Iamyoojin - Yoojin

something something father son

birds of a feather . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

until he saw you skate.

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

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

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

“hi.”

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

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

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

“yeah! i’m okay! don’t worry!”

but he still couldn’t stabilize himself.

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

“okay!”

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

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

“y—y/n.”

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

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

“when did you start skating?”

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

his eyes bulged.

“hah?! today?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but that concept quickly changed the second you met.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“she’s eight aki! jesus christ.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m training them from now on.”

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

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

“did you hear?”

you shook your head. “hear what!”

“akira wants to coach you and satoru.”

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

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

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

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

“yesyesyesyes!—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

he stuck his tongue out. “says who.”

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

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

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

he grinned and ruffled your hair. “thanks!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he grinned.

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

“toru!”

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

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

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

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

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

and she did it fucking beautifully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“did you do okay?!” you gawked.

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

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

you both giggled uncontrollably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

the two of you sniffled and nodded.

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

“no keep doing it!—”

“it’s funny please!—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the consequences were too drastic— you both knew that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

akira smoothly traveled over to you both.

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

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

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

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

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

akira smirked.

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

“are we— are we—” you stammered.

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

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

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

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

satoru pouted. “no.”

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

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

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

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

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

but he knew damn well what it was.

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

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

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

satoru swallowed, nodding.

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

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

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

“…toru?”

he blinked down at you. “huh?”

“you okay?”

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

“you sure—”

“what time is your date?”

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

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

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

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

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

“do too!”

“do not!”

“do to—”

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

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

“aakkiii!—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

akira sighed.

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

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

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

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

so why were you going on a date?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… no.”

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

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

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

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

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

“it is sweets!” he agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“big and strong and pretty—”

“please don’t go.”

you stilled.

“what?”

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

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

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

“why?”

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

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

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

and you hoped to god he would say it.

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

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

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

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

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

“i don’t want to.”

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

but you were absolutely stupid for that.

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

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

that’s all you needed… just satoru.

regardless if there was something more in question.

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

“you know why, toru…”

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

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

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

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

satoru stuck his pinky finger out towards you then.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured.

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

“birds of a feather.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

until akira’s accident.

“oh my god i’m gonna throw up—”

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

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

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

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

“not as much as i love you—”

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

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

“now i’m gonna cry and throw up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and there was so much blood.

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

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

“i— i don’t know—”

“aki!”

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

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

“you need to stay out of the rink—”

“fuck you!”

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

akira died at the hospital later that night.

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

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

and you and satoru were fucking ruined.

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

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

your aunt was gone. your own blood.

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

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

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

“yes pretty.”

“this is so fucked.”

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

“diabolically fucked.” he responded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

finally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you nodded, gleaming up at him.

“is this a prank?”

“jesus toru you’re making me think i’m keeping you hostage here with how excited you are—”

“yiiippeeeee!—” he grabbed your upper thighs and lifted you before spinning on the ice, the both of you laughing as he roughly turned until he gradually came to a stop, big goofy smiles on your faces as he did so.

satoru loosened his hold as you slowly slid down against his body, faces close and lovesick as his half lidded eyes looked at you, lips stinging to plant directly over yours after so many years of hopeless pining and avoidance, still refusing to acknowledge the situation, but it glaringly obvious at this point.

“what?” you whispered, your eyes fixed on his lips as your blades touched the ice again.

he softly shook his head, blue eyes greedily drinking in your pretty face as he retracted a hand from your waist and brushed his palm over your hair adoringly, hand raising to cup your cheek gently.

was he about to…?

you swallowed, hands gripping his black t-shirt as you waited… anxious, hoping that he would do what you thought he was about to do.

but satoru squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace and quickly kissed the corner of your mouth before turning his back to you and skating to starting position— leaving you incredibly dumbfounded and disappointed.

satoru’s skin felt like it was on fucking fire as he looked at your stunning doe eyes blinking at him from across the rink, heart pulsing uncontrollably as you slowly skated to him and got into position, neither of you uttering a word about it as you ran the choreography three more times like you had agreed on.

you and satoru have had plenty of moments like that… but lately?

it’s been borderline dangerous with how close you’ve gotten to breaking your unspoken rule.

by the end of practice you and satoru excitedly packed up for the christmas festival, more or less stumbling out of the doors of the rink and locking up before throwing your things in satoru’s car and speeding off to the main plaza, cheesy dorky smiles on your faces as you babbled on about all of the things you were gonna do once you got there.

“the s’mores stand! the s’mores stand!” satoru whipped his head comically back and forth between you and the snowy road. “we have to go there and get five nothing less and maybe more—”

“wait! i wanna get some of that hot chocolate we got last year!” you quickly reached and gripped his shoulder. “the one with the chocolate bits in it! and the whipped cream! and the drizzle—”

“oh fuck yeah how could i forget?” satoru made a turn, the shining glimmering lights of the festival and christmas trees coming into view and riling you both up in pure exhilaration. “i gulped down like four cups of those and then threw up in a bush.”

you laughed loudly and shook your head. “i forgot about thaaaattt! toru you always shove shit in your mouth and throw up we have got to work on that—”

“no we don’t!” he cheesed, reaching over and patting over your hair— the smooth ribbon of your thin bows sliding underneath his palm. “i love sweets even if they hurt me. what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. where there is no struggle there is no strength—”

“the only strength i see is a man hunched over puking his guts out.”

“hey!” he pouted, pulling into the lot before parking and turning off the ignition, the both of you hopping out of the car and locking it as you walked towards the main entrance. “and i’ll do it again so what.”

you giggled and interlocked your fingers with satoru’s. “silly silly.”

the festival was lively— huge decorated christmas trees everywhere you went as twinkling fairy lights adorned every corner and direction of the lots premises, several open stands that continuously wafted chocolate and cinnamon and vanilla throughout the entire night that had satoru practically floating through the air following the scent, kids giggling and running around as the soft familiar tunes of christmas music hummed in the background.

“what do you want for christmas, sweets?” satoru asked while chowing down a giant s’more.

“a kiss!” you quipped, giving him a cute silly look as you blew a bit of air over your steaming hot chocolate.

he stopped chewing.

“really?” satoru spoke with his mouthful. “i can literally give that to you right now c’mere—”

“no toru!” your cheeks buzzed a vibrant pink, completely flustered. “you’re supposed to say a big fat no!”

“now why the fuck would i do that...” he grumbled, shoulders slumping from disappointment as he took another big bite of his dessert.

you giggled, looking at him apologetically before standing on your tippy toes and licking a bit of melted chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

and he blinked at you, dumb and still as his cheeks copied the same exact shade as yours.

my god.

you were about to turn him into a freak.

“okay now you have to kiss me.”

“why?!” you laughed. “you had chocolate on your face! i was helping you out.”

“yeah right you little minx.” he scarfed down the last bit of his s’more and threw his little paper tray in the trash can behind him, putting his hands together and shaking off excess crumbs. “that’s actually the most torturous thing you have ever done to me.”

“dramatic!” you exclaimed, laughs escaping you and increasing as you watched satoru’s flustered face pout and glare at you.

you breathed in deeply and settled down, standing up straight as you took a tiny sip of your hot chocolate and smiled. “now i feel bad.”

“you should.”

“can you forgive me?”

“not unless you kiss me.”

“toru!”

“what?!” he pushed. “baby it’s only fair! really! just once and that’s it. a harmless peck nothing more we aren’t doing anything crazier.”

you gnawed at your bottom lip in thought.

technically he was right… it was just one little peck, entirely harmless and cute and wouldn’t have you both falling off of that thin tight rope you guys were still balancing off of.

this would only shake it a little… but then you’d be fine! right?

you were too far gone in the considerations of his proposal as you looked at his absolutely breathtaking blue eyes and face, somehow looking even more angelic as his pinky cold cheeks and nose and scarf covered neck did nothing but make you fall deeper in love with him than you already were.

how someone could look as good as satoru was beyond you.

“just—” you peered up at him. “just one peck okay?”

his eyes widened.

holy shit.

“yes!” he breathed out. “yes yes just one.”

“toru.” you spoke sternly. “i’m serious.”

he frantically nodded, arms already snaking around your waist and bringing you in.

you both couldn’t believe it.

you were about to have your very first kiss.

the two of you leaned in then— softly, timidly, afraid as satoru’s chocolate breath fanned against your nostrils and filled your lungs, lips coming closer and closer until they met in a simple, solid, tiny harmless peck.

satoru felt like his veins were about to pop and explode at the feeling of your delicate soft lips finally on his, the feeling actually fucking unreal as his fingertips went numb and his body tingled all over.

but it quickly became clear that it was not just one harmless peck.

because when it was supposed to be the time for you both to pull away, you and satoru only opened your mouths and kissed deeper— eyelids blissfully closed as your lips smacked so slowly and tenderly, the two of you actively relishing in the moment and just drinking each other’s mouths in as they moved and shifted, deep breaths through your noses as you daze-fully made out with the faint fuzzy sound of jingle bells and christmas music growing increasingly distant.

you tasted so sweet. just like he’d imagined.

but the moment came to and end when you both snapped your eyelids open in realization and released lips, pupils frantic and wide as you searched each other’s eyes for any sign of anger since you both had slipped up and did way more than just a peck.

but there was nothing. obviously there was nothing like that as your shoulders relaxed simultaneously and bashful smiles crossed your faces.

“you taste like chocolate.” he grinned.

you bit your bottom lip in a smile. “so do you.”

“twins.”

“uh huh.”

“i love you.”

you stilled.

you’ve told each other that thousands of times for years, since childhood.

you’ve always said you loved each other and have both known it was laced with those unspoken feelings you had, and you accepted that for as long as you could remember.

but somehow… in someway… it just felt different this time around. profound. more serious.

“i love you.” you responded.

satoru smiled softly and leaned his forehead against yours, basking in each others authentic infatuation for a moment before pulling away.

“can i get another s’more—”

“no!”

satoru ended up getting his second s’more, and you surprisingly ended up partaking in satoru activities and downed three fucking cups of that hot chocolate you loved so much, your tummy full and about to literally burst, but not really giving a shit as you and him were having so much freaking fun— buying little christmas trinkets from the santa shop and building tiny snowmen in the snowy play area filled with a bunch of kids (satoru literally making a tiny dick for one of the snowman and you immediately destroying it and wacking him), even skating in the rink but purely just for enjoyment and not a single thought of what you do professionally crossing your minds.

you stayed there until it was nearly closing time, money absolutely spent from all the things you bought, but your souls happy and warm as you happily walked to the car so satoru could take you home.

on the drive there, you showcased all of the trinkets you both had bought, a particular one catching your eye that you remembered you hadn’t shown satoru yet.

“oh! i got this one—” you dug your hand in the white plastic bag and pulled out a little snow angel, beautiful and glossy as the angels face blushed and smiled. “at the santa shop!”

“it’s cute baby!” he smiled. “for you?”

you shook your head. “i got it for aki. for the next time we visit her.”

his heart softened, nodding.

you and satoru tried your best to visit her grave as often as you possibly could, sometimes nearing four times a week to pay your respects and chat with her for a little while, filling her in a bit on your lives to bring back the feeling of what it was like to just talk to her in any way you could, like you had the fortune of doing once before.

“it kinda looks like her.. doesn’t it?” he questioned, pointing to the figure.

“it does right!” you expressed. “that’s why i got it… it reminded me of her.”

“she’ll love it.” he grinned, gently running the pad of his finger against your cold cheek before turning his attention back to the road.

you and satoru didn’t mention the kiss again as you were funnily still in shock over it, but the butterflies in your stomachs and the sole memory of it did more than enough as you climbed into bed with an already snoring satoru, him sleeping over for the night (when was he not) as you nudged your way under his arm and cuddled yourself in his chest, his slumbered state pulling you in like muscle memory.

you both only had two more practices left before the international skating union competition. once there, you and satoru had to land a spot in the top three chosen by the national olympic committee to earn an official spot in competing for the olympics, a task that was already vigorous and exhausting and nerve wracking, but one you both were more than ready for.

general admittance to competing in the olympics was essentially fourteen years in the making, one that wouldn’t have been possible in the first place if it wasn’t for akira.

“i think we should add a spin to this lasso lift.” you suggested, you and satoru taking a break from running the routine and standing by the bleachers during practice— watching a recently recorded take of your choreography to point out mistakes that flew under your radars.

“a spin?” he asked. “how sweets.”

“so when you lasso me around into the lift—” you rewinded the video and pointed. “since you’re holding me up over your head and we’re balancing with our hands, i say you maybe push me up to kind of like— propel me to do a triple rotation spin back down.”

“and then from there i catch you?”

“yeah!” you nodded. “and we’re traveling across the ice.”

satoru pursed his lips. “that’s kind of hard… you sure?”

“we’ve done worse toru.” you laughed. “i feel like this would give us more points.”

“oh it definitely would.” he nodded. “okay baby.”

“yay!” you cheered. “let’s practice the lift and propel on the mats first because if not i’m gonna eat shit.”

satoru laughed and sat down on the bleachers with you, quickly taking off his skates before standing and kneeling in front of you, untying your laces and slipping your skates off for you as you cutely smiled, him feeling like your little hero and knight in shining armor even if it was for something so minuscule.

he loved doing things for you.

in the middle of you and satoru practicing the move on the mats, your mother came in through the front doors of the ice rink.

“hi!” she greeted, holding up two wide rectangular boxes. “your costumes came in!”

“oh thank god!” you breathed out, satoru setting you down on your feet before you both ran to see. “i thought they weren’t gonna come in on time!”

“are they cool?!” satoru tumbled out. “do they scream please let me in the olympics?!”

you snorted and shoved his shoulder playfully as you unwrapped your boxes, your eyes shining in delight at the sight of your rhinestoned pale baby blue dress, a shade you purposefully picked out as it matched the color of satoru’s eyes— you lifting it with your fingertips from the box and gushing.

you turned it around and held it up against your frame as satoru pulled his top out— a white, tight long sleeved low cut v-neck button up that you already knew was gonna hug his yummy biceps so good, the thought of it making you bite the inside of your cheek as he checked over his black slacks.

your mother clasped her hands together, holding it to her mouth as her eyes gleamed over the two of you.

“i can’t believe it’s happening now.” she spoke softly, you and satoru diverting your attention to her and smiling. “for so long it was always just a distant thing you know? but now it’s here. actually.”

“fuck i know right.” you responded.

“language, y/n.”

“but i’m twenty!” you whined, pouting as satoru snickered behind you.

your mother rolled her eyes and cupped yours and satoru’s chins under her hands.

“good luck next week, alright? i know you guys will sweep.” she pushed. “make aki proud.”

the smiles on your faces grew, nodding as she squeezed your chins and released.

“oh! satoru—” your mother picked up her jacket and swung her purse over her shoulder. “your mom won’t be home for the night her trip got extended until tomorrow… you can sleep over at our house if you want so you’re not over there alone? or y/n can stay with you?”

“oh okay!” he spoke kindly. “thank you for letting me know!”

she smiled and nodded, hugging you both goodbye before leaving the rink.

your head whipped in his direction.

“toru if i sleep over at your house we can watch horror movies and actually scream as loud as we want without worrying about waking anybody up.”

his eyes bulged open. “oh my god you’re right! dibs i get to choose—”

“fuck!—”

by the end of practice you and satoru mastered the addition you added into the lasso lift, performing it beautifully on the ice over and over again until it was like simple reflex, calling it a day after a while and packing your things up to drive to satoru’s house.

you both took turns stepping in the shower to get rid of the sticky sweat that lingered on your skin, changing into comfy pajamas after as you tiredly settled in satoru’s big comfy bed— him flicking through his selection of horror movies and debating which one to pick.

“do you wanna watch something gory or just horror.”

“gory!” you perked up. “i need to work on not being so queasy.”

“but you seem fine when i throw up?”

