Birds Of A Feather . ۫ ꣑ৎ .
birds of a feather . ۫ ꣑ৎ .
{olympic figure skater!satoru gojo x olympic figure skater f!reader}
summary: you and satoru have known each other since childhood, two little birds navigating through life together as you shared one dream in common— to win gold at the olympics, you both a figure skating pair as you moved and performed and fell in love as the years went by, both balancing off a trembling tight rope and holding on to keep each other in place, a silent agreement that if you indulged and fell into the depths of the truth of what you were, you’d run the risk of losing your careers and each other, yours and satoru’s biggest fears. but you’re growing, and it’s getting harder to hold back… especially for satoru— that trembling tight rope on the verge of snapping in two.
warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, childhood best friends to lovers trope, cursing, DIABOLICAL ANGST BUT WITH HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE!, mentions of death and loss, mentions of injury and blood, FLUUUFFF, satoru loves loves loves you, SMUUUTT, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it y’all), creampie, pussy eating, dom satoru, pussy drunk satoru, DIRTY TALK, pet names, figure skating, the olympics, true love <3
word count: 22.3k (I KNOW PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE PLEASE—)
authors note: YYYOOOUUU GUUUYYSSS THIS ONE IS MY BABBBYYY AND IM CRYING NOW WRITING THIS LMFAOAOAO. i hope you all love it seriously i GLADLY worked day and night writing this and i’d do it all over again just to see y’all happy :) THANK YOU for your support it is UNREAL, and like always, I LOOVEEE YOUUU MWAAHHH <333
you first met satoru when you were six at the skating rink.
he was only a year older than you, both of your mothers coincidentally signing you up for the same youth ice skating lessons for beginners, meeting and chatting it up seeing as you and satoru were the youngest in age out of the rest of the parents there and their children, you both automatically put together by your coach and separated from the older kids to do warm ups.
and even though the age difference was only a year, satoru at first treated you like a little helpless tiny thing who needed assistance in everything— the cute pink ribbons in your hair doing you an injustice and further implementing the image of a little girl who had no clue of what was going on around her, thinking you were cutesy and he was determined to be your little knight in shining armor when the time came.
until he saw you skate.
what satoru didn’t know, was that you were a prodigy— related to one of the most famous ice skaters in olympic ice skating history, akira, as her talent was blessedly passed down to you through your fruitful system and the lucky processes of genetics— chosen as you barely even had to be taught, you catching everything right away by the coach without any sort of slip and fall… unlike satoru who was clumsily struggling to even glide through the ice without wobbling.
and little satoru was astonished by you and your talent, his first impression of you drastically changing by the end of the first lesson as he shakily slid across the ice over to where you were, patiently doing little turns on the ice while you waited for your mother to finish up talking to another lady (it was satoru’s mother).
“hi!” he had greeted you, a huge goofy smile on his face as you slowed down and looked at him, returning a shy smile of your own.
“hi.”
“i’m satoru!” he extended a hand, eyes shooting wide as he suddenly lost his balance and slipped forward, on the brink of face planting on the ice as his hands quickly flailed out and gripped the edge of the rink to save himself.
you giggled, tiny hands reaching and holding his arm steady as he tried to regain his balance.
“are you okay?” your shy voice asked, and he grinned through his wobbling.
“yeah! i’m okay! don’t worry!”
but he still couldn’t stabilize himself.
“maybe we should sit on the bench?” you suggested sweetly. “so you don’t fall…”
“okay!”
you gripped him as hard as you could (which really wasn’t a lot for a six year old) and slowly moved with him on the ice, supporting him until you were both out of the rink and seated on the bleachers.
“what’s your name?” he chirped, his hands clutching on the edge of the bench as he leaned forward and looked at you kindly, legs swinging.
“y—y/n.”
“nice!” he cheesed, looking at you. “i saw you skate. you’re really good!”
“t—thank you.” you mumbled, shy and alarmed that a boy was talking to you.
“when did you start skating?”
you looked at him confusedly. “um.. today?”
his eyes bulged.
“hah?! today?!”
you jumped at his outburst, cheeks pink as you quickly nodded.
“wowww!…” he gushed with stars in his eyes. “that’s great! i saw you doing turns and things. i can barely move on the ice… it’s slippery.”
“well—” you peeked up at him shyly. “my—my aunt taught me some stuff… but not a lot.”
“you have someone in your family that skates?” he asked excitedly with huge blue eyes. “how cool! hopefully i can catch up to you and at least move…”
“that’s okay...” you smiled. “i know you will.”
“really?!” he gushed again before leaning back, nodding his head cutely. “if you think so, then i know so!”
and you giggled at him, your timid wall slowly crumbling down at his bubbly and kind personality as he was a chatterbox and talked to you about anything that had to do with olympic ice skating— him knowing so much about it and nearly screaming his head off and panicking when he found out that your aunt was none other than akira, now knowing exactly why you were so good at skating in the first place.
satoru looked up to you. so much so that it was comical— seeking your approval over the following years during lessons and not even listening to the damn coach himself as he listened more to you, wanting you to teach him how to do bunny hops or backward crossovers and giving a big fat attitude to anyone else who tried to coach him, whining and snoring away until you and your little bows skated over to him to teach him.
and because of that you spent a lot of time with satoru in and out of lessons, even more than you ever spent with your own friends at school as you clung to him at all times— him cheering and encouraging you on when you were shy in certain situations, and you teaching him everything you could about skating and bringing him little bags of strawberry gummy puffs since he had the biggest sweet tooth you had ever seen, you both cemented and stubbornly attached to the hip with neither wanting to let go.
and when your mother’s planned a little playdate at the local outdoor ice skating rink on a chilly december day— an enormous christmas tree sitting tall and glorious by the rink with twinkling star-shaped fairy lights and jingle bells surrounding the plaza, you and satoru spinning each other around and dancing and giggling over the murmur of classic christmas songs, they saw the potential… an idea sparking in their heads amongst their cooing and picture taking.
you and satoru were both originally put into the ice skating world to train and be independent professional skaters, olympic athletes to be more specific when the time came.
but that concept quickly changed the second you met.
now— you and satoru were an olympic ice skating pair, the subject materializing when your mother’s pulled you out from those simple ice skating lessons (you both already way past getting the basics down since your skill combined with you teaching satoru had you both surpassing the class) and paying for a professional couples figure skating coach to get you guys started now and early.
and the both of you were over the moon, especially satoru, as he absolutely adored you and begged his mother literally every fucking day if he could go over to your house or over to the ice skating rink with you to dance, you doing the same and the two of you crying and wailing on the floor whenever times wouldn’t work out and plans fell through, your mother’s having to give in and drag you to each other’s houses so you would both stop crying.
when akira found out you were officially figure skating, she nearly drove into the side of a building speeding over to your house from being out of the country for so long competing.
“is it true?!” she burst through the doors, your mother rolling her eyes after being startled half to death over her bizarre behavior. “is my little niece gonna be a figure skater like me?!”
you gasped excitedly upon seeing her, getting up from your spot on the rug and running over to akira’s open arms, leaving your coloring book and crayons behind as she swung you around.
“she started when she was six you know that…” your mother grumbled, folding various kitchen towels.
“but you just told me now that she’s not independent!” akira countered, setting you down and holding you out at arms length, eyes wide and eager. “—but partner figure skating! like me!”
she shook you. “where is he?! your partner! is he here? is he your age? is he nice?”
you perked up and looked over to the kitchen. “oh mommy! satoru should come and meet—”
“his name is satoru? oh my goodness how cuteeee!” she cooed, pinching your cheeks. “is he handsome? do you like him? do you have a crush on him—”
your little cheeks blazed as your mother threw a kitchen towel at her.
“she’s eight aki! jesus christ.”
“love has no limits.” akira wiggled a finger, and you giggled.
your mother called satoru’s place soon after, his mother excitedly conversing over the other line about how the akira was finally back in town and how satoru was gonna lose his mind once he saw her— you knowing he was the biggest fan and sometimes told you facts during lessons that you didn’t even know about your own aunt.
and when they finally did arrive, satoru was stiff— frozen in place with tight arms at his sides by the living room as his alarmed big blue eyes looked at akira with a sickly pale face, you snickering behind him.
“hi satoru!” akira greeted, leaning down with her hands on her knees to look at him at eye level. “it’s nice to meet you! y/n tells me you like my skating?”
“u—uhuh.” he responded dumbly, and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing, knowing satoru would cry and whine about it later if he heard you.
“that’s great! i’m happy you skate too… and with my niece i should say!” she spoke kindly, ruffling his snowy colored hair up and standing upright, placing her hands on her hips and looking like a straight freaking superhero in satoru’s eyes. “you wanna compete in the olympics?”
“uh huh.”
a laughing breath hurled from your throat and your cheeks puffed up like a squirrel, clasped hands still over your mouth and face going red from how hard you were trying to keep it in.
“that’s what i like to hear.” she smiled, a shiny impressive one as satoru still stood there in a stuck daze.
“work hard okay? the both of you. so you can catch up to me someday, yeah?”
your hands slowly fell from your mouth then, eyes filled with admiration and determination as you both eagerly nodded, looking at each other hopefully.
“you think—” satoru stammered, looking at akira. “you think we can… win three gold medals like you?”
“oh absolutely!” she shrugged. “i don’t doubt it at all.”
you and satoru gushed, glittering little eyes as you stared up cutely at akira, her giving you both a silly grin.
“how long have they been doing partner work?” she asked your mother suddenly, watching the way you and satoru chattered then excitedly about the actual possibility of competing for the olympics someday.
“mmm, i wanna say for about a year and a half? maybe two?” she looked over at satoru’s mother, who nodded in agreement. “they’re with a couple’s figure skating coach right now.”
akira hummed and shifted her gaze back down between the two of you.
“i’m training them from now on.”
both mothers froze, eyes wide as they stared at her.
you and satoru hadn’t even realized what she said, still caught up in your little bubble of the olympics and metals and competitions until your mother caught your attention.
“did you hear?”
you shook your head. “hear what!”
“akira wants to coach you and satoru.”
his jaw dropped and he nearly passed out on the floor, you quickly grabbing his shoulders as he reeled over.
“are— are you sure?” your mother continued, looking at her sister now. “aren’t you busy? i thought you were only here for the weekend.”
she waved her off. “i need a break from skating for a little… at least until the next olympics.”
akira turned to you then and smiled warmly. “and i wanna coach my little niece and her new buddy! if that’s okay?”
“yesyesyesyes!—”
both you and satoru bounced up and down and cheered, arms up as you tackled and hung off of akira like a jungle gym, her laughing and smiling big at your enthusiasm.
akira was the most important figure in your life, right next to satoru as she became a mother figure to the both of you as well as your mentor.
and training with her was not easy— your age not an excuse at all whatsoever in her eyes to not learn proper figure skating moves and technique, saying it would only serve you right in the end if you started adapting your bodies to it now rather than later.
and like most things, akira was right. but even though practices were grueling and tough to the point where you had to drag satoru across the ice to get up, she always tried to make them fun in the end— cracking jokes and teaching you guys silly little tricks that you could do with each other on the ice that she figured out over her years of skating with her partner, taking you both out for ice cream frequently after and telling you of her travels competing around the world, the people she’d met, and the titles she’d won— all things that were you and satoru’s ultimate dream as you listened eagerly.
by the time you were twelve and satoru was thirteen, it was obvious you guys were meant to be olympic athletes together.
“you need to pick your leg a little further up on the spin, toru.”
he stuck his tongue out. “says who.”
“says me.” you poked his cheek. “and i’m pretty sure aki told you before she left too.”
“yes ma’am!” he nodded, gliding a bit further away from you on the ice before picking his momentum up and reaching you, him bending his knees and wrapping his arms around your torso as you both went into fast spins, one leg extended for the both of you as your arms gripped over his shoulders— practicing the routine akira had given you for your upcoming competition.
“yeah like that!” you smiled, spins gradually slowing down and satoru coming back up from his bend until you both stood still on the ice. “good job toru!”
he grinned and ruffled your hair. “thanks!”
“mhm!” you responded, turning and skating away to the edge of the rink to hide the blush that was rising in your cheeks.
“what?!” he whined. “where are you going? do i stink?”
“no!” you laughed, shaking your head. “just the usual sweat and B.O.”
“aw no!” he quickly skated to the edge of the rink and out before flying for his duffel bag. “i hate being a man i hate puberty this is ridiculous—”
“i’m kidding im kidding!” you called from across the ice, cackling when he stopped and whipped his head over, glaring at you. “you’re fine toru— not stinky.”
“well you’re stinky for putting me in distress how about that?” he huffed, an eventual smile playing at his lips as he put down his duffel bag and went inside the rink again.
akira was currently on her way to compete at the olympics for her fourth gold medal in partner figure skating, you and satoru having no doubt in your minds that she was going to absolutely clear everyone else there and get it, as she’s never gotten silver or bronze or anything lower than that.
“when do we fly to see aki again?” satoru called from across the ice, gliding to and fro in figure eights. “don’t say tomorrow morning because i haven’t started packing yet heh… oops.”
you giggled. “it is tomorrow morning, dummy.”
“no!” he stopped and shoved his hands in his hair. “i haven’t even started planning my outfits! oh i was gonna take so many pictures what am i supposed to do now—”
you laughed loudly and skated back over to him, hands wrung behind your back as you looked at him cheekily. “you’re silly toru. outfits for what? literally just show up.”
“it’s not everyday we leave the country y/n!” he whined. “i wanted to sport my best and look cool, dang it.”
you playfully rolled your eyes and lifted your hand, patting his head.
“i’ll show up in pajamas and you show up in yours, and we’ll call it a day. hm?”
he grinned.
“matching? or seperate? and what color? plaid?”
“toru!”
he laughed and skated past you, nudging your shoulder with his in the process. “i’m just messing with youuu, matching obviously!”
satoru came back around, reached up and straightened the ribbons in your hair, little white bows sitting pretty as a blush rose to his cheeks when he was done.
“wanna run it three more times and call it?” he suggested. “i wanna make sure i get what you told me down before we go.”
you smiled and quickly nodded, taking satoru’s extended hand and skating together to first position.
watching akira win gold in person for the first time in your life was an experience you’ll never forget.
and she did it fucking beautifully.
with every precise move, with every articulate angle you and satoru screamed and yelled like crazy people in front of the rink while waving around your countries tiny flags, cheering with fat tears rolling down your faces when she successfully landed each time, holding each other so tight with mushed up cheeks throughout her routine with her partner and still in anxiousness when the time came for revealing final scores.
no one could skate like her. absolutely no one as she speedily glided across the ice and spun, prepped herself for the hardest most impressive turns you had ever seen in your life, and performed a quadruple axel rotation in the air all on her own— things that have always earned her the highest scores for three successive olympic years.
and four now— because when akira and her partner stepped up on that podium, you and satoru had to basically be yanked back by your mothers with the way you both tried to jump over the edge of the rink to her, her standing there like a beacon of light on the first place podium, a gold medal hung rightfully around her neck with flowers in her arms as she smiled so so big and happily, her eyes not once leaving you and satoru.
eventually when the ceremony was over, amongst all of the buzz and the crowd roaring and picture taking— akira quickly skated over to the two of you and leaned on the edge of the rink.
“akiiii!” you both wailed and flung your arms around her neck, her giggling and hugging you both back as best as she possibly could despite the mass amount of bouquets in her hands.
“did i do okay?!” she yelled over the noise.
you both pulled back and looked at her like she was insane.
“did you do okay?!” you gawked.
“aki— you won a fucking gold medal!” satoru yelled.
“HAH!” she laughed loudly. “don’t say that word in front of your mommy satoru she’ll chop my head off and kill me!”
you both giggled uncontrollably.
akira leaned her head in then and you and satoru followed through, all three foreheads resting against each others.
“listen to me for a second.“ she started. “you guys are birds of a feather, okay? you need to stick together and fly together as one.”
she let you both go and dropped the bouquets she was holding on the icy floor before placing a hand on yours and satoru’s outer cheeks, bringing you in. “don’t fight. don’t separate. don’t leave each other. you need to keep each other and what you have safe.”
you both quickly nodded, tears funnily gathering at the corners of your eyes at what she was saying, and she smiled.
“yes partner figure skating is about chemistry and technicality, but it’s about love… and sometimes just that. without genuine love, nothing will click.” she let your cheeks go and grabbed her shiny gold medal, holding it up. “this will be yours. i promise you.”
akira put down her medal, wiping both yours and satoru’s wet cheeks. “birds of a feather. stick together. keep each other safe. do you understand?”
the two of you sniffled and nodded.
“and i need to stop cussing in front of you guys during practices, don’t i?!” she smiled warmly, and you and satoru shook your heads frantically.
“no keep doing it!—”
“it’s funny please!—”
ever since akira told you that, it became you and satoru’s thing.
before and after every competition, with every hello and every goodbye at the beginning and end of the day, throughout the hours randomly whenever you both felt like it, you’d lock pinkies and reiterate ‘birds of a feather’ before kissing your thumbs and locking your promise in place— another one of the many other ways you’d show that you loved each other.
but whether it was platonically or romantically remained unknown until you both hit high school.
perhaps it had always been romantically… that you weren’t exactly sure of. but the way you and satoru had been treating each other since you were literally the age of six, made the technicalities of what it was blurry and a little confusing— for you couldn’t even remember when it was that you started loving satoru.
maybe it was that very first day when he skated over to you, wobbly and clumsy with a cheesy smile.
and as if it wasn’t already confusing enough of what the two of you were, the way you acted made it ten times worse.
but you’d been that way since forever— embracing each other a little longer than you should, innocently kissing each others cheeks and heads and hands, calling each other pet names and being each other’s dates to every single school dance—
but it was all harmless. not a single bad thought behind it and doing it like a reflex.
it was like you both were line balancing across the thinnest tight rope known to mankind— flimsy and unsteady, always on the verge of toppling over and falling completely into the darkening depths of the truth of what you were, but catching each other just before you did to regain balance back on the rope.
neither of you said it, but if you and satoru ever dared to be anything more than friends, and if something were to happen where you had to break up— you’d lose your first love, your best friend, and your entire career all in one.
the consequences were too drastic— you both knew that.
and you didn’t want to break your promise… so you acted blind to it.
by the time you were seventeen and satoru was eighteen, akira started training you for the international skating union competition to earn a spot for the olympics.
well— she actually started when you were about fourteen, but as the years progressed, her coaching and critiques got increasingly more difficult and nitpicky as well as the moves she taught you, wanting you both to build endurance to it and perfect it so that by the time you reached the age requirement for the olympics— it would be easier to train for it and be formidable competitors against the other pairs.
you and satoru wanted to be olympians more than anything else in your lives, and akira knew just how important this was for the both of you— making it her absolute mission to help accomplish solely that as she saw herself through the two of you.
your dreams were just like hers, and she respected and nurtured the fact with everything that she had.
“up! aaand up! and take her— throw— land oh shit—”
just as you had landed a semi complex throw jump, you lost balance and landed right on your ass, sliding across the ice on your side.
it was rare when you fell, and you absolutely despised when you did.
“fuck!” satoru quickly skated over to you and knelt down. “are you okay?!”
“why can’t i land that man?” you whined, covering your eyes.
akira smoothly traveled over to you both.
“it’s okay! we just learned it today sweets like— right now… you’ll have it down in the next five minutes.” satoru smiled softly, carefully helping you up on your skates and checking you over.
“don’t overly punish yourself, y/n.” akira reached and pinched your cheek. “i love that you’ve always been so serious about your technique, but you have to leave room for error my love or else you’ll choke yourself out.”
satoru ran a soothing hand along your back and you smiled cutely up at him, his heart jittering so much from it that he had to quickly retract his arm.
you nodded, always taking satoru’s and akira’s words seriously like inscriptions to a stone wall. “okay!”
he grinned and kissed the side of your head before taking your hand and leading you to first position like always.
akira smirked.
“are you guys together yet!” she blurted from across the ice and you both choked as she skated over.
“are we— are we—” you stammered.
“what?” she breathed out, placing her hands on her hips. “are you at least in love?”
satoru’s blue eyes bulged open with a furious pink tint to both of your cheeks.
“aki!” you whined, embarrassed. “stop it—”
“have you guys at least gone on one date?”
satoru pouted. “no.”
“i’m—” you played with your fingers. “i’m going on one today—”
“you’re what?!” he whipped his head in your direction, eyebrows furrowed.
“yeah…” you looked at him. “i’ve never gone on one and some guy at school asked me so i— i just thought—”
you thought it’d do you some good, since the one you wanted you couldn’t really have.
