satotorulove

[satotorulove]

this is so cute i need smth like this 😭

game night gone… right?

!virgin gojo, gojo x you, gojo x reader, losing virginities, nerd gojo

okay okay okay i dabbled in writing virgin gojo and kinda nerdy gojo as an experiment, let me know what u think :))

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey!" you protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink up at him. "A drive?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

You squint. "Seriously?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasp. "OH. No way."

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

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

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

He startles in his seat.

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

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

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

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

You cackle. "That explains the Hilary Duff."

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's silent.

You glance over. "Satoru?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm a woman of culture."

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

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

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

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

And you? You're just vibing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cuts the engine.

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

You shift in your seat. "Satoru?"

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

You freeze.

He keeps going.

"I like like you." he says again.

You blink. Slowly. "What."

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

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

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

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

He falters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

"You really, like, really like me?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

"...So do it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nearly breaks the emergency parking brake.

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

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

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

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

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

You kiss him again instead of answering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. "Yup."

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

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

So you take pity on him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze. His fingers dig into your waist.

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

Your heart slams against your ribs.

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

"I wanna see you."

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

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

You chuckle a little, but nod in the end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No promises.”

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

You nod. “Satoru, yes.”

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

“You don't say.”

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

“Fuck. Fuck. I'm gonna die.”

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

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

“...So how do we...?”

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

“Oh. Cool. Yeah. Rhythm. Easy.”

It's not easy.

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

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

You bite back a grin. “That it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“HOLYSHITHOLYSHITfuckfuckfuck-”

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

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

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

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

“You screamed.”

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

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

Your brows knit together. “Fix what?”

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

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

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

You arch a brow. “Going out?”

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

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

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

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

And honestly? You're proud of it.

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

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

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

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

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

You burst out laughing. “Satoru!”

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

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

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

You’re giggling too hard to speak.

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

“Do I also get a massage?”

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

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

“Liar. I lasted like, five seconds.”

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

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

“Oh yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Satoru!"

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

"I'm still half naked!"

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

"YOU'RE GOING 70."

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

"No no no. Science."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No further questions at this time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You like it," you whisper.

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

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

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

"Satoru-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like propose."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod.

He pants. “Was it hot?”

You nod again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I better be.”

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

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

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

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

“You're welcome, I guess?”

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

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

Then he goes quiet for a moment.

“...Wait.”

Your brows furrow.

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

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

He yelps. “Ow!”

“Are you for real right now?”

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

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

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

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

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

You glance down. “Oh my god, Satoru.”

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

“What are you doing?”

“I have to tell the group chat.”

“What??”

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

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

Click.

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

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

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

A second later, your phone buzzes.

Shoko: fucking FINALLY

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

Nanami: Unsubscribe.

Utahime: You raw dogged before a second date??

Haibara: wait WHAT HAPPENED I WAS ASLEEP HELLO

You groan into the pillow.

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

“God help me,” you mutter, but your fingers curl into his shirt like you never want to let go.

[satotorulove]

slay?

[satotorulove]

i’m curious…. are there any maid sama au gojo fics ??

i’m re-watching maid sama and thought hey this would be rly cute in a fanfic

or maybe i’m still mourning maid sama 😭

[satotorulove]

“talk to me baby”

god help me.

fuck me. please.

˚₊‧꒰ა gojo satoru ﾉ f. reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𓂃 ovulation trouble

⤿ ꒰ you get so needy during ovulation but thankfully your boyfriend knows how to handle you ⭒ marathon sex ꒱

"toru— oh my god, toru,"

that's what he loved to hear. arms thrown over his broad shoulders. legs hugging him close. plunging him deeper into your needy, drenched cunt.

"enough for ya sweet girl?" huffed your boyfriend into your ear. his hands splayed over your ass and pressing you further into him. suffocating you in his body that already dwarfed you. "fucking the need right outta this pretty pussy aren't I?"

his filth smoothed with a tender concern for your pleasure. ovulation was always hell on earth for you. it didn't matter how many times you spasmed around your vibrator or endlessly humped your pillow— nothing satisfied you.

it's why you tried to hide away in the shame of your desperation. tried to avoid thinking about sex altogether, and even your boyfriend. lost in your own thoughts and needs. one in particular always reared its ugly head.

could he handle it?

"that's it. there we go pretty. taking it like a good girl."

well, four orgasms, a barely faltered pace, a spluttering tip french kissing your cervix and those endless, darkened blues staring down at you? satoru had proven he could do a lot more than handle it.

your thighs bundled in his palms. you're wrenched back. so pliable. so his. your knees kissed your tits as he pulled you into a void of limitless bliss. the same way he yanked you back on his cock. hammering you down onto his pistoning thrusts.

white clouded your vision. hazes of heat, and nothingness, and him. oh him, your perfect, nymphomaniac boyfriend.

"there she is." his grin carried in the air. flexing forearms slammed beside your head. his face hoovered your dumbstruck expression. "there's my girl, fuck. there's my gorgeous girl."

his thrusts grew near erratic. fucking out every choked moan and whimpered whine your static mind could manage. pleasure weighed on your tongue. lightened only by satoru who swooped in to suck on it with his lips on yours.

he encased your senses. brutal, and beautiful and oh so blissful. bruises painted across the backs of your thighs. you returned them with red scratches down his back. hickies all over your arched neck. tears clouding your eyes as he took you higher- and higher—

"satooorruuuuu," you sobbed. hands abandoning your favourite canvas for his hair instead. he choked a whine.

"talk to me baby," he rasped.

"I'm cumming— cumming - again, please."

please? you needn't beg. not you. his scoff and mindless, ruinous pace said it all. he angled just right. pounding on your sweetspot and catching your clit on his pelvis. fading into a tempo that fucked out that cute little— 'ah ah ah!' from your spit-webbed lips.

"c'mon," he groaned above. cock pulsing at the base, throbbing at the tip.

"cum for me. need it so bad. need my pretty girl to cum— mngh, so I can. please baby? please."

now he's the one begging. you know he doesn't mean it. or does he? the needy rumble in his throat was the last burst. the knot unravelled. you clawed his hair and sobbed his name to the ceiling as it all crashed down. shattering. blinding. his.

"torrruuu ohgod- yesyesyes," he caught your praises with his mouth and gulped them down. losing rhythm in the mindlessness of his bliss before he too crashed. spraying your clenching walls white. creaming you so full that excess squirted from your quivered slit.

the world spun. then stopped. like your head. your heart. you tugged on his strands and he collapsed into you. aimlessly humping and grinding until your whines became one.

"more," you croaked.

"more?" he laughed. broken, manic.

you pushed on his shoulders with little strength. he let you. tumbling back into the bed and instinctively cupping your ass. the rhythm flowed so natural. a choreography of your passion and need with him as your lovely partner. always ready to catch you.

"I've got you sweetheart," his deep drawl came with a promise, sealed by his bucking hips and guiding hands. fucking you down on his still hard, overly sensitive cock. guess that makes the both of you. your pussy wept with her need.

still you clung around him. face buried into his neck. drooling. crying.

"toru, toru toru — toru,"

"yeah yeah, let it out." he huffed into your ear. bouncing you just right. aiming just perfect. giving you exactly what you needed and so much more.

"gotta make sure my girl's got it all. give her all of this dick cause she fuckin' deserves it."

and still, he pressed a loving kiss to your hair.

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[satotorulove]

the mischaracterization on satoru irks me to my soul and more ppl need to see this post.

the quiet strength of satoru gojo: why parts of the fandom underestimate the strongest

time for a deep dive into one of the most misunderstood characters in jujutsu kaisen—satoru gojo—and why the fandom's persistent framing of him in comparison to suguru geto reveals something deeply uncomfortable about how many people process strength, trauma, healing, and emotional resilience. this isn’t just about two characters. it’s about the narratives people choose to uplift, the pain they validate, and the quiet courage they ignore.

the empathy gap that drives me insane

here’s the thing that’s been gnawing at me for months: this fandom will go to wild, mental-acrobatic extremes to empathize with suguru geto. people say things like: “he was traumatized by watching his friends die,” “he was exhausted by the expectations of protecting non-sorcerers,” “he was too young to handle the burden of being powerful,” or “the system failed him and pushed him to that point.”

and listen—none of that is untrue. trauma is real. the curse of empathy is real. grief and pain can twist even the most grounded person. suguru’s fall is tragic. the world he inhabited was cruel and unrelenting. he was pushed to a breaking point. his descent into villainy wasn’t born out of malice, but anguish.

but here’s what boggles the mind: the same people who empathize with suguru’s unraveling turn around and paint satoru gojo—who endured every single one of those agonies and then some—as emotionally shallow, arrogant, naive, or even emotionally dependent on suguru to keep him human. as if satoru only had worth when filtered through suguru’s emotional lens.

the double standard is staggering. the math isn’t mathing. the logic unravels when you actually sit with it.

the uncomfortable truth about relatability

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

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

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

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

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

a personal perspective: why suguru's actions are inexcusable

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

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

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

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

the myth of suguru as satoru's moral anchor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the empathy that never arrives

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

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

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

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

the strength nobody wants to acknowledge

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

satoru gojo looked at a world that:

isolated him from birth

treated him as a weapon rather than a person

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

failed to protect his best friend

constantly demanded everything from him while giving nothing back

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

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

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

he chose to:

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

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

use his power to protect rather than dominate

maintain his sense of humor and humanity despite carrying unimaginable burdens

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

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

the mischaracterization that reveals others' limitations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the flower quote and understanding without reciprocity

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

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

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

the love that bears the unbearable

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

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

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

recognizing true strength when you see it

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

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

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

the real tragedy

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

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

conclusion: putting respect on his name

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

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

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

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

and that's a kind of strength that deserves more respect than certain parts of this fandom have ever given it.

[satotorulove]

i just wanna trace his v line with my tongue.

[satotorulove]

i’m so excited for this.

bad ideas in bikini – day two.

pairing — tech bro satoru x fem reader

synopsis : gojo satoru was supposed to be taking a break, not obsessing over the woman across the hall who slammed her door in his face and lives in his head rent-free ever since. he's not the type to fall easy-too smart for that, date-to-marry only-but you? you show up in bikinis and arguments, and suddenly he's one bad decision away from wanting everything.

tags -> cruise ship au, summer situationship, romantic comedy, fluff, humor, eventual smut, porn with plot, sexual tension, banter, reader is emotionally unavailable, satoru is a workaholic, bad decisions in luxury settings, more tags to be added.

wc — 4.2k | prev | series masterlist | next

a/n: expect fast updates for this series lol :3

there’s nothing more dangerous than a man with too much time to think and no emotional supervision.  

satoru wakes up too early. not because he slept well, or even long, but because his brain has decided to run diagnostics on his entire personality at six in the morning. great. phenomenal. the cruise is working already. his neurons are firing off like they’re trying to unionize. it’s a hostile takeover inside his skull.

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

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

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

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

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

and hears your voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he winces. fair. really fair.  

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

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

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

he doesn’t even know your name.  