“that’s because i’m used to it.” you laughed, head resting on his shoulder as he picked a movie and threw his remote somewhere across the bed, his arm coming to wrap around your tummy and pull you in.

it wasn’t like the selection mattered anyways, because fifteen minutes into the movie you were already falling asleep, hand resting on satoru’s torso as he continued to watch it— for some reason still wide awake even after skating for hours.

your sleepy sudden movements from your hand made him weirdly stiffen and relax every single time, your brows furrowing at the feeling and eyes fluttering open when he wouldn’t stop doing it.

“toru… are you still ticklish?” you mumbled sleepily.

he stiffened again.

“no.” he answered softly. “why..?”

you lazily grinned.

“youuu suureee?”

terror struck him as he sensed exactly what the fuck you were about to do.

“please spare me please spare me—”

you jumped on him and tickled his entire upper body, satoru laughing and gasping as he smacked your hands away and twisted and turned, his strong grip making it hard for you to tickle him at one point as you stubbornly swung a leg over his waist and settled over his lap, attacking him while he yelped and screamed.

“baby!” he gasped. “baby please! have some mercy is this how much i mean to you?!”

you giggled and finally stopped, hands retracting as you settled them on your hips. “that’s what you get for lying to me.”

“i was lying for my safety.”

“uh huh.”

you both grinned, satoru’s eyes occasionally flickering down to you straddling his lap with your pretty plushy thighs and blushing, trying to keep his gaze on yours to refrain himself from doing something a little too mental and weird.

but it was too fucking late, because it took no time at all for the blood to rush to his pathetic dick and harden.

surprisingly though, you were the one that was mental— the feeling of his cock against your clit undeniable as the uncomfortable shifts of satoru’s waist only stimulated it against your little nub and made you bite down hard on your bottom lip, shaky breaths leaving your mouth as it was getting harder and harder for you to restrain yourself from satoru’s godlike existence.

and your body was just not listening as you timidly rolled your hips over his crotch— your short shorts criminally thin as you felt just how big satoru’s length was, mouth watering as your palms timidly settled over his chest for stability, grinding on his cock harder.

satoru’s eyes were blown out as he watched you do something so— so lewd, his mind wandering if you were fully and properly there as something like this was absolutely breaking your unspoken rule, and you were more strict about it than he was.

but he didn’t want you to stop. god no.

at this point, you and satoru were off that metaphorical tight rope and hanging on by two hands— having both failed at keeping each other balanced as you rolled and rolled your hips deliciously on his dick, his chest quickly rising and falling at the feeling of your warm pussy over his groin and at the sight of you using him to get yourself off.

your little needy mewls made his hands tremble as he threw his head back on the pillow, eyes pathetically fucked out over something so simple.

“fuck me..” satoru groaned, hands coming up to rub over his face as his hips lifted to meet your grinding.

him doing that broke you out of your haze and you stiffened, satoru taking his hands away from his face with pinched brows at the sudden halt.

what happened?

“okay!” you laughed nervously, an alarmed expression as you swung your leg off of his lap and scrambled under the covers, pulling it completely over you as you shamefully looked anywhere and everywhere but satoru.

but he was out of it.

undoubtedly out of it now that you did what you did… wanting more, wanting all of you as he snatched the covers off of your frame and you squeaking as a result.

“why’d you stop.” he whispered, thumb raising to trace your bottom lip.

“i don’t— i don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“yes you do—”

“absolutely not—”

“i want you.” he cut you off. “i want you bad and i know you want me too so let’s just— let’s just do this once, okay? once please just to see what it’s like and it’ll never happen again.”

your eyes remained wide as you looked at his desperate frantic ones, his hands already kneading at your waist and thighs.

he was entrancing you into his proposal again, exactly the same way as when you both kissed for the first time at the festival as he leaned down and nibbled at your jaw, slotting himself in between your legs.

“do— do what?”

“fuck.” he mumbled, rolling his hips down on your pussy rough and you gasping at the sensation of his big cock against your clit again.

you whimpered as he rutted into you, hands flying to squeeze his biceps as his wet mouth moved down to your neck, licking and gnawing as he waited for your response.

“but isn’t that—” you stifled a moan. “isn’t that too far toru?—”

“please baby please.” he picked his head up and looked at you. “just once i swear once so we see what it’s like and get it out of our systems and never do it again. i promise.”

he needs to kiss you right fucking now.

your eyes fluttered closed as he continued to hump you, licking your lips as you weakly tried to look into his eyes.

“you swear?” you breathed out. “swear it just once and that’s it—”

“i swear i swear i swear—”

“okay then fuck me toru please—”

satoru nearly cried as he ripped himself away from you to frantically pull off his shirt and pants, him slapping your hands away when you tried to take off your own clothes as he wanted to do it himself— lifting your shirt over your head and downright tearing your shorts in half as he flung them down and across the room, your little pink bra and panties set actually turning him into a complete mess as he hovered back over you and shoved his tongue in your mouth.

you still tasted just as sweet as he remembered.

“been dreaming of—” mmpf— “kissing you since you let me, sweets.”

“yeah?” your lips moved sloppily with his as you snuck a hand in your panties and dipped your fingers in your pussy, collecting your arousal. “you missed me toru?”

“uh huh.” he breathed hotly against your lips, hand coming to slide underneath your bra to cup your bare tit. “every fucking night i’d jerk my dick dry thinking about it.”

his words made your clit twitch as you pushed him off your lips.

“open your mouth.”

satoru did as told without a peep and opened it with his tongue out, your hands coming out from your panties as you reached up and slipped your fingers in his mouth, his lips closing in and sucking everything you had to give him as he salvaged up your arousal.

“fuck—” he released your fingers. “is this from your pussy baby?”

“mhm.” you moaned.

your arousal was even sweeter.

“my god—” he grabbed your wrist and licked a long stripe up your palm. “you dirty fucking thing m’gonna have to taste for myself and see.”

you gasped. “what?”

satoru sat up and pulled your wet panties down your legs, biting down on his tongue hard at the sight of your angelic bare cunt before him, slick and shiny and pretty as you unclasped your bra and spread your legs for him— eager and ready and not a single other thought in your brain besides the one that was screaming for satoru to stick his dick inside you.

“toruuuu!” you whined. “quit staring and fuck me.”

his cock pulsed.

“patience sweets, i wanna taste you first.”

you expected satoru to just lower himself down and shove his head in between your thighs, but you were dead fucking wrong as he stood, grabbed your waist and yanked you high up, sitting you on his shoulders as you squealed and gripped his hair.

“wait toru isn’t this uncomfortable i—”

he scoffed. “fuck no. i’ve been lifting you my whole life baby this is nothing.”

your speech lodged itself in your throat as you felt his tongue lap at your folds and clit, slobbering and filthy as he ate and scarfed you down just like his usual daily sweets, you by far his absolute favorite as he slurped your little pussy up and made you squeal and moan.

satoru walked over to the wall and leaned you up against it, taking your thighs off of his shoulders and placing his hands underneath as he propped you up and spread your legs wider, your jaw dropping at his slimy tongue flicking and him slabbering his mouth side to side rapidly until your legs shook and you saw stars.

“toru—”

he grunted, tongue prodding at your hole and you jumping.

“i think— i think i’m gonna cum and i—” pant “i don’t wanna—”

satoru separated his mouth from your pussy with a squelch and looked up, smiling big.

“too bad!”

“but—”

he spit on your cunt and you gasped.

“i said too bad.”

he dipped back in and fully devoured you as you mewled, messier as he slushed his tongue all over and you’d never experienced something like this, something that felt so fucking good as you started cumming all over his face in record speed regardless of how hard you were trying to hold back.

“yummy.”

he let go and you dropped down as he quickly caught you, turning and throwing you on his bed as he climbed over you— wrapping a hand around his cock and jerking as he kissed and swallowed your lips up again.

“you want me to make love to you or fuck you?” he slopped against your mouth before pulling back, yours and his eyes fluttering open to look at each other.

your legs were still shaking by the eat out he gave you seconds before, finding it hard to get your words together as his handsome deluded face stared at you.

“i— um—”

he placed his lips next to your ear.

“you want me to fuck you like my wife or fuck you like a little slut? or both?”

“both toru please—”

he grinned, coming back up as he parted your legs further open and lined his leaky tip with your hole.

“i can do both!”

satoru pushed himself in and you choked, hands clasping over your mouth as you felt him bully his big cock through and leave you a blabbering crying mess under him— his chest heaving at the warmth and softness and stickiness of your cute gummy walls, his years of imagining and theorizing how you’d feel wrapped around his dick all completely debunking themselves at the real feeling as you whimpered and clenched your hole.

“jesus christ—” he shivered, swallowing thickly as his trembling fingers settled on your waist, him slowly reeling his hips back before pumping in. “you’re— you’re warm.”

you dropped your hands and wiped your cheeks as you hiccuped, the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of your walls incandescently euphoric as you embarrassingly already felt yourself wanting to cum again when he had just stuck his dick inside of you— you wanting to ride out this moment for a bit longer and not finish so quickly like you had done on his mouth.

“am i being too mean pretty?” he huffed, thrusts now quick and curt as he gripped your bouncing tits and pinched your perking nipples, the sight of your little tears shamefully turning him on.

you frantically shook your head and tried to clear your brain. “n—no!—”

“good.” he smiled, a little crazed as he let go of your boobs, placed his hands on the backside of your thighs and pushed your knees up to your chest, picking up speed as you squealed and whimpered, utterly taken aback by how rough satoru was being considering the fact that he was such a goofy and kind and loving person on the daily.

oh… what years worth of pent up sexual frustration can do to a man.

satoru whined as you milked his dick, wheezing as he hammered his hips up and slapped against your skin, your body jolting and bouncing uncontrollably as his bed squeaked loud and obnoxiously.

thank god his mother wasn’t home.

“i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this—” satoru babbled, his critical thinking out the fucking window as he just tumbled out totally random but honest confessions as your ears eagerly drank up every word and made your hole tighten.

“yeah?” pant “f—for how long baby?”

“for so long—” he whined loudly, fucking you faster as your mouth hung open and you gripped his wrists for support. “you’re everything i’ve ever w—wanted—”

“i— i’ve only ever wanted you toru— fuck! you’re big.“ you moaned, loving the way a huge deranged smile spread across his face as his hips pistoned into you and his hands pinned you down.

“cum on my dick baby please cum on my dick i want it i want it—”

your toes curled and you squealed, vision flashing white as you let out a high pitched scream at the intense buzzing feeling, your bodies hot and sticky and wet as satoru leaned over and shoved his lips in your ear.

“can i— can i cum inside?” he choked through gritted teeth as he came close to spilling his seed. “please i wanna cum inside—”

“but m’not on the pill—”

“please please baby i beg you—” hah! “i don’t wanna cum anywhere else—”

your eyes fluttered shut at his words and you quickly nodded, his hand cupping your face as he thrusted in one last time and pumped his cum entirely inside you without an ounce of hesitation for the consequences, his horny mind actually crazed and solidifying that there was no fucking way in hell he was gonna accept just friends from this point forward.

what a stupid thought.

“mmm…” you slowly moved your hips a little, feeling his cum all inside your ravished walls as you licked your lips. “your cum feels hot toru.”

not even warm, hot as it slushed and moved inside you with every movement you made, some of it dribbling and coating your outer folds as you bit your bottom lip into a smile and craned your head up to his neck, nibbling and giving satoru tiny kitten licks as he trembled and struggled to stay afloat and not give out his upper arm strength— trying to prevent himself from squishing you.

satoru pressed a soft tender kiss to your cheek then before sitting up and delicately sliding his dick out, running a soothing hand over your tummy as he did so and giving you a lazy smile.

he suddenly raised his pinky to you.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured, other hand running from your stomach over to your thighs now as he just lovingly felt you up, you smiling with rosy cheeks as you linked your little pinky with his.

“birds of a feather.”

you both kissed your thumbs and locked your promise, deciding then that you should probably shower once more before getting into bed to officially sleep— but deciding to shower together as you softly and steamily made out under the misty hot running water, body and mind relaxed as you just swallowed in the ambience of each other, you both not only holding on to your metaphorical tight rope with one hand now, but it actually on the verge of snapping as a whole and sending you both free falling.

and for the next couple of days, you and satoru were feral.

years and years of doing fucking nothing with pure restraint and fantasizing did a number on you both as any chance you got you were making out on your bed, his bed, and even in satoru’s car after your lectures— your hand teasingly going lower and lower until you’d shove a hand in his pants to pull his dick out and pump, your body leaning across the console and mouth going down to bob and suck as he moaned and pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail to guide you and your pretty bows and fuck your mouth just to hear the sounds of you choking, eyes from time to time frantically looking around to see if no one was around as you blowed him.

and you did that basically all of the time for the next three days until the final practice just before the international skating union competition, satoru physically unable to leave you alone and unscathed as he constantly pinned you down to eat your pussy or suckle on your soft tits, his hand tightly clasped over your mouth in your room when your moans would get too loud as he fingered you, his long fingers squelching and abusing your cunt until you were finishing all over his hands again and again.

but you two having actual sex didn’t happen again apart from that night— satoru a man of his word since he promised you would only do it once… unfortunately. but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do other things, right?

except by the final practice, satoru was absolutely fucked off at the fact that neither of you had brought up the potentiality of being more than just friends, especially after doing all of those lewd acts.

he was so sick of it.

and so were you, quite frankly, but instead of being completely over it like satoru, you were afraid… afraid of what could happen and the possibility of losing him if you both indulged, if you let yourselves put your freaking careers on the line.

and satoru was the one person you couldn’t bear to lose. not ever.

“we look good sweets!” satoru cheesed, rotating around in the ice rinks dressing room mirrors as you had your costumes on for dress rehearsal and refinements, both of you glittering and shiny and looking like a professional ice skating pair as you examined yourself, readjusting your straps and hugging your torso.

“cold.” you shivered. “maybe i should’ve had it as a long sleeve… shit.”

he laughed and placed his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down quickly to create frictional heat as you smiled at him gratefully. “nah, it’s cute like this! you’ll warm up once we run it a few times on the ice.”

you nodded, the both of you walking out of the dressing room and to the rink, skillfully putting on your skates before pushing yourself on the ice and gliding across.

“can you show me the uh—” satoru looked to the side in thought once he was on the ice in front of you. “the part where we skate in unison and have our arms up in an L? it’s in the chorus of our music—”

“oh!” you nodded and skated a bit away from him to demonstrate.

“i just wanna see if my form matches yours and we look clean.” he smiled. “and then show me the triple axel after that.”

you gave him a cute thumbs up and pushed yourself off, gliding gracefully and smoothly across the ice as satoru was supposed to be watching you to try and fix his form, but finding himself transfixed once again by the way you seamlessly skated with no sense of struggling effort— arms poised and flowy as your dress moved and fluttered with every twist and turn until you gradually propelled yourself up into the triple axel and landed correctly without a slip or wobble.

the level of difficulty and technicality you skated reminded him of akira— but your style, your movement, and the way you carried yourself was entirely your own.

you made figure skating look beautiful.

you were beautiful.

you slowed down on the ice and skated over to satoru.

“were you able to see? did you match me?—”

“you skate just like her.” satoru spoke softly, and you faltered.

he didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about, as you always knew.

“you’re just saying that.” you pursed your lips to keep yourself from smiling, or crying, you didn’t know.

but a compliment like that meant the absolute world to you.

“i’m not.” he shrugged, skating over to you and taking your hands as he glided with you to starting position. “you always have baby. and i know that’s what you’ve always wanted. i’m sorry i don’t say it enough.”

your eyes softened. “toru that’s not something to be sorry about at all…”

satoru was so kind.

you both skated together and ran the choreography a couple of times, spinning simultaneously and satoru lifting you again and again throughout the routine and still performing your lasso spinning lift successfully, arms around his shoulders and faces close as the wind whipped through both of your costumes and hair from traveling across the ice at such a speed before coming to a sudden choreographed halt at the end of your number.

you had slid down satoru’s body to plant your blades back on the ice when he had enough.