“are you actually..?” satoru trailed off, an unfamiliar strike of something in his chest making him a little upset.
but he knew damn well what it was.
“but—” akira stared at you wide eyed, pointing at satoru. “but it’s— it’s supposed to be—”
“aki!” satoru quickly grabbed her arm and lowered it, eyes snapping to you next. “is it that one guy you told me about? from your english class?”
“uh huh.” you fidgeted. “he asked me again and i felt bad saying no so i— said yes…”
satoru swallowed, nodding.
“oh you big dummies!” akira groaned. “we’ll talk about this later or else i’m gonna go into fucking cardiac arrest from frustration—”
she skated off to the edge of the rink and out, leaning on it from the outside with her head dramatically hung.
you both got into starting position, but you faltered when you noticed satoru was oddly quiet and stiff.
“…toru?”
he blinked down at you. “huh?”
“you okay?”
“oh!— yeah.” he smiled weakly. “i’m fine baby.”
“you sure—”
“what time is your date?”
you gnawed at the inside of your cheek. “it’s a bit after this... i told him to just give me time to shower and get ready.”
“if he can’t accept you stinky then he’s not for you.” he shook his head in distaste. “he’s already failing in my eyes sweets absolutely flunking. maybe you should cancel it? yeah i say cancel it—”
you laughed, heart in your throat as your eyes gleamed up at him. “i can barely accept you stinky so i wouldn’t blame him—”
“hey!” he placed an exaggerated hand on his chest. “it’s not my fault i literally put my heart and soul out on the ice just for you to skate all over me—”
you gasped offendedly. “i don’t skate all over you—”
“do too!”
“do not!”
“do to—”
“you guys!” akira called. “you know i love it when you guys love on each other it makes me so happy and envision your wedding but right now we have to grind!”
you both froze up and snapped your heads in her direction with red faces, whining.
“aakkiii!—”
you practiced what you had of the routine a couple of more times, a few new moves and jumps added after each run until akira called it a day upon noticing you and satoru were practically sweating your asses off and messing up several times out of exhaustion.
“good job today you guys!” she smiled, patting you both on your shoulders. “i feel like the next time we meet we’ll have the choreography down... from there we just need to perfect it and you should be good for the next competish, okay?”
you both nodded and thanked her, sweet smiles on your faces as she reached up and pinched a side of both your cheeks.
“my little babies.” she cooed. “oh how you’ve grown! you guys were so little when we started now satoru is huge man jesus christ—”
she lifted her hand and reached up to measure satoru’s height from his forehead, her passing it over the top of her head and eyes widening at the huge gap.
he laughed and puffed up his chest. “i got big and strong too aki see?” he flexed an arm. “see? eh?”
“that you did!” she laughed brightly, ruffling up his hair. “the strongest.”
you giggled and skated over to the edge of the rink to pack up, internally panicking a little that you guys went overtime and it was almost time for your date.
“satoru..” akira whispered, looking over her shoulder to make sure you weren’t listening. “what’s going on? you still haven’t asked her out? i thought you said you were gonna do it.”
“no..” he mumbled. “but we can’t. and she knows that too so— so what am i supposed to do—”
she gawked. “do you not see what’s happening?! she’s gonna go on a date with someone else! off with this stupid fear you guys have already seriously.”
“we caan’tt aki.” he pushed sadly. “it’s too risky.”
“but it’s not though!” she threw her arms out. “you guys have known each other since practically birth i feel like if it wasn’t meant to be you would’ve separated by now!”
satoru gnawed at his bottom lip in thought, eyes trained to the way your bows moved in your hair as you swung your duffel bag over yourself, smiling softly once he realized you had kindly packed his things for him too as you sat on the bench and waited for him to take you home.
akira sighed.
“it’s not my place to tell you guys what to do… but love has no limits. you know that.”
he nodded, smiling weakly at her as they skated out of the rink and prepared to lock up, akira hugging you both goodbye with a family kiss to your cheeks and you separating ways with her for the day, but not before her reminding you guys of practice tomorrow and that she loved you over her shoulder.
satoru was dreading you going on your date as he drove— the both of you normally talking about random things like always but his mind unable to stray from the fact that you were actually giving some random dingbat a chance.
it was rare when either of you would talk to or date other people, never even as your heads have always been so focused on figure skating and competitions… but also on each other— taking care and loving one another that you never needed anybody else since you were everything to satoru and satoru to you, and you were both confident that absolutely no one could ever step up to that level.
so why were you going on a date?
but he shouldn’t be like this. he knew that. there was a silent agreement between the two of you to never fall off that thin tight rope and keep each other balanced. and you were allowed to see and date whoever you wanted— something that he probably should do as well to try and get over the fact that you’d never really be his.
satoru pulled up to your driveway and shifted his gear into park.
“thank you toru!” you smiled sweetly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“you’re welcome.” he murmured. “can i— can i come in with you? and hang while you get ready?”
you quirked a brow. “i thought that’s what we were already doing silly.”
“okay well invite me woman!” you both got out of the car and walked up the steps to your front door. “you can’t just assume. what if i was busy? what if i also had a date? hm?”
you gave him a sly grin as you twisted in your keys to unlock the door. “do you?”
“… no.”
you giggled and pushed open the door, the both of you immediately clasping your hands over your mouths to keep your laughs in at the sight of your mother sprawled out on the couch dead asleep with drool coming out of her mouth, the tv softly playing in the background as you quietly shut the door, went up the stairs and into your room.
satoru sat on your desk chair lazily while you quickly hopped in the shower to get ready for your stupid date, staring at the framed photographs on your nightstand that all consisted of you and him over the years, smiling softly at his favorite— a picture of the two of you when you were babies, cheek to cheek with huge smiles at the park as you held ice cream cones in each of your hands, satoru more than sure akira was the one who took that picture.
the sound of your door clicking shut pulled him from his thoughts as you walked in, drying your pretty hair with your little fuzzy towel and throwing it in the hamper once you were done.
“oh! i was gonna show you! i got these ribbons the other day—” you got down on your knees and looked under your bed, sticking a hand in and pulling out a white box as you picked it up and shuffled with your knees closer to satoru— sitting back on your ankles.
“—i was running out of ribbon so i got these!” you held up the box and satoru took it, examining the various pastel colors with warm eyes. “some of them are polka dotted and i thought that was cute.”
“it is sweets!” he agreed.
satoru loved the ribbons in your hair, and you’d always wear them without fail because you knew just how much he did.
“i wanna start wearing bows too.” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you giggled.
“are you saying you wanna steal my brand toru?” you picked up a blue roll of ribbon from the box, a color that matched satoru’s eyes. “thought you were an honest man?”
he gasped. “i am an honest man! is it not obvious enough when i help you with your math homework? when i sacrifice my dignity and text you answers during your tests?”
you giggled and unrolled a strand of ribbon. “not when you eat all of my sweets that you actively dig through my room for—”
“but they’re always the strawberry gummy puffs!” he whined. “they make me a slut.”
you playfully rolled your eyes and stood, grabbing your little scissors and snipping off a piece of blue ribbon from the roll, stepping in front of satoru and leaning.
“watcha doing?” he asked, placing his hands on your waist.
“i’m putting a little bow in your hair before i leave!”
he hummed. “don’t think it’ll look as good on me as they do on you.”
you blushed, taking little pieces of white hair from the top of his head and wrapping the ribbon around, tying it the same way you’ve been doing for yourself since you were the age of nine.
you took a step back once you were finished and laughed. “you look cute toru!”
he raised a silly brow. “do i still look big and strong?”
“big and strong and pretty—”
“please don’t go.”
you stilled.
“what?”
satoru looked down, his bangs hiding his gorgeous eyes as he did.
“on your date.” he mumbled. “don’t go.”
you placed your hands softly on his shoulders, and his hold tightened a little around your waist.
“why?”
“because like i said if he doesn’t accept you stinky then he can’t have you when you smell like vanilla—”
“toru...” you spoke sternly, softly. “why not?”
you didn’t know why you were pushing it so much… maybe you were trying to see if you could get it out of him— if he had the will to actually say it unlike you…
and you hoped to god he would say it.
he slowly lifted his head and propped his chin up on your tummy, a sour expression on his face as he puckered his lips to the side like a little fish.
“dunno…” he muttered, his gaze flickering to yours and a sense of guilt swarming his chest at the uneasy look you had, his face relaxing as he sighed.
“sorry.” he smiled sheepishly, pulling back and letting go of your waist. “i’m kidding you have every right to—”
“m’not going.” you mumbled as you slid your hands away, looking down and playing with your fingers.
“huh?” he furrowed his brows. “no baby go you should go—”
“i don’t want to.”
you never did in the first place. you had foolishly thought that letting someone else in like this would be good for you and help you establish some sort of… barrier with satoru so you weren’t always suffering so fucking much.
but you were absolutely stupid for that.
all you’ve ever wanted was satoru, and doing something to pull you away from the type of relationship you had with him (whether platonic or romantic you had no freaking clue), was not only hurting you, but hurting him.
you didn’t need anyone else, truly. all you needed was satoru and his silly smile and dramatic antics— to spend time with just him and skate and eat dinner together after practices every night while watching horror movies, laughing so much over his screams that your stomach hurt while he whined about how you were making fun of him.
that’s all you needed… just satoru.
regardless if there was something more in question.
“you don’t want to?” he repeated softly. “why?”
“you know why, toru…”
you had said it so softly he barely caught it, but he did, his breath hitching in his throat.
that was the closest you two had ever gotten to acknowledging it.
you both were silent for a moment, the soft murmur of your tv downstairs filling the void as you looked at each other, tense and waiting for either of you to say something… anything.
but it was like the gravity of the foreseeable consequences settled onto your shoulders, and the pair of you could only sadly smile.
satoru stuck his pinky finger out towards you then.
“birds of a feather?” he murmured.
you breathed out a little through your nose and looped your pinky with his, nodding.
“birds of a feather.”
he kissed his thumb and you did the same before locking the promise.
for the rest of the night, you and satoru watched a bunch of shitty unknown movies to try and see who would break and laugh first— you feeling bad that you had to cancel so last minute on that guy from your english class, but not regretting it at all as you watched satoru scarf down two slices of pizza in one sitting and nearly throw up, you almost falling off the bed from laughing so much and him having to catch you midway down and pull you back up, saying that he was your hero and therefore you should give him your last stash of strawberry gummy puffs as a reward.
it was nearly two am when you and satoru finally settled down, both sprawled over each other on the bed as you stared up at the ceiling and talked about literally anything that came to your minds— stubbornly fighting off sleep for whatever unknown reason in the dark.
“you know this is aki’s last olympics right?” you spoke softly, your arm propped up as you watched the way satoru played with your fingers.
“yeah..” he replied. “i don’t really know how to feel about that.”
“me neither.” you shook your head. “but she said it came at a perfect time because she’d been wanting to retire for a while.”
and now it was yours and satoru’s turn to try and fill the legacy she had built.
he hummed, delicately interlacing your fingers together as the outline of it through the darkness made you blush and smile, the nooks between his digits blessedly made entirely just for you as your fingers slotted perfectly in each spot every time.
and satoru silently vowed for the millionth time in his life that he would always be your hero and keep you safe, a promise that was already tied into your birds of a feather contract, but needing to repeat it to himself anyways while he listened to the sound of your voice talk about your excitement for the upcoming olympics.
and my god were you excited, the both of you— looking forward to seeing akira gracefully take home her fifth fucking gold medal like she always did with no repercussions, seeing her fans and the mass amounts of support she got every year with bouquets and teddy bears and picture taking, but also looking forward to spending even more time with her— for not just practices… but for forever, even more than you already did now as you two were greedy and just loved akira.
you were looking forward to forever, the three of you.
until akira’s accident.
“oh my god i’m gonna throw up—”
satoru hurled over just as you both stepped onto the bleachers at the olympic arena, you laughing and placing supporting hands on his shoulders as you followed your mother and satoru’s to your designated place by the front.
“toru i told you you’d make yourself sick if you didn’t leave that damn dessert table alone.”
“there were cinnamon rolls baby. cinnamon rolls how on earth could i possibly just walk by a platter of cinnamon rolls—”
“okay!” you giggled, carefully leading him to sit down and ruffling his hair once you settled. “i get it! you love cinnamon rolls.”
“not as much as i love you—”
“yuck!” you stuck your tongue out and pushed him away by his cheek, him laughing loudly as he shooed your arm away and grinned.
“toru— this is the last time we’re gonna be sitting here in the bleachers watching aki.” you mentioned. “isn’t that fucking nuts?”
“now i’m gonna cry and throw up.”
“no!” you giggled and nudged his shoulder. “then you’ll make me cry.”
he smiled and leaned over to plant a quick kiss to your cheek, reaching up and fixing the bows in your hair before looking straight ahead, his sparkling blue eyes staring at the rink.
the crowd roared suddenly and a mix of big and tiny flags of several individual countries waved in the air as you and satoru jumped and screamed when akira glided out with her skates and glittery dress, a huge dazzling smile on her face as she waved at the crowd, her eyes scanning around quickly before they finally landed on you and satoru.
as if she wasn’t already smiling enough, it grew bigger at the sight of you both practically over the fucking rink calling her name, her blowing you both a kiss and connecting her hands together to form a little bird, fluttering it up funnily and making you laugh before spinning around and going to starting position with her partner.
“oh she’s gonna wipe again.” satoru breathed out. “wipe absolute buttcheeks.”
you cackled as you both watched her routine— incredibly fast paced and technical, filled with spins and throw jumps and lifts as she made it known that it was her last year and wanted to leave with a mark, you and satoru absolutely mesmerized by the choreography as a dramatic symphony of a classical piece drummed through your ears by the speakers.
each move was executed beautifully, you and satoru at the edge of your damn seats as akira’s partner lifted her by the arms to settle over his shoulders into a split formation— halfway through the routine already.
“maybe we could do a move like that for when we compete!” you suggested over the music. “i feel like technically it could—”
a hand flew over your mouth as you watched akira topple and slam to the ground upon coming down from her split lift, the spinning blade of her partner slicing through her abdomen as her head nastily collided with the ice— the crowd screaming in terror.
“oh my god!—” your chest moved frantically and you and satoru looked at each other, horrified faces as you watched the backside of her limp body on the ground surrounded by paramedics, her partner hovering over her in complete and absolute distress.
and there was so much blood.
blood that pooled all around her figure and stained her shimmering dress, blood that wouldn’t stop fucking spreading as a stretcher finally made it out on the ice.
“baby.” satoru’s voice shook. “why isn’t aki moving.”
“i— i don’t know—”
“aki!”
you both snapped out of your shocked daze and screamed over the rink and jumped, shoes slipping against the ice as the two of you tried to reach her through your panicked tears and calls, security speeding through and pulling you both back as you watched the paramedics lift her frail body onto the stretcher and away from the rink.
“that’s—” you sucked in a sharp sob. “that’s my aunt please let us go—”
“you need to stay out of the rink—”
“fuck you!”
satoru shoved security away and grabbed your arm, wishing you had your skates on as you both practically crawled over to where akira was being carried out, not giving a single shit about the way your mothers yelling demanded you back as security had to literally pull you and satoru by the ankles, further and further away from the scene and away from akira until the only thing left was her pool of sickly crimson blood in front of you, you and satoru wailing.
akira died at the hospital later that night.
the collision of her head against the ice brought such blunt force trauma that it caused irreversible brain damage, and with the amount of blood that she was already losing from the laceration of the blade— those elements combined didn’t give her a single fighting chance at survival, her fate sealed from the moment her body hit the ground.
it was completely unexpected… an incident like that had never happened in not just olympic partner figure skating, but figure skating competitions as a whole— the severity of the situation so grave that the complex move akira and her partner performed that led to her death was banned from the olympics moving forward.
and you and satoru were fucking ruined.
ruined and crying and clutching over her arms and hands at her hospital bedside, it scaringly cold and stiff and not her usual warmth at all as you couldn’t accept that this was your reality, that akira had left you both all alone after not only her initial familial love that you’d gotten since birth, but after nearly a decade of giggles and skating, her picking you both up from school and cussing up a storm because it made you and satoru laugh as kids, buying you ice cream and taking you out for beach days because she said the sun was good for your skin, harassing you and taking a million pictures of the two of you as she uttered over and over again that love had no limits— your dream of forever with her cruelly severed over the sport you all loved most.
yours and satoru’s mentor, friend, your fucking mother figure— was gone.
your aunt was gone. your own blood.
the entirety of that bullshit situation sort of settled into your minds by the time her funeral came— painfully holding back tears as your family members gave their speeches and final wishes before the lowering of her casket, you and satoru not saying a single word throughout the entire thing until it was just you and him standing in front of her grave site— your mothers waiting for you in their cars.
you both chose not to give speeches. you couldn’t.
“toru.” you sniffled, drowning in your tears as satoru strained to keep his back, lips pulled into a thin line.
“yes pretty.”
“this is so fucked.”
satoru breathed out a weak laugh and let a couple of tears slip down his cheeks, wiping them with the sleeve of his black suit as he grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers, squeezing it.
“diabolically fucked.” he responded.
there really wasn’t much you could say at that moment in time, the two of you staring at the carvings on her tombstone as the wind softly blew over the petals of her flowers and letters, the day cloudy and cold and just fucked as you silently choked back sobs and whimpers, satoru lamely trying his best to stay strong for you— be your hero as he pulled you into his chest and squeezed you with everything that he had, nose buried in your hair as his tears fell and dampened a few strands.
“birds of a feather, toru.” you spoke softly, both of your frames shaking as the saying itself came from none other than akira.
he firmly nodded, lifting his head and kissing your cheek twice hard before looking at you.
“birds of a feather sweets.” his red teary eyes made your heart ache. “you can’t leave me too, okay?”
you scoffed and wiped your eyes, a sad smile on your face. “i could never… you know that.”
it didn’t really get easier from there, as everything in your lives reminded you of akira.
and though your mother was grieving the loss of her sister, she wanted to be left alone, and the only person that really understood the level of mourning you were on was satoru— him always there in the blink of an eye when you would call him in the middle of the night crying your eyes out while he held you, or when broken sobs wrecked through satoru’s trembling body as he cried into your chest while you held him and vice versa, endless amounts of ‘i miss her’s’ and ‘bring her back’s’ as you took turns depending on the day rolling on the floor unable to physically breathe over the loss as you tried to anchor each other back to normalcy, wondering how the world could be so cruel and continue spinning when you’d just lost half of your hearts.
but it did. it continued to spin and turn and carry on as you and satoru day by day tried to patch over what happened, be there for each other and heal each other as you graduated high school and caught up with satoru in college, still together and still in your stupid limbo of ‘is there something more’ except worse, and still inseparable three years later after akira’s passing.
it didn’t hurt any less, but the days definitely got easier… some harder than others as the time you spent with her became cherished distant memories, feeling eternally grateful for the way she raised and took care of you, for the work she had done, and for the legacy she had built for figure skating olympians around the world.
and because akira was so good and taught you both just as so, satoru and you had a little name of your own as you’ve been sweeping competitions since the age of thirteen, ninety eight percent unbeatable and competitive as other pairs always knew who you were the minute you stepped onto the ice, eager and curious to see if you would make it into the olympics when the time came just like your mentor had done.
some deemed it cheating— unfair due to the fact that you had a four-time gold medalist olympian training you since childhood, but that assumption quickly diminished after her passing when you both continued to wipe competitions and take trophies home purely based on your talent.
and you both agreed to continue your careers without a coach, a decision that didn’t even need to be thought twice over— and you were twenty and satoru twenty one when the time drew near to try for the olympics.
finally.
“my legs are gonna fall off and my balls are gonna droop to the icy floor if you don’t give me a kiss right now.”
“toru!” you giggled loudly, pushing his face away as he puckered up his lips and made obnoxious kissy noises, pulling you in by the waist. “toru focus we’re on a time crunch—”
“time crunch where?” he whined, stomping his blade down on the ice. “we’ve been at it for so long already i’m cold i’m thirsty and i think we should go to that cute christmas festival patch thing you told me aboouuttt!”
“right now?” you asked. “i don’t know toru… i had a set goal for us tonight and if we don’t get it—”
“oh you damn perfectionist.” he scowled, letting you go and quickly skating to starting position. “fine.”
you gave him a knowing smile and skated over to his dramatic sulking figure, kissing his cheek softly and wringing your arms around his neck, pulling him in.
“let’s run it three more times and then we can go to the festival, okay?”
he jumped up like a little kid, eyes hyper and wild. “really? honestly? truly?”
you nodded, gleaming up at him.