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

he bets the guy was boring. with weak ankles.  

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

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

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

and of course you are.  

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

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

satoru contemplates walking into the ocean.  

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

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

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

but then you moved.  

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

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

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

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

he doesn’t see the wall.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i contain multitudes.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

his phone rings. work. of course.  

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

“satoru speaking.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“but what if—”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then—  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this is going to be a long fortnight.

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

if interested, please drop a comment to the itinerary to get on the passenger list

[satotorulove]

sanrio coochie (gojo x you one shot)

okay i’m literally so sorry for this LMFAO. i had this idea and had to write a one shot about it because it’s soooo fucking satoru coded. yes, i did in fact put a kuromi pimple patch on an ingrown (SRRY FOR THE TMI) and all i could think was fucking satoru would lose his mind at that. guys this is me coping, i reread shinjuku showdown and i needed to write ridiculous satoru fluff. i hope yall enjoy… SORRY AGAIN

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

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

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

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

But then he paused.

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

You blinked.

"I had an ingrown. Shut up."

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

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

"It's not-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked absolutely fucked.

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

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

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

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

You nodded, blinking slowly, brain soup.

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

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

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

You blinked. "You're terrifying."

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

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

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

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

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

"WHY IS IT CENTERED LIKE THAT???"

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

You were crying. "You're insane."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were wheezing, clutching your stomach.

"You're unwell."

"No. I'm in love."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The sticker."

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

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

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

"Satoru, no."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked so pleased. So proud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Satoru."

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

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

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

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

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

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

A faint, distant gasp. Followed by:

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

You froze, toothbrush halfway to your mouth.

"Satoru?"

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

"She fell off."

"Who."

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

You tried not to laugh.

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

He ignored you completely, already searching the floor.

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

You blinked. "You named her?"

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

"Babe. It was a fucking pimple patch."

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

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

"Should we... have a funeral?"

"No."

"I think we should."

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

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

You raised an eyebrow.

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

"You're not gonna-"

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

He kissed your forehead softly.

"We don't leave our girls behind."

[satotorulove]

INSATIABLE ⸻ Demon Gojo

synopsis ⸻ What would you do if one day some sort of gorgeous-looking entity randomly started floating around you? definitely not make a deal with it. right?

pairing ⸻ incubus gojo x reader

cw ⸻ MDNI, NSFW, Alternate Universe—Canon Divergence, Alternate Univers—Different Powers, Demon S*x, Public S*x, Non-Consensual Touching, P0rn With Plot, P0rn with Feelings, Isolation, Bullying, Childhood Trauma, Death from Old Age, Exhibitionism, Manhandling, Supernatural Elements

wc⸻ 15k

a/n: Fingers crossed I do not get jailed again.

PART ONE

This is hard. And so inconvenient. 

How long do you have to go like this? Trying to fumble around with your fingers to reach places that you cannot and just wishing there weren't a bunch of creepy apparitions floating around outside of your windows.

Maybe it's time to invest in a dildo or something, because trying to get a boyfriend has been fruitless. 

It is not that you were not trying or that no one was interested. But it feels like you attract this very specific demographic of men, and they were all a bunch of creeps. Or just beings from the underworld.

You come from a family of shamans; your grandmother, who was one of the most infamous shamans when she was alive, couldn't pass down her abilities to her daughter, nor did she want your mother to live like she did. Constantly being pestered by apparitions, ghouls, and demons—it took a strong mind to act like any other normal person while being surrounded by such dark things. 

And unfortunately for you, you inherited the centuries-old powers that run in your family.

From your memories, you distinctly remember when you first started seeing these things. You were 7 years old, and this kid showed up in your backyard when you were playing all by yourself. And he became your best friend. You hurried home from school to play with him, and he'd always be waiting for you in your backyard. You'd hurry to get off the school bus and run past your mother to run straight to your backyard. 

Your mother never really thought too much about it, but when one day your teacher told her that you've not been making friends in your class, spacing out in class, and waiting to go home to play with your best friend—your mother naturally became worried. She never saw you playing with someone. And you've always had so many friends since you were a kid; you loved school. She could not help but wonder what was going on.

That's when your mother sat you down to ask about this friend of yours. Who was apparently sitting right beside you and did not appreciate your mother's tone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No matter what you did, you kept being haunted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘ Demonic little Pervert.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? You can see me?”

Shit.

“N-no?” 

“Oh, really?” 

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

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

This shitty little demon.

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, but I am trying !”

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

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

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

“Let's see where else you’re weak.” 

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

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

And so the demon was gone.

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

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

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

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

“Get. Off. Me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you didn't bother me this morning, then I—ugh. Whatever. What is with your outfit changes anyway?” You tried to whisper-shout at him again and hoped that no one else noticed what a nutcase you must have come off as.

“Hmm? Why? Don’t you like the suit? Want me to come naked next time?” That smirk on his face was doing things to you that you did not agree with.

“No! And stop suddenly disappearing and reappearing!” You felt his hand, which somehow was now on your waist, tighten, and another hand moving up between you two.

“Why? Y’miss me?” You could feel the heat creep up your neck, to your ears, and spread through your face. 

“No. But, I can't believe I am saying this, thank you for being here.” His face lit up with a big, toothy smile. And you just had to look at his stupid fangs and his blue eyes and his tail-wait. He has a tail? 

“I would've liked a kiss better, but I'll take what I can!” A thin, warm, pointy tail curled up your ankle when you looked down to confirm your thoughts. And indeed it was, as jet black as his hands and claws, a sharp tail. Before you could ask him where it even appeared from? You felt his claw on the waistband of your panties. Pulling on it with one sharp nail and letting it snap back on your skin, making you yelp in the process.

“That is a very pretty shade of blue you have there.” His hands slipped into your panties as the words left his mouth. His eyes trained down between the two of you, where your one hand flew to his wrist to prevent his claws from further slipping beyond the mound of your pelvic bone.

“St-stop!” Your other hand once again grabbed onto the arm of his jacket for support. 

“Why? Don't I get my reward?” His head tilted in pure confusion.

“But—I said—” “That's not enough.”

Now that he looked up and stared you right in the eyes, you could not stop him any further. What it was was unclear—the charm of an incubus or your years' worth of frustration—nothing made sense.

You were basically breathless, unable to inhale or exhale anything. The sensation of his claws scratching against the sensitive skin between your legs and the grip on your waist in the crowded train. You could feel how his fingers inched closer and closer under the pad of his finger on your clit, and the sharp end of his claws was digging into your inner thighs and grazing your hole—it was all too much.

“Your, your claws.”

“Oh, that can be fixed in a second, angel.”

You could feel his fingers putting more pressure on your cloth, rubbing it, drawing figures of eight on it. While the rest of his fingers dug themselves into the flesh of your pelvic area. The claws were gone, just like that. Like how his clothes change with every appearance, his tail grows at his whim, and even his claws retract back into his skin. 

Honestly, you were not sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. The claws were a good excuse to put a stop to what was happening, unless he did not give a shit about your well-being, which it didn't seem like he did, to an extent. But then again, when you brought up his claws, you genuinely just didn't want them to get in between you and his fingers. Sure, the sensation of the claws was something else, but not worth the bloodbath.

“Aw, look at my pretty pussy, so wet f’me?” He leaned in to your height to whisper in your ears. And you just prayed to whatever was out there that you don't get arrested for indecency in public.

It was truly humiliating. Having your back pressed to the doors of a public train, face turned just enough to catch a glimpse of the demon in front of you and the reflection of your own fucked-up face in the black glass of the doors. You'd rather look at your own humiliating expressions than know what was going on down there.

“Oh, she is so wet f’me, right? All for me.” His fingers were inside of you, two fingers deep, thumb on your clit, other hand on your waist—probably leaving marks—and everything was more visceral than ever.

It was maybe the train full of people almost finding out what you were up to, maybe it was his ink-tinted hands, which felt different than anything you've ever felt, or simply the fact that a demon of all things is making you feel such pleasures.

“Y-you have to—”

“I think you should be more concerned about what you have to do, angel.”

Even though he left the most important part unspoken, it was clear what you needed to do. You needed to cum on his hand in this train for him.

And with motive, his fingers both stretched in different directions inside of you. Pushing your walls and trying to remember every inch of you, memorizing it all. All the while his thumb kept going faster and faster, drawing little circles on it, making sure your clutch on his jacket remained as is.

“OH-Oh. Oh my—fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I am—” It was about time his fingers found the spot on your wall, that textured part of you from within, just around the backside of your clit. He found the spot that had your hands fumbling all over his shoulders, trying to steady yourself. So with the help of his free hand, he placed them on his neck, and they instantly went to his hair. 

“I will, please, please, I will.” Your legs were giving out. Another second like this, his fingers pushing that spot over and over, his thumb pressing down on your clit any harder, and you'll fall on this disgusting floor.

“Go on, come on, you can do it, angel, all for f’me, right? You’ll feed me well, right?” His head was down on your shoulders, just too close to your ears; his voice was just too raspy; the whispering, the little huffs of air coming out of his mouth along with groans—it was dizzying.

“Cum on my fingers, won't you?” It was not fair. Holding you basically hostage while also pleading with such command, it was so unfair.

But you did not care about all that when you came gushing down his fingers. More than your usual ten seconds, it lasted probably for minutes, sending shock waves through your body, until you had nothing more to give to his fingers—that made sure to ride you all through your orgasm by keeping themselves mobile. 

While you were a twitching, lifeless, drenched underwear-wearing mess, tightly held in his hand, he took out the fingers from your cunt. He did his best to gather everything he could, making you jump in the process. And all of that went right in his mouth.

It was honestly too generous to call it nasty. The way his tongue slipped between those slick fingers and wrapped around them. That long and sharp-looking tongue lapped all of you off his fingers, allowing his fingers to enter his mouth as fast as they wanted to deposit their hard-earned prize. All while his free hand held your face up by the chin, and he looked right down in your eyes while doing all those unfathomable, obscene things.

“So sweet.” You were not even sure if the comment was meant for you or just a general note for himself. 

As his tongue cleaned up all that was left over on his hand, you witnessed the sight of his claws growing back, sharp and still equally black as some void, like the rest of his hand.

“You want some?” He leaned down to your face, nose touching yours, eyes blue as ice, before leaning down to kiss you. 

It was the first time he kissed you. It was the first time anyone had ever kissed you, other than cats and dogs—but that does not count. You always thought first kisses were too overhyped; it cannot be some magical or whatever thing that people go on and on about. 

But the way his lips slotted with yours and the little smile that crept onto his mouth was everything that was wrong with this situation.

This was a demon, pushing his tongue into your mouth, and you were letting him. Tasting the lingering taste of your own cum in his mouth. How his tongue tangled with yours, chased after it, and the subtle taste of his spit. It was unlike anything you've ever tasted before. You could feel his fangs against your tongue and then digging on your lips.

Nothing about this made sense. But it felt so undeniably good. So good that you almost felt as if this was it, this was right. This is what was missing. This is what your toys and fingers could not recreate. 