“please stick your tongue in my mouth.”

you choked on your spit and slapped a hand over your mouth.

“toru no! absolutely not we can’t anymore okay—”

“what are we.”

you froze.

“huh?”

“what are we.” he repeated, eyes dead locked on yours and hard. “are we together? are we not? are we friends? what are we—”

“we’re— we’re friends toru—”

“oh fuck no.” he let you go and created a little bit of space between you. “don’t give me that shit we’re not friends.”

“w—well we can’t—”

“i’m your man.” he stated firmly. “i’m your man i’ve been your man for years and i’m tired of avoiding this sweets! it sucks!”

“we’re putting everything at risk if we do toru we can’t!”

“i’m your man.”

“no you’re not—”

he cut you off. “your mouth has been on my dick. we’ve had sex. we’ve kissed we’ve made out we’ve told each other i love you if that doesn’t tell you that we’re together then what the actual fuck?!”

“oh my god toru i know i know!” you groaned, hugging yourself as you anxiously looked at him. “what happens if we break up? huh? what do we do?”

he shook his head. “we won’t.”

“you don’t know that.” you laughed bitterly. “if that happens we lose each other satoru understand that. we break birds of a feather, we ruin our careers, and we ruin us.”

“first of all—” he started. “our birds of a feather promise is to stick together, keep each other safe, and not seperate or fight, is it not?”

“it— it is—”

“so do you really think if we continue to keep each other in this fuck ass limbo of friends that we aren’t already breaking that?” he threw his arms out in emphasis. “we have never been just friends. i’ve known you for fourteen fucking years and we have never been just that.”

you blinked back tears.

“i promise you baby—” he slid closer to you and cupped your cheeks. “that we won’t leave each other. i will fight and try every single damn day to make sure that that shit never happens even though i already know it won’t because you’ve been made for me since birth and we haven’t separated since we’ve met.”

satoru wiped your cheeks. “but i also promise you, that if we continue as just friends, we will break. we’re gonna string each other along so fucking much that we’re gonna go absolutely insane and drive each other away. that is for certain.”

“but— skating—”

“i don’t give an ever living fuck.” he spat funnily and you laughed through your tears. “skating is nothing without you. all the trophies and medallions and the god damn olympics itself with that gold medal is nothing without you. i would give that shit up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you in my life in exchange.”

“and i would do the same for you toru!” you sobbed, his arms immediately wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you in as you sniffled and hiccuped into his chest, him kissing the side of your head repeatedly and soothing a hand down your back.

“don’t cry pretty i didn’t meant to make you cry...” he mumbled, cheek mushed up against your head as your shoulders shook, a huge disgusting pit of guilt in his stomach. “fine it’s okay we can be just friends for a bit longer please don’t cry—”

“no!” you sputtered, pushing him back a little to face him. “i don’t wanna be just friends anymore either toru… it hurts me so much.”

“it does?” he asked softly and you nodded.

“it hurts me too.”

satoru wiped your remaining tears again and fixed the little bows in your hair, a soft liberated smile on his face as he reached down to cup your cheeks and bring your perfect lips to his, kissing you lovingly as the both of you felt like you could finally rest and stop ridiculously hiding your love in the shadows after so many years.

the thin tight rope that you had both been toppling over and rebalancing and holding onto to keep the other from falling, had finally snapped in two, and you and satoru were now in the darkest depths of the truth of what you both were.

except it wasn’t dark at all.

it was light and airy and heavenly, and you wondered why you had been so afraid when there was nothing to be afraid of in the first place, since the one you were falling with was satoru.

silly.

he pulled apart and looked at you, his striking blue eyes and white fluffy hair especially beautiful.

“tomorrow—” he began. “we’re gonna absolutely destroy everyone else there and land a spot in the top three, and then after i’m gonna take you out on a nice dinner and buy every single fucking dessert off the menu, and then i’m gonna ask you to be my girlfriend. okay baby?”

you giggled then, the brightest rosy cheeks on display from the both of you as you eagerly nodded and threw your arms around his neck.

and tomorrow could not come soon enough, because not only were you looking forward to making your dreams a reality and competing against other figure skating pairs from around the world and the olympics itself, but also the thought of officially being satoru’s after years of wishing on little stars and day dreaming about what that would be like for hours on end.

until the moment was here. happening.

the indoor arena was electric and rowdy the minute the competition commenced, you and satoru in absolute awe of the energetic atmosphere as many individuals in the crowd waved their banners or screamed their loved ones names, an ambience very similar to the olympics as you both watched pair after pair perform their hardwork and dedication on the ice, goosebumps on your skin as you fidgeted and jittered.

out of twenty of your countries competing pairs, only three of you would be chosen for the olympics.

and you hoped to god you and satoru would be chosen.

“we’re almost up baby.” satoru patted your head, sitting on a bench in your designated area. “i think it’s two more pairs then it’s us.”

you nodded, nerves closing up your throat as your eyes darted over the rink.

satoru frowned.

“hey.” he placed a hand on your thigh, suddenly wanting to rip your nylon tights off so you could actually feel his skin on yours. “you nervous sweets?”

you nodded again, and he gave you a silly grin.

“don’t be! you’re literally akira the second. we’ll be fine!”

you laughed lightly and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“and even if we don’t land a spot, that’s fine too.” he kissed your head. “it’s our first year anyways… we’ll know the game for next time and we’ll try harder.”

you picked your head up and smiled at him, his words settling your nerves just as soon as the last remaining pair took their places on stage, yours and satoru’s turn right after.

what you didn’t know, was that satoru was just as nervous as you.

but he knew you needed a rock and someone to comfort you— wanting to swoop in like a little hero and save you again… so he kept it hidden.

“fuck i almost forgot!” satoru jumped up and dug into his duffel bag, pulling out a roll of pale baby blue ribbon that matched your dress exactly. “you told me you didn’t have ribbon that matched your costume so i went and tried to look.”

he held it out for you cutely on his palm.

“does this one match?”

you picked up the roll, astonished and mushy inside that satoru actually went out of his way to find this specific ribbon color for you because you had expressed how unhappy you were with the darker shade you had, your eyes looking up at him in complete adoration.

“oh my goodness— thank you toru!”

you quickly undid the bows in your hair and slipped off the former ribbon, digging through your duffel bag for scissors and cutting off pieces from the new ribbon before looping them through your hair and tying, not needing a mirror since you’ve done it for as long as you could remember.

satoru’s cheeks went pink as he looked at your new pretty bows.

“does they look okay?”

“beautiful.” he responded, pecking your lips before taking your hand and leading you to the entrance of the rink.

“okay—” you breathed out. “this is it.”

“what kind of food do you think they’ll have at the dinner place we picked—”

“toru!” you giggled. “not now!”

he smiled sheepishly at you before leaning his forehead against yours.

you stuck your pinky out.

“birds of a feather?”

satoru grinned and looped his pinky with yours.

“birds of a feather baby.”

you both kissed your thumbs and once again, locked your promise.

the announcer over the speakers iterated your names and your country as you and satoru glided across the ice poised and graceful with your arms up, waving at the crowd and giving your mothers a special frantic wave before moving to starting position, unknowing of the way several other pairs and the judges themselves murmured about your reputation and your association with akira.

and you hoped she was watching over you both now. somewhere.

the music begun, contemporary and lyrical as you and satoru slid across the rink, already impressive and entertaining as you performed moves and lifts right off the bat, the sounds of your blades scraping against the ice oddly keeping you in time with your choreography as the number went on.

and you and satoru were feeding off of each other, the chemistry undeniable to a strangers eye that had no idea of your story as you conveyed passion through your expressions, each technical movement bleeding with the fact that you both had been olympic level trained since the age of fourteen and fifteen.

you were halfway through your routine now, the lasso lift coming up next as satoru harbored in his strength so he could properly propel you into that newly added spin.

you skated around him and he lifted you up into the air, the crowd cheering and excited at your beautiful remarkable forms.

except satoru’s hands were slippery.

why?

nerves. he quickly deemed it nerves as he had no time to deliberate since it was almost time to propel you up into the spin, his mind already racing over the fact that the slip in his hands was hindering his strength to keep you up there, and he worried that if he pushed you up, it wouldn’t be enough and you’d come tumbling down— hurting yourself.

but satoru had zero time to decide again as he went with protocol and pushed you up as hard as he possibly could and prayed you would go into your triple axel spin successfully and that he’d catch you.

but the minute that he did, the force yanked him back and his skates flew up in front of him, you falling down and your thigh hitting something sharp before you both went slamming to the ground— sliding apart from each other on the ice.

the crowd screamed and gasped in terror, sounds you were all too familiar with to what you heard three years ago filling both your fuzzy minds as satoru struggled to get back up, his head turning slowly around to see if you were okay and just sore like him—

until he saw your limp body on your side, your back to him with blood slowly pooling out on the ice and staining your pretty blue dress.

satoru scrambled up and skated straightaway in a panic to you before sliding on his knees as he reached you, turning you over and paling as he saw you were unresponsive and out fucking cold.

“baby?“ he shook you. “hey— baby—”

nothing.

why weren’t you answering him? why weren’t you awake?

his brain flashed images of akira’s body the day that she died, suffocating deja vu as the way you looked when he saw you like that on your side was a carbon copy of her from three years ago, his chest picking up speed as you continued to lay limp even after he shook you desperately numerous times like a madman.

and why was there so much blood?

blood that looked sickly bright red against the white ice, blood that stained his sleeves and shirt and hands as he held you up and supported your head, and blood that wouldn’t stop fucking oozing out of your leg as he trembled.

“hey— hey can you hear me?” satoru tapped your cheek rapidly, shaking you gently again with horrified eyes and still not getting a response.

“fuck! why is this happening this isn’t supposed to happen—”

how could he be your hero? how could he stop the blood and wake you up? how could he— how could he fix this how could he take it all back how could he fix this—

“no no no baby please—” he sobbed. “not like aki baby not like her man—”

he shook you again, your head lolling to the side as if— as if you were—

no.

“baby— birds of a feather right? birds of a feather we have to stick together you can’t— you can’t leave right?” he cried, chest heaving and vision blurry and you just felt so cold.

“you’re not leaving you’re not leaving me please not like aki please god—” he cradled you up to his chest in his arms and rocked. “you can’t leave me you’re all i know and i don’t wanna know anything else please baby—”

satoru’s frantic repeated heartbroken wailing echoed throughout the arena as the crowd erupted and moved around in hysteria, him still rocking you in his arms as he turned his head with terrified bloodshot eyes to look at both of your mothers, yours hunched over in a fit of screams and cries as his had her hands in her hair in utter disbelief and tears.

“fuck what do i do!” he sobbed, legs shakily standing as he slipped one arm under your back and the other under your knees, picking your limp body up as he saw a huge group of paramedics run over to him on the ice as he carried you over.

“help—” hic! “h—help me please—”

why couldn’t satoru be your hero when it mattered most?

several of them lowered the stretcher and took you from him, laying your lifeless self on it before hoisting you up and swiftly carrying you away, all of it horrifyingly and painfully similar to akira’s inevitable death.

were you gone?

satoru looked down and saw your baby blue ribbons on the ice, wet and stained with blood, once perfect bows in your pretty hair when he had you awake and breathing.

were you breathing? had you hit your head?

he couldn’t remember.

he couldn’t remember anything but your unresponsiveness, the way your skin was colder than the ice itself as he picked up your ribbons and looked at them in his hands— and the way your blood stretched over for what looked like miles and was still there.

in front of him. taunting him.

was the world so cruel as to take you too?

it wouldn’t. it couldn’t.

you’d never done anything wrong. you’d never treated anybody indifferently as you were sweet and beautiful and talented, always in servitude of others— in servitude of him as you taught him how to ice skate when you didn’t need to at six years old, you already kind and gentle at that young age when you could’ve easily shooed him away like a little bug and told him to fuck off.

and throughout your life too, as he was well aware he was an annoying dramatic piece of shit that whined and cried and ate your stashes of sweets all of the time— but you always just giggling and looking at him with adoration in your eyes, with your cheeky smile, with the little ribbon bows in your hair he loved so fucking much.

oh how he wished he didn’t always take your sweets at that moment. how he wished he wasn’t always an annoying blockhead and made you mad at times with his persistent personality and neediness as he stood there frozen in the rink staring at your blood— dark now and dull, wishing it was him instead of you.

you were knocked out for five days at the hospital.

you and satoru also didn’t make it into the top three at the international skating union competition.

you should’ve, as your score was already higher than any other pair there and only halfway through the routine too— but that’s precisely why you got knocked out.

if you had finished your number, you would’ve landed in the top three, but it ending halfway cut off the opportunity for accumulating more points, and eventually another pair surpassed your halfway score by two points.

but satoru didn’t give a shit. fuck the olympics and fuck the international skating union while your body laid still on the hospital bed for hours on end, him refusing to leave your side as he sat there and stared off into space with nothing in his head but hatred for himself as it was his fault that this happened and his blade that sliced you— eyes red and sunken and tired and refusing to eat or drink.

you had hit your head on the ice, but thankfully the trauma wasn’t anywhere near the severity of akira’s, it only inducing a strong concussion and sending you flying out of consciousness upon impact.

but it was the loss of blood that was the problem.

you had lost so much, too much of it.

it made you weak and frail and unable to do much and satoru worried that that’s what was going to take away your fighting chance of survival.

“you should go home satoru…” your mother sighed, standing by the door of your hospital room, her own eyes red and swollen.

he shook his head no silently.

“she’ll still be here… you need to eat something or sleep please. you look awful.”

satoru smiled weakly and shook his head again.

“m’fine.”

your mother pursed her lips to the side and she sighed again, nodding.

“i’ll come by early in the morning, alright?”

he hummed, giving her a tiny wave as she left and closed the door behind her.

satoru had brought a roll of pink ribbon from your little white box in your room, unrolling the pieces he chose and lifting his hands, taking the ends of your hair and trying to tie little thin bows the way you always did, but huffing softly in irritation when they just looked like shit.

he undid the one he was working on and settled for feeling the material of the ribbon between his thumbs instead.

satoru brought you bouquets everyday too.

sometimes three at a time as he continuously swapped out old flowers and replaced them with new ones, changed their water and poured fresh quantities into each vase to keep them alive, and often picked some more from the hospital garden when he went down to get some fresh air for a minute— the least he could do for nearly killing you.

and satoru had a lot of time to think while he waited for you to wake up— bitter and resentful at the world for letting him sit there healthy while you were out, so much so that he started thinking stupid shit like how he wished you would’ve forgotten him and dismissed his yapping dreams about ice skating when you met so you would’ve been an independent skater instead, so you then wouldn’t have gotten hurt by his idiocy and you wouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed like you were now.

or swapped places. him instead of you so he could beat up the fucks that took akira away and beat up zeus or— or aphrodite or whoever the fuck that was responsible for keeping him from you so he could come back to you… unsure if you were doing the same thing as he stared at your resting face.

you should’ve just left him behind.

but he was sleeping when you woke.

arms propped up and crossed next to you on the hospital bed, his cheek mushed up on them and face to the side as you blinked your eyes open and was straight up confused, not a single memory of the incident flitting through your mind… until it did.

and it hit you bad.

your mind reeled with a pounding headache, tears prickling your eyes at the events that plagued through your mind— a part of you knowing there was absolutely no way you and satoru made top three and gutted about it, feeling shaken from the memory alone of you falling and hitting the ice.. but grateful.

grateful to be alive, for you knew akira wasn’t as lucky.

was it because of her that you had lived? had she pulled some strings to change your fate?

your eyes trailed down to a sleeping peaceful satoru, your gaze softening at how tired and broken he looked, bags dark and purple as he snored away next to you, your hand lifting and delicately settling over his fluffy white hair as you smiled that he was here next to you— caressing.

satoru shot up wide awake then as you jumped and retracted your hand, the both of you alarmed and frantic.

“baby?” he grabbed your hand and felt around it, feeling warmth for once as he stood up straight and shoved back one of the sleeves of his hoodie.