“is this a prank?”
“jesus toru you’re making me think i’m keeping you hostage here with how excited you are—”
“yiiippeeeee!—” he grabbed your upper thighs and lifted you before spinning on the ice, the both of you laughing as he roughly turned until he gradually came to a stop, big goofy smiles on your faces as he did so.
satoru loosened his hold as you slowly slid down against his body, faces close and lovesick as his half lidded eyes looked at you, lips stinging to plant directly over yours after so many years of hopeless pining and avoidance, still refusing to acknowledge the situation, but it glaringly obvious at this point.
“what?” you whispered, your eyes fixed on his lips as your blades touched the ice again.
he softly shook his head, blue eyes greedily drinking in your pretty face as he retracted a hand from your waist and brushed his palm over your hair adoringly, hand raising to cup your cheek gently.
was he about to…?
you swallowed, hands gripping his black t-shirt as you waited… anxious, hoping that he would do what you thought he was about to do.
but satoru squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace and quickly kissed the corner of your mouth before turning his back to you and skating to starting position— leaving you incredibly dumbfounded and disappointed.
satoru’s skin felt like it was on fucking fire as he looked at your stunning doe eyes blinking at him from across the rink, heart pulsing uncontrollably as you slowly skated to him and got into position, neither of you uttering a word about it as you ran the choreography three more times like you had agreed on.
you and satoru have had plenty of moments like that… but lately?
it’s been borderline dangerous with how close you’ve gotten to breaking your unspoken rule.
by the end of practice you and satoru excitedly packed up for the christmas festival, more or less stumbling out of the doors of the rink and locking up before throwing your things in satoru’s car and speeding off to the main plaza, cheesy dorky smiles on your faces as you babbled on about all of the things you were gonna do once you got there.
“the s’mores stand! the s’mores stand!” satoru whipped his head comically back and forth between you and the snowy road. “we have to go there and get five nothing less and maybe more—”
“wait! i wanna get some of that hot chocolate we got last year!” you quickly reached and gripped his shoulder. “the one with the chocolate bits in it! and the whipped cream! and the drizzle—”
“oh fuck yeah how could i forget?” satoru made a turn, the shining glimmering lights of the festival and christmas trees coming into view and riling you both up in pure exhilaration. “i gulped down like four cups of those and then threw up in a bush.”
you laughed loudly and shook your head. “i forgot about thaaaattt! toru you always shove shit in your mouth and throw up we have got to work on that—”
“no we don’t!” he cheesed, reaching over and patting over your hair— the smooth ribbon of your thin bows sliding underneath his palm. “i love sweets even if they hurt me. what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. where there is no struggle there is no strength—”
“the only strength i see is a man hunched over puking his guts out.”
“hey!” he pouted, pulling into the lot before parking and turning off the ignition, the both of you hopping out of the car and locking it as you walked towards the main entrance. “and i’ll do it again so what.”
you giggled and interlocked your fingers with satoru’s. “silly silly.”
the festival was lively— huge decorated christmas trees everywhere you went as twinkling fairy lights adorned every corner and direction of the lots premises, several open stands that continuously wafted chocolate and cinnamon and vanilla throughout the entire night that had satoru practically floating through the air following the scent, kids giggling and running around as the soft familiar tunes of christmas music hummed in the background.
“what do you want for christmas, sweets?” satoru asked while chowing down a giant s’more.
“a kiss!” you quipped, giving him a cute silly look as you blew a bit of air over your steaming hot chocolate.
he stopped chewing.
“really?” satoru spoke with his mouthful. “i can literally give that to you right now c’mere—”
“no toru!” your cheeks buzzed a vibrant pink, completely flustered. “you’re supposed to say a big fat no!”
“now why the fuck would i do that...” he grumbled, shoulders slumping from disappointment as he took another big bite of his dessert.
you giggled, looking at him apologetically before standing on your tippy toes and licking a bit of melted chocolate from the corner of his mouth.
and he blinked at you, dumb and still as his cheeks copied the same exact shade as yours.
my god.
you were about to turn him into a freak.
“okay now you have to kiss me.”
“why?!” you laughed. “you had chocolate on your face! i was helping you out.”
“yeah right you little minx.” he scarfed down the last bit of his s’more and threw his little paper tray in the trash can behind him, putting his hands together and shaking off excess crumbs. “that’s actually the most torturous thing you have ever done to me.”
“dramatic!” you exclaimed, laughs escaping you and increasing as you watched satoru’s flustered face pout and glare at you.
you breathed in deeply and settled down, standing up straight as you took a tiny sip of your hot chocolate and smiled. “now i feel bad.”
“you should.”
“can you forgive me?”
“not unless you kiss me.”
“toru!”
“what?!” he pushed. “baby it’s only fair! really! just once and that’s it. a harmless peck nothing more we aren’t doing anything crazier.”
you gnawed at your bottom lip in thought.
technically he was right… it was just one little peck, entirely harmless and cute and wouldn’t have you both falling off of that thin tight rope you guys were still balancing off of.
this would only shake it a little… but then you’d be fine! right?
you were too far gone in the considerations of his proposal as you looked at his absolutely breathtaking blue eyes and face, somehow looking even more angelic as his pinky cold cheeks and nose and scarf covered neck did nothing but make you fall deeper in love with him than you already were.
how someone could look as good as satoru was beyond you.
“just—” you peered up at him. “just one peck okay?”
his eyes widened.
holy shit.
“yes!” he breathed out. “yes yes just one.”
“toru.” you spoke sternly. “i’m serious.”
he frantically nodded, arms already snaking around your waist and bringing you in.
you both couldn’t believe it.
you were about to have your very first kiss.
the two of you leaned in then— softly, timidly, afraid as satoru’s chocolate breath fanned against your nostrils and filled your lungs, lips coming closer and closer until they met in a simple, solid, tiny harmless peck.
satoru felt like his veins were about to pop and explode at the feeling of your delicate soft lips finally on his, the feeling actually fucking unreal as his fingertips went numb and his body tingled all over.
but it quickly became clear that it was not just one harmless peck.
because when it was supposed to be the time for you both to pull away, you and satoru only opened your mouths and kissed deeper— eyelids blissfully closed as your lips smacked so slowly and tenderly, the two of you actively relishing in the moment and just drinking each other’s mouths in as they moved and shifted, deep breaths through your noses as you daze-fully made out with the faint fuzzy sound of jingle bells and christmas music growing increasingly distant.
you tasted so sweet. just like he’d imagined.
but the moment came to and end when you both snapped your eyelids open in realization and released lips, pupils frantic and wide as you searched each other’s eyes for any sign of anger since you both had slipped up and did way more than just a peck.
but there was nothing. obviously there was nothing like that as your shoulders relaxed simultaneously and bashful smiles crossed your faces.
“you taste like chocolate.” he grinned.
you bit your bottom lip in a smile. “so do you.”
“twins.”
“uh huh.”
“i love you.”
you stilled.
you’ve told each other that thousands of times for years, since childhood.
you’ve always said you loved each other and have both known it was laced with those unspoken feelings you had, and you accepted that for as long as you could remember.
but somehow… in someway… it just felt different this time around. profound. more serious.
“i love you.” you responded.
satoru smiled softly and leaned his forehead against yours, basking in each others authentic infatuation for a moment before pulling away.
“can i get another s’more—”
“no!”
satoru ended up getting his second s’more, and you surprisingly ended up partaking in satoru activities and downed three fucking cups of that hot chocolate you loved so much, your tummy full and about to literally burst, but not really giving a shit as you and him were having so much freaking fun— buying little christmas trinkets from the santa shop and building tiny snowmen in the snowy play area filled with a bunch of kids (satoru literally making a tiny dick for one of the snowman and you immediately destroying it and wacking him), even skating in the rink but purely just for enjoyment and not a single thought of what you do professionally crossing your minds.
you stayed there until it was nearly closing time, money absolutely spent from all the things you bought, but your souls happy and warm as you happily walked to the car so satoru could take you home.
on the drive there, you showcased all of the trinkets you both had bought, a particular one catching your eye that you remembered you hadn’t shown satoru yet.
“oh! i got this one—” you dug your hand in the white plastic bag and pulled out a little snow angel, beautiful and glossy as the angels face blushed and smiled. “at the santa shop!”
“it’s cute baby!” he smiled. “for you?”
you shook your head. “i got it for aki. for the next time we visit her.”
his heart softened, nodding.
you and satoru tried your best to visit her grave as often as you possibly could, sometimes nearing four times a week to pay your respects and chat with her for a little while, filling her in a bit on your lives to bring back the feeling of what it was like to just talk to her in any way you could, like you had the fortune of doing once before.
“it kinda looks like her.. doesn’t it?” he questioned, pointing to the figure.
“it does right!” you expressed. “that’s why i got it… it reminded me of her.”
“she’ll love it.” he grinned, gently running the pad of his finger against your cold cheek before turning his attention back to the road.
you and satoru didn’t mention the kiss again as you were funnily still in shock over it, but the butterflies in your stomachs and the sole memory of it did more than enough as you climbed into bed with an already snoring satoru, him sleeping over for the night (when was he not) as you nudged your way under his arm and cuddled yourself in his chest, his slumbered state pulling you in like muscle memory.
you both only had two more practices left before the international skating union competition. once there, you and satoru had to land a spot in the top three chosen by the national olympic committee to earn an official spot in competing for the olympics, a task that was already vigorous and exhausting and nerve wracking, but one you both were more than ready for.
general admittance to competing in the olympics was essentially fourteen years in the making, one that wouldn’t have been possible in the first place if it wasn’t for akira.
“i think we should add a spin to this lasso lift.” you suggested, you and satoru taking a break from running the routine and standing by the bleachers during practice— watching a recently recorded take of your choreography to point out mistakes that flew under your radars.
“a spin?” he asked. “how sweets.”
“so when you lasso me around into the lift—” you rewinded the video and pointed. “since you’re holding me up over your head and we’re balancing with our hands, i say you maybe push me up to kind of like— propel me to do a triple rotation spin back down.”
“and then from there i catch you?”
“yeah!” you nodded. “and we’re traveling across the ice.”
satoru pursed his lips. “that’s kind of hard… you sure?”
“we’ve done worse toru.” you laughed. “i feel like this would give us more points.”
“oh it definitely would.” he nodded. “okay baby.”
“yay!” you cheered. “let’s practice the lift and propel on the mats first because if not i’m gonna eat shit.”
satoru laughed and sat down on the bleachers with you, quickly taking off his skates before standing and kneeling in front of you, untying your laces and slipping your skates off for you as you cutely smiled, him feeling like your little hero and knight in shining armor even if it was for something so minuscule.
he loved doing things for you.
in the middle of you and satoru practicing the move on the mats, your mother came in through the front doors of the ice rink.
“hi!” she greeted, holding up two wide rectangular boxes. “your costumes came in!”
“oh thank god!” you breathed out, satoru setting you down on your feet before you both ran to see. “i thought they weren’t gonna come in on time!”
“are they cool?!” satoru tumbled out. “do they scream please let me in the olympics?!”
you snorted and shoved his shoulder playfully as you unwrapped your boxes, your eyes shining in delight at the sight of your rhinestoned pale baby blue dress, a shade you purposefully picked out as it matched the color of satoru’s eyes— you lifting it with your fingertips from the box and gushing.
you turned it around and held it up against your frame as satoru pulled his top out— a white, tight long sleeved low cut v-neck button up that you already knew was gonna hug his yummy biceps so good, the thought of it making you bite the inside of your cheek as he checked over his black slacks.
your mother clasped her hands together, holding it to her mouth as her eyes gleamed over the two of you.
“i can’t believe it’s happening now.” she spoke softly, you and satoru diverting your attention to her and smiling. “for so long it was always just a distant thing you know? but now it’s here. actually.”
“fuck i know right.” you responded.
“language, y/n.”
“but i’m twenty!” you whined, pouting as satoru snickered behind you.
your mother rolled her eyes and cupped yours and satoru’s chins under her hands.
“good luck next week, alright? i know you guys will sweep.” she pushed. “make aki proud.”
the smiles on your faces grew, nodding as she squeezed your chins and released.
“oh! satoru—” your mother picked up her jacket and swung her purse over her shoulder. “your mom won’t be home for the night her trip got extended until tomorrow… you can sleep over at our house if you want so you’re not over there alone? or y/n can stay with you?”
“oh okay!” he spoke kindly. “thank you for letting me know!”
she smiled and nodded, hugging you both goodbye before leaving the rink.
your head whipped in his direction.
“toru if i sleep over at your house we can watch horror movies and actually scream as loud as we want without worrying about waking anybody up.”
his eyes bulged open. “oh my god you’re right! dibs i get to choose—”
“fuck!—”
by the end of practice you and satoru mastered the addition you added into the lasso lift, performing it beautifully on the ice over and over again until it was like simple reflex, calling it a day after a while and packing your things up to drive to satoru’s house.
you both took turns stepping in the shower to get rid of the sticky sweat that lingered on your skin, changing into comfy pajamas after as you tiredly settled in satoru’s big comfy bed— him flicking through his selection of horror movies and debating which one to pick.
“do you wanna watch something gory or just horror.”
“gory!” you perked up. “i need to work on not being so queasy.”
“but you seem fine when i throw up?”
“that’s because i’m used to it.” you laughed, head resting on his shoulder as he picked a movie and threw his remote somewhere across the bed, his arm coming to wrap around your tummy and pull you in.
it wasn’t like the selection mattered anyways, because fifteen minutes into the movie you were already falling asleep, hand resting on satoru’s torso as he continued to watch it— for some reason still wide awake even after skating for hours.
your sleepy sudden movements from your hand made him weirdly stiffen and relax every single time, your brows furrowing at the feeling and eyes fluttering open when he wouldn’t stop doing it.
“toru… are you still ticklish?” you mumbled sleepily.
he stiffened again.
“no.” he answered softly. “why..?”
you lazily grinned.
“youuu suureee?”
terror struck him as he sensed exactly what the fuck you were about to do.
“please spare me please spare me—”
you jumped on him and tickled his entire upper body, satoru laughing and gasping as he smacked your hands away and twisted and turned, his strong grip making it hard for you to tickle him at one point as you stubbornly swung a leg over his waist and settled over his lap, attacking him while he yelped and screamed.
“baby!” he gasped. “baby please! have some mercy is this how much i mean to you?!”
you giggled and finally stopped, hands retracting as you settled them on your hips. “that’s what you get for lying to me.”
“i was lying for my safety.”
“uh huh.”
you both grinned, satoru’s eyes occasionally flickering down to you straddling his lap with your pretty plushy thighs and blushing, trying to keep his gaze on yours to refrain himself from doing something a little too mental and weird.
but it was too fucking late, because it took no time at all for the blood to rush to his pathetic dick and harden.
surprisingly though, you were the one that was mental— the feeling of his cock against your clit undeniable as the uncomfortable shifts of satoru’s waist only stimulated it against your little nub and made you bite down hard on your bottom lip, shaky breaths leaving your mouth as it was getting harder and harder for you to restrain yourself from satoru’s godlike existence.
and your body was just not listening as you timidly rolled your hips over his crotch— your short shorts criminally thin as you felt just how big satoru’s length was, mouth watering as your palms timidly settled over his chest for stability, grinding on his cock harder.
satoru’s eyes were blown out as he watched you do something so— so lewd, his mind wandering if you were fully and properly there as something like this was absolutely breaking your unspoken rule, and you were more strict about it than he was.
but he didn’t want you to stop. god no.
at this point, you and satoru were off that metaphorical tight rope and hanging on by two hands— having both failed at keeping each other balanced as you rolled and rolled your hips deliciously on his dick, his chest quickly rising and falling at the feeling of your warm pussy over his groin and at the sight of you using him to get yourself off.
your little needy mewls made his hands tremble as he threw his head back on the pillow, eyes pathetically fucked out over something so simple.
“fuck me..” satoru groaned, hands coming up to rub over his face as his hips lifted to meet your grinding.
him doing that broke you out of your haze and you stiffened, satoru taking his hands away from his face with pinched brows at the sudden halt.
what happened?
“okay!” you laughed nervously, an alarmed expression as you swung your leg off of his lap and scrambled under the covers, pulling it completely over you as you shamefully looked anywhere and everywhere but satoru.
but he was out of it.
undoubtedly out of it now that you did what you did… wanting more, wanting all of you as he snatched the covers off of your frame and you squeaking as a result.
“why’d you stop.” he whispered, thumb raising to trace your bottom lip.
“i don’t— i don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“yes you do—”
“absolutely not—”
“i want you.” he cut you off. “i want you bad and i know you want me too so let’s just— let’s just do this once, okay? once please just to see what it’s like and it’ll never happen again.”
your eyes remained wide as you looked at his desperate frantic ones, his hands already kneading at your waist and thighs.
he was entrancing you into his proposal again, exactly the same way as when you both kissed for the first time at the festival as he leaned down and nibbled at your jaw, slotting himself in between your legs.
“do— do what?”
“fuck.” he mumbled, rolling his hips down on your pussy rough and you gasping at the sensation of his big cock against your clit again.
you whimpered as he rutted into you, hands flying to squeeze his biceps as his wet mouth moved down to your neck, licking and gnawing as he waited for your response.
“but isn’t that—” you stifled a moan. “isn’t that too far toru?—”
“please baby please.” he picked his head up and looked at you. “just once i swear once so we see what it’s like and get it out of our systems and never do it again. i promise.”
he needs to kiss you right fucking now.
your eyes fluttered closed as he continued to hump you, licking your lips as you weakly tried to look into his eyes.
“you swear?” you breathed out. “swear it just once and that’s it—”
“i swear i swear i swear—”
“okay then fuck me toru please—”
satoru nearly cried as he ripped himself away from you to frantically pull off his shirt and pants, him slapping your hands away when you tried to take off your own clothes as he wanted to do it himself— lifting your shirt over your head and downright tearing your shorts in half as he flung them down and across the room, your little pink bra and panties set actually turning him into a complete mess as he hovered back over you and shoved his tongue in your mouth.
you still tasted just as sweet as he remembered.
“been dreaming of—” mmpf— “kissing you since you let me, sweets.”
“yeah?” your lips moved sloppily with his as you snuck a hand in your panties and dipped your fingers in your pussy, collecting your arousal. “you missed me toru?”
“uh huh.” he breathed hotly against your lips, hand coming to slide underneath your bra to cup your bare tit. “every fucking night i’d jerk my dick dry thinking about it.”
his words made your clit twitch as you pushed him off your lips.
“open your mouth.”
satoru did as told without a peep and opened it with his tongue out, your hands coming out from your panties as you reached up and slipped your fingers in his mouth, his lips closing in and sucking everything you had to give him as he salvaged up your arousal.
“fuck—” he released your fingers. “is this from your pussy baby?”
“mhm.” you moaned.
your arousal was even sweeter.
“my god—” he grabbed your wrist and licked a long stripe up your palm. “you dirty fucking thing m’gonna have to taste for myself and see.”
you gasped. “what?”
satoru sat up and pulled your wet panties down your legs, biting down on his tongue hard at the sight of your angelic bare cunt before him, slick and shiny and pretty as you unclasped your bra and spread your legs for him— eager and ready and not a single other thought in your brain besides the one that was screaming for satoru to stick his dick inside you.
“toruuuu!” you whined. “quit staring and fuck me.”
his cock pulsed.
“patience sweets, i wanna taste you first.”
you expected satoru to just lower himself down and shove his head in between your thighs, but you were dead fucking wrong as he stood, grabbed your waist and yanked you high up, sitting you on his shoulders as you squealed and gripped his hair.
“wait toru isn’t this uncomfortable i—”
he scoffed. “fuck no. i’ve been lifting you my whole life baby this is nothing.”
your speech lodged itself in your throat as you felt his tongue lap at your folds and clit, slobbering and filthy as he ate and scarfed you down just like his usual daily sweets, you by far his absolute favorite as he slurped your little pussy up and made you squeal and moan.
satoru walked over to the wall and leaned you up against it, taking your thighs off of his shoulders and placing his hands underneath as he propped you up and spread your legs wider, your jaw dropping at his slimy tongue flicking and him slabbering his mouth side to side rapidly until your legs shook and you saw stars.
“toru—”
he grunted, tongue prodding at your hole and you jumping.
“i think— i think i’m gonna cum and i—” pant “i don’t wanna—”
satoru separated his mouth from your pussy with a squelch and looked up, smiling big.
“too bad!”
“but—”
he spit on your cunt and you gasped.