And that did not make any sense.

If someone told you one day you'd have to call into work, informing them that you were too sick to clock in on time from a subway station. With a clingy demon in an expensive three-piece suit attached to your side, you’d probably tell that person to shoot you.

But here you are. Head in your hands, elbows on your knees, and a demon hugging you from the back. Life sure is crazy.

“Just skip work altogetherrrrr, let's go home and fuck.” His face tilted on your shoulder, and he batted his eyelashes, making attempts to coerce you into his wishes.

“Will you fuck off already?”

“You’re hurting meeeee!” 

“Good.”

A pout made its way onto his filthy lips while he muttered something that sounded like ‘so mean’ under his breath. And he floated away from where he was previously annoying you to take the empty seat beside you to annoy you. He looked too cute and innocent for a demon. But maybe that is part of the deception. So you sat there with your elbows on your knees, leaning forward in your seat, to take a better look at his face. 

Still gorgeous and still evil.

“I am wondering when you're going to leave me alone.” You looked forward at the empty tracks in front of you and the basically empty station. It was already well past 12:00 PM, so at least there was no one to witness you, or what it looked like to bare eyes, talking to yourself.

“Aw. I have been getting rid of pests for you, and this is how you talk to me!?” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat with a more intense pout.

“Wait. You've been doing that before, just not this? Not just today?” His little comment had you sitting up in your seat and moving your body enough to face him.

“Mmhmm. I've been making sure no pest gets to you, you know! Not my fault you forgot your pendant at home. I was bringing it back for you, but I guess some cockroach found you before me.” You just stared at him in silence for a solid few minutes as he smiled at you sweetly.

“You bought my pendant?” You blinked at him in confusion. Just how powerful and how fucking dense is this guy?

All he did was reach into the breast pocket of his jacket to pull out a silver chain with a dangling pendant on it. He leaned forward and reached behind your neck to clasp the chain back on you. With a little kiss on your forehead and a big toothy smile, he yet again disappeared on you.

Since it did not look like you're getting rid of this floating demonic thing anytime soon. It was the best bet to use him to your own advantage.

So this time, you waited for him patiently and eagerly to pop up in your room. After the last time you spoke to him at the station, he didn't show up for the rest of the day. Leaving you to think things through with the newfound information you got from him. 

And what better time other than a Saturday night to negotiate a deal with a demon?

“So what do I get in return?” The demon looked down at you from where he was floating in the air, above your head, in just some gray sweats. 

“I don't immediately end your entire existence.” You deadpanned, trying not to stare too long at his back muscles flexing from the way he folded his arms under his head. There were faint black lines, resembling strikes of lightning. They ran from the back of his arms, up to his shoulder, from his nape, down under the waistband of his sweatpants, where his pointy tail started and swished around in the air.

“Ok, ouch, angel, and here I was already choosing names for our children.” He pouted and slowly came down to your eye level, with his arms cartoonishly and lifelessly hanging in the air. 

“Do not make me throw salt at you.” You leaned back on your headboard, and your hands clutched the pouch of salt.

“Alrightttt. But you can't expect a demon to just do you favors, like keeping pests off of you, and not ask for anything in return.” With a shrug, he continued. “Then I would've been the angel here, right?” 

As annoying as it was to look at him smiling like he had you exactly where he wanted you to be, you didn't really have any other choice. Your pendant isn't working anymore; your grandmother's life essence and the effects of her spell are depleting from the pendant by the second, making the pendant’s barrier weaker by the second. And you don't have enough knowledge to do something about this. This annoying, sly, and very gorgeous demon is your only hope. 

And unfortunately, he knows it too.

“Ok. You can feed on my life essence.” 

“SO WE CAN FUCK!?” You rolled your eyes in defeat as the demon suddenly plopped on your bed with excitement, making you bounce on the mattress in the process.

“IF MY BED BREAKS, YOU'RE MAKING ME A NEW ONE!” 

“Oh, no worries, I'll get you a new one every time we break one.” His cheery tone just made the words spouting out of his mouth more filthy sounding. 

“You—never mind.”

But you were already too tired to say anything more. So you lay back on your bed, with your arms over your head, trying to push down the headache you could just feel coming over. The demon, on the other hand, lay right beside you on his side, taking it as an invitation to initiate his first proper meal .

But before he could get his grubby claws on you, you sat up on your elbows, making his eyes pop in slight surprise and disappointment.

“Oh right, what am I supposed to call you?” Usually you can perform a ritual, burn a spell, and get the entity's name and some other notable information like when they were born, when they died, type of death, what type of entity they are, etc. and other stuff. And you tried that for this demon as well, but nothing came out. Each time the visions were blank. It made you wonder how bad your luck must be to come across something so terrible.

“Ah! Hmm…. You can call me… Toru!” He smiled wide, looking proud of himself. 

“You said it like you just made that up on the spot.” The possibility made you frown. Maybe he is being cautious so you don't find anything about him.

“Nope! That's my name!” He smiled ear to ear, eyes closed, looking like an innocent creature, like he was not even a demon.

“That just sounds more suspicious.” You squinted your eyes at him, while he just smiled ear to ear.

“Oh, come on, I thought our relationship had more trust than that.” He let his entire body fall on you, pinning you down to the mattress under him.

“Firstly, we do not have a ‘relationship’; what we have is a deal . And like hell I'll ever trust a demon.” Even though you rolled your eyes at him with a scowl on your face and tried to push him off of you, his pout just morphed into a smirk. 

“Can't trust a demon, but you can let him fuck you, right?” 

He pressed his hands, or claws, on either side of your head to hover over you. With that annoying smirk on his face, which made your head boil and stomach tighten. You could feel your chest getting heavier; it was getting hard to breathe normally with a demon over you and his pointy tail wrapping around one of your ankles. You tilted your head away from him, not answering him, letting the tension in the air speak for itself. The anticipation was heavy in the air for what was to come next. 

Toru, as he told you to call him, nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck. Moving his face up to your jaw, planting a kiss there, and going back down to dig his fangs into the side of your neck without any warning. You shrieked under his constant sucking and biting, while your left hand went up to pull on his hair, and your face scrunched up in something between pain and pleasure.

“A-are you even a demon… or a fucking vampire?” Your right arm wrapped itself around his shoulders. You could feel the flex of his muscles and even his skin that felt too human, too soft, and too warm to touch. He didn't retort to you with a verbal answer, just hummed in the crook of your neck as a smile stretched along his lips. 

Once he was happy enough with the marks on your neck, he moved down to your collarbone. After licking the expansion of the bones with his sharp tongue, he moved lower to rip the front of your tank top with a single claw nail. You could feel his nail grazing on your skin, making your back arch off the bed. It felt as if your skin would break any moment and there would be an open wound, but there was not; he was too careful to not have a single drop of your blood flow out of your veins. But if you could see, you'd see a single line drawn from the middle of your chest up to your belly button. And you didn't mind that tingling sensation on your skin, the feeling of being on the edge of an almost injury, or the destroyed shirt under you. 

All you could care about and focus on were his lips sucking, biting, and pulling on one of your nipples and one of his hands squeezing and kneading your other tit, while his other hand dug into your skin and pressed you into the mattress. 

“Ugh— fuck— Toru.” Everything felt unreal. As an almost twenty-something touch-starved virgin, you were sure that for the rest of your life you'd have to spend it with your hand and vibrator. Yet here you are, under a demon. 

“Mmhmm, what does my pretty angel want?” He moved back to place himself between your legs and placed his chin on top of your lower tummy. And both of his arms wrapped around where your thighs met your hips 

“Please, Toru.” You were already exasperated, covered in sweat, clutching your sheets, trying to focus your pupils on the demon between your legs.

“Ugh, beg more, I'm so close!” He jokingly moaned and morphed his face into an expression similar to yours. Earning a weak slap on his hand, causing him to giggle while he ripped open your shorts. 

“WHY ARE YOU RIPPING EVERYTHING LIKE A DOG?” At that point you felt pissed enough to gather some air to shout at him and sit up on your elbows. 

“They’re annoying.” 

“ You are annoying!” 

“You're so mean to me!” He looked like a dog who just got reprimanded for trying to sneak into the food cabinet. And he nuzzled his face into your panty-covered cunt, then fully burrowing his nose on the mound to take a long sniff as your thighs clenched around his head. 

Once he was done taking in your scent and possibly embedding it into your memory, you thought he'd move onto the next part. What, you didn't expect that he'd start licking your pussy through your panties? Not some lacy, sexy, black underwear—but some pastel pink cotton underwear, discolored on the crotch from years of wear and the horrors of periods. He bit your folds, wiggled his tongue between them, and pressed his tongue heavily on your slit. Soaking the panties in your juices and his saliva, he bit your clit along with some fabric of the panties and proceeded to suck on them as much as the barrier between his mouth and your clit allowed him. In conclusion, he was basically eating you out through your panties—like the freaky demon he is. 

“J-just, fucking get rid of it.” You pulled on his hair with both your hands, one hand shoving his head further into your cunt, the other trying to pull him away.

“You said not to rip anything off.” His words came out muffled from still being stuffed between your legs.

“Just take them off normally.” You were getting too impatient to even shout at him.

“That's no fun.” Yet he knew just how to provoke you enough to have you reach for the bag of salt under your pillows. 

“OK, SORRY, HERE, TAKING THEM OFF!” He sat up hurriedly when he noticed your hands were gone from his hair. “You're no fun.” He pouted and put both of your feet on his shoulder to drag your panties off.

And suddenly you felt too exposed, nervous, hyperaware of his blue eyes boring between your thighs, and hands holding your thighs open. A part of you felt like it was better when he had just left your panties on, and the other part wanted nothing more than Toru back where he was. The picture of the demon’s claws retracting back into his skin, the one last feeling of them scratching the skin of your inner thighs, was what finally made you realize the situation at hand.

You're losing your virginity to this demon, and you actually didn't mind it; you were kind of looking forward to it. It was a bizarre realization. But no more bizarre than having a demon's tongue stuffed in your hole. 

Toru’s sharp tongue wiggled around trying to explore every nook and cranny inside of you, memorizing all of it. While his tongue busied itself inside of you, one of his fingers slipped in to help stretch you out more, and his other hand rubbed random shapes on your clit. 

“Fuck—fuck. Ugh. There.” You couldn't help but let the groans and moans slip out of you, letting them get absorbed straight into his ego. 

Toru hummed in accordance and pressed his tongue up where it had you tightening your grip on his hair. The vibrations from his moans had you twitching. And you could feel something building up, something familiar but a thousand times more intense than what you have ever achieved by yourself.

“I-I am—” You couldn't complete your warning, and yet he hummed like he understood.

He was ready to lap up everywhere that you had to offer. And when you came around his tongue, that's exactly what he did. He didn't leave behind anything that he could have the pleasure of tasting on his tongue. Sure, demons don't eat regular human food, but this was basically his human equivalent to a five-star meal.

“What?” You were either too busy staring into his eyes or just went brain-dead from that orgasm.