“you’re awake? are you actually?—” he pinched his arm hard over and over and you giggled.

you giggled— the sound filling his ears and lifting an undeniable dark ton off of his shoulders as he relaxed, tears automatically brimming his eyes.

“i thought i fucking killed you sweets.” his voice shook, arms gently coming around you and pulling you into an embrace.

“killed me?” you frowned. “toru what are you talking about—”

“oh god you have amnesia—”

“no!” you laughed. “what do you mean by almost killed me? you didn’t do anything.”

“i did everything.” he spoke flatly. “i fucked up that lasso lift. i pushed you up too hard and we fell. i cut you with my blade i made you bleed—”

“toru that was an accident.” you pulled back and your chest hurt over the devastated look on his face, wiping his tears and kissing his nose. “remember— aki’s partner felt just like this and we had to tell him too it was an accident. you can’t control something like that. at all. it’s just unfortunate circumstance.”

“i know but i still feel like—” he wiped his eyes and swallowed. “i still feel like i could’ve done something different. it should’ve been me and not you and i should’ve—”

“toru don’t even don’t think about things like that.” you shook your head. “there wasn’t anything you could’ve done, baby. and that’s okay.”

you gently scooched over on the bed and patted the spot next to yours, satoru immediately climbing and settling in, clinging on to you as he placed his head on your chest with his arm firm but careful around your waist, suddenly feeling how exhausted he actually was from the days he spent restless.

you couldn’t have imagined the pain satoru must’ve gone through waiting for you to wake up. you didn’t know how he even fucking managed as you would’ve been torn into bits and pieces not knowing if he was going to live or not, looking at his limp bloody body the way he had to look at yours and it reminding you of the event that brought you both the most trauma and grief.

you couldn’t believe you almost went out the same way.

satoru confirmed your thoughts later and filled you in on the results of the international skating union competition, rubbing salt into the wound a little more upon learning that you landed fourth, nearly there as you couldn’t help but cry a bit in your hospital bed when he told you that you could’ve had a spot, satoru hugging you and reassuring you that you’d both have your shot at it in the next four years.

your family was relieved that you were awake, tons of people piling in and giving you sweets and food that satoru hungrily eyed and gawked over, you laughing and passing him the ones he particularly enjoyed most as you conversed with your relatives.

and recovery was thankfully easy— doctors orders being just you taking it light and being careful not to bonk your head against anything, as well as taking care of the laceration on your leg— changing the bandage frequently every morning and night, satoru insisting he help you with that and with many other things that you needed as he tried to make up for what he still thought was his fault.

two weeks had gone by of just rest and peace and no figure skating, thinking you and satoru deserved this break, but also secretly petrified of stepping on the ice again after what had happened— neither of you wanting to hurt the other as you avoided the topic of training for the meantime at all costs.

“maybe we should work at a water park.” you suggested one day, the two of you seated on a park bench through the chilly mid january air as you shared a plate of chocolate drizzled strawberries you got from some nice lady and her fruit stand. “be lifeguards!”

“oh hell no!” he spoke with his mouthful before swallowing, readjusting the black round sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “you think i’m gonna be fine with watching random old men savoring after my wife in her little red bikini while i’m off saving some drowning kid? oh no thank you. let the kid drown.”

“toru!” you laughed, smacking his shoulder. “okay then what else?”

“janitors.”

you shrugged. “i like to clean. sometimes.”

“and your entire body is covered in those jumpsuits no stinky old men looking at—”

satoru’s phone buzzed against his jeans and he paused and pulled it out as you giggled, him barely glancing at the caller i.d before answering.

“hello?”

you mindlessly carried on plopping strawberries in your mouth and chewing.

“this is he…. oh hello! yes! how are you?”

you eyed satoru quizzically at his sudden formal change in tone, his eyes glued to the cement below.

“uh huh… really? o—okay! no yes for sure! thank you so much for the opportunity!”

opportunity?

you slowed your chewing and nudged his shoulder gently, wanting him to give you some kind of sign as to who it was on the other line.

“okay, we’ll keep in touch! thank you again!”

satoru slowly removed his phone away from his ear as the other line went dead, staring at his screen and you curiously leaning over only to see his call history log, a random number at the top.

“holy fuck.”

“what?!” you leaned in closer and tried to catch his eyes with yours, his shocked wide gaze slowly flittering to your face.

“that was the national olympic committee.”

you froze.

“shut the fuck up.” you covered your mouth. “toru what did they say what did they say—”

“one of the pairs that made it in the top three got disqualified.” he spat out quickly, shooting up and digging his fingers into his hair as he walked back and forth slowly in disbelief, spinning to face you. “i— i don’t know why i didn’t ask but we got bumped up.”

silence.

“we—” your chest rose and fell erratically, eyes darting around as satoru knelt down and grabbed your hands.

“baby we made it.” he tightened his grip. “we’re competing in the olympics—”

you squealed and jumped up and down and pulled satoru in, the both of you comically bouncing off the walls as you wailed and cried and blabbered on about how you couldn’t believe it and how a chance like this was even given to you, satoru lifting you and spinning you around but stopping and freaking out and apologizing profusely over your injured leg, you shaking your head and laughing, kissing him in return.

“we can’t avoid skating toru.” you spoke once you and him had settled down. “it’s literally what brought us together… and what brought us to aki. and even from you spinning me around like that it reminded me how much i missed skating with you.”

“i feel the same sweets.” he smiled, big and bright and handsome as he leaned over and kissed your rosy cheek. “i miss lifting you up and catching a glimpse of your ass underneath your—”

“toru!”

even though you and satoru were finally on board and accepting of bringing skating back into your lives, it wasn’t to say at all that the fear itself went away when you tried to do lifts or spins in the air with each other— apprehensive and scared as you practiced on the mats way more than necessary before moving choreography to the ice, satoru multiple times chickening out and needing a moment as he was petrified of hurting you again, and you glued in place at the thought of falling and slamming on the ground when you had just survived mostly unscathed.

but this wasn’t the time to be afraid over that anymore, and if akira were here, you both knew she’d smack you upside the heads and tell you to move… to get on the ice and do the sport you both loved and cherished most.

to finalize your dream and make it a reality.

and throughout the month that you and satoru spent before the commencement of the olympics, you trained like never before— no excuses as you worked tirelessly day and night with sweat literally dripping from your faces until every single goal was met and beyond, until every single throw from satoru was perfected and until every axel from you was delivered.

sometime during this month too, satoru finally got to take you out on that romantic candle lit dinner like he promised and asked you to be his girlfriend, him giddy and grinning the whole time and literally spoiling the moment as he meant to give you a chocolate dessert plate that said ‘will you be mine’ in chocolate syrupy letters, but accidentally eating it and smearing the words when he confused your plate with his, smacking his forehead repeatedly on the dining table as the silverware clattered— muttering about how dark it was and how he couldn’t fucking see, but you laughing so fucking much and clutching your stomach that your makeup smudged up at the corner of your eyes.

satoru was reminded again how much he loved you that day, because anyone else would’ve gotten tremendously annoyed and called him an idiot, but you…

you just giggled. giggled and hiccuped like always while he stared at you softly.

the love you and satoru shared stretched far beyond the concepts of what a platonic and romantic relationship was.

the love you and satoru shared was sacrifice. genuine sacrifice and yearn and absolute unadulterated love as you both without another thought would drop your careers for each other, would swap places if it meant the other would be safe from harm’s way, and would endure years of swallowing and pushing back feelings if it meant just keeping one another in your lives forever.

because that’s what birds of a feather was for to begin with.

a promise to stick together. a promise to keep each other safe.

a concept so pure and devoted that it translated onto the ice like no other pair when it came time for the olympics.

“you ready sweets?” satoru breathed out as you both stood in front of each other by the outside of the rink with interlaced fingers, shaking each other’s jitters out. “no matter what happens, we’ve already come so far and done so much, okay? we’ve done what we needed to do.”

“mhm!” you quickly nodded, satoru leaning down before you both rested your foreheads against each other’s with massive smiles on your faces, thunderous cheers echoing throughout the giant arena totally drowned out in your ears as you stared into satoru’s sparkling blue eyes.

“make aki proud.” you repeated softly, and he nodded, you hoping once again she was watching over you both.

you both stuck your pinkies out at the same time and looped them together.

“birds of a feather?” satoru beamed.

“birds of a feather.”

and you kissed your thumbs before sealing your promise.

you both watched the pair that you were going right after perform their routine, beautiful and difficult as you gnawed at your bottom lip in distress.

“toru…”

“yeah baby?”

“some of these pairs are crazy good…” you spoke over the music. “i’d honestly be happy with getting in the top twenty i don’t know if we can—”

satoru scoffed and shook his head, a sly smile as he looked over the rink with his arms crossed.

“nah, we’d win.”

and just like akira had done in her final olympic year— in her final moments, you and satoru made it known that it was your debut, that you had been hungry and desperate for this moment since the ages of six and seven, that you’d been raised and trained by a four-time olympic gold medalist for a decade as you executed the most technical and intricate moves and turns, you and satoru moving as one on the ice and identical as he took your hands and glided on the ice with you, raw emotion in your expressions that read love so clearly that it was impossible to miss.

with each lift, with each time satoru took you in his arms and spun, and with each time he simply held you close and tenderly to his chest as his blades scrapped across the ice with your pretty bows in his view— were all reminders for the two of you that partner figure skating was nothing without satoru and nothing without you.

the privilege of having another way to convey just how much you loved each other through the language of artistic expression and skates and ice, through the feel of each other’s skin, was one you nurtured and looked after and loved as the wind whipped through you and satoru due to the speed of your skates, performing quadruple axels like nothing while dropping the jaws of other figure skating pairs.

and because of this fact alone, how you both truly appreciated each other’s entities and had the indescribable power to correlate that into competitive sport—

was the reason why you and satoru won gold that day.

you and him, on your knees, gripping and hugging one another so hard and crying tears of joy as you both had come so far and gone through so much to get to where you were now, your dream now a complete and total reality as you stepped up onto that podium during the medal award ceremony just like akira had done— representing your country excellently with a big fat gold medal hung over your necks and a big fat kiss from satoru as he lip locked with you up there, flashings of cameras and bouquets and teddy bears scattered all throughout the ice in dismay.

“i love you!” satoru yelled to you over the roaring as you waved at the crowd, your mothers crying and blowing their noses and taking pictures from the edge of the rink as you and satoru cackled and pointed at them.

“i love you, toru!”

“no like seriously!” he put his waving hand down. “i wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. thank you for recognizing that i have love and dreams too baby and for not forgetting about me even when i’ve been the most annoying dipshit of your life.”

“you’ve never been that to me my god toru! where is this coming from?” he hopped off the podium once you two were given the all clear and he held a helping hand out for you to take, you doing so and carefully stepping down.

“reeaally?” he cheesed, cheeky and silly as his big pearly white smile made your cheeks flush. “so you love me then?”

“i literally would not be with you if i didn’t—”

“hooray!” he cheered, throwing his arms up as flower petals flew from his bouquets and around. “my girlfriend loves me! and we’re gonna have rough passionate olympian sex in our hotel room—”

“toru!—”

the love you and satoru shared wasn’t something silly like ‘i like you, you like me.’

it was call me when you get home.

have you eaten yet?

here, let me help you.

whatever you need.

yours and satoru’s souls were exactly the same— blended, intertwined, and stubbornly knotted together as no amount of tug and pull could unravel you both apart, satoru finding over the years that loving you was like muscle memory from the moment he met you, his nerves and reflexes gravitating him towards you on the ice that first time even when he knew there was a huge chance of him slipping and falling, but not being afraid of it at all as long as he just got to you, convinced he knew you in another life as you just felt so familiar the moment he saw your pretty little face.

and you’re so glad that he did get to you… that he stayed with you.

fourteen years of ice cream trips and sleepovers and horror movies from the moment you were teeny tiny babies to adults, experiencing the hardships of your teenage years of loss and grief, to then adulthood and college as you had the privilege of learning to navigate it with another being that was just like you, two little birds with no sense of direction other than to each other.

and it was all thanks to one woman and one woman alone.

“i honestly believe that if she was there, she would’ve brought one of those confetti poppers with dye in it and set it off.” you commented, you and satoru sitting on the grass at her grave site as you leaned your head on his shoulder and his head on top of yours, having literally just come off the plane from being at the olympics— your countries olympic button up thick jackets adorning your figures as your gold medals gleamed radiantly against the sun.

“i wish she was there.” satoru hummed, and you nodded softly in agreement.

“me too… but i’m sure she was! as a little birdie.”

he chuckled, finding your hand and interlacing your fingers as you stared at her tombstone like you’d done so many times before already… except this time it was bittersweet, you having accomplished what the three of you had strived so hard for at last.

“i miss her.” you murmured. “i miss her cussing.”

your eyes flickered down to her peace offerings, the little snow angel trinket you had gotten her still pretty and glossy and her as it sat happily on her stone platform.

satoru picked his head up and kissed the top of your head, propping his chin up on it.

“i miss her too baby.” he responded softly. “everyday.”

“but— i can’t thank her enough for giving us the bullets to fire with for skating.. y’know..” you ran the pad of your index finger along her tombstone, rough and scratchy as you traced little hearts along the edges.

“and she brought us closer together, did she not?” satoru pointed out.

she did.

a woman who was clumsy and loud and erratic with the biggest potty mouth you had ever heard that was passed down to you and satoru in the blink of an eye… but man did she know what love was as she taught it to you and reminded you both of exactly what it was each and every day.

you and satoru had accepted the fact that your hearts would never be whole again, for akira had taken half of them elsewhere and into the depths of the unknown.

but you were okay with that. completely and utterly okay with that.

for love had no limits.

you wanted her to keep it, as you and satoru stitched the remaining halves of your hearts together to create a new whole, as there was no one else you both would rather have that part of you with them forever besides akira.

and yours and satoru’s stitched up hearts grew increasingly bigger and fonder even after a couple of years later, even after winning three more olympic gold medals, you and him back at the same place in front of akira’s grave like always, sitting and laughing and chatting— but with two little baby toddlers that were half of you and half of satoru as they blubbered on about ‘mama aki’ and her trophies, a delicate twinkling ring on your finger and a golden band around satoru’s as your little family had a picnic over her final resting place.

“papa!” your son exclaimed, satoru immediately turning his attention to him in the midst of scarfing down a turkey sandwich.

“yes my offspring?”

you playfully glared at your husband.

“why do your eyes look scarier in the day?”

“HAH!” you slapped a hand over your mouth to hush your cackling, satoru’s face absolutely taken aback and offended.

“they do!” your daughter giggled. “they do! they do!—”

“baby do something!” satoru whined, shoulders slumping as he threw his head back. “i’m being bullied by five year old’s!”

you giggled and kissed his cheek, his pout quickly turning into a soft little grin as his face flushed pink.

“but your papa’s eyes are pretty you guys! and they match yours!”

“mmm— nope! scary!”

your two twin toddlers giggled uncontrollably as they thought being mean to their dad was the funniest thing in the world, you laughing with them as satoru flopped back dramatically and completely laid down on the grass with his eyes looking straight up at the bright sky.

“s’okay.” he spoke flatly. “if even my pretty little wife thinks my suffering is funny i’ll just burn my eyes to a crisp—”

“toru!” you slapped his knee. “too graphic in front of the kiddies.”

“but my suffering!—”

“mommy mommy!” your daughter tugged at your sleeve and pointed to the top of akira’s tombstone, a cute perfect white and brown bird perched up on the edge and peering curiously at the four of you, the creature not alarmed whatsoever of your children’s sudden movements as they scrambled to get closer to it.

satoru propped himself up with an elbow and stared before you both locked eyes, knowing growing smiles on your faces as he fully sat up— leaning and planting a gentle kiss to your forehead, letting it linger.

aki.

and it was like you and satoru were reminded again of your promise that you still told each other every day.

a promise that consisted of your years together… of your love, of your undying fervor of sticking together, of your need of keeping each other safe…

of birds of a feather.