“i said too bad.”
he dipped back in and fully devoured you as you mewled, messier as he slushed his tongue all over and you’d never experienced something like this, something that felt so fucking good as you started cumming all over his face in record speed regardless of how hard you were trying to hold back.
“yummy.”
he let go and you dropped down as he quickly caught you, turning and throwing you on his bed as he climbed over you— wrapping a hand around his cock and jerking as he kissed and swallowed your lips up again.
“you want me to make love to you or fuck you?” he slopped against your mouth before pulling back, yours and his eyes fluttering open to look at each other.
your legs were still shaking by the eat out he gave you seconds before, finding it hard to get your words together as his handsome deluded face stared at you.
“i— um—”
he placed his lips next to your ear.
“you want me to fuck you like my wife or fuck you like a little slut? or both?”
“both toru please—”
he grinned, coming back up as he parted your legs further open and lined his leaky tip with your hole.
“i can do both!”
satoru pushed himself in and you choked, hands clasping over your mouth as you felt him bully his big cock through and leave you a blabbering crying mess under him— his chest heaving at the warmth and softness and stickiness of your cute gummy walls, his years of imagining and theorizing how you’d feel wrapped around his dick all completely debunking themselves at the real feeling as you whimpered and clenched your hole.
“jesus christ—” he shivered, swallowing thickly as his trembling fingers settled on your waist, him slowly reeling his hips back before pumping in. “you’re— you’re warm.”
you dropped your hands and wiped your cheeks as you hiccuped, the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of your walls incandescently euphoric as you embarrassingly already felt yourself wanting to cum again when he had just stuck his dick inside of you— you wanting to ride out this moment for a bit longer and not finish so quickly like you had done on his mouth.
“am i being too mean pretty?” he huffed, thrusts now quick and curt as he gripped your bouncing tits and pinched your perking nipples, the sight of your little tears shamefully turning him on.
you frantically shook your head and tried to clear your brain. “n—no!—”
“good.” he smiled, a little crazed as he let go of your boobs, placed his hands on the backside of your thighs and pushed your knees up to your chest, picking up speed as you squealed and whimpered, utterly taken aback by how rough satoru was being considering the fact that he was such a goofy and kind and loving person on the daily.
oh… what years worth of pent up sexual frustration can do to a man.
satoru whined as you milked his dick, wheezing as he hammered his hips up and slapped against your skin, your body jolting and bouncing uncontrollably as his bed squeaked loud and obnoxiously.
thank god his mother wasn’t home.
“i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this—” satoru babbled, his critical thinking out the fucking window as he just tumbled out totally random but honest confessions as your ears eagerly drank up every word and made your hole tighten.
“yeah?” pant “f—for how long baby?”
“for so long—” he whined loudly, fucking you faster as your mouth hung open and you gripped his wrists for support. “you’re everything i’ve ever w—wanted—”
“i— i’ve only ever wanted you toru— fuck! you’re big.“ you moaned, loving the way a huge deranged smile spread across his face as his hips pistoned into you and his hands pinned you down.
“cum on my dick baby please cum on my dick i want it i want it—”
your toes curled and you squealed, vision flashing white as you let out a high pitched scream at the intense buzzing feeling, your bodies hot and sticky and wet as satoru leaned over and shoved his lips in your ear.
“can i— can i cum inside?” he choked through gritted teeth as he came close to spilling his seed. “please i wanna cum inside—”
“but m’not on the pill—”
“please please baby i beg you—” hah! “i don’t wanna cum anywhere else—”
your eyes fluttered shut at his words and you quickly nodded, his hand cupping your face as he thrusted in one last time and pumped his cum entirely inside you without an ounce of hesitation for the consequences, his horny mind actually crazed and solidifying that there was no fucking way in hell he was gonna accept just friends from this point forward.
what a stupid thought.
“mmm…” you slowly moved your hips a little, feeling his cum all inside your ravished walls as you licked your lips. “your cum feels hot toru.”
not even warm, hot as it slushed and moved inside you with every movement you made, some of it dribbling and coating your outer folds as you bit your bottom lip into a smile and craned your head up to his neck, nibbling and giving satoru tiny kitten licks as he trembled and struggled to stay afloat and not give out his upper arm strength— trying to prevent himself from squishing you.
satoru pressed a soft tender kiss to your cheek then before sitting up and delicately sliding his dick out, running a soothing hand over your tummy as he did so and giving you a lazy smile.
he suddenly raised his pinky to you.
“birds of a feather?” he murmured, other hand running from your stomach over to your thighs now as he just lovingly felt you up, you smiling with rosy cheeks as you linked your little pinky with his.
“birds of a feather.”
you both kissed your thumbs and locked your promise, deciding then that you should probably shower once more before getting into bed to officially sleep— but deciding to shower together as you softly and steamily made out under the misty hot running water, body and mind relaxed as you just swallowed in the ambience of each other, you both not only holding on to your metaphorical tight rope with one hand now, but it actually on the verge of snapping as a whole and sending you both free falling.
and for the next couple of days, you and satoru were feral.
years and years of doing fucking nothing with pure restraint and fantasizing did a number on you both as any chance you got you were making out on your bed, his bed, and even in satoru’s car after your lectures— your hand teasingly going lower and lower until you’d shove a hand in his pants to pull his dick out and pump, your body leaning across the console and mouth going down to bob and suck as he moaned and pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail to guide you and your pretty bows and fuck your mouth just to hear the sounds of you choking, eyes from time to time frantically looking around to see if no one was around as you blowed him.
and you did that basically all of the time for the next three days until the final practice just before the international skating union competition, satoru physically unable to leave you alone and unscathed as he constantly pinned you down to eat your pussy or suckle on your soft tits, his hand tightly clasped over your mouth in your room when your moans would get too loud as he fingered you, his long fingers squelching and abusing your cunt until you were finishing all over his hands again and again.
but you two having actual sex didn’t happen again apart from that night— satoru a man of his word since he promised you would only do it once… unfortunately. but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do other things, right?
except by the final practice, satoru was absolutely fucked off at the fact that neither of you had brought up the potentiality of being more than just friends, especially after doing all of those lewd acts.
he was so sick of it.
and so were you, quite frankly, but instead of being completely over it like satoru, you were afraid… afraid of what could happen and the possibility of losing him if you both indulged, if you let yourselves put your freaking careers on the line.
and satoru was the one person you couldn’t bear to lose. not ever.
“we look good sweets!” satoru cheesed, rotating around in the ice rinks dressing room mirrors as you had your costumes on for dress rehearsal and refinements, both of you glittering and shiny and looking like a professional ice skating pair as you examined yourself, readjusting your straps and hugging your torso.
“cold.” you shivered. “maybe i should’ve had it as a long sleeve… shit.”
he laughed and placed his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down quickly to create frictional heat as you smiled at him gratefully. “nah, it’s cute like this! you’ll warm up once we run it a few times on the ice.”
you nodded, the both of you walking out of the dressing room and to the rink, skillfully putting on your skates before pushing yourself on the ice and gliding across.
“can you show me the uh—” satoru looked to the side in thought once he was on the ice in front of you. “the part where we skate in unison and have our arms up in an L? it’s in the chorus of our music—”
“oh!” you nodded and skated a bit away from him to demonstrate.
“i just wanna see if my form matches yours and we look clean.” he smiled. “and then show me the triple axel after that.”
you gave him a cute thumbs up and pushed yourself off, gliding gracefully and smoothly across the ice as satoru was supposed to be watching you to try and fix his form, but finding himself transfixed once again by the way you seamlessly skated with no sense of struggling effort— arms poised and flowy as your dress moved and fluttered with every twist and turn until you gradually propelled yourself up into the triple axel and landed correctly without a slip or wobble.
the level of difficulty and technicality you skated reminded him of akira— but your style, your movement, and the way you carried yourself was entirely your own.
you made figure skating look beautiful.
you were beautiful.
you slowed down on the ice and skated over to satoru.
“were you able to see? did you match me?—”
“you skate just like her.” satoru spoke softly, and you faltered.
he didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about, as you always knew.
“you’re just saying that.” you pursed your lips to keep yourself from smiling, or crying, you didn’t know.
but a compliment like that meant the absolute world to you.
“i’m not.” he shrugged, skating over to you and taking your hands as he glided with you to starting position. “you always have baby. and i know that’s what you’ve always wanted. i’m sorry i don’t say it enough.”
your eyes softened. “toru that’s not something to be sorry about at all…”
satoru was so kind.
you both skated together and ran the choreography a couple of times, spinning simultaneously and satoru lifting you again and again throughout the routine and still performing your lasso spinning lift successfully, arms around his shoulders and faces close as the wind whipped through both of your costumes and hair from traveling across the ice at such a speed before coming to a sudden choreographed halt at the end of your number.
you had slid down satoru’s body to plant your blades back on the ice when he had enough.
“please stick your tongue in my mouth.”
you choked on your spit and slapped a hand over your mouth.
“toru no! absolutely not we can’t anymore okay—”
“what are we.”
you froze.
“huh?”
“what are we.” he repeated, eyes dead locked on yours and hard. “are we together? are we not? are we friends? what are we—”
“we’re— we’re friends toru—”
“oh fuck no.” he let you go and created a little bit of space between you. “don’t give me that shit we’re not friends.”
“w—well we can’t—”
“i’m your man.” he stated firmly. “i’m your man i’ve been your man for years and i’m tired of avoiding this sweets! it sucks!”
“we’re putting everything at risk if we do toru we can’t!”
“i’m your man.”
“no you’re not—”
he cut you off. “your mouth has been on my dick. we’ve had sex. we’ve kissed we’ve made out we’ve told each other i love you if that doesn’t tell you that we’re together then what the actual fuck?!”
“oh my god toru i know i know!” you groaned, hugging yourself as you anxiously looked at him. “what happens if we break up? huh? what do we do?”
he shook his head. “we won’t.”
“you don’t know that.” you laughed bitterly. “if that happens we lose each other satoru understand that. we break birds of a feather, we ruin our careers, and we ruin us.”
“first of all—” he started. “our birds of a feather promise is to stick together, keep each other safe, and not seperate or fight, is it not?”
“it— it is—”
“so do you really think if we continue to keep each other in this fuck ass limbo of friends that we aren’t already breaking that?” he threw his arms out in emphasis. “we have never been just friends. i’ve known you for fourteen fucking years and we have never been just that.”
you blinked back tears.
“i promise you baby—” he slid closer to you and cupped your cheeks. “that we won’t leave each other. i will fight and try every single damn day to make sure that that shit never happens even though i already know it won’t because you’ve been made for me since birth and we haven’t separated since we’ve met.”
satoru wiped your cheeks. “but i also promise you, that if we continue as just friends, we will break. we’re gonna string each other along so fucking much that we’re gonna go absolutely insane and drive each other away. that is for certain.”
“but— skating—”
“i don’t give an ever living fuck.” he spat funnily and you laughed through your tears. “skating is nothing without you. all the trophies and medallions and the god damn olympics itself with that gold medal is nothing without you. i would give that shit up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you in my life in exchange.”
“and i would do the same for you toru!” you sobbed, his arms immediately wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you in as you sniffled and hiccuped into his chest, him kissing the side of your head repeatedly and soothing a hand down your back.
“don’t cry pretty i didn’t meant to make you cry...” he mumbled, cheek mushed up against your head as your shoulders shook, a huge disgusting pit of guilt in his stomach. “fine it’s okay we can be just friends for a bit longer please don’t cry—”
“no!” you sputtered, pushing him back a little to face him. “i don’t wanna be just friends anymore either toru… it hurts me so much.”
“it does?” he asked softly and you nodded.
“it hurts me too.”
satoru wiped your remaining tears again and fixed the little bows in your hair, a soft liberated smile on his face as he reached down to cup your cheeks and bring your perfect lips to his, kissing you lovingly as the both of you felt like you could finally rest and stop ridiculously hiding your love in the shadows after so many years.
the thin tight rope that you had both been toppling over and rebalancing and holding onto to keep the other from falling, had finally snapped in two, and you and satoru were now in the darkest depths of the truth of what you both were.
except it wasn’t dark at all.
it was light and airy and heavenly, and you wondered why you had been so afraid when there was nothing to be afraid of in the first place, since the one you were falling with was satoru.
silly.
he pulled apart and looked at you, his striking blue eyes and white fluffy hair especially beautiful.
“tomorrow—” he began. “we’re gonna absolutely destroy everyone else there and land a spot in the top three, and then after i’m gonna take you out on a nice dinner and buy every single fucking dessert off the menu, and then i’m gonna ask you to be my girlfriend. okay baby?”
you giggled then, the brightest rosy cheeks on display from the both of you as you eagerly nodded and threw your arms around his neck.
and tomorrow could not come soon enough, because not only were you looking forward to making your dreams a reality and competing against other figure skating pairs from around the world and the olympics itself, but also the thought of officially being satoru’s after years of wishing on little stars and day dreaming about what that would be like for hours on end.
until the moment was here. happening.
the indoor arena was electric and rowdy the minute the competition commenced, you and satoru in absolute awe of the energetic atmosphere as many individuals in the crowd waved their banners or screamed their loved ones names, an ambience very similar to the olympics as you both watched pair after pair perform their hardwork and dedication on the ice, goosebumps on your skin as you fidgeted and jittered.
out of twenty of your countries competing pairs, only three of you would be chosen for the olympics.
and you hoped to god you and satoru would be chosen.
“we’re almost up baby.” satoru patted your head, sitting on a bench in your designated area. “i think it’s two more pairs then it’s us.”
you nodded, nerves closing up your throat as your eyes darted over the rink.
satoru frowned.
“hey.” he placed a hand on your thigh, suddenly wanting to rip your nylon tights off so you could actually feel his skin on yours. “you nervous sweets?”
you nodded again, and he gave you a silly grin.
“don’t be! you’re literally akira the second. we’ll be fine!”
you laughed lightly and leaned your head on his shoulder.
“and even if we don’t land a spot, that’s fine too.” he kissed your head. “it’s our first year anyways… we’ll know the game for next time and we’ll try harder.”
you picked your head up and smiled at him, his words settling your nerves just as soon as the last remaining pair took their places on stage, yours and satoru’s turn right after.
what you didn’t know, was that satoru was just as nervous as you.
but he knew you needed a rock and someone to comfort you— wanting to swoop in like a little hero and save you again… so he kept it hidden.
“fuck i almost forgot!” satoru jumped up and dug into his duffel bag, pulling out a roll of pale baby blue ribbon that matched your dress exactly. “you told me you didn’t have ribbon that matched your costume so i went and tried to look.”
he held it out for you cutely on his palm.
“does this one match?”
you picked up the roll, astonished and mushy inside that satoru actually went out of his way to find this specific ribbon color for you because you had expressed how unhappy you were with the darker shade you had, your eyes looking up at him in complete adoration.
“oh my goodness— thank you toru!”
you quickly undid the bows in your hair and slipped off the former ribbon, digging through your duffel bag for scissors and cutting off pieces from the new ribbon before looping them through your hair and tying, not needing a mirror since you’ve done it for as long as you could remember.
satoru’s cheeks went pink as he looked at your new pretty bows.
“does they look okay?”
“beautiful.” he responded, pecking your lips before taking your hand and leading you to the entrance of the rink.
“okay—” you breathed out. “this is it.”
“what kind of food do you think they’ll have at the dinner place we picked—”
“toru!” you giggled. “not now!”
he smiled sheepishly at you before leaning his forehead against yours.
you stuck your pinky out.
“birds of a feather?”
satoru grinned and looped his pinky with yours.
“birds of a feather baby.”
you both kissed your thumbs and once again, locked your promise.
the announcer over the speakers iterated your names and your country as you and satoru glided across the ice poised and graceful with your arms up, waving at the crowd and giving your mothers a special frantic wave before moving to starting position, unknowing of the way several other pairs and the judges themselves murmured about your reputation and your association with akira.
and you hoped she was watching over you both now. somewhere.
the music begun, contemporary and lyrical as you and satoru slid across the rink, already impressive and entertaining as you performed moves and lifts right off the bat, the sounds of your blades scraping against the ice oddly keeping you in time with your choreography as the number went on.
and you and satoru were feeding off of each other, the chemistry undeniable to a strangers eye that had no idea of your story as you conveyed passion through your expressions, each technical movement bleeding with the fact that you both had been olympic level trained since the age of fourteen and fifteen.
you were halfway through your routine now, the lasso lift coming up next as satoru harbored in his strength so he could properly propel you into that newly added spin.
you skated around him and he lifted you up into the air, the crowd cheering and excited at your beautiful remarkable forms.
except satoru’s hands were slippery.
why?
nerves. he quickly deemed it nerves as he had no time to deliberate since it was almost time to propel you up into the spin, his mind already racing over the fact that the slip in his hands was hindering his strength to keep you up there, and he worried that if he pushed you up, it wouldn’t be enough and you’d come tumbling down— hurting yourself.
but satoru had zero time to decide again as he went with protocol and pushed you up as hard as he possibly could and prayed you would go into your triple axel spin successfully and that he’d catch you.
but the minute that he did, the force yanked him back and his skates flew up in front of him, you falling down and your thigh hitting something sharp before you both went slamming to the ground— sliding apart from each other on the ice.
the crowd screamed and gasped in terror, sounds you were all too familiar with to what you heard three years ago filling both your fuzzy minds as satoru struggled to get back up, his head turning slowly around to see if you were okay and just sore like him—
until he saw your limp body on your side, your back to him with blood slowly pooling out on the ice and staining your pretty blue dress.
satoru scrambled up and skated straightaway in a panic to you before sliding on his knees as he reached you, turning you over and paling as he saw you were unresponsive and out fucking cold.
“baby?“ he shook you. “hey— baby—”
nothing.
why weren’t you answering him? why weren’t you awake?
his brain flashed images of akira’s body the day that she died, suffocating deja vu as the way you looked when he saw you like that on your side was a carbon copy of her from three years ago, his chest picking up speed as you continued to lay limp even after he shook you desperately numerous times like a madman.
and why was there so much blood?
blood that looked sickly bright red against the white ice, blood that stained his sleeves and shirt and hands as he held you up and supported your head, and blood that wouldn’t stop fucking oozing out of your leg as he trembled.
“hey— hey can you hear me?” satoru tapped your cheek rapidly, shaking you gently again with horrified eyes and still not getting a response.
“fuck! why is this happening this isn’t supposed to happen—”
how could he be your hero? how could he stop the blood and wake you up? how could he— how could he fix this how could he take it all back how could he fix this—
“no no no baby please—” he sobbed. “not like aki baby not like her man—”
he shook you again, your head lolling to the side as if— as if you were—
no.
“baby— birds of a feather right? birds of a feather we have to stick together you can’t— you can’t leave right?” he cried, chest heaving and vision blurry and you just felt so cold.
“you’re not leaving you’re not leaving me please not like aki please god—” he cradled you up to his chest in his arms and rocked. “you can’t leave me you’re all i know and i don’t wanna know anything else please baby—”
satoru’s frantic repeated heartbroken wailing echoed throughout the arena as the crowd erupted and moved around in hysteria, him still rocking you in his arms as he turned his head with terrified bloodshot eyes to look at both of your mothers, yours hunched over in a fit of screams and cries as his had her hands in her hair in utter disbelief and tears.
“fuck what do i do!” he sobbed, legs shakily standing as he slipped one arm under your back and the other under your knees, picking your limp body up as he saw a huge group of paramedics run over to him on the ice as he carried you over.