“Not done with ya’.” Toru pulled you towards him by one of your ankles, and the sheets under you bunched up. 

“God. I've been waiting for this so long, angel; you have no idea.” He pulled your thighs to his sides, and your legs, although feeling like jelly, automatically latched around his waist. “Y’just can't wait, can ya’? Pretty cunt wants me inside so bad. She's feeling empty, huh?” 

His sharp tongue went on to spout more bullshit. Like, “Don't even have to show you how to use those legs, huh?” He kept rubbing the tip of his cock at your entrance, letting it slide in a few times, and each time all he had as an excuse was “oops.”

“FUCKING PUT IT IN!” You threw a pillow at him, fed up with his antics and getting edged even before having his cock fill you up. He caught the pillow with his left hand while his other hand finally helped him put the length of his cock inside of you. 

“ Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ahh!” Your back automatically arched off the bed. 

“There ya’ go. Happy then, angel?” He pushed the entire thing inside of you in one go after throwing the pillow on the floor. His smile got all dopey as he leaned forward and put his weight on both of his hands on either side of you, getting a better look at your eyes rolling back behind your sockets. “You feel so much better than what I imagined, ugh—fuck—ughh, so perfect, my pretty angel.” His right hand came to your waist to rub soothing circles.

“Good heav—”

“Wouldn’t— fuck —hell be more— ughh — appropriate?” 

“S-shh—ut up.” 

He leaned forward to dive back in the crook of your neck; with his signature sleazy smile on his face, he continued to thrust his hips at a pace where the stretch down there burned, but it also brought you pleasure you couldn't describe. He went back to bite down on your neck as some form of holding himself back, supposedly. Even if he was moving at a pace you couldn't comprehend but felt good with, you could feel Toru, on the other hand, was holding himself back.

“Bite me again and—”

“Threatening me some more, angel?” He murmured in your ear before biting down on your bruised skin once again.

You retaliated by moving up slightly to reach his neck and bit down hard enough to have the raw and metallic taste of his blood bleed out a little. It tasted different than what blood is usually supposed to taste like; you'd know as a chronic lip biter. Sure, it was metallic and salty, and then it was sweet in the beginning and left a bitter aftertaste. 

“F-fuck. You want me to pass out or something, angel?” He snapped his head to the left to face you, and in mere seconds his lips met yours. It was no gentle kiss; it was greedy. He was being so greedy with how he licked around your lips, sucked on them, forced your mouth open with his tongue, and slipped that sharp muscle inside of your own mouth to explore every nook and cranny inside, to remember the differences in how you.

“There ya' go pretty, ugh aren't you the prettiest? My pretty angel's pretty pussy—so lethal.” Toru moved around to sit back on his knees.

“Legs up, sweets.” He grabbed your legs together and placed them on his shoulder to thrust deeper and harder like that.

“FUCK. Oh, ugh—”

“Yeah, you like it, huh? Are you happy that I took your virginity? Yes, baby?” He cooed at the state of you, eyes rolled back, littered in marks, and his saliva  Everything was a mess around and on you, your hair, the sheets, and you especially looked the most messed up, holding onto the sheets like your life depended on it and sliding up on them from the force of the demon's thrusts.

“Y—yes. YES!” 

He giggled at your reply and focused on hitting the same spot that had you thrashing around and digging your nails into his thighs. Your groans and moans filled your little bedroom, echoed on your nearly empty walls, as the movements of his hips got sloppier. 

“I—Oh gosh, I—,” 

“I know, baby, cum on my cock, angel.” 

And so you did; just as his fingers moved to rub your clit, you could feel the knot in your stomach detangling. When he felt your walls clench around him, he threw his head back. He was just as close to his own release, but your satisfaction came first. “Fuck, swallow me whole, you sweet thing.” His hand tightened around your ankles, still hanging on his shoulder, while his other hand moved from your clit to your lower belly to press on it as you came undone. The claws on his hand started to grow as he pressed right under your belly button, and that is probably where everything went blank for you. All you could see were white beams of light in the blur of your room, and your legs slacked off of his shoulder, shaking like you went up five flights of stairs.

“My good girl, look at that angel, shit. ”

The indents of his sharp claws left behind a shape, which could be connected to draw something resembling a tilted heart. Now it's open to interpretation whether it was intentional or not, but given he is a literal demon, there are barely any actions he does without calculating the consequences. 

Before you could even realize anything, the demon cock started twitching inside of you, your own twitchy legs tightened around him subconsciously, and he stumbled over on top of you. You held him in your arms as he shot ropes and ropes of his cum inside of you. 

“My pretty, pretty angel, goin’ to fill her up, breed her good.” 

“You're a demon.” You said to him very matter-of-factly once you found your vision coming back. “So?” 

“So, how are you going to get me pregnant?” He raised an eyebrow at you and flopped down on you, then buried his face by your head and tilted his head to look at you with a sly smile.

“Who said demons can't get you pregnant?” 

“WHAT?” You almost sat up and shoved him off before he started laughing and pushed you back down.

“Wait, wait, ok, so yeah, it's possible, but it's more complicated than that. So no worries, you won't get pregnant unless I actually try to do that.” He smiled at you and rubbed soothing circles by your side. He looked finally content, like you do after a scrumptious meal.

“More reasons to not trust your ass.” 

“Oh, you can trust my ass; touch it if you want real bad.” He said in a playful sing-song voice and ended his sentence with a wink. It made you slap his shoulder, but you couldn't help but let a few chuckles slip out.

Your laughter died down, and everything around you started dimming down too. The weight of his body, the feeling of his tail wrapping around your ankle, his hands holding you tight with his claws back in his skin, and his cum seeping out of you—it was a recipe for deep slumber. And sleep you did; this was after a very long time. Your eyes got heavy to the point you couldn't keep them open anymore. This felt nice; this felt like something you could get used to.

But when in the morning, afternoon to be exact, well past 12:00 PM, you woke up after a full night's sleep, he was gone. It felt like you just went to bed, and without any dreams disturbing your sleep, when you woke up it felt like just seconds had gone by. But he was gone. 

Maybe you shouldn't get used to this.

Making deals with a demon never comes without a price. 

For you, that cost was probably your sanity. Honestly, what is worse? Entities roaming around you or a demon tiring you out. Not easy to answer, but the feeling of his tongue inside your tongue first thing in the morning, accompanied by orgasms, wasn't such a bad thing. 

“I loveee breakfast in bed!” He’d moan in your ear while thrusting into you with full force, like he didn't have dinner the night before. Plus now you get to sleep like a normal individual at night, well, after getting fucked to a puddle of nothing, that is. 

“You look so good in this shirt, fuck, I just wanna tear it off of you.” The demon muttered right in your ears while floating in the air just beside you.

You were at your desk, at work, inside of your office building, trying to focus on your tasks for the day, yet somehow every one to two hours the demon would show up to terrorize you. Some days he wouldn't show up during working hours, some days he'd be here for way too long, and some days he'd come and go in intervals. The inconsistency made it harder for you to come up with measures to prevent the demon from trying to let his claws wander anywhere he'd like or run his tongue to spout the most vile things in broad daylight.

“Ughhh, I wish I was inside you right now.”

“You are so focused, it makes me want to bend you over on this table.” 

“I want to eat you out right here and have these people watch me. I bet you'll like it.”

The whining was tolerable, but the words that came with it were the problem. To be fair, it was the demon in it of itself who was the problem. But then again, since he has been around, you have not seen a single other entity around you; things have been so smooth, if you don't count the whole demon situation. 

But change is always taxing. That's what you told yourself when you suddenly got sick after a week and a few days of having the demon around. He is basically becoming an usual part of your routine; the only reason why he is not is because he is extremely unpredictable. Like catching a cold, you're fine, sucking on a popsicle one day, and the next day your throat is hurting, so you brush it off thinking it'll go away at the end of the day. But it's not; it only gets worse the next day, and by the third day you're bedridden with a high fever. 

That's exactly what happened to you. 

Figuratively and literally. A demon latched onto you all of a sudden, and now he is freely using you as he pleases, and you are also bedridden, sick from god knows what, counting down your days because it feels like death. 

“It’s not that bad, angel.” 

The demon suddenly appeared next to you on the bed. And you could feel your temperature about to rise. You were well enough to see a blurry image of his face hovering over yours, but not enough to shout at him or move away. You were in no shape to feed him. And if that's what's going to be happening to you in this state, you might have to soon find a way to get rid of him, or better, think about how you're going to even get rid of him in this moment. 

“Oof, you're burning.” Instead of the impact of his lips, you felt the back of his obsidian hand on your forehead. Taking your temperature and assessing your condition. You could barely open your eyes to look at his face, and it looked worried. His brows were scrunched, his lips were jutted out subconsciously, and he looked focused—almost human. 

Toru vanished in a flash in your bathroom and then floated into your kitchen. After rattling around in there for a few minutes, he came back with a bowl of water and a cloth, a glass of water, and some meds from your bathroom cabinet. He sat you up carefully to wipe away the sweat covering your body, gently gliding the small towel over your neck, back, arms, face, and belly. He gave you the meds and helped you hold the glass. Then he gently laid you back down and adjusted the air conditioner’s temperature. placed a bottle of water by your bedside, sat down on the floor, and placed his head on the bed to stare at you, like some puppy.

“Do you want something to eat? Some porridge, maybe ?” He looked worried, helpless even, more than how helpless you look right now. 

“How are you going to order anything?” You mumbled with your eyes closed, almost drifting away to sleep.

“I can cook!” He excitedly sat up and lifted his head off the bed. 

“I don't want to be liable if you use my kitchen to burn down his building.” 

“If you keep doubting me like this, angel, I'll cry.” He folded his elbows on the bed to come closer to your face.

“So you want to burn down this building with your tears?”

“Now you're stereotyping me! All because I am a poor little demon!” 

“Sure, you helpless creature.” A grin pulled on your lips, and even with your eyes closed, you know there was a similar one on his face. 

The conversation died there as you lost your consciousness. And the demon got to work in your kitchen. He found some sad-looking vegetables in your fridge and other things to get to cooking. He also made a mental note to remind you to go grocery shopping. He found no problem working around in your space; at this point he was more acclimated to this apartment than you, and he looked after it better than you. He gathered your dirty clothes you always left scattered on the floor, made your bed, did your laundry, folded your laundry, and cleaned your dishes and the toilet, and now he is cooking for you. If he wasn't a demon, he would be the top contender for the best potential househusband. After about an hour, he was already done.

“Angel? Wake up, eat a little, ok?” He got the little folded table on the side of your bed to place it by your side and put the plate of food on it. 

“Mmhmm.” He helped you to sit up and handed you a glass of water. 

When you didn't even reach out to hold it and sat there with your eyes closed and hair looking like a bird's nest, he helped you drink some water. And even spoon-fed you the food. He blew on it gently to cool down every bite, brought the glass of water up to your lips from time to time, and then also cleaned up after everything. Like the good potential househusband he is, he did the dishes, set your meds by your bedside table, and tucked you in bed. 

“Get well, angel.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, and you swear you heard him mumble something else. But you were too sleepy, and he was too quiet. You didn't even have any energy to ask anything; your eyes were betraying you, and before you made up your mind to ask him what he said, he was gone. 

The next few days went by like that. The demon came in more often than usual to take care of you. Because what you thought was just a light cold from the changing seasons turned out bad enough to make you unable to get up from your bed for 4 days. You wish you could take more time to fully recover, but then also you couldn't ignore work anymore. So for the rest of the week, with your own little demon helper, you worked from home. Making that little demon helper feel a little angsty and neglected. 

“Let's just go back to the bed.” The demon floated around you like a toddler whining for candy. He has been persistently trying to pry you out of your chair for the last 1 hour, and so far his efforts have been futile. 

“I have a lot to do.” You kept your eyes trained on your monitor. The light reflecting off your glasses made it harder for him to gauge whether you were just annoyed at him or being hard on him as usual. 

“And I want to do you .” He said that with a stone-straight face after he popped his head between you and your monitor.

“Go back to hell or something.” You tried to look past him and continued typing.

“Do you hate me, angel!?” His face morphed into an exaggerated desperate expression, eyebrows scrunched and both corners of his mouth turned down. He cradled your face in his hands, his claws adjusted to a medium length so they wouldn't scratch you by accident. You noticed that from the corner of your eye and felt something fluttering in your chest. 

“You're making me hate you.” You pulled his hands off your face and moved him to the side like a floating balloon.

With a sigh he deflated down on the floor and placed his head on your lap. You looked down at his sulky face and the way his tail thumped on the floor in annoyance. It made the corners of your lips tug. Hesitantly you placed your nondominant hand to pat the floor of his messy, white, pearly hair. And he immediately moved his head towards your touch and looked up at you from where he let his face rest on your lap. His lips didn't move anymore than the usual smirk that always adorned his lips, but his eyes tugged into a smile. You looked away from him and went back to typing away on your keyboard, but you didn't shove him off your lap. You liked the warmth of his face, the way he looked up at you, the way his eyes smiled, and how his hands wrapped around your legs. 

The moment was filled with sweet silence. It felt like you might as well get used to this. But like you can't trust a crocodile’s tears, you can't just assume that a demon would be content with head pats. That'd be wishful and naive of you. 

First you felt a kiss on your thighs, right on the valley where they pressed together. You didn't think much of it. Then he started sucking on the skin there; it bruised easier than, say, your neck. By the time you barely typed two incorrectly spelled words, he had your thighs parted, face buried in between your legs, sniffing your cunt through your shorts. His arms curled around your knees and kept them open with ease. So now you have a demon between your legs, licking and sucking on your cunt through your cotton shorts. 

“F-fucking hell, Toru.” The demon only hummed and looked up at you from where he was positioned on his knees. Your hands were off your keyboard at this point, buried in his hair, pulling on it. He pushed your chair back, and it wheeled backwards while he dragged your shorts off you. In that sudden moment, you couldn't figure out what was even happening when he moved under your desk and dragged your chair forward and went back to the position he was in.

“Ooh. No underwear? Finally taking my advice, angel?” He kept gawking at you, at your cunt. It was better to not wear underwear at home; it felt more comfortable. But not that you'll ever tell him he was right. Toru dove right in, licking at your slit and sucking on your clit like he hadn't been fed in days. Which is not wrong; he has been starving. You were honestly surprised by how much the incubus strained for your sake. It softened your heart. But you won't admit to that as well. 

“Go on. You said you were busy.” 

You tried your best to ignore the fiend between your legs—eating you out like his life depended on it. It was sort of a discovery for you, seeing him on his knees for you, hidden under your desk; there was this sense of guilt that gnawed at you. But you couldn't help but get wetter with every lick and couldn't help but tighten your thighs around his head as you came all over him.

“So. Now shall we head to the bed, or do you want me to carry you?” He rested his head against your thigh as he licked around his lips to clean up everything you left behind. His smile was soft and his eyes were coercing; there was no way you were about to get out of the clutches of temptation personified, who's kneeling between your legs. With a sigh, you reclined in your chair and reached for the little satchel in your drawer.

“Sorry, Toru.” “Huh? What do you—”

Just as the sprinkle of salt hit his head, the demon disappeared from under your desk. You felt bad somewhat, but it's not like you had any other choice. It'd be easier to deal with a sulky demon than drowning in overdue work at the end of the month. 

He didn't show up for the rest of the day. 

Not even the next morning for his usual ‘breakfast.’ You thought he was angry with you. And it worried you. What if he was actually angry with you? What if he didn't show up for days? Was he going to be alright without getting his fill for days? Will you be alright without him around? But wait, isn't it better? To not have him around? Sure, you weren't even close to finding a replacement for your pendant or him, but wouldn't it be easier without an incubus always floating around you and whispering dirty things in your ear? Ruining your panties and cleaning up your apartment? Cooking for you and taking care of you when you're sick? 

You're really getting off track.

“Hey! Good morning!” Your coworker, Ms. Miwa Kasumi, passed by and greeted you; she was pretty new. Which is probably why she has been the only person in your department to greet you without any obligations and without any stutters.

“Oh, good morning.” You did your best to return her a smile, but you were sure it came off weirder. But she still looked appreciative nonetheless and then started walking beside you towards the meeting room. 

“Ugh! I hate meetings first thing in the morning; it sucks!” Ms. Kasumi whined while walking with you. Of course, who would like meetings, especially when their entire department, except for one junior maybe, behaves oddly with them? Working under a big-name company almost always sucks. Especially when it's going through new changes like getting a new CEO. So things have been hectic lately anyway. So on top of everything, imagine walking into a meeting room full of people, where your designated seat is occupied by a sex demon in a suit, who has been haunting you. 

“Everything alright?” You froze in the door of the meeting, and Ms. Kasumi looked back to check on you. 

“Uh—yeah!” You tried to enthusiastically answer and follow her inside where everyone was already gathered. 

“Good morning to my sweet angel!” The demon piped from your seat as you walked up to it and lingered with placing your things on the table as slowly as you could. Giving  plenty of time to get off your chair. 

“Sit down, Ms. L/n, we're starting.” Your department instructed, and when you looked at the demon with a glare, he patted his lap with enthusiasm and a smirk on his face. You got fully cornered.

“This is punishment.” The demon said as he got comfortable under you. Maneuvering you to sit as closely on top of him as possible. 

“I was just busy.” You tried to whisper back to him as nonchalantly as possible while keeping your eyes on the presentation on the screen.

“I know, but you were really mean.” He whispered back in your ear like everything that was happening between you two right now could be heard and seen by everyone.

His hands just toyed with the hem of your skirt at first. And as you got more comfortable with being on his lap, as you let your guard lower—his hands started roaming all over your body. It started innocently with drawing circles on your knees with his sharp nails, then his claws retracted back into his skin, which is never a good sign. His hands went up and up until they were just below your breasts. They stopped there and squeezed them, making you hunch defensively.

“Don't make it obvious, alright, sweets?” 

He opened up your shirt and started running his fingers over your collarbones. And soon after pulled your bra down to put your tits out on a show. There you were, in a meeting room full of your coworkers and colleagues, looking down at your lap because you couldn't bear to look up to see the horrors in everyone's eyes. But the demon under you couldn't be less bothered. He played with your tits like he could smell the embarrassment and agony on you, but he could also see right through you. As if he could tell how much this was turning you on.

“What a dirty little angel you are.” He chuckled slightly right beside your ear, placed his chin on your shoulder, and bunched up your skirt. Then he pushed aside your panties, and without any prep or warning, he rammed his cock inside of you. You were on the verge of screaming out a moan; your grip on the hand rest got tighter and tighter as you felt like the room was getting smaller and smaller and hotter by the second.

“Now don't whine like I didn't offer to stretch ya’ good last night, but you threw salt at me, hmm.” The pointed tip of his tongue slipped around the ridges of your ear. “I think you are forgetting that you are dealing with a demon.” 

And maybe you were. You were getting confused by his kindness and compassion, so maybe for a while you forgot he is a literal demon. Feeding from, or maybe feeding on, you. 

“Distracted? Am I going too soft on you, angel?” Toru noticed how you leaned on the table with your elbows pressed on the surface for your life, but you seemed distracted. You were distracted from the meeting, from the way his hips pistoned upwards into you; you were thinking about something else, and he couldn't have that. You had to just sit there with your lips pressed together and sit there drenched in your cold sweat. 

“Look up, sweets, won't you? Don't you wanna see how good I'm fucking you in front of all these people?” His hand gripped your throat, and at that point you were fully hunched over the table. All the while he thrust into your cunt with enough vigor to shake the entire table with you. His balls were basically slapping against your skin, and the tip of his cock was hitting places you did not think existed before.

“I’m gonna fucking cum inside you. Have you dripping with my cum all day? You'll like that, huh? walking around in public while m’cum fucking seeps out of you?” Toru leaned forward and pulled you back towards him by your throat. “But you have to keep it nice and warm inside of you.” 

“F-fuc-k.” You muttered under your breath; you were about to orgasm in a meeting room at your office. But in this moment all you knew was that Toru was whispering shit in your ears, thrusting into your pussy, and you were about to cum all over him.

“C’mon, do it. Gush all over me like my good angel.” And like on his command, you came just like that. He bit down on your nape, and soon after came inside of you, like he promised. After he pulled out, he went and shoved everything that leaked out back inside of your pussy with two fingers and a kiss on your cheek. 

“See ya’ later angel.” And like that, he was gone. And you were just left there drenched in your sweat and filled with his cum, sitting in your chair confused and scared. 

“Are you ok, Ms. L/n!? I've been calling for you for the last 5 minutes.” Your boss asked from the end of the table. You were too scared to look up at him. While contemplating, your eyes landed on your shirt, perfectly buttoned just as it was, and your skirt was wrinkled the exact amount from this morning when you got off the train. 

“Yes, sir, just feeling a little hot.” You do not know how you held yourself together to not stutter while replying to him while everyone in the room looked at you weirdly, except for Ms. Kasumi, who just looked concerned.

“Are you sure? Is your fever back? Do you want to step out for a bit?” 

“It’s alright, sir; I'm perfectly alright.” You shook your head and told him you were just fine and took a sip of your water to cool down. 

“Alright, if you say so.” 

He nodded hesitantly and proceeded back to the meeting. As the meeting went on, even though you tried your best to focus on the contents of the presentation, all you could think about was one cunning demon and his cum pooling in your underwear.

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT! HOW DARE YOU—WHAT IF—” You held the demon by his collar and shook him back and forth while he just giggled.

“It's ok, angel, they can't see anything.” You stopped in your tracks and pulled him closer to your face and squinted your eyes.

“elaborate.” He sighed and held your hands with his own. “They can't see me and therefore can't see anything I do to you unless I want them to.” You blinked at him, feeling somewhat at ease by his confirmation. 

“Are you sure?” He nodded and kissed right under your left eye. “Why would I lie?” 

“To make me feel at ease or something.” He giggled some more, and you couldn't help but stare at his blue eyes squinting as his lips stretched. “Yes, but I wouldn't lie to do that.”

“Says the demon.” You snorted incredulously as he snickered some more. But you felt fully at ease. 

“You do know this opens up soooo many possibilities.” The demon slyly said while moving his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

“You—” “Ms. L/n! Are you there?” 

You got cut off by Ms. Kasumi while trying to curse out the demon some more for his suggestion. In a panic, you asked the demon to stay where he was, at the end of a hallway, in front of the elevator, and you walked towards Ms. Kasumi as fast as you could. When you got to her, she just immediately started asking if you were alright and if you needed to go back home. 

“Are you sure you're ok?” She really genuinely looked worried. 

With some reassurance, she was convinced by your pathetic excuse about the thermostat. Nonetheless, she still offered to take up some of your work and didn't take no for an answer. It was refreshing, really. Instead of people quietly putting more work on you because apparently you are more competent than them or some other excuse, even though they always have something to say behind your back, she wanted to take some load off your shoulders. It was new, but you appreciated that.

once you made sure Ms. Kasumi was gone, you walked back to where you left Toru. When you reached the end of the hall, you took a turn to find him standing in front of the elevator, looking like he was waiting for it to get here. 

“What are you waiting for, the elevator or something?” You jokingly said as you went to stand beside him. And the demon, on the other hand, looked fully flabbergasted to see you. It was as if he was seeing you up close for the first time. Then he looked confused and just panicked. Like he was going through too many emotions at the same time. And it made you confused in return. Why is he acting like he didn't make you think that you were about to be on the verge of losing your life just an hour ago? 

“Yeah—yeah. I am.” 

His voice sounded different. Deeper than how he usually speaks with you, calmer as well, but not really calm in that phony way that you know all too well. You couldn't help but scrunch your eyebrows and mirror his confused expression. 

“Mr. Gojo! I found the file!” Just as you were about to interrogate him some more, an exasperated and tired-looking man ran up to the demon with a bunch of files under his arm and one in his hand. ‘Mr. Gojo,’ that's what he called the demon, you know, as Toru. If you were suspicious and confused before, now you are panicking and confused. What was happening, and why did that name sound so famiiar?

“Yeah, this looks good.” Toru—or Mr. Gojo—looked through the file he was handed with a stern and serious expression that you've never seen on the demon. But what surprised you more was when he pulled his hands out of his pockets to grab the file, his hands were not the same glittery obsidian anymore. And that odd anomaly made you look around for his tail, which was also gone. When he turned towards you, who was too stunned and frozen in place to say anything, the elevator doors opened with a ding. ‘Mr. Gojo’ looked hesitantly between you and the elevator while the sickly-looking man, possibly his assistant, looked between you two. He opened and closed his mouth and then just walked inside the elevator with his assistant quickly following behind him.

“See you around, Ms. L/n.” That's all he said before the elevator doors closed between you two and he was gone. 

What the fuck is happening?

In your entire supernatural life, you've never encountered anything stranger than this. He had the same cerulean blue eyes, the same shade of platinum white hair, the same features, and the same three-piece suit the demon was wearing this morning. How can there be a man who looked exactly like a demon. Or was the demon disguising himself as this man? But why would he do that? What was his motive? That was all you could think about while aimlessly walking through the hallway to get to your desk. You spent the rest of your day in a trance. Typing at your computer in a daze, making more mistakes than progress. That even your boss noticed. This was not how you work; he has seen you sick, and you always push through it. But he didn't want to pressure you with too many questions and just left you alone.

At the end of the day, Ms. Kasumi tagged you on your way out; she was talking about something. But you couldn't hear anything; you were wondering why the demon didn't show up since you saw his lookalike. 

“You know, Ms. L/n, the new CEO is so gorgeous! I ran into him in the hallway today, and OMG, he is cooler than what the rumors say!”

“Mmhmm.” 

You disinterestedly nodded along, wanting to get home as soon as possible and put this day behind you. But just as the elevator doors opened, there he was again, right in front of you. 

“Hello, sir!” Ms. Kasumi bowed down in front of this, Mr. Gojo. Like he was an important figure, which you assumed by how he walked around with the amount of power exuding off of him.

“Oh—um, you don't have to bow.” He awkwardly shook his hands for Ms. Kasumi to stand straight back up again. All while his eyes remained trained on you, maintaining perfect eye contact. You weren't one to hold eyes with someone, but here you were, refusing to look away first, maybe to find any answers behind his cerulean eyes.

“I assume you are clocking out? Thank you for your hard work. Have a good night.” He smiled at you two, and his eyes finally wavered away from you. You could see a flush of red creeping up his neck under the dim lights of the lobby. 

“Thank you, sir! You have a good night as well!” Ms. Kasumi enthusiastically said as you two stepped out of the elevator for Mr. Gojo to step in with his tired-looking assistant.

“If you'll excuse me, then.” Mr. Gojo nodded one last time at you two. Mr. Han walked ahead of you, but you still kept standing in front of the elevator, staring at him shamelessly. And before the doors could close between you two once again, he smiled at you, a smile that reached his eyes, and he looked exactly like the demon you've come to know in the last few weeks. 

“Bye, Ms. L/n.” 

This was definitely the same guy. There is no way they're two different individuals. They're somehow connected, and you do not know how, but you need to figure it out. As soon as possible.

“See! Like I said, he looks better up close!” Ms. Kasumi enthusiastically looked at you for your agreement while you two walked side by side up to the entrance of the building. 

“Who?” 

“The new CEO! Mr. Gojo! You are really out of it today, Ms. L/n; please get some rest when you get home.” Unfortunately for Ms. Kasumi, you tuned out everything she said after Mr. Gojo. 

There is something weird going on right now. And you, honestly, have no idea what it is. You do not have any clue other than the fact that your new CEO and the sex demon you made a deal with look exactly the same and behave exactly the same and feel exactly the same, but not entirely. And it's giving you a headache. Whatever it is that is going on, you will get to the bottom of it. 

But first, you need that damn demon to show up, who's made a mess of your already tiresome life.

PART TWO soon!

FIND MORE OF MY WORKS HERE

a/n: dividers by @/enchanthings-a & @/omi-resources. fanart by @/3-aem, lyrics info in image, and other one is just from Pinterest.

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @teddytoru @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @rriwyu @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @soupicidesquad @indiewritesxoxo @gojosconsort @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi @emochosoluvr - @ravenbc @do-morochaa @frozenmallows @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @euphoricblade @killuakinny @all-with-angel @plaggi @viiennie @venomaniyah @deathofacupid @strawberrysluttt @yamato-my-beloved @genshingeeksworld @xkfrjsb @vamqyx @laksmin @sphiee @aziraashford @captainhoneythebunny @moonflowerluni8 @marisaurusjeffi @domainexpansionmypants

[satotorulove]

okay guys i got some fic recommendations

gojosmommy222 on wattpad has some of the BEST fics i was literally kicking my feet and giggling while reading 😭

my favorite so far is crossing lines it was SO GOOD it literally had me in tears. it also goes a long with the story line and the writing ?? literally chefs kiss.

@extraspicynoodles-blog the wattpad belongs to this amazing person so show them some love plsss 🫶🏻

(edit: pls pls pls read i didn’t mean to love you. it’s so good. i literally can’t put into words its amazing.)

[satotorulove]

gonna go see the jjk movie tn.

i may end it all when i get back.

[satotorulove]

so i’m crying now actually 😝

this needs to be put in a movie. like deadass. i’ll beg for it.

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

[satotorulove]

Sooo Brooklyn Baby part two is pushed till tomorrow loves because I had a crazy busy day!!! But here's a preview of it till then! -

MDNI/explicit sexual content below - dad's best friend! Satoru x F! reader

 “Turn.”

You do exactly as he says, trembling in front of him when you’re bare aside from those panties, for just a moment you hesitate. Satoru Gojo has indeed been fucking as long as you’ve been alive, and you’ve seen so many of his girlfriends over the years. Beautiful, elegant, some of them models, so for just a moment your arms cover yourself up a little, hands holding your breasts, heart hammering in your ears.

“Oh honey, you’re fucking beautiful, okay?” He whispers, lowering them gently, watching the prettiest tits he’s seen bounce as they’re released from your little fingers. You relax, he watches it, the tense hold easing, your thighs spreading apart for him as he runs his hands down the curve of each tit, pressing against your rib cage. “Perfect.”

“Oh, Satoru…” You lean up and yank him down by his tie, already askew, slamming his lips to yours again. His hands grip your hips now, tugging you so close, you feel his hot, heavy length against your tummy now. “Mnh!”

“Beautiful, every bit of you,” his words are as intoxicating as his touches, as he touches your tummy with his hand and pulls back, smirking. “Can’t wait to watch me fuck your insides up, see my cock here.”

“See your… are you insane? It doesn’t do that?” He chuckles now, kneeling as he presses a kiss on the softness of your tummy, slipping your panties down and then looking up at you.

“You’re cute you know, hold on to me,” you do just that, balancing yourself as he slips off each heel, leaving little kisses on your knees, like he’s worshipping you. His breath hits your oversensitive cunt, you jerk as he takes your ankle and rubs it gently, where your heels left a mark, standing again. “One last shot to stop me, before I fill you up so much you can’t sit at that piano bench without remembering.”

You’re done then, kissing him hungrily as your answer, he lifts you up, thighs pressing around his hips as he carries you, still fully dressed to his room, his bed, the cold metal of his belt brushing against your overheated skin. His lips don’t leave yours, your hands entangle in his silken locks, when you feel his heavy weight, and he’s laid you against the soft plush of the mattress.

He hovers over you, letting you undo his tie, your fingers quickly tugging at his buttons, dying to see more of him, feel him on you. “Eager, sweetheart?”

[satotorulove]

YESSSS

in holy matriphony | season one masterlist.

gojo satoru x reader [18+] | angst, fluff, smut

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - next door neighbor!gojo x reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency department, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, some choso x reader, some suguru x reader, some crippling debt x reader; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ status. ongoing

ᰔ word count. 113.9k

ᰔ taglist. open

☾·̩͙꙳ ao3 link :: playlist :: header art by @/3aem

chapter index.

ch1. he said yes! congrats!

ch2. you may now kiss the bride

ch3. domestic encounters

ch4. in a mother's eyes

ch5. child's play

ch6. the in-laws

ch7. if you wanna get groceries

ch8. two steps back

ch9. counting sheep

ch10. what if?

[end of season one]

headcanons.

official headcanons pt1. fluff & crack | link

a note from the author. hello! my name is ellie, and this is my second long fic series called 'in holy matriphony' which i began posting in april '24! this started off as such a small lil concept idea trashing on the american healthcare system, and now it's a fullblown fic. i have sooo much planned for this series, so admittedly it will be a long one, but i am so grateful to anyone that tags along for the ride :””) please let me know if i missed any tags or warnings! and for those who may want to know before reading, this series will have a happy ending <3

series tags. #in holy matriphony

[satotorulove]

I NEED HELP

there was this one fic i cannot remember for anything but it was a gojo fic and the readers mom is sick and she’s in huge debt bc she’s paying for the hospital expenses and her neighbor is gojo and he’s got money and so she asks to marry him so she can get her mom into a program that he’s with BUT IDK WHAT ITS CALLED AND IDK IF ITS ON HERE OR AO3 pls if anyone knows the name lmk 🥲

[satotorulove]

this is literally the exact thing i had in mind, i have been fed 🙇‍♀️

˖ 𑣲 𝓜 y girl

˚₊‧꒰ა satoru gojo ﾉ sweetheart.ᐟ reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ as a special grade, the higher-ups expect you to be early to meetings. alas, you have a certain white-haired guard dog that keeps them from questioning you too much. especially when he's all over you ꒰ ᡣ𐭩 ꒱ whipped toru ˖ fluff ˖ protective toru ˖ 0.6k

sweetheart host ᝰ.ᐟ✧ squealed writing all of this ⌇ requested

Dimmed lights, bowed heads, stiff silence and . . .

Pink, charmed nails?

"You are late, Second."

The sneer around your title barely earned your flinch. The entrance parted and light swept in. From the outside world or from you? To a certain sorcerer stood comfortably in his meeting position, it seemed like the latter.

Satoru's grin finally returned. A little brighter, all the more sharper as you trotted on in with heels longer than half the dicks in this room and wearing a smile like a cursed technique.

"Still got here, didn't I?" Sunglasses pushed into your hair, a designer purse on your arm. With you came a floral scent into this dingy meeting room the higher-ups swore up and down on.

Oh you weren't trotting. You strutted. As if the world owed you something and rolled your eyes like whatever it gave wasn't enough. Gracefully making your way towards him. A storm wrapped in a pretty pink chiffon dress and dolled from the head down. Your hair? Not a strand out of place. Your make-up? That eyeliner could cut through every sheen these old geezers hid behind.

"And where," one in particular grunted. "Pray tell, have you been? You were informed of this meeting's gravity."

"I had a nail appointment."

The room fell silent. Their fifth special grade. Regarded as the Second Strongest, bested by only Gojo Satoru whom you nestled beside easily. The woman who clawed her way to the top in a feat they'd never seen before. . .

Was late because those same nails she clawed with needed prettying?

"You have no urgency!" Another snapped. Then came several. To your ears it was nothing but fodder. The same bullshit day-in and day-out. You rather occupied yourself with the sorcerer stood beside you.

"Late cause of your pretty nails, sweetheart?" Satoru crooned, barely paying mind to the higher-ups throwing a fit. He stood with a lazy air and arms folded.

"Mhhm." Five fingers splayed before you and nudged to him. Decorative charms shimmered in the dim light. Each nail finely kept, shaped and painted in a style so testament to the rest of you. Elegant, beautiful. "What do you think?"

Delicate is what your hand looked compared to his. Cupped below yours and raising it a bit higher to his vision. Even with his shades, you knew his eyes scanned intensely. White brows raised and grin settling into a tease of a smirk.

"Well, lookie there."

"Do you have any idea of your position!" Another screech that neither of you paid attention to. The higher-ups could threaten and argue all they wanted.

What would they do? They couldn't fight you. And the only one that could?

"Told you blue would look good on you."

. . . was currently kissing over your fingers.

Satoru barely batted an eye, too preoccupied with the azure hue you styled at the tips of your nails. Every voice fell silent as he laid kisses over each of your knuckles like they were the secret to infinity.

You crooked your head to one of the shoji, where the first apprehending official sat. Still as every other breath in the room. And despite your eyes smouldering hot coals,

You smiled.

"Now, can we continue this meeting?"

A voice readied to shame you for your audacity and attitude. But all stilled at once when icy blue peered over a dark rim. Pale lips still flushed to your knuckle. They needn't coil into the frown his glare shone.

"I . . . whatever."

Satoru hummed and released your hand in favour of a strong arm looped around your waist. You're pulled into his side with his watchful gaze still ahead.

"Then let's get on with it, yeah?" He squeezed your hip. Shot you a little smile. Stole one more kiss.

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[satotorulove]

i’m so excited for more to come out i love this sm.

black swan

in which you were once a girl with dreams and aspirations, before it was swept right from under your feet.

"i love your eyes," he'd said before stealing the light right out of them. 

pairings: law-firm-ceo!gojo x ex-ballerina:pole dancer fem!reader warnings: heavy angst, sexual assault, hints of being video taped while under the influence. brief mentions of stalking, obsession, abuse of drugs, coercion (none of these things are done by gojo, this is NOT a dark gojo fic), ending is kind of a cliffhanger???, reader is kind of emotionless.

NOTEᝰ.ᐟ : writing this was </3, pls enjoy. ballerina pictures edited by me. please watch these tik toks for a visual of readers dancing (she does NOT look a certain way, imagine her as you please) pole dance 1 : pole dance 2 : pole dance 3 : pole dance 4 : pole dance 5 :

FIC PLAYLIST : ♬ˎˊ˗ : my masterlist : navigation

you used to be an ambitious young woman. your previous everyday life was defined by schedules and a plan that was expected to last you for as long as you would have wanted it to. as long as you kept working and pushing towards your goal, nothing could come between you.

at the age of 17 you got into a prestigious school of arts for ballet. you lived and breathed ballet. it was your everlasting passion. whatever happened in a dance studio was between you and your ambitious heart. 

your parents supported you through it all. they funded your practices and everything in-between–from attires to entrance fees for special events.

they were more than proud and excited for you when you shared with them the news of your acceptance. it was like their dream came true through you. your happiness was theirs. 

thankfully the university was not more than 2 hours away from home, so coming and going was as easy as filling in a coloring book. 

weekdays were spent in studios for dance, and regular sit-in classes for your core courses. not that it interested you in the slightest, but you excelled none-the-less. 

whereas weekends were split in between extra studio practices (saturdays) and at home (sundays). some days you had to stay on campus to participate in rehearsals for upcoming showcases, competitions or the events themselves. for these occasions your parents were happy to drive down there to see you. 

never missing the opportunity to see their darling girl.

you were an only child. it’s why your parents always spoiled you. they made sure nothing was missing in your life. it’s why they were behind you in every decision you made, making light of the good and bad.  

3 years as a student and you were at the peak of your dance career. you were constantly booked for the lead roles in ballet recitals, sought out for tips from the lower classmen, praised by your professors, acknowledged constantly by your peers, and offered countless opportunities to advance in your pursuit of your goal. 

it was possibly the happiest you could have been. 

unfortunately, good things don’t last. no matter how much you want them to, or fight against all forces to prolong them.

in your last year as a student, tragedy struck. you met a boy. a boy who would soon ruin everything you worked so hard for. 

a man, who at the snap of his fingers, could demolish every single step you’ve carved out for yourself. 

you met him on your way to class. he had dark black hair with white strands grazing the tips of it. chocolate brown eyes that reflected against the sun. he was tall, some could say handsome, and a charming yet unjarring smile. any girl would fall for him. 

just not you. to you, he was a distraction–an unsettling one at that. 

he had introduced himself to you as naoya zenin (bitchass naoya). a sweet name for the devil in disguise. he never failed to emphasize the last name: zenin. a remarkable yet well-known name. given that it was the same one as the president of the school. 

the declaration itself caused a nasty shiver to run down your spine at the mere thought of it. 

one thing lead to another and he continued to pursue you, in which you continued to politely decline. 

“i’m sorry but i’m not interested in a relationship right now. you’re a great guy, surely there are many girls interested in you.”

“yes, but they're not as great as you.”

it was then that you realized that he wasn’t necessarily interested in you. but rather what you brought to the table, which was ultimately, the status of a talented young woman at her peak. 

men like him want someone they can have around their arm. they want someone that’ll make them look good. someone to be there as an accessory to their greatness. 

unfortunately for you, naoya came to the conclusion that it had to be you. whether you liked it or not. 

no way in hell were you going to let this boy use you this way. so, you didn’t, but he offered an ultimatum. 

“alright then, why don’t we just become friends then?” you had to play it safe with a boy of his status.

you accepted. what was the harm in a friendship, you knew you wouldn’t have time to maintain it anyway. with how busy your schedule was, he’d get bored, lose interested, and leave you alone for good. 

but the zenin’s are insistent, and naoya was no different. 

always at your doorstop. constantly sending you messages, looking to hangout, begging to see you or know your schedule. anything that you knew, he wanted to know. 

so you would leave him on delivered, seen, or just completely decline his advances. 

if he wanted to be your friend, he had to know that this is how it was going to be. and that simply didn’t work for naoya. 

“come on. just one party, and we’ll leave it at that.” 

“fine, but im leaving at 10, i have a dance rehearsal tomorrow morning at 8”, after this you were going to put your foot down and let him go from your life, given that he’d brought nothing but distraction. 

“wonderful” was, sadly, the last thing you remember from that night. you woke up the next day, wearing clothes that weren’t yours, in a room that wasn’t yours, next to someone you most definitely recognized, and a camera pointed in the direction of your sleeping position. 

your heart was in your stomach. you remember the countless notifications on your phone, the one you found tossed haphazardly on the floor of the living room in the unfamiliar apartment. the way your hands trembled like an after effect of a drug that was yet to wear off.  

you quickly and anxiously looked for the remainder of your things. after gathering it all, you zoomed out of the apartment, praying that whatever you may have thought happened at the apartment didn’t. 

a buzz came from the back of your jean pocket, but you ignored it. desperately trying to get to where you needed to be: dance rehearsals. you tried to ignore the weird looks you received while on your way to the studio. 

after arriving, you dashed to the locker room, thankful to your past self for always being overly prepared, having had an extra pair of ballet shoes and practice clothes. 

quickly changing into the clothes you're quietly and quickly slipping into the dance studio, positioning yourself in the back. hoping your instructor does everything but notice your tardiness, but as the top student of the program, your presence goes anything but unnoticed. 

“miss LN,” your professor's voice echoed painfully across the studio and her tone made you stiff, “a word please.”

you felt about 20 sets of eyes turning to look at you. you follow behind your instructor, entering her office stationed beside the massive studio. 

you hear the door shut behind her, yet you remain rooted in your spot in front of her desk. 

“why are you here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. her eyes were nothing but deep pools of emotionless cobalt, and her dark red stained lips do nothing but give her a harsher look. 

you’re a little taken aback by her question, confused to say the least. “excuse me?” you chuckle awkwardly and nervously. 

“we had a dance rehearsal this morning at 8 for the upcoming showcase, didn't we?” you question. 

she purses her lips, “yes we did, but i am afraid that statement no longer includes you.” she says coldly.

you stare at her with wide shocked eyes. “by the look on your face i am quite certain you are not aware. i suggest you check your email.”

she rounds her desk once again, heading for the door, but halting her movements to get her last words in, “and by the time rehearsals are done, i want your locker cleared out, and your access key to the studio left on my desk.” 

the door slams shut behind her. the slam of the door echoes into the deafening silence.

you’re shaking in your seat. what the hell is going on?

remembering you left your phone in your locker—given that the only thing you’re allowed to bring inside the studio is a water bottle. you retrieve your cellphone, and unlock it. 

you tremble a little as you scroll through the endless amount of messages, until you settle on the email sent by the institution. 

Dear Ms. YN LN,

It is with deep regret that we inform you that after careful consideration we have decided to terminate your position as a student at our institution. Effective immediately. 

We also have to acquaint you with the reason for this decision. On May 24 of 2025, we received an anonymous tip accompanied by a link to an adult website. The link featured a public accessed video of you, in which you were identified, and another faceless individual engaging in less than appropriate behaviour. This video was reviewed by a university appointed council to verify your involvement. 

While we respect personal freedoms and the autonomy of our students outside of the classroom, participating in publicly available adult content, undermines the core values of our university.

A permanent notation reading “Dismissed for Conduct Violation” will be placed on your academic transcript. This status may impact future applications for admission, transfer, or professional certification.

We encourage you to take this time to reflect on the importance of personal accountability and the broader implications of public conduct.

Sincerely,

Naobito Zenin Dean of Students  Office of Student Conduct and Academic Integrity Shibuya School of Arts University

now, you’re 25 years old. existing in a bustling city with nothing worth living for. 

after you read the email, your entire world fell apart. you cleared out your things from your dorm and the locker room.

you didn't break the news to your parents. so, you pretended that you were still attending school. your plan was complete school in any way shape or form. but higher education comes with a price. an expensive one at that.

it was difficult. the video blew up and it completely shattered your reputation. not like it was your choice, considering that pieces of that night were foggy to non-existent.

however, things never stay hidden forever: your parents somehow found out about it. so you ran away. back then, you didn't think you could have faced your parents. you still don't think you could. you were a coward.

the only thing that plagued your mind was that the image of their picture perfect-talented daughter was completely tainted.

what would they think of you? how could you face them after everything that happened?

fearful that they'd somehow track you down, you left everything behind. took a bus to the next city over, and stayed with a dear friend of yours: utahime.

utahime worked at a nearby high school as a supervisor. she insisted on helping you find a job, but who would hire you? most definitely not a school.

the only thing you knew to do, was dance. so, you looked up strip clubs looking to hire pole dancers, and came across a decent ad online.

it’s sickening how fast anything can be swept away from beneath you, even as you stand on it. some are lucky to remain standing, while others fall straight on their ass–like you. 

you weren’t supposed to work tonight, but your boss called you, hoping that you’d perform a solo show tonight. he said he’d pay you double your regular pay. something about a big name in the crowd tonight. 

you couldn’t care less. you needed the money. 

you tuned out the rest of the call after the talk about the pay. it was an offer you simply could not refuse. 

even if it meant missing utahime’s monthly gathering dinner. you’d just have to explain to her when you arrived at the apartment later tonight. 

you fix your lip stick in the tiny mirror taped to the door of your locker, making sure it’s perfect. 

you swallow the lump in your throat when you remember how it felt to get ready before a rehearsal, your mom was always there to adjust your hair accessories, but now it’s just you. 

“geez angel, leave some for the rest of us will you?” your coworker beside you jokes. you have moved to adjusting the straps of your tight pink performance bra when she breaks you out of your melancholic day dream. 

angel. the stage name given to you after your audition for this job. something about the way you danced resembled that of a soft angelic ballerina. 

you still remember the way your face slightly dropped at the mention of it. 

you find nothing humorous in her statement, nor her implication. 

the locker room however, finds it quite enlightening, “yeah angel, always stealing all the clients”, the grip on your locker room briefly tightens in an attempt to ground yourself. i don’t mean to, you internalize. 

you’re far from proud about what you do, dancing on stage in front of men makes your skin crawl. it wasn't necessarily about dancing on a pole, but rather who you did it for.

their faces full of lust and dark fantasies make your stomach churn. the look on their faces shows you how their sick minds envision you. the way they’d jump on stage if given the chance.

despite it all, it’s about whatever keeps you dancing. regardless of the audience, this was the only way you could continue your passion. in some sick way, it was the last piece of yourself you could salvage.

your expressions stay neutral, staring blankly at the vacant inside of your locker room. a stark contrast to everyone elses. while they have pictures, sparkles or some sort of personal touch. yours is lifeless and empty. 

you’re starting to feel a little resemblance to it. 

you sigh and close your locker room, body glitter at hand. “sorry,” you mutter, not really knowing what else to say. 

glitter particles stick to your body as you spray it all over yourself. 

“angel you’re up next,” calls the stage manager. years ago, the words would have thrilled you, now they fill a void–a void you try to fill when you pretend you’re doing something else on stage. 

you tighten your mountain high heel straps and make your way over to the stage. 

you shut down your conscious when you take the first step of your heels lands on the stage.

the lights dim and your hand grips the pole. you shut your eyes, and pretend you’re somewhere else dancing ballet. 

a place where the music is something else, and your purpose belongs for your own pleasure. a place where no man could hurt you again. 

the music starts, and you dance. 

2 HOURS AGO

gojo feels sick to his stomach. it’s his 29th birthday and geto thought it was a bright idea to bring him to a strip club. 

“come on loosen up,” he says, patting him down. they’re both still in their expensively tailored work suits. fresh out of a boring birthday dinner with the higher ups. 

gojo shoves geto away, “how can i loosen up when we’re here?” he bites back, “at a fucking strip club,” he says in disgust. 

geto gives him a look, “hey”, he warns him with a level headed look, “don’t be such a dick, i know you’re just being an asshole because of how pent up you’ve been with work.” 

gojo stares at him with an unimpressed stare. any other day he’d be more than happy to just be anywhere in the city doing anything that wasn’t work related. 

however, the mountain of piled up work cases he has to look over sit—not only physically, but mentally—as a constant burden. 

he’s been needed at work more than usual. all thanks to his grandfather who had stepped down as the CEO of Gojo Law Co., and stood up as the chairman. he had handed down the business to gojo less than a month ago. 

with absolutely no heads up. anyone can imagine how stressed he is. 

thankfully, geto was promoted to president. 

given how powerful they were as a duo in the courtroom, one can only imagine how great they’d do managing an entire firm.

geto sighs before looking at gojo, “listen i get it, you want to live up to his standards, but you can’t do it with a stick up your ass. so stop moping around and try and get your dick wet once in a while. you didn’t seem to have a problem doing it in college.”

he slings his arm around gojo’s shoulders and drags him into the strip club. 

thankfully, gojo doesn’t put up much of a fight. 

-

a whiff of cigarettes hits gojo’s sensitive nose immediately. 

the place seems well kept, better than most he’s seen in the past. security seems tight and well established, given the big bulky men stationed in different parts of the club. the music is loud and the lights are dimmed down, and different colors dim in and out. 

it’s quite a massive place. it’s spacious now but he knows that during rush hour it’s incredibly packed. he can tell that whatever they have going here, sells well and is provided on an expensive silver platter.  

there’s women walking around in tight revealing waitress costumes, holding bottles or serving platters with perfectly decorated beverages. their walks are elegant as they stride in their towering high heels. 

their smiles are bright, and certain. one could mistake them for genuine happiness. 

there’s small table dancing poles scattered around the place accompanied by comfortable booths surrounding them, but what captures his attention the most is the empty massive stage positioned towards the far end of the club covered by heavy curtains. 

the lights are completely turned off for that section of the club, but the timer displaced at the top of the curtains gives him something to anticipate. a timer that piques his interest.

he nudges geto in the midst of their journey to the bar. he tilts his chin in the direction of the stage, "what's that?” he makes an educated guess that it’s why his best friend brought him here in the first place. 

geto looks over to the direction he gestured to, and grins, “that,” he points, “is the countdown for the main event tonight. it’s actually why i brought you here.” he confessed, confirming gojo’s initial suspicion. 

gojo continues to stare at the stage. before geto interrupts him with a gentle shove towards the bar. 

two drinks in hand later, they slither their way through the crowd and to the front row. where their vip section awaits them. 

geto nods at the security surrounding their booth, and they move to create a path in the direction of their seats. 

once they’re seated and comfortable the lights dim further, leaving the club almost pitch black. aside from the lights directly above the stage. almost like it’s putting whoever will dance in their own bubble. 

gojo watches intently as the curtains open, and there stands a woman. 

you grip the pole, but your eyes remain gently shut. your pose is enticing, the music is yet to start, but you’re already setting the tone. 

gojo's mouth gapes open a tiny bit when your head rolls back, and the hair previously covering you exposes your neck. 

when your head returns forward again your eyes are open, but they hold an unreadable emotion, almost as if you were on autopilot. 

you’re nothing short of stunning. a woman with a face like yours could entice anyone. gojo was no exception. 

gojo studies you intently. from the clothes you wear, to the look on your face. the transparent slip on dress makes you look like a model on the cover of a lingerie magazine. beneath it you wear lingerie. 

the lighting of the stage defines your face in a manner that sharpens your already defined features. with the slow movement of the lights, they catch the sparkles scattered around your revealed body. 

it almost drives him insane how breathtaking you are. 

almost. but he knows what this is. it’s your job to make him feel this way. he doesn’t want to say it’s in your nature to evoke these feelings but something in the back of his mind nags at him that it’s far too easy for you to kindle these feelings in any man. 

he’s confused. 

gojo has had more than his fair share of sexual encounters. and he means more than fair. but he doesn’t think he’s seen anyone of your caliber, and he’s only looking at your face. 

there's cheers, and an ‘oh yeah baby!’ shouted from the crowd. a few whistles are scattered around too. 

gojo can’t find it in himself to do the same. despite the incredible pull he currently feels towards you all he can do is lean forward from his seat, inching his way to the edge of it. all he can do is gape at you. 

the slow sensual tune of a song begins, and you spin around the pole. your moves are elegant, fluid, and slow. it’s like you’re floating. there’s a certain gentle yet precise form in which you move. 

almost that of a ballerina, he notes. he doesn’t know why, but it hurts to watch you up there. 

his eyes desperately try to remain staring into yours, but occasionally a strands of hair will settle on your face, shielding you from the audience. 

your eyes are glazed over. 

despite your obvious attractiveness, he feels far from aroused. 

you spin on the pole before descending onto the floor, you’re now laying on the floor. within gojo’s reach. but he has no desire to invade your space. you’re in your element. 

your back arches, like the invisible string tied to your heart has been pulled. seconds later you’re back on the pole, moving again. 

gojo’s completely entranced by you. sucked into your world, but he can’t envision what you’re seeing in your head. he can’t understand it. all he can see is a shell of you. 

when your performance finishes, he’s left with a tiny gaping hole in his heart. 

one he’d like to expand by getting to know you. 

even if it means coming here every night to see you.

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 . join my tag list : ⟢ join my girlypop disc: link ‹𝟹

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