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

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

disclaimer: very much inspired by cdrama the princess royal and taking some elements from webtoon the broken ring: this marriage will fail anyway but of course, with my own twist here and there 🥹

Tutor Me

michael gavey x bimbo!reader

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

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

word count: 2,099 words

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

Was he waiting at the door for you?

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

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

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

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

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

“Started with what?” He blurts out.

“Trig?”

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

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

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

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

“Clearly.”

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

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

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

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

“Nothing else to say?” You taunt him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Out.” He says finally.

“What?”

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

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

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

“I’m not leaving,”

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

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

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

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

“Y-You do?” His eyes soften.

“I do.”

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

You shake your head. “I’m not.”

“You really want to kiss me?’

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

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

That was easy.

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

“Sit down on the bed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you realize.

He just came in his pants.

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

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

“Michael-”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just look at me-”

“That’s so bloody humiliating.”

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

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

“I still need to be fucked, Michael.”

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

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

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

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

“Jesus - fuck.” You curse.

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

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

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

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

“No?” He grins a little.

“I just needed to adjust.”

“To my huge dick?”

Great, another thing for him to be cocky about.

“Fuck you.” You murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

“F-Fuck.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me eat your pussy then.”

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

The Sun Eats the Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping, pregnancy kink(?))

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

WC: 9.4k

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Fimo," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

don't go Nanamin don't go

Pairing: Muzan x f!reader.

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

In Another Life- Part 2

Chapter 7

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

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

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

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

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

Demanding. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew you.

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

How beautifully you destroyed him.

“Tsukihiko, I’m…”

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

“Don’t stop…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Muzan scowled. 

Her life. 

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

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

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

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

And neither one of the choices were possible. 

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it couldn’t be. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m alright,” you assured him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on…”

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

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

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

“Tsukihiko…”

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

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

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

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

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

Curse the feathered shit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 8.

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps it was only wishful thinking.

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

The thought of it turned your stomach. 

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

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

“It’s good to have you back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not Takeo. Besides, Takeo—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You would have to offer him Master Ubuyashiki. 

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t. I just wandered.”

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

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

“And?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 9. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t hold back.”

And he didn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

“More?” he asked.

“Yes. Don’t stop.”

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

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

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

“Tell me I’m yours,” you said.

“You are. And I belong to you.”

And that was enough. 

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

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

But it was done. It was over. 

A fitting goodbye.

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

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

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

“Oh?”

“Yes. I want to become a demon.” 

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

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

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words were ash on his tongue. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lord Muzan!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the world once again stood still. 

Chapter 10. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

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

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

“No.”

“Then why give it to me?”

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

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

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

As soon as the wound opened it healed.

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

“What are you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would that work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you were once more tumbling into darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How is your pain today?” you asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long has it been?”

“A thousand years.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, it would serve you right”

“Would it now?”

“Yes. The pitfalls of indiscriminate killing—”

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

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

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

“Isn’t that what you want?”

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

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

“Muzan, we can be together…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you deny it?” you asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And those were the last words you ever spoke. 

Chapter 11. 

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

How dare you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very well,” Muzan said.

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

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

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

“Already done, my lord.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. No. 

No it couldn’t be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you did not.

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

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

You were gone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, there was nothing. 

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

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

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

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

“Always,” you said. 

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 12- Another Life. 

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

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

“How are your pain levels?”

“About a five.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. “I am. Muzan Kibutsuji.”

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

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

Gods, what was wrong with him? 

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

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

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

“Oh, I could stay forever.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎○▪︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Playing nice?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

THE END. 

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

ok i was looking through my reference pins and though of what's obvious

the reference in question:

Fate | Buggy x reader x Shanks ♡

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genre: smut, nasty nasty smut (minors dni) and a tiny little bit of fluff at the end

pairings: buggy x reader x shanks

wc: 13.3k

cw: fem!reader, bartender reader, semi public sex, a lap dance, a LOT of dirty talk, biting, piss kink, omorashi, so much oral, jealous!buggy, buggy is actually really sweet, brat tamer shanks, spanking, pussy slapping, spitting, some parts are dialogue heavy, buggy's detachable dick, shanks lowkey has a clown fetish, squirting, overstimulation, aftercare, love confessions

masterlist | one piece masterlist

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Your childhood friends, Buggy and Shanks, both found your bar around six months ago and have been hooking up with you ever since. The connection the three of you have runs much deeper than mindless sex so you finally get them in the same place at the same time so you can fuck like animals and confess your love.

a/n: I'm so fixated on buggy right now i literally can't think of anything else

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You're just starting your evening shift at your bar when a familiar hat and blue pigtails comes sauntering into the building.

“Hi, Buggy,” you call, and your old friend wanders up to the bar with a grin on his face.

“Hi, sweetheart. We’ll have whatever you got. We're celebrating tonight,” he says. You nod and signal to one of your security guys to go down to the basement and get the big barrels you're not strong enough to carry. You don't need to worry about any trouble at the bar when Buggy and his crew are there, though you worry that one day he'll be here at the same time as the actual pirate whose protection you're under.

The small island your village is on is under the jurisdiction of red-haired Shanks. Your mayor hasn't officially accepted Shanks’ offer yet. Still, you have a feeling that with all the business their pirate crew brings to your village—buying from your local farmers and frequenting your bar—he'll formally accept when Shanks returns from his next voyage. The lack of permission from your mayor doesn't matter to Shanks; he's ultimately just using this island as a base to place you under his protection.

You, Shanks, and Buggy were all on the same pirate ship as youngsters. You'd been impossibly close, inseparable at all times. After they'd had a falling out at the site of your former captain's execution, you'd refused to pick a side, and Shanks had taken you with him so he could drop you off at a quiet island where you leave your pirate life behind you.

However, after Shanks and Buggy had made a name for themselves, your history of piracy had worked its way into your present. Shanks had been the first to find you, having been the one to drop you off, and wasn't surprised to see you now owning and running one of the bars in your village. He'd walked in by himself and jokingly asked if your bar was pirate-friendly. Your security guy was about to launch forward but was stopped by you, who had called his name and ran around the bar to launch yourself into him. He hugged you back with one arm, and you welcomed his crew into your establishment. Your staff were on their best behaviour that day and respected you more after finding out you were close friends with one of the emperors of the sea.

Buggy had accidentally stumbled upon your bar but was beyond shocked to see you. He had initially threatened your village, but upon receiving a smack and stern talking to from you, he gave up embarrassingly quickly and asked politely to frequent your bar. You allowed him, glad to see him alive and warned him that you were under a different pirate’s jurisdiction. You ordered your staff to be hushed about the pirate being Shanks, so you don't scare off Buggy.

Since then, they'd been coming to your island intermittently, competing with each other without even knowing. Shanks knows there's another pirate who sometimes docks up on your island, and Buggy knows another pirate is trying to lay claim to your land, but neither of them knows it's the other. How they've avoided each other for this long is a mystery to you.

“Hello? Sweetheart?” Buggy's voice draws you from your memories, and you look up at him with a smile. What're you smiling at? You weirdo,” he says, reaching over the bar to flick your forehead. One thing both Buggy and Shanks never grew out of was their childish teasing. Buggy, in particular, likes to wind you up. Whenever you would tattle to your old man, Rayleigh, about the boys teasing you, he would insist that it was because they had a crush on you.

“Nothing, Buggy. I was just reminiscing about the old days,” you say. He rolls his eyes and calls you a sentimental fool. Buggy turns his attention to the bar behind you. He detaches his hand from his body and reaches for the top-shelf whiskey. He's too much of a lightweight for it. You know that much, so you snatch it back and scold him for using his power to rob you of money. You never realised how differently you view your ‘lovers’ compared to everyone else until your staff asked how you have the balls to tell them off and flirt with them, fearing losing a limb for messing with an emperor. Buggy begrudgingly listens; you're the only person he can't bring himself to argue with. He can tease you and wind you up until the cows come home, but if you look genuinely upset, he fills with guilt immediately.

Your security guy comes back with a barrel of cheap booze and helps you set it up. You start to serve it up, beginning with Buggy and then calling over his crewmates. You ensure everyone is served before returning to cleaning glasses and steins to ensure you're on top of things.

Buggy keeps a keen eye on you as you move around the bar, busying yourself with odd jobs. You can feel the clown watching you, and you feel your skin heating up. Your friendship with Shanks and Buggy has always been more than platonic, especially now that you're all grown adults and you own a bar. They're always sneaking you off on breaks or taking you home after to fuck you. They're very different in the bedroom; Shanks is confident and in control, whereas Buggy takes care of you, but ultimately you're in charge. Buggy’s an emperor of the sea now, so you're curious to see if that's helped his confidence. Insecurity usually had him doubting himself in the bedroom, leading to him easily bending to your will for a bit of praise. He appeared to be more sure of himself when he walked in, so you take that as a good sign.

You're focused on the bottles behind the bar when you feel a tug at your skirt. You look down to see a hand creeping under your skirt. The hand slides around to squeeze your ass, and you turn around to see Buggy, handless, staring at you. His hand works its way to the front and slips beneath your panties, collecting your wetness on his fingers. You want to scold him, tell him off for touching you in public, but the predatory grin he's giving you right now is turning you on so bad. Typically, if you told him off, Buggy would drop to his knees and ask to eat you out as an apology, but you're curious to see if his boldness can translate into something more dominating.

You ask your friend to cover you while you go on a break. Buggy follows you as you round the bar and go through the back door to the staff-only area. He wasn't subtle about it. You know most of his crew just saw him go in here.

Buggy catches up to you when you're near a staff storage room, and he attaches his hand back right in time to push you into the room and turns you around to back you up against the door. He immediately attaches his lips to yours. His kiss is heated and messy, hot tongues pressing against each other. Buggy’s hands come up to squeeze your tits through your top, and he drops his kisses to your neck. You were thankful he had come in without makeup tonight, so you don't have to explain to your staff how your neck ended up covered in red lipstick. It happened to you once and was embarrassing for both of you, so you appreciate the consideration. He drops to his knees, kissing your thighs, and as his hand reaches for your panties, you stop him.

“Bug, wait. My break is only ten minutes. We don't have time for all this.” You say, pulling him up by his hair. “Just fuck me properly”, You whine, pulling him into a kiss. He lets you guide it before you get tired of messing around. You want to see how his status as an emperor and newfound confidence has changed the way he fucks you.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks, turning you around and grinding his hard cock against your ass.

“Yes, and I want you to fuck me hard. You're a Yonko now. Where's all that power and aggression?” you ask. Your teasing question works; Buggy's voice is barely above a growl when he responds.

“You wanna see my real power?” he asks, punctuating his question with a slap to your ass. This is exactly what you've been waiting for with Buggy. You nod, and he turns you back around again. He doesn't look mad. There's no dark glint in his eye, and he just looks excited. You know Buggy, he'll never be a hard dom, but you just want to see more control from him, and that is exactly what he's showing. “I need words.”

“yes. I want you so bad.” Buggy smiles at your consent, leaning against the storage cupboard wall. He pushes you down on your knees and undoes his belt and trouser button.

“If you suck my dick for me right now, I promise I'll take you back to my ship and destroy your tight little pussy” You nod and waste no time reaching up to free his cock from his trousers. Buggy laughs at your eagerness. He doesn't receive this kind of sexual attention much, so you tend to fluster him, though he's not letting it show tonight. When you finally get his hard cock in your mouth, he moans embarrassingly loud. He throws his head back, staring at the ceiling as you work him into your mouth. He's all too aware of the fact that he'll cum down your throat the second he makes eye contact with you. “What would people say about you if they opened this door to see you on your knees for a pirate captain? And an emperor, no less,” he says, hips bucking into your mouth slightly as he gets closer to his orgasm. “What would Shanks say if he saw you like this?”

You moan around his cock at the question, and his hips stutter forward, breaking his rhythm. His cock harshly hits the back of your throat, and you gag slightly, pulling off of him. He uses his grip on your hair to pull you back to his cock. You want Shanks and Buggy to fuck you together more than anything. He's never spoken to you like this before, making you gush.

You slip a hand between your legs as you take his cock back into your mouth. Buggy finally looks down at you and groans when he notices what you're doing.

“Are you really touching yourself to the thought of red hair catching us?” he asks, scoffing. “I bet a horny slut like you would want him to join in” You know, Buggy's just as attracted to Shanks as you are, and you feel his cock twitching in your mouth at the mental image of sharing you with him. It doesn't take him much longer to cum. He cums down your throat and helps you wipe off any stray drops of cum that missed your mouth. He pulls you into a kiss as you tuck him back into his underwear and zip up his trousers for him. Buggy almost looks embarrassed at how quickly he's cum, but he quickly gets over it when he realises how turned on you are.

“I'm the boss here, you know. I can cut my shift short if I want to,” you say, pulling him in for another kiss. Buggy feels a stirring in his stomach when he kisses you. It's been happening for years; he chalks it up to being impossibly horny and refuses to look further into it. You go back into the bar and tell your staff that your shift is over, and you trust them to lock up. As you walk back to the Big Top with Buggy, he tells you stories about what he's been up to since he last left your island.

Buggy brings you onto his ship and down to his captain's quarters. As soon as you're in his space, the door is swung shut, and Buggy all but pounces on you. He pulls you into a rough kiss, walking you to the middle of the room. You occupy his thoughts all day, every day. He fantasises about your pretty self putting on a show just for his eyes. He sometimes wants to ask you if you can dance and see if he can ask you to give him a private performance. He’s finally got a chance to fulfil multiple of his fantasies at once, so he doesn’t hesitate in taking it. He pulls away, breathing heavily. He sits down on his throne, which has been pushed up against a wall, and leaves you standing in the middle of the room.

“Take it off for me, give me a show,” he says, leaning back. “make it flashy.”

You start with your top, taking care to remove it slowly. You feel one of his hands squeeze your tits. You whimper at the stimulation, and Buggy laughs. You carefully push your skirt's waistband over your hips until you can drop the garment to the floor. You turn around and hook your fingers in your panties, pulling them down your legs. You go to kick off your heels, but Buggy's hand grabs your ankle to stop you.

“keep ‘em on,” he says. You turn back around to look at him and see he's shirtless, hair down, palming his hard cock through his trousers. You notice he's become more like Shanks now that he's trying to take control. His hand grabs hold of yours so he can drag you over to where he's sitting. He pulls you to his lap so you're straddling him. He guides his cock to your entrance and kisses your neck and shoulders as you take him to the base. “ride me, baby,” he growls.

You obey, lifting your hips upward and slamming them back down. You both moan at the way his cock feels dragging against your walls. Buggy soaks in your pretty noises as his fingers dig into your hips to guide you.

You lean down to capture Buggy in a kiss, tilting your head to avoid his cute nose. Kissing Buggy always feels like you're unravelling a secret; the big scary clown pirate emperor is really just your silly man who wants to take good care of you. You feel close, and you start to drag your hips, grinding down on him. You whimper into the kiss, prompting a laugh from Buggy, who uses his grip on your hips to hold you in place while he fucks up into you.

“I'm gonna cum”, you moan, dropping your head to his shoulder.

“Yeah? Go on then. Make a mess for me”. All it takes is a few more thrusts to reach your high. Buggy watches intently as your orgasm crashes over you. He groans as you scratch at his back. He manages to hold off his orgasm as you come back to your senses. “Can you give me another one?” he asks.

“Didn’t you promise me you were going to destroy my pussy?” you say, pulling him into another kiss.

“I did, didn't I?” he says, before moving forward and laying you down on the fluffy rug spread across the floor. He's on his knees, hovering over your body. He pushes his cock into you again, groaning at how sensitive you both are. He braces himself with his elbows on either side of your head, and then he starts to fuck you properly. He grunts in your ear as he fucks you down into the floor. His cock fills you up so well that it is almost embarrassing how you whimper about it. Buggy loves the rush of adrenaline he gets from fucking you. How you cling to him and whine about how good he feels makes him feel like he could do anything. Your hands fly to his hair as he rearranges your insides, and he moans as you harshly tug at his hair. “That's it. Let me know how good I'm fucking you.”

Your second orgasm hits you like a freight train. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder as you gush around his cock. His orgasm follows closely behind, and he bites down harder as he fills you up with his cum. He tries his best to fuck you through both of your orgasms, and when your walls finally stop pulsing around his cock, he slips out of you carefully. He cleans you up with tissues and then carries you to his bed. He changes into pyjamas and then climbs into bed with you.

“Stay here for tonight. I'll take you home in the morning,” he says, moving a piece of hair out of your face. Buggy is not typically so affectionate with you after you sleep together; he’s never mean to you, but he’s never this soft. It makes you wonder what's changed.

“Are you leaving tomorrow?” You ask, cuddling up to his chest.

“Nope, we still have one more day here.”

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Buggy returns to your bar again the next night. He’s doing his usual routine of staring at you, drinking less than all of his crew and waiting to get you alone so that he can fuck you. He’d reminiscing about his previous trip to the island after you’d left the ship that morning, and he’s been having shameful thoughts about trying a specific gross kink with you. You and Buggy had hooked up before. You're no stranger to his wilder kinks, but there's still one that he's been keeping from you up to this point. He thinks he's finally got you comfortable enough to try it. He's been trying to buy you drinks all night, but you've insisted on being a good little bartender and drinking water instead, which was his plan all along. You don't realise Buggy has only had one drink, wanting to stay sober for what he's going to do with you tonight.

He overhears you complaining to one of your coworkers about needing to piss, and his cock twitches in his trousers as he thinks about the night he saw you piss yourself.

It had been an accident; you'd been out drinking with him, and there wasn't a toilet around, but you didn't want to go outside, so you had to try and make it to the next bar without pissing yourself. You were almost there when you felt it start to come out. You made a run for it, and Buggy followed you to guard you. However, he didn't turn around to check for onlookers. He just shielded your body from view with his own. He was too busy staring at the puddle you were making on the floor as you pulled your already-wet underwear down so you could go in the alley. It should have been gross, but he couldn't look away. He couldn't stop thinking about burying his face between your legs.

He hears you ask your coworker to cover you so you can go to the bathroom, and she denies you, saying you close in ten minutes and asking you to hold it. The way you whine in response reminds him of how you whine to him when he teases you. He turns around, facing you. You're standing behind the bar in little black shorts, a crop top and heels, driving him insane. He's grateful for your bar's questionable short and all-black dress code.

After ushering the Buggy pirates out of the bar, you rush through your cleaning and leave your coworker to lock up. You step outside the bar and are met with Buggy waiting for you, leaning against an opposite wall. He's watching the way you walk over to him with a grin on his face. You're wobbling, desperate to piss, and trying to hold it in. You're fidgeting, and it makes Buggy laugh. You scold him, which he pays no mind to before lifting you over his shoulder and carrying you to your home, which isn't far from the bar.

As soon as he's in the door, he puts you down and watches as you run towards your bathroom. Like the predator he is, he lures you into a false sense of security by encouraging you to go to the toilet while he puts your stuff down. However, when you get to the bathroom door, you're greeted by one of his hands holding it closed. You try to get it to let go, but it's no use. Buggy is stronger than you. You scream Buggy's name in anger, and suddenly, his hand is joined by the rest of him.

“Can I help you, sweetheart?” he asks, feigning ignorance and moving his hands to your hips now that his body is blocking the door.

“Please move, Bug. I need to go so bad. It's not funny,” you whine, nearly in tears from the pressure on your bladder. Buggy pulls you into a messy kiss, and when you pull away, he expects to see you glaring. Instead, you're looking up at him with teary eyes and the cutest little pout. He wants to ruin you. “I need the toilet,” you whimper.

“There's one right here,” he says, patting his thighs, and you immediately stop struggling in his grasp. You look up at him in bewilderment.

“That's not funny.”

“I'm not joking,” he responds, leaning down to kiss your neck. “If you think it's too gross, I'll move, but I want to feel you let it go so bad.” He groans into your ear before resuming his kisses. He can tell you're thinking it over.

“What about the mess?” You ask, voice shaky and unsure.

“I'll clean it up.”

“Okay,” your voice is small and desperate, but having your permission launches Buggy into action. He lifts you and carries you over to the guest bedroom that he sometimes crashes in when he's docked here. He dumps you on the bed and helps you strip down to your underwear. Your hands instinctively fly between your legs to cup your pussy, but Buggy is quick to swat them away. He grips the back of your thighs and pushes your legs up towards your chest. Buggy leans down to kiss your stomach, leaving red lipstick marks in his wake. You moan as you finally start to relieve yourself. Buggy leans back, gaze fixed on your cunt.

“Yeah. That's it, baby. Let go for me,” he encourages as he watches you make a mess of your underwear, the sheets, and his trousers. You almost hate how good it felt. Buggy leans down to kiss you, but it's a kiss full of aggression and desperation. “That was so fucking hot,” he growls into the kiss.

He pulls away from the kiss to stare at you, from his makeup all over your skin to your soiled underwear; he wishes he had a camera on him right now. He reaches down and pulls your underwear off, tucking the soaked fabric into his trouser pocket to take with him when they depart from your island. Your exposed pussy has him drooling, and then he hears you whimpering for him to do something other than stare at the mess you made. He can tell the embarrassment is starting to creep in, so he leans back down to your face, shushing you and kissing your lips. He savours the kiss, knowing you probably won't kiss him for the rest of the night after what he's about to do.

Buggy drops to his knees on the floor and drags you closer to the edge of the bed. He then dives right in, licking and sucking at your pussy. He buries his tongue in your hole, moaning loudly at the taste. He'd fantasised about doing this to you for months, but none of his dreams come close to how it feels to have you with him right now, indulging in his dirtiest fantasy. He drags his long tongue back up to your clit and suctions his mouth around it, flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud. You're so close to cumming, and with the relief you've already had tonight, you feel tears start to pool.

“Please, Buggy. I'm so close,” you moan, bucking your hips up into his face. Buggy's hands hold you in place as he sucks harshly on your clit as pushes two fingers into you. You moan and arch your back as he fingers you open. His tongue feels so good, and the extra stimulation of his fingers has an orgasm washing over you easily. You moan Buggy's name as tears roll down your face. He's completely focused on drawing your orgasm from you. He licks at every drop that leaks from your sweet pussy.

When you've calmed down, Buggy rises to his feet. He stares down at you like he's staring at his last meal. Your makeup is just as smudged as his. Your skin is covered in remnants of him. You're a vision of pleasure, panting and drooling as you come down from your intense orgasm. Buggy commits the sight to his memories. He towers over the bed, reminding you of how big Buggy is.

“You ready for me?” he asks, detached hands groping your body. When you nod and give him permission to fuck you, he grins something evil. He attaches his hands and manoeuvres you up the bed so your head is against the pillows. He wastes no time pushing his cock into you; if you haven't woken up the neighbours yet, then you definitely will when Buggy starts to thrust his hips. “You look so pretty under me,” he coos. “I should take you to sea with me so I can fuck you on my ship every day,” he says. You know you're close; you feel the tension building inside you. Buggy knows it, too. He can feel your pussy clenching down around him. Right as the tension is about to snap, Buggy pulls his cock out of you, stopping your orgasm in its tracks. You cry out in frustration.

“It's okay, I got you. I just need you to turn over for me,” he says, helping you turn onto your hands and knees. He slowly pushes his cock back into your waiting pussy. He slides a hand over the skin of your back, and then he pauses. He spots the mark on the back of your shoulder. It's a love bite Shanks had given you during your last hookup a few days prior to Buggy arriving. “Who else are you fucking?” he asks, filled with rage. You want him to continue, but you're unsure how he'll react to hearing Shanks' name after all this time.

“Bug, listen-” He doesn't listen. Buggy’s insecurity and the feelings for you he's mostly ignored have risen to the surface. He drapes his whole body over yours to speak directly into your ear.

“If you want to cum, you better tell me who else has been inside of my woman” His voice is low and threatening, and it has you gushing and clenching around him.

“Shanks,” You say, trying to move on Buggy's cock that's still inside of you. Buggy goes completely silent, not growling and panting like he had been seconds ago. It's like his rage has been quelled.

“red-haired?” he asks in shock. You nod the best you can while being squished underneath him. You're expecting another spell of rage, but you feel Buggy's smile against your skin instead. “you promise it's only us?”

“Yes, Buggy. I promise. Now please make me cum” you whimper. Buggy gives in immediately, rutting his hips against yours with reckless abandon. If anything, he's more passionate and determined to make you cum after finding out you've also been with his self-declared nemesis.

“Cum for me,” he says, voice easily cutting through your moans. Your body obeys him without question, slamming face-first into your orgasm like you were made just for him. He cums along with you, pulling out and spilling over your back. Once you've both finished, he reaches for the tissues you keep on the bedside table and wipes his cum off your back.

He then carefully picks you up and carries you to the bathroom, setting you down on the toilet seat. He starts running the shower. As he waits for the water to heat up, he brushes his teeth and tongue with the spare toothbrush you keep for him. He jokes that you can kiss him now and laughs when he looks down at you to see you puckering your lips. He indulges, pressing an overly dramatic kiss to your lips. He tries to calm his heart when you laugh at his silliness, but he can no longer deny his feelings. To distract himself, he ushers you into the shower so he can clean you up properly. He's got both of you clean and in your bed within no time.

He lies next to you in bed, indulging himself in the domestic side of you despite knowing he's got to leave for another voyage tomorrow. He lets you press kisses all over his face and ask him questions about his adventures that he's more than happy to fill you in on. After a while, a comfortable silence fills your bedroom, and Buggy thinks you're finally going to fall asleep so he can leave. He's not quite so lucky; amidst the silence, you raise a hand to cup his cheek and say something that makes his heart feel like it's about to burst out of his chest.

“You're so pretty without makeup, Bug” He's not used to these kinds of compliments, and he buries his face in your neck, grumbling at you to ‘shut the fuck up and go to sleep.’ You listen, giggling as you get comfortable against your pillows.

You hear Buggy call you the most precious jewel on the grand line and realise he must think you’re asleep. You don’t have the heart to wake up and embarrass him so you keep your eyes closed as you take in his sweet compliments and confessions he could never say to you whilst awake.

When you wake up, Buggy is gone from your bed. You check the guest room to see new sheets have been put on the bed, and you look out the window to see your soiled sheets freshly washed and on the line. You smile to yourself as you go downstairs to make breakfast for yourself. Both of your men now know you're sleeping with both of them and if your calculations are correct - and all goes well on their voyages - then both of your men will return to your village on the same day.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A few days pass, and your shifts feel boring without your pirate men bothering you the whole time. You had taken to dressing up a little more for work just in case one of them comes back early and walks into the bar while you're on shift.

Tonight, you're wearing a black minidress and thigh-high boots. You know you look good, having spent 10 minutes staring yourself down in the mirror before leaving the house. Neither of your men showed up at the bar. You'd heard whispers about a pirate ship docking up and gotten your hopes up. You swing open your front door, sulking over the lack of your not-yet boyfriends. However, when you wander through the door, you notice a tall figure blocking the doorway to your living room. At first, he startles you, but you give him a warm smile when you finally realise who it is.

“Hi, Mr.Beckman”, you say, offering him your hand, which he presses a kiss to. He informs you that his captain is waiting for you in the living room, and then he takes his leave after apologising for invading your privacy. You tell him he's welcome anytime and thank him as he leaves your home, leaving you with the red-haired man you find sitting on your sofa.

“Shanks!” you yell, surprised that he's come home a day early. He stands up to catch you as you run into his arm. He picks you up and spins you around, leaving a kiss on your forehead. “You're early”, you point out.

“We were ahead of schedule, and I wanted to see my girl,” he says, pulling you in for a proper kiss. “this dress looks so good on you”, he groans into the kiss before pulling back and asking you to do a twirl so he can check you out properly. He whistles lowly as his eyes take in every inch of your body, all dressed up for him.

“I wore this for you. I've been waiting for you to come back. Why don't you come see what's underneath it?” you say, guiding his big hand under your dress. When Shanks finds his path to your cunt, unobstructed by any panties, he laughs. He moves his hand from your dress, smoothing down the skirt of your dress and then lifting his hand to your chin to tilt your face towards him.

“As much as I want you to give me a proper welcome home, I need to talk to you,” he says, pecking your lips and sitting on the sofa. Shanks pats the space next to him, and you sit down, tucking yourself into his side. “I heard rumours kicking around that my sweet girl has been getting cosy with another pirate”, he says, and you roll your eyes at him, partially because he won't be mad when he finds out who it is and partially because you're not exclusive with either of them.

“It's Buggy,” you say, swinging a leg over Shanks to straddle his lap. His momentarily stormy expression relaxes when he hears the name of the third party in your trio.

“Buggy?”

“I know, I was surprised too. It's like fate is trying to keep us together. I've always belonged to you guys,” You say, grinding your hips down over his hardening cock. Neither you nor Shanks have ever been shy about how you feel about Buggy, but he was always too prideful to admit his feelings. Shanks is smiling now that he knows you haven't been disloyal to him. “he'll be back tomorrow if everything goes to plan,” you say.

“I'd bet you'd like having us both together, wouldn't you, baby?” he teases, bucking his hips upwards and knocking you forward into his chest. “you'd like to take both our cocks in this slutty pussy” The addition of Buggy, though he's not physically there, has ignited Shanks. He's launched into action, talking filthy in your ear as you grind your bare pussy over his crotch. “But you'll have to deal with just me tonight. Is one cock gonna be enough to fuck my greedy girl?”

You nod frantically, adjusting yourself so that you're grinding against his thigh. He chuckles at your eagerness and guides your hips over his leg. You ride his thigh as he leans back into the sofa cushions and watches you. He keeps his hand settled on your hips as you drag your pussy over the muscle of his thigh. Shanks notices you're getting close to an orgasm and tightens his grip to stop you from reaching your high. You whine in protest, and he can tell you're about to start complaining, but he cuts you off himself.

“I want to taste your cum”, he says, pushing you to stand up. He laughs as you stand on wobbly legs. He tugs at the bottom of your dress, signalling for you to take it off while he removes his clothes. He pauses between removing articles of clothing to watch you shimmy the dress down your pretty body and kick it off. Seeing you naked is better than any treasure Shanks could find at sea. Once he's naked, he lies back against the sofa and then beckons you back over to him. “take a seat”, he instructs, helping you straddle his face without falling off the couch.

You lean forward, taking a testing lick at his cock as his tongue makes contact with your pussy. He wastes no time shoving his tongue into your hole and licking at your walls. You moan loudly as you begin to take his cock into your mouth. His cock is thick, and it tests the stretch of your pretty lips. Shanks moves his tongue so your clit, licking and sucking at it as you start to bob your head.

You're both laser-focused on making each other cum. Shanks suctions his mouth around your clit, flicking his tongue over it as he makes out with your pussy. Considering he only has one arm, his grip on you is steady as he holds you in place. You try your best to take his cock as far as you can, and when you take him to the base without choking, you feel the vibrations of his moans against your pussy. Shanks is always vocal, letting you know how good you are.

You start to struggle when you get close to your orgasm. You can't focus on sucking him or bobbing your head while you're moaning and whimpering.

“OK, baby. That's enough,” he says, squeezing your thighs to keep your attention on his words. “Just let me make you cum”, he says, pulling back down to his face once again. His grip is sturdy and keeps you steady as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. He loudly cleans up every single drop from your cunt. Your tense, shaking muscles don't phase him as he holds you in place. He only lets go once he's sure you're done.

Shanks helps you up before standing up and grabbing your hand, letting you pull him through the house and into your bedroom. He lifts you with one arm and kisses you before planting you onto your bed. He tells you to lay back against the pillows, and you follow without question. Shanks climbs onto the bed, sitting on his knees between your legs.

“You're so beautiful”, he says, staring at your naked body so intensely that his gaze has you shifting in discomfort.

“stop staring at it and just fuck me” you whine. Shanks looks up at you with a dark grin that reminds you of who you're dealing with. You've had your soft, warm welcome home, and now it's playtime. Shanks is far more in control than Buggy; riling up Shanks isn't as easy. A little bit of attitude and lack of manners is a good start.

“You wanna tell me what to do, princess?” he asks, you know it's a rhetorical question but you answer anyway.

“I'm not telling you what to do. I'm just giving you a heavy-handed suggestion,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him. He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but you know he's enjoying it; his cock is hard and leaking. He uses his strength to turn you over onto your hands and knees. Once you're in position, he lands a smack on your bare ass, making you gasp.

“How's that for heavy-handed?” he says, massaging the area he had smacked to soothe it.

“More”, you sigh, “Please, Captain”. He groans at the title. You had taken to calling him captain in the bedroom; it is his official title, and it's a reminder of his strength and power. He obliges, giving you a few more swats on the ass before rolling you back over so you can lean your head against the pillows.

“Do you misbehave for Buggy too, or are you a good girl for him?” he asks, leaning over to look into your eyes. He knows your answer is going to annoy him when he sees the cocky smile that settles on your face.

“It's neither. Buggy is a good boy for me,” Shanks laughs, not at all surprised by your confession. “Although he did take charge last time, I guess being a yonko boosted his confidence,” you said, smiling while remembering your most recent time with Buggy. Shanks is still looking at you with his eyebrow raised. “And I was good as gold for him”, you tease, tangling your hands in his red locks and pulling him into a kiss.

“You can behave for other men, but you can't help yourself with me," he says, pressing his fingers to your mouth. You obey his wordless instructions and take them into your mouth. Now that you're gagged, Shanks can speak without backtalk, and your pussy drools with every word that leaves his mouth. “I was going to be nice; fuck you nice and slow and make love to you, but you just can't help running this bratty mouth. I missed my sweet girl and her perfect pussy, but now I have to deny myself to teach you a lesson.” he pulls his fingers from your mouth, waiting to hear a quiet “sorry, captain” from you.

When you apologise, he presses his thumb against your clit and rubs in circles, chuckling at the way you moan out and open your legs. He pushes two spit-soaked fingers into your hole and warns you to keep still as your hips buck up into his hand. You try your best to stay still as Shanks, who holds an unbothered expression on his face, plays with your pussy. He rubs your clit with his thumb while he fingers you. Having one arm has aided with his fingering skills. He hasn't set a rule on volume, and he never has; in all the punishments he's given you, he's never cut off your ability to tell him how good he makes you feel. He's too enamoured with your voice to gag you for more than two minutes. You moan and whimper and beg for him to speed up. The stimulation he's providing you with feels so good, but it's not enough to send you over the edge.

His cock is red and drooling precum. You know he's as desperate as you are, but he's holding himself off.

“Don't you wanna feel good, Captain? I can jerk you off,” you say, reaching out towards him. He shakes his head, pulling his fingers from your cunt only to slap it, fingers smacking harshly against your clit, making you yelp. You're so close to cumming.

“thought I told you to keep fucking still”, he growls, returning to his task of slowly fingering for you. He looks up at your face, expression faltering at the tears starting to pool in your eyes. “Just be good for me, sweetheart,” he says, his voice softening. His cock twitches when he hears you say an obedient “Yes, Captain.”

He speeds up his fingers, fucking you right close to the edge and then stopping as he feels your walls start to spasm around his fingers. Having your orgasm ripped away from you prompts the tears to start falling. Shanks leans down to kiss away your tears, whispering about how pretty you look. You know what he wants to hear.

“I'm sorry, Captain. I promise I'll be good,” you beg. Shanks smiles softly, pressing his fingers to your entrance. “Please, I need to cum. I promise I won't be a brat.”

Shanks cuts off your begging by kissing you, messily pushing his tongue into your mouth. He pushes his fingers back inside of you and thrusts, curling them against your walls.

“Cum whenever you want,” he says against your mouth, intimidating demeanour gone and replaced with your sappy, loving man. You cum with a cry of his name, legs attempting to close around his hand. He works you through it, cooing at you as you gush around his fingers. He pulls his fingers from your pussy and licks them clean as you regain your breath. “tastes so fucking good.”

You watch him intently as he spits onto your pussy and uses his cock to spread it between your folds. You're still sensitive and the feeling makes you twitch. Shanks smiles at you as he pushes his cock inside you, pressing kisses on your face as you whimper at the way his cock stretches your pussy. He starts to thrust, making you arch against him. Your hands reach up to his hair as he sloppily makes out with you. When he pulls away from the messy kiss, you whine his name.

“What is it, princess?” he asks. You wordlessly open your mouth, tongue lolling out. Shanks doesn't need to be told what you want. He spits into your mouth, whispering praises as you swallow. “See what happens when you're a good girl for me?” he says, kissing you again.

Shanks is committed to making you cum, hips laying heavy thrusts as his cock all but splits you open. His lips trail over your skin like a fountain pen on paper, signing his name in invisible ink. His voice has your mind reeling. You feel delirious. You're close already, and Shanks can tell.

“Wait for me, baby. I'm almost there”, He groans, feeling the first signs of his own orgasm. You're not sure if you can hold off any longer, and you tell Shanks as much as your nails cling to his back muscles. He gives you permission to cum, and you fall right over the edge along with him. Your pussy spasms around his cock, milking him for all he's worth while you gush around him. He says something to you, but all you can make out is your name. As you start to calm, Shanks stays inside you, laying his full body weight on you.

“you wanna know something, baby?”

“hmm”

“I've been in love with you since we were eleven,” he says like it's nothing. You go to protest, but he cuts you off to continue. “Buggy is too.”

“This is just the pussy making you talk crazy,” you say, too tired to deal with Shanks's bullshit.

“Nuh-uh. Bug and I used to talk about it whenever you went crying to Rayleigh that we were picking on you.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“We found our way back to you, didn't we? Do you really think we'd be using this tiny island in the middle of nowhere as a base if we weren't obsessed with you?” He says, hand-drawing patterns over your skin.

“Whatever. Just pull out and go to sleep” You huff, and Shanks does as you ask, gently pulling out of you and rolling onto his back. He waits for you to roll over before tucking himself against your back, pulling flush against his chest. He presses a kiss to your shoulder and lets you get comfortable. Just as he's about to drift off, you softly call his name.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Say I do love you back; what would happen?”

“Honestly, not much. We'd just be official. We can stop acting like this is just sexual. If Buggy can man up and admit his feelings, we can admit nothing between us was ever casual, and it was always supposed to be this way,” he says matter of factly. You nod, turning over in his arm so you can Bury your face in his chest.

“Good night, Shanks.”

“Good night, Baby.”

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The next morning, Shanks follows you around town like a lost puppy, shadowing you as you buy groceries for the bar. He helps you carry the bags back and even helps you put away your bags when you get back. He can't help but sneak kisses between tasks, not being discreet about your feelings for each other. He's also more antsy than usual; he's sticking close to you, looking around like a meerkat and absentmindedly playing with the fabric of your top when he isn't carrying something for you.

“Are you okay? You're not usually this antsy,” you say, pressing the back of your hand against his forehead like you're taking his temperature.

“I'm just keeping an eye out for Buggy” It's kind of sweet how desperately he wants to include Buggy.

“You'll hear him before you see him,” you say, making Shanks chuckle fondly. “And that probably won't be until later tonight. When he docks up here, I usually don't see him until my shift,” you inform him. Shanks nods, chilling out with your words.

A couple of his crewmates are already drinking in your bar as you clean up, so you're ready to open. Shanks’ men are nicer to you than Buggy's. Beckman is always a gentleman; he's even played security guard for you several times, kicking out patrons who wouldn't take no for an answer. When you ask Yasopp to lift his feet so you can sweep under his table, he swings his boots onto the chair opposite him with a sharp salute and a “yes, ma'am” that has you rolling your eyes.

In comparison, Buggy's crew aren't as welcoming. His business partners have never caused any problems when he's brought them in. Crocodile and Mihawk were initially intimidating, but you won them over with your selection of wine and the knowledge that you were once an apprentice of the pirate king. Alvida was happy to have another woman to talk to after being stuck with Buggy for so long. Outside of those three, his underlings had been rather cold, and you've occasionally had to shut down the bar due to their rowdiness. You dread the two crews meeting tonight and hope the relationship between the captains can enforce an amicable atmosphere between the crews.

Your coworker comes in to complete the opening and leaves you to get ready in the staff room. Your outfit consists of a black mini skirt and a matching black top. You've already done your hair and makeup, and you know Shanks is going to have a hard time keeping his hands off of you until Buggy shows up.

As you walk back into the bar, your heels clack against the wood floor. You get a few whistles from Shanks' crew, and you're all but ambushed by the red-haired man himself, who basically corners you against the bar. His crew are no strangers to the affection between you and Shanks, so once they're done teasing their captain, they leave you be. Shanks wraps his arm around you, complimenting your outfit choice.

“Do you think you can behave yourself until Buggy gets here?” you ask as Shanks' hand cheekily slips beneath your skirt. You're suddenly reminded of Buggy doing the same thing to you with his hand. You roll your eyes at the similar tastes of your men.

“I don't know. You look good enough to eat”, Shanks growls, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek with an embarrassingly loud ‘muah’ noise that has your coworker fake gagging behind the bar. Shanks reluctantly lets you go and takes a seat at the bar. He watches you busy yourself with refilling his crew's drinks while you both wait for Buggy's arrival.

You don't have to wait long. About half an hour into your shift, the door swings open and Buggy storms in. He's by himself, meaning he probably saw Shanks through the window and sent his crew away. He's also red in the face - whether from embarrassment or rage is unclear.

“SHANKS” He yells, the top half of his body flying over to where Shanks is sitting while his legs run to catch up. Shanks looks up at Buggy fondly, and memories of your time together as a trio come flooding back as you observe them. Buggy screams something about Shanks embarrassing and betraying him, which Shanks merely laughs off. Buggy pauses mid-rant when his eyes land on you. “Hi y/n”

“Hi, Buggy,” you smile back, leaning over the bar to pull him into a kiss that clearly shocks him as it almost knocks his hat off. Shanks tilts his hat back onto his head and kisses Buggy's cheek, making him so flustered that you can practically see the steam radiating off him.

“Why don't we take our girl home and have a real conversation?” suggests Shanks. Buggy, unable to respond coherently, just nods, and Shanks tells you to get your stuff ready. You apologise to your coworker on the way out, who simply says she already knew this would happen. You and Shanks animatedly talk about the past while Buggy is uncharacteristically quiet, interjecting with his own point of view every so often. When you enter your house, you sit on the sofa, leaving your men to sit on either side of you.

“Why do we have to talk,” Buggy grumbles, tugging at the fabric of your skirt. “Why can't we just tear this off you, fuck you and then talk another time.”

“Because I don't want any problems between my favourite guys,” you say, batting your eyelashes at Buggy. Buggy gives in embarrassingly quickly, looking up at Shanks, who's bearing a similar expression to you. Buggy's heart squeezes as the feelings he's spent years suppressing rise to the surface.

“I'm not sure what I did to make you hate me,” says Shanks, but Buggy cuts him off.

“I don't hate you. I never hated you. I was willing to follow you through hell. We were supposed to find the one piece together, but then you changed your mind. I felt betrayed”

“I'm sorry, Buggy. I really am.” Shanks says, reaching across you to caress Buggy's cheeks. Buggy leans into the affection, making you smile warmly.

“Whatever. Can we get to the good stuff now? we'll handle all the emotions later.” Buggy says as his detached hand grazes Shanks’ crotch. “Besides, I think our princess wants some attention.” Shanks turns his attention to you, laughing at the pouty expression on your face. He is not done revelling in the fact that he finally has his two favourite people in front of him, so Shanks pulls Buggy in for a kiss that Buggy reciprocates with a quiet moan. They're clearly happy to have each other back, so while they kiss, you lean in and push Shanks's coat off his shoulders, pressing a kiss on his neck as you do so. When Shanks pulls away, he has a smear of lipstick around his mouth, making both Buggy and you laugh.

“You want some lipstick too, baby?” he asks, pulling you in for an enthusiastic kiss. Your teeth almost clash with how much force he puts into the kiss. It reminds you of how Buggy kisses you. It feels like he's overwhelmed and trying to pour some of his feelings onto you with his tongue, which he pushes into your mouth. You feel Buggy's mouth pressing against your neck as his hand plays with the front of your skirt. Buggy also lifts his head when you pull away from the steamy kiss. You can see how hard Shanks is, and you're sure Buggy is no different.

“There's more room on my bed than on here,” you say, starting to stand. Shanks also rises and lifts you over his shoulder. Buggy leads the way to your room, though Shanks is more than familiar with the layout of your house and lets one of his hands fly over to your ass. Your skirt isn't long enough to cover your whole ass in this position, so Buggy takes the opportunity to squeeze and grope your ass. You're thankful that Shanks is sturdy enough to be unphased by your squirming. Shanks drops you on the bed, leaving both of the men towering over you at the edge of the bed.

“There's still one thing that hasn't been addressed”, Says Shanks, twirling Buggy's hair around his finger. “Our insatiable girl has been fucking us for months behind each other's backs” You go to defend yourself and remind them that you were never exclusive with either of them, but Buggy's hands grab at you and pull you to sit up at the edge of your bed.

“You're right. I think she should have to answer for her actions. Any flashy punishments in mind?” Buggy asks. Shanks thinks it over for a second, picturing in his head all the positions both he and Buggy could put you in.

“You know how sensitive she is”, says Shanks and Buggy nods, more than familiar with how receptive you are to his touch. “I say we give her exactly what she wants; make her cum over and over again until her pretty body can't take anymore.” He says. It almost frustrates you how well they know you. Overstimulation is easy to achieve with you, and it's the perfect punishment that involves getting their dicks wet.

“I say one orgasm for every month she was hiding us from each other. When did you start seeing us, sweetheart?” Buggy asks, using his hand to keep your eyes on him. You know you can't lie. You started seeing Shanks first, and he's fully aware of how long he's had you back.

“Six months”, you say, your voice quiet. You're not even sure if you can handle that many orgasms, but you're willing to try. Both men start to strip as Buggy gruffly tells you to do the same. You're completely naked, and the two men are both in their underwear. Shanks instructs Buggy to sit up against the pillows on your bed. You do as you're told, as Shanks tells you to sit between Buggy's legs and back against his chest.

When you're in position, Shanks lies on his front, pulling you slightly down the bed so he can get a better angle to lick at your cunt. He shoves his tongue into your pussy, eating you out with vigour. He drags his tongue back up to your clit, lapping at it and then sucking at it. Your back arches away from Buggy as you cry out in pleasure. Buggy reaches up to play with your tits, adding to your stimulation. Shanks pushes two thick fingers into your pussy, as he all but makes out with it. Your fingers tangle in Shanks's beautiful red locks, similar to how he's tangled up in your heartstrings.

“Talk to us, pretty girl. Does that feel good?” Buggy asks, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth. You frantically nod, and Shanks's tongue sends shockwaves through your whole body.

“Feels amazing”

“You gonna cum?” he asks, and you nod again, gasping out a yes as you feel the familiar stirring in your stomach. “You hear that, Shanks? She's gonna cum”

Shanks waits until your moans start to shake and then pulls away, slipping his fingers out your soaked cunt and over your shoulder into Buggy's waiting mouth. Having your orgasm ripped out from under you has you crying out and writhing in Buggy's arms. Buggy's unbothered by your whining as he sucks your juices off of Shanks’ fingers. He moves his arms down to wrap around your waist. The sigh has Shanks palming himself through his underwear. Shanks looks down at you, heart softening as your eyes, wet with frustration, blink up at him. You're not being bratty today, something that surprises him. You're far too excited to have both lovers in one place to act up now.

“I said we'd give you six orgasms. I didn't say we'd give them to you easily,” says Shanks, making Buggy laugh in your ear at the way you groan. You should've known the punishment would go further. Shanks leans back down to finish his meal but stops short of actually pressing his mouth to you to tease his fingers at the entrance to your hole. You beg him to do something, eyes screwed shut in frustration. Both men coo at your desperation. “I would if only I had something a bit thicker to fill up this pretty pussy with,” he says, holding his hand out to Buggy, who grumbles something about Shanks being annoying. You can feel that Buggy’s hard cock is no longer pressing against your back, and when you open your eyes, it's in Shanks's hand. “Open that pretty mouth and stick out your tongue”, he orders.

When you open your mouth, Shanks spits onto your waiting tongue and lays Buggy's cock down on it. You hear Buggy hiss at the sensation of your tongue against his cock. Shanks spits over Buggy's cock, using his tongue to spread the saliva. You can't believe how turned on you are by this. You didn't even consider using his power in the bedroom like this. Buggy is whimpering in your ear; the sound only makes you wetter.

“Stop teasing. We're supposed to punish her, not me,” says Buggy. Shanks apologises and pulls away, instructing you to suck Buggy's cock. You obey, egged on by the praise Buggy throws at you. Shank's pulls Buggy's cock from your mouth and pushes it into your hole. Both you and Buggy moan. Shanks's eyes are fixed on where Buggy’s cock is stretching you out. He slowly starts to move, and Buggy's grip on you tightens.

“How does she feel, Bug?”

“Warm. So fucking tight,” Buggy moans. Shanks leans down to continue his earlier task of licking at your sensitive clit. This time he doesn't stop licking and sucking until you're sent over the edge. Buggy is close too but holds off the best he can while your pussy clenches around him. You moan their names as Shanks stays in position between your legs, licking you through your high. When he finally sits up on his knees, he pulls Buggy's throbbing cock from your pussy and holds it up to your lips.

“Be a good girl and finish him off”, Shanks says, whispering encouragement as you accept it into your mouth.

“Fuck, Shanks let go of it. Hold her head in place,” growls Buggy. Shanks listens, moving his hand to get a firm grip on your hair, holding you in place as Buggy starts to face fuck you. You can feel Buggy clinging to you, telling you how good your mouth feels. It doesn't take long for Buggy to cum down your throat, and you do your best to swallow the whole load. Some drips from your mouth, which Shanks is quick to clean up with his tongue. Buggy's cock goes back to his body while Shanks helps turn you over so that you're straddling Buggy. Buggy immediately pulls you into a messy kiss as Shanks sits back to appreciate the two of you.

“You're both so pretty” He coos.

“You red-haired idiot, don't say things like that”, Buggy whines, obviously flustered.

You let Shanks guide you to the middle of the bed and bend you over, shoving a pillow beneath your hips for comfort. You hear Shanks ask Buggy to hand over his belt; moments later, your hands are secured behind your back. Shanks, who's now removed his underwear, slides his hard cock between your folds. He teases your hole, pushing his tip in and then pulling away. He waits a second to take in your pretty noises before giving in to your whining and pushing his cock. He's been hard since he saw you at the beginning of your bar shift, so it's a miracle he doesn't cum as soon as he feels your pussy wrapped around his cock. He lets out a moan that has both you and Buggy drooling from how good it sounds. Shanks starts to thrust and tells Buggy to watch how well you take his cock.

Buggy, who's tying his hair out of the way, looks up at Shanks, who tells him how pretty he looks. Buggy hasn't adjusted to how sappy Shanks is and flushes completely red. Instead of answering, he just pulls Shanks into an aggressive kiss. You can hear the sounds of their kisses behind you, and the sound makes you gush around his cock.

“You feel so fucking good”, groans Shanks, reaching, running his hand down your back to grip your hair and pull you upward against his chest. Buggy moves on the bed and is now in front of you. He kisses you and reaches a hand down to rub your clit. You moan into Buggy's mouth as he speeds up his fingers. “You're squeezing me so hard,” says Shanks, heavy thrusts jolting you forward.

You cum as Shanks ruts into you, chasing his own high. Your cries of pleasure make it difficult to kiss you, so Buggy moves his mouth to the crook of your neck, cooing praises into your skin. You hear Shanks behind you moaning and cursing, dangerously close to the edge with the way your pussy walls clench around him. He cums with a shaky groan, filling you up with his cum. He relinquishes his grip on your hair, chuckling fondly as you slump forward against Buggy. Shanks massages the sore area with his hand, giving you a moment to breathe.

“How many orgasms have you had now, pretty girl?” asks Shanks.

“Two”, you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face.

“Good girl, make sure you don't lose count.” Shanks and Buggy both guide you to lie on your back, and Shanks tells Buggy to hold your legs open. Buggy does as he's told, holds your legs spread, and pushes up your chest. Shanks grabs hold of Buggy's hair and pushes him down between your legs. “Clean her up for me.”

Buggy nods as he sticks his tongue inside of your cum filled Buggy. Shanks watches as Buggy eats Shanks's cum out of you. Buggy is eager to please as he licks at your cunt. It took him a while to get the hang of eating you out when you first started hooking up, but now he has an understanding of your body that no one else has. He works you over with his tongue, your post-orgasm sensitivity pushing you to the edge quickly. If you're this sensitive already, you dread to think how you'll feel after the next few orgasms you've been promised. Shanks looks from Buggy's face to yours and immediately recognises how close you are. He tells Buggy you're near and to make you cum now. Buggy pays extra attention to your clit as you attempt to buck up into his face. He holds you down as his tongue sends you over the edge and straight into an orgasm.

You writhe as you cum, drenching Buggy's face. Buggy remains unmoved, tongue still working at you even when you start to come down again. In fact, Buggy doesn't let up at all when your third orgasm quells; he pushes two fingers into you, ready to send you into a fourth orgasm. You're ascending from one plane of existence to the next as Buggy has the next orgasm building so quickly after your last. Every nerve in your body tingles and an odd feeling settles in your lower stomach.

Shanks looks on in awe; watching his two fated mates so animalistic has him too enamoured to even worry about his hardening cock. He's sure the way you're crying out for them is disturbing your neighbours, but he doesn't have it in him to care. Shanks watches as Buggy adds another finger. The pleasure is so intense that you shift up the bed, instinctively searching for something other than the sheets to grip. Shanks moves his hand from Buggy's hair to your face, caressing your cheek and running his thumb over your lips.

“Don't run from it, princess. Let Buggy make you cum” he says, voice soft. As if on cue, you're launched into another mind-blowing orgasm. It takes a second to register that you're gushing all over Buggy's face because Buggy seems completely unbothered by it, continuing to work you through your high and prolong your orgasm. Your body feels momentarily numb as you arch off the bed, shaking as you soak the sheets beneath you. Buggy finally relents, shifting back onto his knees, wiping his face with the back of his hand and messing up his makeup. You notice the way his face, neck and torso are dripping with your juices. You feel panic rise at the fact you've just squirted everywhere, but Shanks immediately stomps it back down by pulling you into a kiss.

Once you're rolled into a spot where you're not lying in a pool of cum, you get a glance of yourself in the mirror and almost recoil in shock. Your hair is messy, and your face is covered in smudged and transferred makeup. Your body is littered with remnants of lipstick and hickeys. When you look up at Shanks and Buggy, who look equally roughed up, they're staring at you with fondness in their eyes. You can't believe the men above you are looking at you with such hunger when you look this much of a mess.

“You're so beautiful,” says Shanks. Buggy's lipstick transferred onto your face almost makes it look like you have messy clown makeup on, and it causes a stir in Shanks’ crotch that he takes note of for future reference - maybe he’ll ask you to dig in Buggy’s makeup bag. Buggy is kneeling next to him, leaning on his shoulder to catch his breath. Most of his makeup is gone, having been transferred onto you and Shanks, but he still looks radiant to you. He has a smile settled on his face, a soft, content smile you don't see often from him. It makes your stomach warm to know you have this level of connection with two people. “Do you want to stop? We can stop if it's too much. Four orgasms is alot,” says Shanks, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he observes your ragged breathing. You frantically shake your head, immediately having an answer for him.

“I don't wanna stop,” you whine. You might be sensitive, but you crave as much of them as you can get. “Please. I want more,” you beg. You move your exhausted body to kneel in front of Shanks and push him down to lie on his back. Shanks easily does what you want him to, lying back but using his elbow to hold himself up and watch you.

You crawl on top of Shanks, straddling his hips and stare down his torso, examining the canvas on which you and Buggy have made art; bright red lipstick and shiny lip gloss cover his neck and chest. You don't waste any more time, grabbing ahold of his hard cock and guiding it to your hole so you can sink down on it. You feel Buggy's presence behind you and pull him closer to you so he can help guide you down. Buggy tells you to bend forward so he can join in. He grabs a bottle of lube from the night side table, spreads it over his fingers and pushes two against the tight rim of your hole. You gasp and clench around Shanks, who groans but is careful not to jolt you. Buggy works you open with his fingers until you've had enough and beg him to fuck you properly.

“Please put it in. I can take it. I need it so bad,” you beg, knowing Buggy would give it to you anyway. Shanks laughs from beneath you.

“Weren't you all fucked out from four orgasms like ten minutes ago?” He asks, amused by your sudden eagerness. “I didn't know you had crazy stamina,” he comments. Neither did you. Buggy pulls his fingers out of you and lines his cock up with your ass hole. His hands grip your hips, a steady presence as he pushes inside you.

You let out a strangled moan as they're both bottomed out inside of you; you've never been this full before. The three of you take a second to breathe, and in the silence, it hits you: you're physically connected to the two people you love most. You've always been theirs, always connected with them beyond romance, and always believed that your very livelihoods are intertwined. You're overcome with a feeling of genuine love.

“Please move. I need you so bad,” you whimper. Your heightened emotions have tears building in your eyes that don't go unnoticed by Shanks, who looks over your shoulder at Buggy and signals him to start moving. Both men begin to thrust, and it feels so good you find yourself clawing at Shanks’ chest. Shanks’ cock twitches inside you at the thought of the marks that will be left behind. The feeling of both men filling you up quickly overwhelms you, and the tears spill down your cheeks.

“Oh, pretty girl, you're crying for us. Does it feel that good?” coos Shanks. He reaches his hand up to wipe at the tears. Buggy’s lips trail your shoulder blades as he whispers praises into your skin. Your legs start to shake, and you can barely support yourself. You're about to cum again, and both men can feel it.

“You feel so good, sweetheart. Your ass feels amazing,” moans Buggy. “Cum for us. I know you want to,” he says, hand reaching around to rub your clit. Your hand intertwines with Shanks’, and you pin it down to the bed by his head, squeezing his palm as you approach your orgasm. Shanks tries the best he can to fuck up into you harder, planting his feet on the bed for leverage.

Your orgasm is intense, and you sob about how good it feels as you lose your balance and slump forward to bury your face in Shanks’ neck. Shanks and Buggy continue their movements, chasing their orgasms. You barely have time to recover before you cum again, holes spasming around your men. Your vision goes white, your body goes numb, and you gush all over Shanks’ torso. Buggy is next to follow, teeth sinking into your skin as he fills you up. Then Shanks cums with a pretty moan before stilling inside you. You all stay in this position; naked, connected and in a sticky mess of cum and sweat. You're on the verge of passing out, so Buggy is uncharacteristically gentle as he pulls out, shushing you when you whine at the feeling. Buggy helps Shanks lift you off of him, and then the pair of them get you over to the guest bed so Buggy can clean you up. Shanks strips your bed and prepares your sheets for cleaning first thing in the morning. Buggy finishes cleaning up the mess of cum between your legs and over your hips and starts to wipe at your makeup that was ruined by his own cosmetics. Shanks returns to the guest bedroom and leans against the doorframe to watch the intimate moment between you and Buggy. A smile settles on his lips as he watches Buggy steal a kiss while wiping your makeup off.

“Ready for bed, you two?” he asks as Buggy throws away the wipes. Your bed is only a double, so the sleeping arrangement ends up being you fully on top of Shanks, resting your head on his chest. Buggy tucks himself into Shanks’ side and rests an arm over you.

“Love you,” you mumble as you drift off. Buggy doesn't respond, as he is too flustered. Instead, he kisses your temple and lies back down to you in slumber.

“I love you too, baby. I love both of you,” says Shanks before closing his eyes.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You wake up with your whole body feeling sore and drained of energy. You're noticeably alone, but you can hear the hushed voices of your lovers. You roll over to see them standing by the window, engrossed in conversation. Shanks is tucking Buggy's hair behind his ear, and Buggy looks like he’s been crying. You can’t see Shanks’ face, but imagine his expression must be similar.

“What are you guys talking about?” you ask, sitting up. Both men turn to you, looking startled. They hadn’t expected you to be awake yet. Buggy quickly wipes his tears, and Shanks wanders to the bed, sitting beside you.

“We were just clearing the air. You know that a lot happened between us, and Buggy and I were just working out our share of issues so that we could move forward with each other,” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead and lips. Buggy hasn’t moved from his place by the window. “How are you feeling?” he asks, voice soft and deep.

“I’m okay. I feel sore, though,” you say, pouting at the two men who are the cause of your physical exhaustion. They both smirk at your pouty face, knowing damn well that you had asked them to wreck you.

“That's cute, baby. I didn’t mean that, though. I meant, how do you feel about our relationship?” Shanks clarifies. He calls Buggy to come and sit down with the two of you.

“I want to be official - no matter what happens, I'll always be yours - but how will it work? If you’re working towards being king of the pirates, you can't keep coming back here, or you’ll make no progress,” you say. Shanks nods, looking towards Buggy. The sombre atmosphere lifts as a smile splits across both of their faces.

“We spoke a bit about that earlier. It won’t be safe for you to stay here. If info about you gets out and other pirates try to go after you, you need to be somewhere we can protect you. So we think it would be good for you to come with one of us.” Buggy says, pausing to gauge your reaction. It’s been a long time since you’ve been on a pirate ship, but you have always been pretty good with a sword. Part of you feels nostalgic about being aboard a pirate ship again. Buggy and Shanks are both emperors so no matter who you went with, you'd be safer.

“If I do go with one of you, then what about the other?” you ask, not wanting anyone to be offended that you didn't pick them.

“Then we’ll keep in touch via den den mushi and letters. I'm sure we’ll also cross paths on some islands,” says Shanks.

“It’s been a long time since I've been part of a pirate crew, but I think I can go back if it means being with you”, you say, finally wearing a smile to match those of the men sitting next to you.

You still have a few days to think over and choose who you go with, so for now, you hold out your hands and insist one of them, who ends up being Buggy, carries you to your bathroom so that you can shower together. Shanks stares at you both with hearts in his eyes, and Buggy whisks you off to the shower.

“C’mon, red-haired, our girl needs us”, he calls from the bathroom, and Shanks appears in the doorframe moments later to see you seated on the counter while Buggy turns on the shower. You’re still naked, having not been clothed after last night, and Shanks walks over to you to stand between your legs. He leans in to press little kisses all over your skin, which you interrupt by pulling him up for a kiss.

“You two better behave in the shower, or I'll kick you out”, you say, gently scolding them for all the work they put your body through the night before. You glare at both of them, and Buggy rolls his eyes, pushing back the shower curtain so Shanks can lift you and place you under the water. Both men join you and are delicate as they wash you. They don't apologise for any marks left on you; they're pretty proud of them, but they leave little kisses on them as a thank you for bringing them back together. You had previously thought you’d been fated to a life behind that bar until the universe got your boys back to you. This feels right; it feels comfortable, and you believe in soulmates more and more as every moment passes.

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thanks for reading!!! reblogs/comments are much appreciated! ♡

tag list: @bloodfixnd

pls drop a dm or ask to be added to the taglist (if you to be tagged in one specific character list just let me know!)

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