“help—” hic! “h—help me please—”
why couldn’t satoru be your hero when it mattered most?
several of them lowered the stretcher and took you from him, laying your lifeless self on it before hoisting you up and swiftly carrying you away, all of it horrifyingly and painfully similar to akira’s inevitable death.
were you gone?
satoru looked down and saw your baby blue ribbons on the ice, wet and stained with blood, once perfect bows in your pretty hair when he had you awake and breathing.
were you breathing? had you hit your head?
he couldn’t remember.
he couldn’t remember anything but your unresponsiveness, the way your skin was colder than the ice itself as he picked up your ribbons and looked at them in his hands— and the way your blood stretched over for what looked like miles and was still there.
in front of him. taunting him.
was the world so cruel as to take you too?
it wouldn’t. it couldn’t.
you’d never done anything wrong. you’d never treated anybody indifferently as you were sweet and beautiful and talented, always in servitude of others— in servitude of him as you taught him how to ice skate when you didn’t need to at six years old, you already kind and gentle at that young age when you could’ve easily shooed him away like a little bug and told him to fuck off.
and throughout your life too, as he was well aware he was an annoying dramatic piece of shit that whined and cried and ate your stashes of sweets all of the time— but you always just giggling and looking at him with adoration in your eyes, with your cheeky smile, with the little ribbon bows in your hair he loved so fucking much.
oh how he wished he didn’t always take your sweets at that moment. how he wished he wasn’t always an annoying blockhead and made you mad at times with his persistent personality and neediness as he stood there frozen in the rink staring at your blood— dark now and dull, wishing it was him instead of you.
you were knocked out for five days at the hospital.
you and satoru also didn’t make it into the top three at the international skating union competition.
you should’ve, as your score was already higher than any other pair there and only halfway through the routine too— but that’s precisely why you got knocked out.
if you had finished your number, you would’ve landed in the top three, but it ending halfway cut off the opportunity for accumulating more points, and eventually another pair surpassed your halfway score by two points.
but satoru didn’t give a shit. fuck the olympics and fuck the international skating union while your body laid still on the hospital bed for hours on end, him refusing to leave your side as he sat there and stared off into space with nothing in his head but hatred for himself as it was his fault that this happened and his blade that sliced you— eyes red and sunken and tired and refusing to eat or drink.
you had hit your head on the ice, but thankfully the trauma wasn’t anywhere near the severity of akira’s, it only inducing a strong concussion and sending you flying out of consciousness upon impact.
but it was the loss of blood that was the problem.
you had lost so much, too much of it.
it made you weak and frail and unable to do much and satoru worried that that’s what was going to take away your fighting chance of survival.
“you should go home satoru…” your mother sighed, standing by the door of your hospital room, her own eyes red and swollen.
he shook his head no silently.
“she’ll still be here… you need to eat something or sleep please. you look awful.”
satoru smiled weakly and shook his head again.
“m’fine.”
your mother pursed her lips to the side and she sighed again, nodding.
“i’ll come by early in the morning, alright?”
he hummed, giving her a tiny wave as she left and closed the door behind her.
satoru had brought a roll of pink ribbon from your little white box in your room, unrolling the pieces he chose and lifting his hands, taking the ends of your hair and trying to tie little thin bows the way you always did, but huffing softly in irritation when they just looked like shit.
he undid the one he was working on and settled for feeling the material of the ribbon between his thumbs instead.
satoru brought you bouquets everyday too.
sometimes three at a time as he continuously swapped out old flowers and replaced them with new ones, changed their water and poured fresh quantities into each vase to keep them alive, and often picked some more from the hospital garden when he went down to get some fresh air for a minute— the least he could do for nearly killing you.
and satoru had a lot of time to think while he waited for you to wake up— bitter and resentful at the world for letting him sit there healthy while you were out, so much so that he started thinking stupid shit like how he wished you would’ve forgotten him and dismissed his yapping dreams about ice skating when you met so you would’ve been an independent skater instead, so you then wouldn’t have gotten hurt by his idiocy and you wouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed like you were now.
or swapped places. him instead of you so he could beat up the fucks that took akira away and beat up zeus or— or aphrodite or whoever the fuck that was responsible for keeping him from you so he could come back to you… unsure if you were doing the same thing as he stared at your resting face.
you should’ve just left him behind.
but he was sleeping when you woke.
arms propped up and crossed next to you on the hospital bed, his cheek mushed up on them and face to the side as you blinked your eyes open and was straight up confused, not a single memory of the incident flitting through your mind… until it did.
and it hit you bad.
your mind reeled with a pounding headache, tears prickling your eyes at the events that plagued through your mind— a part of you knowing there was absolutely no way you and satoru made top three and gutted about it, feeling shaken from the memory alone of you falling and hitting the ice.. but grateful.
grateful to be alive, for you knew akira wasn’t as lucky.
was it because of her that you had lived? had she pulled some strings to change your fate?
your eyes trailed down to a sleeping peaceful satoru, your gaze softening at how tired and broken he looked, bags dark and purple as he snored away next to you, your hand lifting and delicately settling over his fluffy white hair as you smiled that he was here next to you— caressing.
satoru shot up wide awake then as you jumped and retracted your hand, the both of you alarmed and frantic.
“baby?” he grabbed your hand and felt around it, feeling warmth for once as he stood up straight and shoved back one of the sleeves of his hoodie.
“you’re awake? are you actually?—” he pinched his arm hard over and over and you giggled.
you giggled— the sound filling his ears and lifting an undeniable dark ton off of his shoulders as he relaxed, tears automatically brimming his eyes.
“i thought i fucking killed you sweets.” his voice shook, arms gently coming around you and pulling you into an embrace.
“killed me?” you frowned. “toru what are you talking about—”
“oh god you have amnesia—”
“no!” you laughed. “what do you mean by almost killed me? you didn’t do anything.”
“i did everything.” he spoke flatly. “i fucked up that lasso lift. i pushed you up too hard and we fell. i cut you with my blade i made you bleed—”
“toru that was an accident.” you pulled back and your chest hurt over the devastated look on his face, wiping his tears and kissing his nose. “remember— aki’s partner felt just like this and we had to tell him too it was an accident. you can’t control something like that. at all. it’s just unfortunate circumstance.”
“i know but i still feel like—” he wiped his eyes and swallowed. “i still feel like i could’ve done something different. it should’ve been me and not you and i should’ve—”
“toru don’t even don’t think about things like that.” you shook your head. “there wasn’t anything you could’ve done, baby. and that’s okay.”
you gently scooched over on the bed and patted the spot next to yours, satoru immediately climbing and settling in, clinging on to you as he placed his head on your chest with his arm firm but careful around your waist, suddenly feeling how exhausted he actually was from the days he spent restless.
you couldn’t have imagined the pain satoru must’ve gone through waiting for you to wake up. you didn’t know how he even fucking managed as you would’ve been torn into bits and pieces not knowing if he was going to live or not, looking at his limp bloody body the way he had to look at yours and it reminding you of the event that brought you both the most trauma and grief.
you couldn’t believe you almost went out the same way.
satoru confirmed your thoughts later and filled you in on the results of the international skating union competition, rubbing salt into the wound a little more upon learning that you landed fourth, nearly there as you couldn’t help but cry a bit in your hospital bed when he told you that you could’ve had a spot, satoru hugging you and reassuring you that you’d both have your shot at it in the next four years.
your family was relieved that you were awake, tons of people piling in and giving you sweets and food that satoru hungrily eyed and gawked over, you laughing and passing him the ones he particularly enjoyed most as you conversed with your relatives.
and recovery was thankfully easy— doctors orders being just you taking it light and being careful not to bonk your head against anything, as well as taking care of the laceration on your leg— changing the bandage frequently every morning and night, satoru insisting he help you with that and with many other things that you needed as he tried to make up for what he still thought was his fault.
two weeks had gone by of just rest and peace and no figure skating, thinking you and satoru deserved this break, but also secretly petrified of stepping on the ice again after what had happened— neither of you wanting to hurt the other as you avoided the topic of training for the meantime at all costs.
“maybe we should work at a water park.” you suggested one day, the two of you seated on a park bench through the chilly mid january air as you shared a plate of chocolate drizzled strawberries you got from some nice lady and her fruit stand. “be lifeguards!”
“oh hell no!” he spoke with his mouthful before swallowing, readjusting the black round sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “you think i’m gonna be fine with watching random old men savoring after my wife in her little red bikini while i’m off saving some drowning kid? oh no thank you. let the kid drown.”
“toru!” you laughed, smacking his shoulder. “okay then what else?”
“janitors.”
you shrugged. “i like to clean. sometimes.”
“and your entire body is covered in those jumpsuits no stinky old men looking at—”
satoru’s phone buzzed against his jeans and he paused and pulled it out as you giggled, him barely glancing at the caller i.d before answering.
“hello?”
you mindlessly carried on plopping strawberries in your mouth and chewing.
“this is he…. oh hello! yes! how are you?”
you eyed satoru quizzically at his sudden formal change in tone, his eyes glued to the cement below.
“uh huh… really? o—okay! no yes for sure! thank you so much for the opportunity!”
opportunity?
you slowed your chewing and nudged his shoulder gently, wanting him to give you some kind of sign as to who it was on the other line.
“okay, we’ll keep in touch! thank you again!”
satoru slowly removed his phone away from his ear as the other line went dead, staring at his screen and you curiously leaning over only to see his call history log, a random number at the top.
“holy fuck.”
“what?!” you leaned in closer and tried to catch his eyes with yours, his shocked wide gaze slowly flittering to your face.
“that was the national olympic committee.”
you froze.
“shut the fuck up.” you covered your mouth. “toru what did they say what did they say—”
“one of the pairs that made it in the top three got disqualified.” he spat out quickly, shooting up and digging his fingers into his hair as he walked back and forth slowly in disbelief, spinning to face you. “i— i don’t know why i didn’t ask but we got bumped up.”
silence.
“we—” your chest rose and fell erratically, eyes darting around as satoru knelt down and grabbed your hands.
“baby we made it.” he tightened his grip. “we’re competing in the olympics—”
you squealed and jumped up and down and pulled satoru in, the both of you comically bouncing off the walls as you wailed and cried and blabbered on about how you couldn’t believe it and how a chance like this was even given to you, satoru lifting you and spinning you around but stopping and freaking out and apologizing profusely over your injured leg, you shaking your head and laughing, kissing him in return.
“we can’t avoid skating toru.” you spoke once you and him had settled down. “it’s literally what brought us together… and what brought us to aki. and even from you spinning me around like that it reminded me how much i missed skating with you.”
“i feel the same sweets.” he smiled, big and bright and handsome as he leaned over and kissed your rosy cheek. “i miss lifting you up and catching a glimpse of your ass underneath your—”
“toru!”
even though you and satoru were finally on board and accepting of bringing skating back into your lives, it wasn’t to say at all that the fear itself went away when you tried to do lifts or spins in the air with each other— apprehensive and scared as you practiced on the mats way more than necessary before moving choreography to the ice, satoru multiple times chickening out and needing a moment as he was petrified of hurting you again, and you glued in place at the thought of falling and slamming on the ground when you had just survived mostly unscathed.
but this wasn’t the time to be afraid over that anymore, and if akira were here, you both knew she’d smack you upside the heads and tell you to move… to get on the ice and do the sport you both loved and cherished most.
to finalize your dream and make it a reality.
and throughout the month that you and satoru spent before the commencement of the olympics, you trained like never before— no excuses as you worked tirelessly day and night with sweat literally dripping from your faces until every single goal was met and beyond, until every single throw from satoru was perfected and until every axel from you was delivered.
sometime during this month too, satoru finally got to take you out on that romantic candle lit dinner like he promised and asked you to be his girlfriend, him giddy and grinning the whole time and literally spoiling the moment as he meant to give you a chocolate dessert plate that said ‘will you be mine’ in chocolate syrupy letters, but accidentally eating it and smearing the words when he confused your plate with his, smacking his forehead repeatedly on the dining table as the silverware clattered— muttering about how dark it was and how he couldn’t fucking see, but you laughing so fucking much and clutching your stomach that your makeup smudged up at the corner of your eyes.
satoru was reminded again how much he loved you that day, because anyone else would’ve gotten tremendously annoyed and called him an idiot, but you…
you just giggled. giggled and hiccuped like always while he stared at you softly.
the love you and satoru shared stretched far beyond the concepts of what a platonic and romantic relationship was.
the love you and satoru shared was sacrifice. genuine sacrifice and yearn and absolute unadulterated love as you both without another thought would drop your careers for each other, would swap places if it meant the other would be safe from harm’s way, and would endure years of swallowing and pushing back feelings if it meant just keeping one another in your lives forever.
because that’s what birds of a feather was for to begin with.
a promise to stick together. a promise to keep each other safe.
a concept so pure and devoted that it translated onto the ice like no other pair when it came time for the olympics.
“you ready sweets?” satoru breathed out as you both stood in front of each other by the outside of the rink with interlaced fingers, shaking each other’s jitters out. “no matter what happens, we’ve already come so far and done so much, okay? we’ve done what we needed to do.”
“mhm!” you quickly nodded, satoru leaning down before you both rested your foreheads against each other’s with massive smiles on your faces, thunderous cheers echoing throughout the giant arena totally drowned out in your ears as you stared into satoru’s sparkling blue eyes.
“make aki proud.” you repeated softly, and he nodded, you hoping once again she was watching over you both.
you both stuck your pinkies out at the same time and looped them together.
“birds of a feather?” satoru beamed.
“birds of a feather.”
and you kissed your thumbs before sealing your promise.
you both watched the pair that you were going right after perform their routine, beautiful and difficult as you gnawed at your bottom lip in distress.
“toru…”
“yeah baby?”
“some of these pairs are crazy good…” you spoke over the music. “i’d honestly be happy with getting in the top twenty i don’t know if we can—”
satoru scoffed and shook his head, a sly smile as he looked over the rink with his arms crossed.
“nah, we’d win.”
and just like akira had done in her final olympic year— in her final moments, you and satoru made it known that it was your debut, that you had been hungry and desperate for this moment since the ages of six and seven, that you’d been raised and trained by a four-time olympic gold medalist for a decade as you executed the most technical and intricate moves and turns, you and satoru moving as one on the ice and identical as he took your hands and glided on the ice with you, raw emotion in your expressions that read love so clearly that it was impossible to miss.
with each lift, with each time satoru took you in his arms and spun, and with each time he simply held you close and tenderly to his chest as his blades scrapped across the ice with your pretty bows in his view— were all reminders for the two of you that partner figure skating was nothing without satoru and nothing without you.
the privilege of having another way to convey just how much you loved each other through the language of artistic expression and skates and ice, through the feel of each other’s skin, was one you nurtured and looked after and loved as the wind whipped through you and satoru due to the speed of your skates, performing quadruple axels like nothing while dropping the jaws of other figure skating pairs.
and because of this fact alone, how you both truly appreciated each other’s entities and had the indescribable power to correlate that into competitive sport—
was the reason why you and satoru won gold that day.
you and him, on your knees, gripping and hugging one another so hard and crying tears of joy as you both had come so far and gone through so much to get to where you were now, your dream now a complete and total reality as you stepped up onto that podium during the medal award ceremony just like akira had done— representing your country excellently with a big fat gold medal hung over your necks and a big fat kiss from satoru as he lip locked with you up there, flashings of cameras and bouquets and teddy bears scattered all throughout the ice in dismay.
“i love you!” satoru yelled to you over the roaring as you waved at the crowd, your mothers crying and blowing their noses and taking pictures from the edge of the rink as you and satoru cackled and pointed at them.
“i love you, toru!”
“no like seriously!” he put his waving hand down. “i wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. thank you for recognizing that i have love and dreams too baby and for not forgetting about me even when i’ve been the most annoying dipshit of your life.”
“you’ve never been that to me my god toru! where is this coming from?” he hopped off the podium once you two were given the all clear and he held a helping hand out for you to take, you doing so and carefully stepping down.
“reeaally?” he cheesed, cheeky and silly as his big pearly white smile made your cheeks flush. “so you love me then?”
“i literally would not be with you if i didn’t—”
“hooray!” he cheered, throwing his arms up as flower petals flew from his bouquets and around. “my girlfriend loves me! and we’re gonna have rough passionate olympian sex in our hotel room—”
“toru!—”
the love you and satoru shared wasn’t something silly like ‘i like you, you like me.’
it was call me when you get home.
have you eaten yet?
here, let me help you.
whatever you need.
yours and satoru’s souls were exactly the same— blended, intertwined, and stubbornly knotted together as no amount of tug and pull could unravel you both apart, satoru finding over the years that loving you was like muscle memory from the moment he met you, his nerves and reflexes gravitating him towards you on the ice that first time even when he knew there was a huge chance of him slipping and falling, but not being afraid of it at all as long as he just got to you, convinced he knew you in another life as you just felt so familiar the moment he saw your pretty little face.
and you’re so glad that he did get to you… that he stayed with you.
fourteen years of ice cream trips and sleepovers and horror movies from the moment you were teeny tiny babies to adults, experiencing the hardships of your teenage years of loss and grief, to then adulthood and college as you had the privilege of learning to navigate it with another being that was just like you, two little birds with no sense of direction other than to each other.
and it was all thanks to one woman and one woman alone.
“i honestly believe that if she was there, she would’ve brought one of those confetti poppers with dye in it and set it off.” you commented, you and satoru sitting on the grass at her grave site as you leaned your head on his shoulder and his head on top of yours, having literally just come off the plane from being at the olympics— your countries olympic button up thick jackets adorning your figures as your gold medals gleamed radiantly against the sun.
“i wish she was there.” satoru hummed, and you nodded softly in agreement.
“me too… but i’m sure she was! as a little birdie.”
he chuckled, finding your hand and interlacing your fingers as you stared at her tombstone like you’d done so many times before already… except this time it was bittersweet, you having accomplished what the three of you had strived so hard for at last.
“i miss her.” you murmured. “i miss her cussing.”
your eyes flickered down to her peace offerings, the little snow angel trinket you had gotten her still pretty and glossy and her as it sat happily on her stone platform.
satoru picked his head up and kissed the top of your head, propping his chin up on it.
“i miss her too baby.” he responded softly. “everyday.”
“but— i can’t thank her enough for giving us the bullets to fire with for skating.. y’know..” you ran the pad of your index finger along her tombstone, rough and scratchy as you traced little hearts along the edges.
“and she brought us closer together, did she not?” satoru pointed out.
she did.
a woman who was clumsy and loud and erratic with the biggest potty mouth you had ever heard that was passed down to you and satoru in the blink of an eye… but man did she know what love was as she taught it to you and reminded you both of exactly what it was each and every day.
you and satoru had accepted the fact that your hearts would never be whole again, for akira had taken half of them elsewhere and into the depths of the unknown.
but you were okay with that. completely and utterly okay with that.
for love had no limits.
you wanted her to keep it, as you and satoru stitched the remaining halves of your hearts together to create a new whole, as there was no one else you both would rather have that part of you with them forever besides akira.
and yours and satoru’s stitched up hearts grew increasingly bigger and fonder even after a couple of years later, even after winning three more olympic gold medals, you and him back at the same place in front of akira’s grave like always, sitting and laughing and chatting— but with two little baby toddlers that were half of you and half of satoru as they blubbered on about ‘mama aki’ and her trophies, a delicate twinkling ring on your finger and a golden band around satoru’s as your little family had a picnic over her final resting place.
“papa!” your son exclaimed, satoru immediately turning his attention to him in the midst of scarfing down a turkey sandwich.
“yes my offspring?”
you playfully glared at your husband.
“why do your eyes look scarier in the day?”
“HAH!” you slapped a hand over your mouth to hush your cackling, satoru’s face absolutely taken aback and offended.
“they do!” your daughter giggled. “they do! they do!—”
“baby do something!” satoru whined, shoulders slumping as he threw his head back. “i’m being bullied by five year old’s!”
you giggled and kissed his cheek, his pout quickly turning into a soft little grin as his face flushed pink.
“but your papa’s eyes are pretty you guys! and they match yours!”
“mmm— nope! scary!”
your two twin toddlers giggled uncontrollably as they thought being mean to their dad was the funniest thing in the world, you laughing with them as satoru flopped back dramatically and completely laid down on the grass with his eyes looking straight up at the bright sky.
“s’okay.” he spoke flatly. “if even my pretty little wife thinks my suffering is funny i’ll just burn my eyes to a crisp—”
“toru!” you slapped his knee. “too graphic in front of the kiddies.”
“but my suffering!—”
“mommy mommy!” your daughter tugged at your sleeve and pointed to the top of akira’s tombstone, a cute perfect white and brown bird perched up on the edge and peering curiously at the four of you, the creature not alarmed whatsoever of your children’s sudden movements as they scrambled to get closer to it.
satoru propped himself up with an elbow and stared before you both locked eyes, knowing growing smiles on your faces as he fully sat up— leaning and planting a gentle kiss to your forehead, letting it linger.
aki.
and it was like you and satoru were reminded again of your promise that you still told each other every day.
a promise that consisted of your years together… of your love, of your undying fervor of sticking together, of your need of keeping each other safe…
of birds of a feather.
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Soccer player Toji who knows you want to keep you guy’s relationship private for the sake of your privacy and sanity, but he also knows how much it irks you to see girls shoot their shots at him so he gets your initials tattooed on his shoulder and the way whispers fill the gymnasium when he walks in wearing a tank top, showing off the tattoo fills him with pride knowing you’re somewhere in the crowd, smiling softly.
Soccer player Toji who is so insanely whipped for you, his mystery girl, that it becomes a common occurrence for people on the campus to see him at the florist every Saturday, walking out with carefully assorted flowers always wrapped in the same felt paper of your favourite colour.
Soccer player Toji who glances at bleachers everytime he scores a goal to make sure you see him winning.
Soccer player Toji who is literally head over heels for you.
touchdown | series masterlist.
ryomen sukuna x fem!reader [18+] | angst, fluff, smut
ᡣ𐭩 pairing. football player! sukuna x journalism major! reader
ᡣ𐭩 summary. ryomen sukuna. your best friend’s frat brother. he’s tall, hot, suave, not to mention the best thing to happen to college football since…well, ever. he’s in a world completely different to your own. while he spends his nights partying and racking up his body count, you spend your nights reading and racking up your word count. but when the two of you decide to come to a mutually beneficial agreement, you realise you aren’t so different after all.
ᡣ𐭩 warnings/tags. 18+. fem!reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, alcohol consumption, weed consumption, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, fake dating, opposites attract, acquaintances to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, sukuna being an asshole, best friend gojo.
ᡣ𐭩 status. ongoing
ᡣ𐭩 moodboard. no.1 no.2
ᡣ𐭩 word count.
chapter index.
ch1. ryomen sukuna wants to send you a message!
anon headcanons.
a note from the author. hi! my name is lana, and this is going to be my first tumblr long fic/series! i used to write on wattpad, but engagement was so low that it wasn’t worth it anymore :( i just want to give a preliminary thank you to everyone that reads this! it means so much to me that people enjoy my writing as much as i love doing it! if anyone gets really into the series and wants to send in headcanons about it, my inbox is always open! my requests are currently on too! and for those of you who don’t want to read something that ends sad, this is for you, this series will have a happy ending!
series tags. #touchdown #touchdownheadcanons
THE THINGS HE DOESN'T KNOW
➛ back to main masterlist: click here
pairing: katsuki bakugo x female reader
synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.
meet y/n l/n: click here
background info: click here
tropes: friends to lovers, childhood best friends, slow burn, pining, unrequited love?, angst, jealousy as a catalyst, love triangle?
warning: swearing.
Story starting now, grab your 🍿 and take a seat
chapter 01 — a silent confession.
chapter 02 — now, why would I do that?
chapter 03 — why must it hurt so bad?
chapter 04 — desperate much?
chapter 05 — maybe he'll make me feel better.
chapter 06 — frosty’s?
chapter 07 — pinkie promise?
chapter 08 — she always has to be a bother.
chapter 09 — when the truth comes out.
chapter 010 — the things he does know.
epilogue 011 — coming soon...
a/n: sooo this was my first series, and wow, is it that good? Probably not. Posting times and consistency was terrible. Was low-key randomly thought up and then posted, yikes. This was honestly a trial run for what I want and what I don't within a story. Hopefully, the next one will be better peace out.
© 2025 shibuyablonde — All rights reserved. Don't post my work as your own on any other sites.
Uncle!Sukuna Part 6
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
masterlist
Uncle!Sukuna who puts his plan for a second date on temporary hold. The day after the incident with Yuji, you sat him and Sukuna down for that "talk" about why they shouldn't resort to violence, and what other methods they could use to get their emotions out. He hated every second of it. But he did enjoy watching you in your professional element. You were stern and serious, but still had a gentleness about you that showed you actually cared.
Uncle!Sukuna who was falling, real hard, real fast.
But he pushed that aside, instead offering to take Choso out for the day that weekend. He could tell the boy needed some cheering up, and your worry was only getting worse, so he offered to take Choso to some "kid-appropriate guy stuff", and asked you to help Yuji with the finishing touches on his project. Both boys were up for it, and when Saturday hit, you and Yuji waved Choso and him goodbye.
Uncle!Sukuna who couldn't deny that the car ride was a little awkward. He still wasn't very good with kids, and honestly, he was starting to wonder what he was thinking when he offered to do this. He liked the kid, sure, but he knew very little about him. One thing he did know was that Choso and himself were very bad with people, and general socialization wasn't really their thing. So from the house to the mall, the car was silent.
It wasn't until he parked, turning the car off, that Choso spoke.
"I know you like my mom."
Sukuna is silent, stunned by the sudden call-out. He stares out the windshield blankly before his eyes move to the rearview mirror, meeting Choso's. Th boy looks calm and sure.
"You don't have be friendly with me just to get on her good side. She already likes you too." Choso added after a short period of silence.
His words make Sukuna's brow furrow. He ignores the part about you liking him back, turning his head to glare straight at the boy.
"Listen, brat. You're here with me because I wanted you to be, not so I could get brownie points with your mom. Now say something like that again, and I'll throw you in the mall fountain." He quickly got out of the front, leaving Choso to blush at his words. He has a small smile on his face when he climbs out.
Nothing more was said as they walked into the mall. Sukuna took him to the comic store first, that being the whole reason they were there. He watched as the kids eyes lit up, looking around at all the images of his favorite superhero's . It made Sukuna smirk.
"Get what you want. If you see something you think Yuji would like too, let me know." He said before they split up. Choso went to look for his favorites, making sure to keep an eye out for Yuji's too.
Sukuna kept his eye on the kid as he browsed, not caring much about looking at the selection. But his eyes caught on one of the covers, making him pause as a memory surfaces from the pits of his brain.
A young Sukuna is approached by his twin, the younger of the two having his usual grin on his face, while his older brother had nothing but a scowl. Sukuna barely acknowledged his brother until he is standing in front of him, looking far to excited for no reason at all.
"What?"
"It's our birthday tomorrow!" Jin replied. Sukuna rolled his eyes.
"I know that, idiot. Like you said, it's our birthday."
"Well I wanted to give you your present early."
Sukuna looked at his younger twin, confused. They never got each other gifts.
He doesn't get a chance to ask before Jin pulls out a flat, wrapped gift from behind his back. He holds it out to Sukuna, his grin never wavering. Sukuna slowly takes it, holding it in his hand for a second with a skeptical look on his young face.
"Open it." Jin encouraged.
Sukuna listened, tearing off the wrapping paper slowly to reveal a comic book still preserved in the plastic. Sukuna examines the cover, recognizing it as one he's seen Jin read before, one that Sukuna had actually been interested in reading (though he never said that).
"I know you've wanted to read it, so i thought I'd get you a copy. That way, it's something we can enjoy together." Jin admits, practically bouncing up and down with his excitement for Sukuna's reaction.
The older twin is surprised by the thoughtfulness of the gift, and his twins desire to have something they can share. It makes his chest feel full, but he clears his throat in an attempt to appear unaffected. Even at 10, he preferred appearing reserved.
"Uh..thanks, loser." He says after a second, ignoring his brothers grin. Jin can see right through him. "I didn't get you anything." He adds.
"That's okay. Just make sure to tell me what you think once you've read it."
Jin leaves, and Sukuna is left looking down at the colorful cover.
That comic was one of the few things Sukuna ever shared with his brother. It was one of the few things they could talk about and enjoy, finally having a common ground. Sukuna would never had said it before, but he could admit, at least to himself, now that this one comic brought him and Jin a little bit closer.
Which is why he picks it up, not bothering to look at anything else when he moves toward Choso. The kid had already picked out a few comics, some for him, some for Yuji (though he couldn't read that well yet). The two checked out, before making their way through the rest of the mall.
They walked through a few stores, Sukuna buying whatever Choso wanted without complaint. The kid was grateful each time, not expecting Sukuna to do so. But eventually, Sukuna was tired of hearing "are you sure? thank you" over and over.
"Say thank you again and I'll take it all back." He threatened. Choso laughed, nodding in agreement. Sukuna wasn't as intimidating when you got to know him.
They finished their afternoon with some food in the food court, before leaving with plenty of bags and two full bellies.
♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤
The care ride back was far less awkward, but the two still didn't talk much. They simply enjoyed the low music playing through the radio, and the easy ride home.
When they were close to the neighborhood, Choso spoke up.
"If you and my mom get married, would that make Yuji my brother?"
Sukuna blinked in surprise, glancing at the boy in the mirror. Choso had a curious look on his face, genuinely wondering.
"Yuji isn't my son." Sukuna answered after a moment, ignoring the feeling he gets at the idea of marrying you.
"So he'd be my..cousin?" Choso asked. That wasn't as cool as 'brother' but it wouldn't be too bad.
"I...I guess. Technically, yeah." Sukuna answered, trying to brush it off with a shrug. He didn't know why they were talking about this. "But your mom and I aren't even dating, so don't worry about shit like that."
"But you both want to date. Don't you?"
"Don't you have other things to worry about, brat? Since when are you so damn nosey?"
"Mom says it's good to be curious and ask questions."
"Yeah well, not about this. Just worry about your comics and your ma and I will worry about..all the other stuff."
Choso huffed, not happy with his question going unanswered, but figured it didn't make sense to push it. Not right now, at least.
"Well, I like you. And Yuji. So I hope, even if you don't date my mom, you both stick around." Choso admits. Sukuna looks back at him again.
"Yeah?" He sees Choso nod. "Well I...we like you too kid." He says, his voice a lot quieter and soft. His eyes return to the road, right as they turn down the street to your house.
Neither of them say anything more, but both feel a little bit lighter at the confession.
♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤
Uncle!Sukuna who walked into your house a few minutes later, to the sound of upbeat music playing and two voices, very off tune, singing along. He shares a look with Choso, before they walk further in. They stop at the kitchen, seeing you and Yuji dancing around together while seemingly baking. There's a sheet of cookies already laid on the counter to cool, telling Sukuna you both have probably been at this for a bit. He smirks as the smell finally catches up with Choso, who rushes forwards towards the two of you. The sound of his steps catches your attention.
Once again, Sukuna is sure his heart stops when you give your son a large grin, hugging him tightly. It gets worse when you look up, giving Sukuna the exact same beautiful smile.
You turn down the music as he walks into the room fully, Yuji immediately running towards his uncle to be picked up. His bright grin is in place as he starts to ramble about the things the two of you did. He's talking so fast that Sukuna can't understand but a few words, but he doesn't bother interrupting the boy. He simply holds him with one arm, staring at him with a raised, unamused brow. He sees you and Choso talking out of the corner of his eye.
Once Yuji has calmed down a little, you turn to look at them with another smile, handing Choso a cookie while you do.
"Did you get me anything, Uncle Kuna?" Yuji asks, staring at the man expectedly. Sukuna scoffs, wanting to call the boy spoiled for thinking he got him something. But he couldn't, because Sukuna did in fact get his gremlin of a nephew stuff.
"Yeah, but don't expect me to every time. I'm not gonna let you get spoiled." He glares slightly. Yuji ignores that completely, clapping happily at his uncle's words. He wiggled, wanting to be put down to go play. "tch. can't ever stay still." Sukuna mumbled as he set Yuji down. The kid immediately took off, grabbing Choso's hand on his way and dragging the surprised boy to another room of the house.
"Don't know where he's going. The shit's still in the car." Sukuna says with a smirk. His words make you laugh, bringing his attention back to you. "How was he?"
"He was lovely. We finished the project, I think it will score good, and then he wanted to bake some. Said his mom used to make cookies all the time, so I thought it would be a nice treat and help cheer him up." You answered. Sukuna was a little surprised at the mention of his late sister-in-law. Yuji didn't really talk about his parents much. But he didn't think much of it.
"They smell good. Surprised you let him have any before dinner." Sukuna smirked, knowing how strict you usually are about desserts before supper. He moved closer, leaning on the counter as you took the last back of cookies out of the oven.
You huffed playfully, setting the cookies down to cool.
"Well I'm not a monster. Finishing the project was a little emotional for him, so I wasn't gonna be strict with him about something as little as this." You replied. Sukuna frowned slightly at that, but he could understand why. "Also, I don't think I've ever heard of a pair of twins who are so totally opposites, I honestly wouldn't have known you were both related in any other situation." You teased.
"Wait, how'd you know Jin was my twin?" Sukuna asked, thrown back by your knowing something that he definitely never told you. Sure, you saw pictures, but him and Jin looked nothing alike, so surely the twin thing wouldn't be easy to assess. It was your turn to be confused, and you gave him a look as though the answer was obvious.
"Yuji, of course. He mentioned it a while ago. Did you not think that would ever come up?"
"Yuji talks about his parents that often?"
"Of course he does. He talks about them all the time. His dad apparently told him a lot about you, so he talks about that too."
Sukuna was shocked. Yuji hardly ever talked about his parents to him. He thought the kid was just a silent griever, like him, but apparently that wasn't the case. Sukuna frowned as he tried to understand why Yuji wouldn't want to talk about them with his own uncle.
You see this, understanding immediately where his confusion was coming from.
"Does he...not talk about them with you?" You ask softly.
"..No. not really. I figured he just..didn't like talking about them. Figured it might be hard for him." Sukuna answers. His frown turns to a slight scowl at the feeling that he might be doing something wrong. If Yuji wasn't coming to him to talk, didn't that mean he wasn't doing what he needed to in order to show the kid he could be there for him?
His thoughts are interrupted by your hand on his arm, and his eyes snap to meet yours.
"I don't think Yuji is the one who has trouble with it." You said gently. He got what you meant. "If you want to know why he doesn't, I think you should ask him." You added, just as the boys ran back into the room.
Sukuna watched as they excitedly showed you something they drew, contemplating your words. He knew you were right, you always were. He just didn't know how the hell to go about it. Talking wasn't his forte, none of this was, but especially not that.
But he remembered he told himself he would be better, and wanted Yuji to be open with him, even if he struggled with that himself. So he knew he'd have to figure out a way to talk to the brat, sooner rather than later.
He decided to save that for later tonight, though, when you turned to him with another pretty smile, as Yuji runs towards him to shove his drawing into the mans face.
Uncle!Sukuna who gets offended when you offer to pay him back for everything he got Choso, simply walking away without dignifying you with a response. He basically pouted as he helped you make dinner, making it seem like you has actually insulted him. It made you laugh.
Uncle!Sukuna who isn't surprised when he finds Yuji and Choso passed out on the couch once more. In the short time after dinner, while Sukuna help you clean up, they had gone to watch some TV. He will never understand how they can go from so energetic to snoring and halfway falling off of the couch.
Uncle!Sukuna who smirks when Yuji actually does fall off of the couch. He still didn't wake up, making Sukuna shake his head in disbelief. He was pretty sure the kid could sleep through anything.
Uncle!Sukuna who approached your bed room, knocking on the door softly. He couldn't help but admire you when you opened the door, obviously getting ready to go to bed soon. You smiled again, opening the door to allow him inside.
"They're asleep aren't they?" You assumed with a chuckle. He smirked, nodding as he examined your room.
"Knocked out." He confirmed.
"Yuji can stay here tonight, if you don't want to carry him back to yours." You offered, looking at him through your mirror. His brow raised, smirk growing.
"What about me? Can't I stay too?" He teased, giving you a flirty smile. You flushed, breaking eye contact and shaking you head fondly.
"You can if you'd like." You replied after a moment, looking back at him. You see his smile drop in surprise, making you smirk. "Plenty of room on the couch for you." You added, teasing him.
His shoulders dropped, a scoff leaving him as he shook his head. His reaction made you chuckle. He moves closer and you turn to face him fully.
Sukuna remembers he had a plan, to ask you out on another date. And while this wasn't how he intended to do it, it feels like the perfect time.
"Tease," He grumbled. His hands settled on your waste, holding you just like he did when he kissed you. "What are you doing next weekend?" He asked.
You flushed, hands going to his chest because you weren't sure when else to put them. This was the closest you two has been since your date.
"Um, nothing specifically. Choso won't be here, so I was just gonna get some stuff done around the house. Why?" You replied. You could guess why he asked, but you wanted to be sure before getting your hopes up.
"How about we get to that second date?" He asked, doing his best to appear confident in his questioning. He hoped you were on the same page.
Your instant smile reassured him that you did.
"Oh yeah? I don't know, the house could really use a deep clean." You teased. He scoffed, glaring at you with no heat behind it.
"Don't be a brat." He replied, making your smile grow. His jaw clenched as he hesitated. "You..do wanna go on another one, right?" He forced himself to ask. He wanted to be clear with you, straightforward to the best of his ability.
Your smile softened.
"Yes, Sukuna. I'd love to go on another date with you." You said. The look of relief on his face made you want to tease him more, but you decided to give him a break.
He smirked softly, pulling you closer. He didn't say anything more, and neither did you. You ended the night with a soft, sweet kiss, before he left your bedroom. He took Choso and Yuji to bed in Choso's room, before actually laying on your couch. Both of you fell asleep with little smiles, feeling more secure in whatever it was between the two of you than before.
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let me know what you think! also, would ppl like to see a snippet that's about reader and Yuji's afternoon together while sukuna and choso aren't there? I realize sometimes i focus too much on one dynamic and might leave another out a bit. I assure you guys there will be plenty more about sukuna and reader in the next part! I just think it's important to build their relationships with Yuji and Choso.
I'm thankful for any constructive criticism! Thank you for reading, and all the support <3333
barely proofread
Un-evil
Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader
This is filthy. Short and downright filthy.
Crossposted on AO3.
Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3
Word count: 2k
Summary: Simon f*cks you stupid. He's not sorry, and neither are you.
18+ (Can't stress this enough)
CW: smut. that's it. that's the plot. it's just PWP. it's got a little fluff at the end, but it's smut.
Masterlist 🦊
𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬
Pain should be something evil, shouldn’t it? Yet you’re mostly positive that Simon’s hands aren’t evil – at least, not when they land on you.
But it's hard to prove your words right when he has his fingers curled into a tight fist around a handful of your hair. It's difficult, if anyone were to see, to convince them that he isn't trying to split you in half, by the way he has you curve your back in an impossible angle.
However, you’d gladly give a Ted talk about how un-evil he is being.
Naturally, the image might not seem the most innocent, so you’d have to work tirelessly to sound convincing. On all fours on the mattress of his own bedroom, with your feet dangling off the edge of the bed. Curled toes and stiff calves. Head so thrown back that your eyes are locked to the ceiling – or, well, they would be.
If they hadn’t been rolling back for the past – what? Night? What time is it, exactly?
In truth, the only thing you’re seeing is the back of your eyelids. Luckily the ceiling ain’t all that to look at.
Your throat is so tight and coiled that your breaths come out ragged and – bloody fucking hell – almost pained. And again, there is a bit of pain. A pinch of it.
It would be a lot, with your hair being pulled and your back forced into an arch, but the pleasure is just so overwhelming you feel nothing else. The sting of your scalp and the ache of your spine only enhance what’s happening at the other end of you.
How good he’s fucking you.
It’s deranged, honestly.
Someone must be thinking a bleeding homicide is occurring in the Ghost’s quarters. You'd love to have some containment, acting a little more prude even if he's pounding his cock right into you something fierce. Maybe mewl and moan and be all breathy and shy.
But your neck is so thrown back that the groans coming out of you are mostly punched out by the man himself each time he thrusts in and simultaneously pulls back at your hair to slam you against himself.
On the other hand, his grunts are muffled by the fabric of his stupid balaclava.
Before the whole ordeal started, you told him you wouldn’t fuck him if he wore that thing.
“Not even sure you wash it, L.T.” You’d said, smirking and sounding so proud of having something to mock him for – because he's always so bloody perfect on the field, isn't he.
But he’d shut your mouth spare minutes later, when he’d throw you on your back on his bed, making you feel like you weighed a pound and few spare coins. Lifted his mask up to his nose. Snatched your khakis and knickers off all at once.
And ate you out with such fervor and insistence you were almost positive you’d stopped breathing for a while during the whole meal.
Then, he’d taken off the mask, wiped his mouth with it after you’d soaked it with your orgasm, and put it back on.
“Washed it now.”
Smug cunt.
But now pride and ego and whatnot feel like fickle things, much like your aching back, burning throat, and the impending cramps in your calves.
Now, as your mind squabbles in a puddle of itself, almost disassociating, Simon must notice it. And oh, he doesn’t like that in the slightest. Where are you going, with your pretty little head, when all your blood should be pumping down to where he needs you warm and wet.
“Come back ‘ere,” he grunts, bending forward and pulling your head further back at the same time. He hooks one arm around your front so that he can keep you up when he notices you're all loose and flaccid.
Palm flat to your chest, he presses you flush against his own.
His eyes are hooded and heavy as they lock with yours. Your face is so flushed and sweaty you must look on the brink of collapse, and he can’t deny it has him a little worried.
“Good?” He asks gruffly, and although concerned, his onslaught on your pussy is relentless.
You smile, all teeth. Your lips have drool smeared all over. Your eyes are glossy and heavy. He's been pounding into you for the past hour, you came into his mouth once and on his cock at least twice. The sounds he's punching out of your lips are raunchy and downright pornographic.
It makes something weird and warm swim in his chest.
Fucking hell.
“Words, love.” It’s a demand, but it’s not said unkindly. He’s more than alright with the idea of fucking you stupid, but not so much with the thought of fucking you into a blackout.
And when you don’t respond and get lost in your body again, eyes rolling back once more, he harshly tugs at your hair. “Sergeant.”
Tears are prickling the corners of your eyes when you open them. However, the contrast is striking, with the wheezing moan that concomitantly leaves your lips.
You fucking like it, don’t you? Dirty slag.
A discovery, you are. Truly.
He loves it.
“Solid,” you stutter. Your voice is raspy and wet. "Sir."
He loves that too.
And admittedly finds it almost humorous, how he can make you unravel like that. You came to his door that night, all commanding as if you had any right over him, saying the two of you should stop dancing around each other and get it over with. That you’re adults and that if he was going to use the regulations excuse you were going to blow a gasket because everything you lot do on the field is against the so-called rules, hence a shagwould be the least of you two’s problems.
He hadn’t even had time to rebut. You were so right it hurt his pride. So, he fucked all that arrogance out of you.
And God, did it feel good. You felt good.
You were right, after all. He won't tell you, though. Doesn't need to chub up your ego any further, it's already fighting for space with his own.
He hums at your response. Leaves the hold around your torso and you flop forward like a wet rag, face first in the sheets.
Simon grabs your hair to lift you up, delighted to hear your ecstatic laugh as your head is yanked back once again.
He growls, “Good fuckin' girl."
And he rams into you again, using the grip on your hair as leverage. Your groans are guttural and fierce, so loud that even he is a little worried someone might eavesdrop on some of them.
Of course, this is no time for worries and concerns, all sublimated by the scorching heat between your legs. Warmest fucking place he’s ever been in.
‘S a lot to say, he thinks, since he’s been through hell and back already.
However, he does feel a little merciful. Sure, you’re heavenly in this position, completely at his service, but it’s been a while and you must be aching. You're going to wake up, later, with the worst back pain of your life and a few cracking joints.
Right, not that he cares. But you’re already a pain to deal with when you’re all healthy and cracking jokes and smiling like you give two shits about him, he can’t imagine how whiny you must be when you’re knackered and it's because of him.
He bends forward, then, chest to your back, and curls his free arm around your belly. Fingers sneakily reach down and trace your pussy. Palm cupping your mons while his ring and middle finger outline your lips. For just a second, he settles at the base of his cock, feeling how the shaft plunges so easily right inside of you. The stretch of your hole sucking him in. How wet you are – Christ.
Like this, he has his mouth next to your ear, but he’s not pounding into you with the same fierceness he’s used until now. And your voice has dulled, probably because he’s relented the grip in your hair, letting your head loll forward.
He looks at you through the haze of sex, trying to push through the mist of bliss you’ve shrouded him in. And your face is different. Your eyes are wide, staring blankly ahead, lips parted to take in sharp breaths.
He panics for a moment, but it quickly melts away when he pushes in a little deeper and you keel over with a groan. He must be hitting something new, something different.
Something good.
Which is why he hits it again. And again. And you keen and moan, fisting the sheets and punching the mattress.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell, look at ya.” He rumbles with a chuckle you can feel rippling in his chest against your back.
In the meantime, because he is so un-evil, the hand he had on your pussy finally finds purchase on your clit. He can feel how raw it must be. How stiff and puffy it is under the rough pads of his fingers.
Your breath hitches the moment he starts rubbing it. Doesn’t bother to be gentle with it, because he’s found out you like it when he barks and bites.
He’s proven right because the tears that were prickling your eyes before are now flowing freely down your cheeks. Your lips tug at the corners and you wheeze, one hand of yours grasping at the forearm of the same hand giving you bliss. Cheek to the mattress.
You dig your nails into his flesh – scar-thickened skin covered in black ink.
You’re squirming under his weight, with your arse up and back in a pretty arch, as he works you inside and out with hands and cock all the same.
The groan you let out now truly sounds as if you're in pain. Your free hand lifts to grip the fabric of his balaclava on top of his head, as if you were trying to find purchase on his hair but found cotton instead.
“Oi,” he grunts, sounding uncharacteristically worried, but doesn’t stop until you say so.
And thank Christ he doesn’t, because mere seconds later your cunt clenches so tight around him it threatens to chop his dick off. You go ramrod stiff under him. Throat tight and allowing only the passage of mewls that pitch upward.
Three fingers swipe side to side over your clit. He pounds into you once, twice – again, again, again, until he’s pushed out of you.
“Jesus –“
You’re splashing on his cock, a thick stream spraying directly on his sheets. Muffled sounds of water hitting fabric. You’re so fucking silent he bets you’ve stopped breathing as you came, because not even a second later you’re catching your breath with a guttural groan that goes straight to his dick.
He’s dumbfounded and burning, but thankfully has still enough brainpower to realize he has to fuck you through it – and so he does just that. Puts it back in and lays fully above you, flattening your front to the bed. Your thighs are quivering, and your pussy is still clenching rhythmically around him. He thrusts in more and feels tinier splashes gushing out of you each time he pulls out.
Fuck, you’re so wet he barely feels any friction.
A whine escapes you at the intrusion, but you obediently lay your cheek on the mattress, exhausted, and catch your breath, looking over your shoulder up to him.
You’re flushed and so pretty. Looking like an angel and not like the devil that you are, who’s just squirted over his bedsheets.
You deserve a little reward for the show you put on for him because he's surely not going to forget how your cunt fluttered around nothing when it gushed on his bed. It's going to stay imprinted in his forebrain and he's going to relive it whenever his hand won't feel like enough.
He snatches the balaclava off his head and tosses it on the floor. He sees your eyes soften at the sight of the disfigured man underneath, but he won’t have any of that – this is just sex. Just fucking sex.
Before he can have his head wander to unwanted (kinder) places, he roughly grabs your jaw and keeps fucking you raw. His lips slam onto yours in a kiss that sizzles with lust and resentment – because you can’t bring feelings into this, and he will forever hate you if you dare.
“Fuckin’ pretty,” he grunts in your face, as he ruts into you, now propped on his forearms. “Think you can do tha’ again?”
You huff. Probably not.
“Depends how – fuck – good y’ are.” As if he didn’t just wring you dry.
He chuckles darkly, and bites down your shoulder, making you hiss. “Smartarse. Don’t you dare, now.”
“Dare what, L.T.”
Oh, you little devil.
“Stop with the lieutenant shite.” He chides.
You snake a hand in his palm and intertwine your fingers with his. He clenches his fist to tighten the hold because he's a weak, weak man.
“What should I call you, then?” You ask through heaving breaths, “Ain’t calling you Ghost, surely.”
He leans down and kisses your cheek.
You know my name, bird.
“Fuckin’ brat.” He grunts, and surrenders. “Simon will do.”
He feels your cheek lift under the pressure of your smile, right against his lips.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Simon will do.”
I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 06
🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna
Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (male + female receiving), cigarettes. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 12 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear
MASTERLIST
Being fuckbuddies with Sukuna is surprisingly easy. As flustered as you sometimes get when you think about what the two of you do, all that shyness leaves you the moment you are in Sukuna's arms. The moment your clothes are off and you start touching each other, all shame is forgotten. Your sexy little arrangement opens a whole new world to you. You aren't very experienced when it comes to sex, but Sukuna is the perfect person to show you new things.
Of course, there are also people who don't see it that way. Nobara doesn't get tired of rolling her eyes at you anytime she sees you with your phone in hand, assuming you are texting Sukuna and making plans to see him.
"When I said you should maybe fuck him, I meant once! Not whatever it is, the two of you are doing now. You should be careful. Sukuna is a fuckboy. You are just another notch on his bedpost!"
"I told you, I don't want him to be my boyfriend! I am not interested in a relationship either. Sukuna is a fun pasttime. That's all. Maybe I want him to be just a notch on my bedpost, too!"
You know Nobara is just worried about you, and maybe her warnings are valid, but you refuse to listen to her. Your past experiences with relationships left you not wanting to ever fall in love again. What Sukuna offers you sounds safer. No feelings, just casual sex with the hottest guy you have ever met.
You're in Sukuna's bed, your gaze feasting on his gorgeous body. A body he works hard for in the gym every single day. Firm muscles and sexy tattoos. And you are allowed to touch this beautiful body as much as you like.
You trail kisses down Sukuna's broad chest, following his tattoos with your tongue, and his large hand tangles in your hair, rewarding you with his sexy low moans and whispered encouragements in his sexy, velvety voice. You slow down when you are insecure about your skills in the bedroom, but Sukuna is surprisingly patient with you. Sweet even.
There is no pressure, no shame. You start to suck his cock tentatively, smiling sheepishly at him, apologizing for being bad at blow jobs, and instead of getting mad at you, Sukuna cups your cheek and caresses it with his thumb while he grins at you,
"You're doing great, princess, and I can teach you the rest."
And suddenly, it's easy. Sukuna smirks at you and places a large hand on the back of your head, petting your hair while he guides you gently up and down his thick cock, telling you what to do, teaching you how to blow him right. Reassuring you that it feels good when you just French kiss his cock and use your hand for the part you cannot fit in your mouth.
Sukuna is a good teacher, making you feel like you are doing a good job because of the sexy praise his low, raspy voice whispers to you,
"Fuck yeah, just like that, princess. Just make out with my cock. You're doing so good. So sweet for me."
You moan around Sukuna's thick cockhead, feeling your own arousal coat the insides of your thighs, so turned on from what you are doing to Sukuna. It makes you suck even more devotedly on Sukuna's fat cock, licking the throbbing vein on the underside and suckling sweetly on his mushroom tip.
You feel him twitch in your mouth, and for a second, you worry if you will be able to swallow his cum without coughing, but then Sukuna's heavy-lidded maroon gaze meets yours, and a lazy smirk lifts his lips,
"I wanna cum on your face. Be a good girl for me, and just lick my tip until I bust all over your pretty face."
You moan and do as Sukuna says, kissing his tip and licking it, flicking your tongue against it in little kitten licks as if you are licking up milk from a bowl, all the while keeping eye contact with Sukuna. Shameless and naughty, feeling so turned on that you think you may cum too just from making Sukuna cum with your mouth.
And he does cum so beautifully for you. His tattooed thighs tense up, and his cock twitches as a low growl falls from Sukuna's lips. You moan when his swollen mushroom head shoots hot thick ropes of cum all over your face. And Sukuna licks his lips when he looks at you with that sexy, fucked-out expression on his beautiful tattooed face, his gaze following his cum that drips down your chin.
"You did so good. So sweet to me and my dick. Come here, princess."
Sukuna pulls you up into his arms, grinning as he cups your chin with one large hand and then his mouth opens, and he licks a stripe up your cheek, licking his own cum off your face, making your pussy clench around nothing.
You moan, your hands caressing Sukuna's broad chest, digging your nails into his buff pecs as he licks you clean. It is so obscene, so naughty, so fucking sexy. So different from everything you experienced before him. It's you who captures Sukuna's lips in a kiss, craving more, craving his taste. And Sukuna grins against your lips, pushing his tongue into your mouth, feeding you his cum, letting you lick it off his tongue.
It's a feverish, sloppy kiss, tasting like sex, and it makes your head spin and moan loudly against Sukuna's lips. You press needily against Sukuna's broad figure, trying to climb on him, throwing one leg over his waist, rubbing your wet needy clit against his abs.
He grins against your lips, pulling away only to wrap his hands around your waist and pull you closer to him, closer to his beautiful tattooed face. You gasp softly when you realize what Sukuna is about to do.
"Don't be shy, princess, just sit on my face. It's your turn now."
You moan breathlessly when Sukuna's strong hands pull you on his face, making your naked dripping-wet pussy brush against his warm mouth, sending sparks of desire through your whole body. You whimper, body shaking from the strain of keeping yourself upright, but Sukuna makes a disapproving noise,
"Come on, sit on me for real. I can take it, princess. Sit."
And he grabs your hips tightly, pulling you down, his lips instantly closing around your swollen clit and sucking on it, making a desperate horny cry tumble from your lips as the pleasure shoots through you.
Even if you still wanted to stay upright, you couldn't do it anymore. You are boneless in Sukuna's grip, lost in pleasure, letting Sukuna take care of you, letting him pamper your pussy with his soft, warm mouth.
You rest your whole weight on him, thighs spreading even further, shamelessly and needy, bucking your hips and rubbing your wet pussy eagerly against his hot lips and velvety tongue, crying out in pleasure when Sukuna's tongue pushes into you, fucking you slowly while his long fingers knead your ass and keep you in place right there on his beautiful tattooed face.
He eats you out until you are a trembling, sobbing mess, crying out anytime Sukuna's soft lips suckle on your clit or when he fucks you with those slow teasing flicks of his tongue.
You feel the pressure inside you build, the knot in your belly so close to snapping, and you tense up, trying to get away from Sukuna's mouth because the pleasure is too much, and you are scared of losing control. But Sukuna's strong hands hold you in place, pulling you back down.
"Just let go for me, princess. I came on your face. Now it's your turn. Make a mess on me."
Sukuna's lips close around your puffy clit again, and you mewl loudly. It's the combination of his words and the way his lips make out with your clit that sends you over the edge.
You cry out his name, your hips bucking wildly as you cum on Sukuna's face, hard and wild and very wet. Your juices drip from his lips even as he keeps eating you, making you cry and scream and bang your fists against the wall behind his bed right beneath the Tigers flag hanging there, while you cum and cum and cum until you feel dizzy.
You feel light-headed when you finally manage to get up from Sukuna's bed. It still feels surreal to see the resident hockey star walking around naked in his room, picking up your clothes from his bedroom floor and placing them on the bed for you. But it's not as awkward anymore. It's almost nice. Sukuna talks casually about the away game the Tigers will play this weekend, and you nod and make some agreeing noises from time to time while you get dressed next to him.
You leave Sukuna's room, making a joking comment about the chaos Yuuji once again left in the living area, and Sukuna asks you if you will meet for lunch tomorrow. You nod and grab your jacket from the back of the couch, about to say good night to Sukuna when the apartment door swings open, banging loudly into the wall, making you jump.
Yuuji and Todo march inside, loud and excited, swinging baseball bats in their strong arms, and Yuuji announces loudly,
"Yo we got the bats, Kuna! Megumi just wants us to bring them back before morning. Let's go!"
His eyes land on you standing next to his brother, and he smiles sheepishly, but his voice still holds the same excitement when he greets you. Todo bumps into Yuuji, making him stumble further into the room, and Todo's gaze wanders from you to Sukuna and back again, fixing you with a scrutinizing gaze as if he is trying to figure something out.
You smile a bit awkwardly at the two hockey players, but Yuuji has already proceeded with his agenda. He throws a baseball bat at Sukuna, who catches it with one hand, twirling it around his long tattooed fingers. A broad, devilish smirk spreads over his face, and you get a tingly feeling in your stomach.
"Good job. Let's teach them not to fuck with Curses."
You look at him in alarm. At the mad grin on his tattooed face and the baseball bat, he's slinging over his broad shoulder.
"Um, what is this about?"
Yuuji and Todo both start talking at the same time, but you can make out the words,
"Rival team." "Revenge" and "Tonight."
Your eyes widen, and you stare in dawning horror at the baseball bat that's now resting on Sukuna's shoulder. Sukuna catches your gaze, and he throws his head back, laughing loudly,
"Your face, princess! Don't worry, we aren't going to kill someone. We will just smash that stupid ice sculpture they have. They deserve it after the shit they pulled on us."
"B... but where is that sculpture, and aren't you going to get into trouble for smashing it?"
Sukuna raises an eyebrow at you, his smirk growing broader, clearly enjoying himself.
"It's in their arena, of course. We'll pick the lock, get in, and smash that ugly-ass bear. It's no big deal. It's just a revenge prank."
You stare at him incredulously,
"That's burglary and property damage!"
But Sukuna just grins even more, looking like the damn Cheshire Cat with that dirty, smug smirk on his beautiful face. His voice drops to a teasing drawl,
"Aww, are you worried about me getting into trouble? You're so cute, princess. But this is hockey code. We will just teach them a lesson."
He twirls the baseball bat elegantly around his long fingers as his gaze snaps to his linemates.
"Alright, Curses. Let's go. Let's fuck them up. I want to make those losers cry."
He looks far too happy about what they plan to do. As if it isn't a completely reckless and dumb idea! Your heart is beating up to your throat as you give Sukuna a stern look,
"This is fucking stupid! You can't do that!"
Sukuna cocks his head, raising an eyebrow,
"Well, watch me, princess."
He puts a large hand on your shoulder and steers you out the door even while you complain loudly. But he just smirks while you try to reason with him all the way down the staircase.
You exit the dorm, and Sukuna leads your little group to his car. Yuuji and Todo climb into the back, all excited chatter and broad grins, the baseball bats firmly in their large hands. And you huff and put your hands on your hips, stepping between Sukuna and the car, not caring how ridiculously you must look, so much shorter and smaller than the huge, strong hockey player with the bad boy look and the face tattoos. You tilt your head back to glare up at his tattooed face,
"Stop it, Sukuna. This is so fucking dumb! I don't understand why Fushiguro, of all people, would support something like that!"
Sukuna laughs softly, shaking his head and smirking at you,
"Good thing Fushiguro has a weakness for my brother. I bet it only took one smile and a whiny "Megumiiii" from Yuuji, and our baseball star handed him the key to the Wolves' equipment rack. But now tell me, why do you care so much, huh princess?"
His smirk is so smug that you feel like shaking him, but you just sigh and glare at him,
"Yeah, okay, I admit it! I don't want you to get into trouble! Are you happy now?"
The look that spreads over Sukuna's face is far too pleased. He steps closer to you, tall, muscular body towering over you while he grins at you,
"Very happy. But as I said, I won't get into trouble. Now get out of the way, princess, and let me take my revenge. They started it by cutting the shoelaces on our skates."
You roll your eyes,
"They cut your shoelaces? And now you go and break in and destroy their expensive ice sculpture mascot or whatever it is? Don't you think that's a bit much?"
"Well, I always avenge things threefold. How would they learn their place otherwise? Noone fucks with me or my team."
And with that said, Sukuna puts his hands on your waist and just lifts you up, and places you down a few steps away from his car, slipping past you before you can do anything. You complain loudly, but Sukuna is already lounging in the driver's seat with that boyish smirk, winking provocatively at you with a "Good night, princess."
You don't know what has gotten into you, but you react impulsively and jog around the car, yanking open the passenger door and plopping down on the passenger seat, and this time, it is Sukuna who can't do anything to prevent it.
His gaze snaps to you, and you grin victoriously at him, almost laughing at the thunderstruck expression on Sukuna's tattooed face.
"What are you doing, princess? Get out of my car."
You cross your arms in front of your chest, shaking your head, grinning smugly at him.
"Forget it. I am not getting out of this car. If you want to go to your little illegal prank, you have to take me with you!"
Sukuna looks at you for a long moment, and then his lips twitch as if he is trying hard to hold back laughter. Your tummy does a flip at the mischievous expression on Sukuna's face, slowly realizing that maybe what you did wasn't the smartest thing either. Maybe you shouldn't have picked a dance with the devil.
But it's too late. Sukuna smirks at you, the tip of his tongue playing with the pointy tip of one of his canines, a devilish, excited sparkle filling his maroon eyes,
"Okay, have it your way, brat."
And with that, Sukuna starts his car, flooring the gas pedal immediately, making you squeal loudly when you get pressed into your seat. Loud music blares from the car audio, and in the backseat, Yuuji and Todo chime a Tigers cheer, pumping each other up as if they are about to get on the ice, only contributing even more to the adrenaline-inducing atmosphere in the car.
You scramble to grab your seat belt and fasten it with sweaty fingers while you hear Sukuna's loud laughter. You wrap your hand around the grab handle, staring wide-eyed at the nightly street before you. Sukuna drives fast and recklessly, and to your horror, you see him take his hands off the steering wheel, steering with one knee so he can light a cigarette while driving.
"Sukuna!"
He smirks but puts a large hand lazily on the steering wheel, slowly drumming his fingers on it,
"Relax, princess. I am not going to crash my car and kill us all. I know what I am doing."
You roll your eyes at him when he turns his head to grin at you.
"You are such an idiot, Sukuna. I am going to kill you if this lands us in jail or in the ditch!"
But Sukuna just smirks even more broadly and brings his cigarette to his lips to take a deep drag and then blow the smoke in your face. But you have the feeling that the car isn't driving as fast anymore.
You sigh dramatically and hug yourself, snuggling into the car seat, watching the dark road ahead, refusing to look at Sukuna. Your lips twitch when you hear Yuuji and Todo sing along to the song playing on the stereo, one doing pretty well, the other hitting not a single note.
And after a while, your gaze strays again to the boy next to you.
Sukuna's long tattooed fingers, with the accurately applied black nail polish, tap the steering wheel in sync with the beat of the music. His other hand is resting on the open car window. Occasionally, he brings it to his lips to take a slow drag from his half-smoked cigarette. His lips move silently to the lyrics of the songs, his eyes trained on the road before him.
You have to admit that after the initial panic, you now feel pretty safe and relaxed here in Sukuna's car. He is actually a good driver, even though you will never tell him. And he looks very cool driving a car, so calm and confident, making your gaze stay glued to him. To his beautiful side profile with the angular jaw and the filigree tattoos, and those sultry lips wrapping so attractively around his cigarette.
You catch yourself almost enjoying the car drive, breathing in the cool night air and Sukuna's cigarette smoke, letting both calm you down.
But the relative calm is gone the moment Sukuna parks the car on the side of the road near the Bears' hockey arena. Your pulse is racing again, adrenaline filling your veins.
Sukuna turns to his linemates with a jerk of his chin.
"Okay, get your baseball bats and then smash that fucking thing!"
His maroon gaze lands on you,
"Slip into the driver's seat, princess."
You blink at him, caught off guard,
"What?"
"You'll be our getaway driver. The moment you see us coming back, you start the car."
He says it nonchalantly as if it is the most natural thing to demand.
"What the fuck, Sukuna?"
"You said you don't want us to get into trouble. So this is how you can help us avoid trouble. You will get our asses out of here, princess."
He flashes you one of his most charming grins and then exits the car, leaving you sitting there with your mouth opening and closing. But Sukuna points adamantly to the now vacant driver's seat.
You sigh exasperatedly, rolling your eyes, but you have to admit that Sukuna has a point. The last thing you want is to get caught because the boys take too long to start the car after returning from their stupid prank.
And so you take a deep breath and do as Sukuna says and climb into the driver's seat, squealing when you lose balance because Sukuna is so much taller than you, and his seat is practically in the back of the car, making you ask yourself how Yuuji even had space in the back. You curse and grab the steering wheel, pulling yourself and the seat further to the front so you can reach the gas pedal, while Sukuna watches you with a far too amused expression on his face.
You finally sit properly in the driver's seat, giving Sukuna a glare and a thumbs up, and he smirks at you,
"That's my lucky charm, helping me even on hockey duties outside the rink."
"Just go, and please try not to get caught!"
You watch the three hockey players jog toward their rivals' arena. All three of them are dressed completely in black with the hoods of their sweaters pulled up, their tall, broad figures blending with the darkness around them. They really look like a bunch of criminals with their baseball bats in their hands.
Fuck, how did I get myself into this?
You sigh and let your head fall back against the headrest of the car seat, breathing deeply in and out in an attempt to calm your nerves. The car smells like cigarette smoke and Sukuna's cologne, which is not really helping you calm down but instead makes your stomach flutter even more.
You nervously pick on your nails as you let your restless gaze wander through Sukuna's car. Black leather seats, which are worn but clean. An empty energy drink sits in the middle console next to a cigarette pack. Some protein bars peek out of the door pockets. Your gaze lands on the rearview mirror, and you spot a scented Hello Kitty head dangling from it. You stare at the cat's face for several long seconds, and suddenly, your lips twitch, and you giggle, pressing a hand over your mouth, unable to stop anymore.
Your nerves are on high alert the whole time while you wait in the car, your heart jumping to your throat anytime you hear the slightest noise while the occasional hysterical giggle escapes your mouth.
The minutes seem like hours as you nervously watch the darkness before you. And then you finally spot a movement in the darkness. You gasp and sit up straight, your hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as you squint your eyes.
Three tall, broad figures appear, running like madmen. You scramble to turn the key in the ignition, breath coming out in excited little huffs as the engine starts with a low hum right when the three boys reach the car.
They yank open the car doors, laughing and yelling. Yuuji and Todo pile into the back while Sukuna sprints around the car and lets himself fall onto the passenger seat, a wild grin on his tattooed face, eyes brimming with the same expression he has after scoring a goal,
"Drive, princess!"
He doesn't have to tell you twice. You press your foot down on the gas pedal, speeding down the road, eager to get away from the crime scene as fast as possible.
The music blares out of the speakers again, and the boys hoot with laughter and high-five each other, turning the car into some after-game celebration party, chaotic and loud, and your veins sing with adrenaline, making you drive even faster, and you can't help but feel a small grin tug at your lips.
You drive through the town, feeling like everyone must know that you have three players from the rival team in the car, and they just wrecked the local hockey team's ice sculpture.
You stop at a red light, heart pumping wildly in your chest, giving the woman in the car next to you a nervous little smile as she looks over at the black car with the loud music and the hockey boys, but your attention gets stolen by the pink-haired boy next to you.
Sukuna's large hand grabs your chin, making you turn your head to him, and he grins broadly at you, eyes sparkling with excitement and pride, and he leans closer, licking the side of your face, making you screech loudly. He laughs against your skin before he presses a loud smacking kiss on your cheek, which makes Yuuji and Todo in the back cheer and whistle loudly.
Sukuna pulls away again, laughing that sexy low laugh,
"Great job, partner in crime."
And finally, you can't hold back anymore and burst out laughing loudly, shaking your head and rolling your eyes,
"You are fucking crazy, Sukuna. All of you are crazy!"
And Sukuna smirks and cocks his head,
"But you like it."
The traffic light turns green at that moment, and you start driving again, finally feeling at ease. You can't help but grin broadly and turn the music up louder as you cruise through the town with a car full of hockey players. You have no idea when your hand ended up on Sukuna's thigh, but it stays there almost the whole drive back to campus.
Once you are back on your campus and have parked the car in front of Sukuna's dorm, the four of you get out of the car, and Yuuji and Todo give you high-fives and big grins. Todo nods appreciatively at you,
"You are a first-class getaway driver! I had my doubts about you when I saw you earlier, but my man Sukuna has shown me today that he has top-tier taste in women!"
You blink at Todo, not really knowing how to react, and end up just laughing and clapping his burly back before Yuuji grins at you and pulls you in a quick half-hug,
"That was amazing! Thank you for getting us away from there! Do you know that Sukuna usually never lets anyone drive his car? He punched me once when I took it to drive to the cinema."
"Yeah, because I know that you are a horrible driver."
Sukuna gives his twin a light smack on the back of his head, and you laugh, feeling bubbly from all the adrenaline still flowing through your veins. You can't stop the big smile from spreading over your face when you look at Sukuna. He watches you with his cat-like eyes, a lazy smirk on his tattooed face, looking far too pleased, but you can't be mad at him. Not when you feel so light-headed from your little adventure.
Yuuji and Todo bid their good nights, quickly leaving to return the baseball bats before someone notices they are missing. And you smile at Sukuna and tell him that you will walk back to your dorm now, too. Sukuna takes a step closer to you.
"I'll walk you home, princess. There are too many bad boys on the street at this time of night."
"You mean, like you?"
He just grins and falls in step beside you. You don't say it, but it tugs strangely at your heart that Sukuna refuses to let you walk alone at this hour of the night.
Sukuna lights a cigarette and then reaches out to put a strong arm around your shoulder and pull you against his side, making you smile and lean against him.
He teases you the whole way to your dorm about how worried you were and how your face had looked so stern and shocked when you tried to stop them from their plan. And you complain playfully about it, telling Sukuna that he and his linemates need a watchdog or some restraints to keep them out of trouble.
You finally stop in front of your dorm, and you pull away from Sukuna, letting his arm slowly glide down your shoulder. You instantly feel cold when Sukuna's warmth is gone, making you wrap your arms around yourself, but it isn't the same.
Sukuna grins at you while his cigarette dangles from the corner of his lips. And then he reaches out to put a large hand on your hair and ruffle it, maroon eyes sparkling teasingly in the light of the streetlamp, just waiting for the loud squeal of complaint he knows will come.
His large hand is still in your hair, but it cups the back of your head now, keeping you in place as Sukuna leans down. And then you feel his lips press a kiss to your forehead. A gesture that makes your eyelashes flutter because it's so uncharacteristically tender for a guy like Sukuna.
But the moment is over before you can really grasp it, and Sukuna pulls away, flashing you another boyish smirk before he turns around to walk back to his dorm. A tall, broad figure clad entirely in black with pastel pink hair and a little cloud of cigarette smoke billowing behind him.
And you stare after him with a wildly pounding heart, thinking that you haven't felt this alive in a long time.
It's Saturday evening, and you are bored, slowly sipping the drink in your hand while trying to pretend you are listening to the conversation going on in front of you. If things had gone your way, you would be in bed now, snuggled comfortably into Sukuna's soft, white hoodie, reading a book or watching a show. But Nobara was very adamant about going to this party in Maki's dorm.
"I am not walking in there on my own like some loser! You will come with me!"
And then she added, with a sneaky little grin,
"I heard that the hockey team will come too after they return from their away game."
You sighed and complained, but in the end, you played along and let Nobara drag you here.
But now you regret it. You aren't in a party mood tonight, and you don't know anyone except Nobara and Maki, who are busy making heart eyes at each other, making you feel like the third wheel.
A commotion at the door makes you turn your head, and you see several hockey players entering the apartment, getting high fives and claps on their backs for their win today. You can't help but crane your neck, waiting for pink hair and a smug smirk. But Sukuna is nowhere to be seen.
Your shoulders slump. You don't even know why you feel disappointed that he isn't here yet or maybe won't come at all. But somehow, the thought of having him here and being able to joke around with him had, for a second, been able to lift your mood. Maybe this boring party would have been enjoyable with Sukuna by your side.
You are about to leave for the kitchen to get another drink when your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, grinning when you see the text message.
Sukuna 🏒👑: Are you at the party, princess?
You: Yeah, I am here. Are you coming, too?
Sukuna 🏒👑: I'm already here.
You: I didn't see you. Where are you?
Sukuna 🏒👑: Come find me ;)
You chuckle softly to yourself as you lift your head to scan the room again. You excuse yourself from Nobara and Maki, deciding to wander around a bit and look for Sukuna.
Suddenly, the party doesn't seem so bad anymore. Your steps feel lighter, and you smile at the strangers you walk past. Your little tour through the apartment isn't successful, though. It's a mystery to you how a big guy like Sukuna is able to hide from you in this relatively small apartment. But then your gaze lands on the door that leads to the backyard.
Cold night air blows in your face as you stroll into the dimly lit backyard. And finally, you spot the pink hair you were looking for. Sukuna is leaning against a tree, a cigarette between his lips, smoking and looking bored.
You can't help but smile as you hurry over to him.
"Hey! What are you doing out here on your own?"
Sukuna huffs and rolls his pretty eyes,
"It's a boring ass party, plus I can't stand most people in there."
You raise an eyebrow at him, and his smirk grows bigger as he ruffles your hair and adds,
"With the exception of you, of course."
You laugh softly and shake his large hand off, smoothing down your hair as you look up at Sukuna's tattooed face and ask him,
"How was your game?"
"We won. Showed those fucking Bears what hockey is."
"Congrats! But how did they react to their smashed ice sculpture?"
You can't keep the slight worry out of your voice, but Sukuna laughs, eyes sparkling with amusement,
"They held a memorial event for it before the game started."
You chuckle, too.
"Do they know you guys did it?"
Sukuna shrugs, his smirk widening,
"I sure hope so. I would be insulted if they didn't."
He takes a deep drag from his cigarette, tilting back his head and slowly blowing the smoke out as he looks up at the night sky.
He looks beautiful, even though he has such an intimidating appearance with his face tattoos and his tall, broad figure.
Tonight, Sukuna isn't breaking into his rival team's hockey arena, but he still looks like someone who is up to no good with all his tattoos and his all-black clothes, a tight black t-shirt that shows off his firm pecs, and impressive biceps, and black cargo pants combined with combat boots. He looks like someone who would usually make you switch street sides if you saw him walking towards you at night.
But you know Sukuna now. You know that he is actually pretty nice if he wants to be. It's fun to be around him, and sometimes even peaceful, like tonight. Sukuna is definitely the only one you want to have by your side at this stupid party.
As if he heard your thoughts, Sukuna's gaze lazily wanders over your face, and he smirks softly.
"I'm not in the mood for that shitty party. Wanna leave?"
You answer him with a broad smile and a nod,
"Okay, let's go."
Sukuna flicks his half-smoked cigarette into the grass and jerks his head towards the fence behind him,
"We'll take that way, princess. Don't wanna run into my teammates."
And before you can point out that you are too unathletic and not tall enough to believe in your fence-climbing skills, Sukuna has already grabbed your hand and pulled you along.
Sukuna's hand is warm and strong and so much bigger than yours. Your pussy involuntarily clenches at the feel, making you silently curse yourself for having such a strong reaction to Sukuna's touch. But you don't have time to think about it because Sukuna's large hands are suddenly on your hips, lifting you off the ground as if you weigh nothing, just sending more flutters through your pussy and stomach.
He helps you climb over the fence and follows you a second later, climbing gracefully over it and landing safely on his feet on the other side as if it were nothing.
He jerks his chin in the direction of the main street.
"Let's get some coffee. I'm tired as fuck after the game."
You sit across from Sukuna, slowly stirring your coffee, snickering at the locker room gossip he shares with you. He shows you videos on his phone, barking with laughter when he presents to you The Bears reacting to their smashed ice sculpture.
You're the only guests in the small coffee shop on campus at this hour of the night. The lights are dimmed, and the barista has disappeared into the back of the shop. It's a peaceful, solemn atmosphere as if you and Sukuna have entered a parallel universe in which only the two of you exist.
And somehow, Sukuna seems different tonight, too. Softer. His playful smirk has softened into a genuine smile, and there's this unguarded, almost affectionate look in his eyes. Something you only caught glimpses of when he looks at his brother. But tonight, you get to see this look on Sukuna's face, too.
It makes you feel like you are invited to something special, where the Ice King lets his mask slip and allows a glance at the boy beneath the rough and arrogant attitude.
And suddenly, it hits you. Sukuna is your friend.
He allows you at his table in the dining hall and escapes from boring parties with you to sip coffee in the middle of the night. He lets you drive his car and allows you in his room and somehow decided he enjoys spending time with you, not just for sex, but for mundane things like having lunch together, or drinking coffee at midnight, or watching videos on his phone.
Sukuna let you in.
A smile spreads over your face, and you reach out to touch Sukuna's arm. Your touch is gentle, your fingers lightly tracing the tattoos on his wrist. Sukuna cocks his head, looking curiously at you, but he doesn't comment on it and just shows you the next video of his game against The Bears.
The two of you leave the coffeeshop together a while later, and Sukuna elbows you gently,
"Wanna come over to my place? I haven't gotten my victory fuck yet."
And you laugh and hit his tattooed biceps playfully, even as you agree with a soft nod and a big grin before you loop your arm around Sukuna's and lean onto him while you walk back to his dorm.
You spend the next thirty minutes under Sukuna, getting railed into his bed, your fingernails leaving scratches on his muscular back, while he pounds into you with those delicious, hard, deep thrusts.
He rolls off you afterward but doesn't get up, and neither do you. You just stay there lying next to each other, your shoulders touching, watching more videos on Sukuna's phone.
Until your phone beeps and you see a message from Nobara,
"Where are you?"
"Don't worry, I am okay. I left the party. Sorry, forgot to text you."
"It's okay, but you didn't answer the question? Where are you? Omg, wait, are you with the curse?"
You laugh, and Sukuna raises an eyebrow. You show him the text, and he huffs, a large tattooed hand darting out to quickly grab the phone out of your hand. Before you can even react, Sukuna has already typed a reply:
"She's in his bed, actually."
You scream and try to pluck your phone from Sukuna's large hand, wrestling with him for it on his bed until you end up in his lap, straddling him, both of you laughing breathlessly.
Sukuna grins up at you and lets the phone drop onto his pillow and instead grabs your hips with both hands, flipping you over on your back, making you squeal and giggle while his lips trail kisses down your neck, and your hands tangle in his soft, pink hair. He pushes your legs apart, lowering his tall, buff body on yours, his half-hard cock rubbing against your tummy, and your body instantly reacts to him too. Your legs wrap around Sukuna's hips, pulling him closer, your hips lifting, welcoming his hardening cock between your wet pussy lips, telling him wordlessly to take you a second time.
Yes, Sukuna is your friend. Your friend, who also gives you damn good dick.
PLEASE, THEY ARE SO SWEET 😭😭
I wanted to show the friendship aspect of the whole fuckbuddies thing in this chapter, and I hope you liked it! I am a sucker for friends to lovers, and I am screaming into my hand when I imagine Sukuna letting Reader in and letting her see behind his mask!!
I want to say thank you to all of you who read this story and leave sweet feedback in the comments and tags or send me nice asks! I realized once again this week that writing a multi-chapter fic is super stressful BUT also so beautiful because I can experience this whole process with all of you 💗 It's such a nice feeling that we are experiencing this story and the developing romance together. THANK YOU SO MUCH!! This is really what fandom is about for me.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.
If you commented on the masterpost, I will add you to the taglist, btw. I will reblog the story several times with the different taglists. Thank you so much for being invested in this fic 💗
In Chapter 7 Reader will get a private ice skating lesson with Hockey Player!Sukuna.
❥ KATSUKI BAKUGOU X FEM! READER
❥ WORD COUNT: 2.3k
❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: a/b/o dynamics (alpha Katsuki/omega reader), knotting, age-gap (Katsuki is in his grumpy 40s, you're in college), he calls you "kid", fucking in a pool, some mention of sex toys, degradation, creampie
→ Kinktober Masterlist ←
God, he’s too fucking old for this shit. Too god damn tired of the animal that kicks against his ribs whenever the slick smell of a willing cunt passes his nose.
“ ‘m sorry,” you whisper, rolling your hips to suck his cock deeper in your drooling pussy. He grinds his molars at the too-tight feeling.
“Fucking brat,” he hisses and clamps his hands to your doughy ass, jerking you up and down his cock. “Knew you were trouble. Fucking told you to stay away from me.”
Katsuki knew he would end up fucking the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed college girl the day you moved in next door. He tried to stop it, he really did, showing you his teeth and growling any time the sweet stink of your omega scent greeted him.
Yet he’s the one who couldn’t help himself. Humid summer air brought your pathetic smell right to him, had him peeking over the fence that separated his house from yours like a fucking perv.
The sight of you in your little pool, desperate to cool your too-hot skin, bikini bottoms floating next to you as you shoved a dildo into your aching hole was his breaking point.
And now here you are, stuffed full of throbbing, thick alpha cock. Because you begged him, all fat tears and plump pouts as your heat clawed at your insides.
He might be too old for this, but he’ll never get tired of how fucking stupid omegas get for dick.
“The t-toys just weren’t…weren’t good enough.”
You’re pinned between him and the pool wall, lips of your cunt dragging along his length over and over again as you try to find release.
Copious amounts of slick gush from you, making his thrusting easier. Pearly strings of your cream float around the pool, lost to splash of him fucking into you.
But even still, he’s so engorged with blood and hormones ready to knot that his fat cock struggles against your gummy walls. You hiss, not from pain, but from relief, so happy to be full that no amount of stretching will detract from your pleasure.
“You’re fucking pitiful.”
Shame briefly shines in your blown-out eyes, a bit of humanity peeking through the haze of animal instincts. Shit. This is why he hates this, why he’s tried to avoid all the breeding nonsense. Omegas are so emotionally squishy.
Not that he’s any better. One pout from you as you locked eyes with him across the yard made him jump a fucking fence and plunge his cock into your weeping hole at two in the afternoon.
“Just can’t help it, can you, kid?”
Red eyes trace over the body he’s been trying so hard not to imagine. The triangle fabric of your swimsuit is peeled away from your tits, your nipples puffy from how hard you were tugging on them before he got his hands on you.
A little mhmmmm-mhmmmm sounds from lips pressed too tightly together, your head lolling back as you keep bucking against him with your eager, exposed pussy.
You’re a mess, all swollen and gooey and desperate.
“Such a dumb omega,” he groans and wraps his arms around your back, pressing your soft body all the way against his, “fucking yourself out in the open. Wanted me to find you? