t really focus. You bite down a plea. 

But he hears it. When he kisses you, he can taste the desire. His naked body is so pressed to yours that there’s no room to exist outside of it – you pull him closer. 

Somewhere in the headiness, Satoru works a hand between your soft, stretchy waistband. He knows you’re ready for him, and he knows he’s ready for you. This moment might have been the perfect opportunity to prove devotion to each other. What a shame you’re so caught up in your head, worried about losing more of yourself to morph into the reality of who Satoru needs you to be. 

He tugs your thin pants down your legs, staring down at the quivering flesh that blooms with irritation against the harshness of the fabric. You’re seething into his skin, hips lifting from the bed so he can take you quicker. 

The issue is, he wants to see you. Toru wants to dip his head between your thighs and devour your cunt until you’re screaming his name, but you don’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it. 

The most you two could chew off without burying yourself in grief was wordless, raw sex. That’s all there is to it – Toru wants to fuck you, get his rocks off, then sleep like a baby. Sure, he’d care in the morning, but you’re presenting yourself to him with armor stripped. He’d be a fool to pass it up. 

When he sits up, you’re scrambling. The air is too cold, his height is too brooding. He’s staring down at you, pearly chest rising and falling in the nightlight, but the gaze isn’t really there. One hand works at his erection, thick fist wrapped around the base of his cock as he coaxes it to full hardness. 

You’re staring at his body, swallowing down gobs of want as you flick past his waistline. Your neat, mindful Satoru – he always trimmed his body to exactly what you wanted. The soft patch of hair that gathers under his belly button makes you crazy. The neat trimming of his pubes makes your mouth water, and you’ve been holding back for so long. 

If you could tell him anything right now, it’d be just how much you need him. It was eating you alive at this point – all this cruel buildup. 

You bring your hand to your lips, taking to biting down on the length of your thumb while he settles back against you. Any more sober, you’d stop him and tell him to wear a condom, but of course, you’re silent. 

He mounts you again, pressing two big hands on either side of your head. Your free hand reaches up, holding his wrist gently as he slowly eases himself inside of your hole, stretching you out like he never left. 

You take a second to focus on the feeling, eyes falling shut as the stretch engulfs every single one of your nerves. It’s so thick – drilling deeper and deeper inside of you until there was nothing left to give. All the way inside, Satoru nuzzles against that uncomfortably sensitive point inside of you, kissing it like he was proud of the pain. 

You open your mouth to praise him – to whine about how deep he is, but all that comes out is a soft, strangled moan. He grunts again. 

Then, he cuts himself loose, fingers working at the sheets as he pulls out halfway, pretty face screwing up as he fucks back into you. 

You’re moaning, crying, rejoicing, living for everything in this moment. Your grip on his wrist tightens, and your thumb-gag breaks through. Satoru fucks you with an unnatural, mean precision, drinking up the sound of your skin slapping into each other. With this fervor, you’d be bruised tomorrow, but it’s too good. You love it when he’s rough – it’s just what you needed after sustaining for a month. 

Your throat burns with the need to scream at him – to tell him to take you harder, to kiss you stupid, but you don’t. Satoru buries his face in your neck and gives it to you. Over and over, thrust after thrust. It hurts, but it’s so good.

Time creeps and crawls through the ordeal. Your belly is numb and raw, legs shaking from the tight strangle they have across Toru’s waist. He hasn’t moved an inch – letting himself plank over you, plowing into your weeping cunt with no mercy, and no end in sight. Veins bloom like red-hot wires in his neck, sweat beads like water in his collarbone, and he’s so hot that the humidity gathers in his still-damp hair, rolling off the strands and onto your skin. 

Thirty minutes roll by – he’s still going. Everything hurts. 

He doesn’t have your loving voice egging him on, drawing him closer and closer to the release he needs. You don’t have that loving, sweet touch toying with your clit that leaves you gushing and gasping for air. You both are trying to make do with the bare minimum, not even looking at each other. 

You’re shaking. 

Satoru sits up, a detached, manic look in his eyes as he breathes heavily through his red-stained lips. He stares down at you, searching your expression for everything. You’re not telling him how you feel, but your face is screwed up so much that he knows it’s not the best feeling. He hates that he enjoys the thought of that. He hates that he needs to push his pain onto you – in fact, he feels monstrous, but it doesn’t will him to stop. 

Instead, he slows his mean fucks, dragging his hands to your waist where he turns you over like a limp, freshly caught fish. You fumble at the stark change, coughing softly, eyes flying open. Under your breath, you cry. “Mmfmf.” 

“Shh,” he bites back, all sharp and unfriendly in the base of his chest. Hands still stuck in your hips, he pulls you exactly where he wants you, chest pressed to the bed, behind on full display – full mercy. Your skin is so inflamed, he takes a second to drink it in. 

Then, he slaps you right on your left cheek. You chew on a surprised yelp. Something slips. 

“Tor-

Another slap. You swallow down your protests. 

Behind you, you can feel him dragging his cock against the hot sensitivity hidden between your labia, dripping with the newfound touch Satoru is working himself up to give you. 

Again, at your prime, he’d take this moment to completely dive in. He’d lose himself in the warm tears you’re excreting, lapping up the fluids like it’s his only nourishment. He’d worship you – now, all he does is cup his hand against your embarrassingly wet cunt, longest fingers working at your clit. His palm rubs harshly against your quivering hole, and you use the mattress as a screaming pillow, finally letting it out. 

Tears come, now. They burn and ache because they know whatever sacred intimacy you shared with Toru before is long gone. He’s fucking you, now. If you closed your eyes and wiped your memory, this would all feel like a stupid, drunk hookup. 

That’s all you are, now. 

You don’t even make a sound when he starts to bottom out inside of you again. You feel like a statue on display with the way Satoru spreads you open, both hands grabbing at your stinging ass. He watches the way you swallow his cock like a delicacy, gulping down want. Now, he’s dangerously close. He knows this was what he needed – this lewd visual. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t have been further away from release, and it’s tearing you apart. You need to tell him – scream at him and curse his name, but you can’t. 

You let him make a mess of you, flooding your cervix with his sticky, fluid seed. He comes so hard and you can feel it – it’s so deep that you swear you can taste his desire bubbling in your throat. It’s acidic and raw, but it tastes like him, so you love it – you miss the taste when you swallow it down. 

He’s pulling out once he’s empty and satiated, come planted so deep inside of you that it doesn’t even slip out in his wake. He steps away, your hips fall on the bed, and you’re limp and unsatisfied. All you can do is blink. Satoru rolls away. 

You don’t know what he’s doing, or where he’s going, but when you fall over to your side, tears dripping into the mattress, you’re overcome. 

You’re crying, croaking weakly, “c-can you-

The sound of your voice stops Satoru in his tracks. He was heading back to the bathroom to clean himself up, but he thought you had dropped off to sleep immediately. 

“What?” 

“Can you… J-just try?” 

“All I wan-want to do…” You stop again, swallowing salty tears. “Please, all I want to d-d-do is come. P-please…” You feel so pathetic – and you are. You feel like the worst person ever born. 

If you could see his face, you’d see the speck of emotion that runs off his crystalline, flushed features. He would feel terrible if you cried like this to him a month ago. Now, he just feels something like an obligation to turn around and stalk back over to your side of the mattress. 

You’re still crying into your arms when he approaches, hiccuping softly as he lowers to a squat. 

Like this, he finally talks. “Swing your legs over, I’ll clean you up.” 

The smoothness has your eyes flying open, heart doing a billion jumping jacks all at once. Limbs shaking, you struggle to sit up. 

Satoru notices, knowing he has to retake hold of these reins. He reaches out for you, big hands closing around your thighs as he pulls you to the side of the bed. There’s nothing gentle about it, now. He licks his lips. 

Both legs hooked over his shoulder, your back falls back onto the mattress, and at the first flick of his tongue prodding at your quivering entrance, you’re crying again. But he’s good at this part. He doesn’t stop. That licks turns into sensual drags of the tongue, scraping against your sensitive slit, easing over your clit. You finally moan for him – real moans. Pleased moans. 

He presses a kiss to your hole. “Push it out on my tongue.” He demands, those few words feeling like acid on the tongue. It’s fucking filthy, but nothing out of his ordinary, deranged mind. You take a breath and tense your body, working on easing all of the deep come right back to him. 

Satoru is licking it up like an eager dog, slurping and sucking obscenely as his grip gets lost in your pillowy thighs. Now, he’s working you over like he’s chasing your release, knowing your body just like a doting husband would. It would only take him a few minutes of tongue-work before you’re coming for him, but now, it only takes a single one. 

You’re coming before you can even focus on the feeling, and it hits you like a brick to the skull. Your spine bends, bones creaking, blood rising to insane temperatures in your body as sweet, sweet bliss meets you once more. 

It’s all you wanted – this feeling has been the singular thing you’ve been chasing at Toru’s side. He gives it so well and so selflessly that he’s still lapping up mess when he feels you coming undone around him. He carries you through it just like he always has – thick, plush lips sucking at your insanely sensitive bud like he’s trying to receive something as collateral. It drives you crazy – you reach out to push him away. 

The job is done. Satoru rises to his feet. 

He heads off again to finish what he started, wiping your taste from his lips, back into his mouth as he gets lost behind the bathroom door. He leaves you on the bed to come back to your senses, fully sobered up and slightly sick from the onslaught of physicality. You reach into your matted hair, screwing your eyes shut in shame. Every time you move, your core trembles and cries. Everything hurts. 

In the bathroom, Satoru flicks on the lights and doesn’t recognize the face he sees in the mirror. He’s blown red, scratches all over his arms and back. His hair is everywhere, eyes beet-red and sensitive. He leans forward and spits in the sink. 

The faucet creaks as he turns it on. 

Everything washes away.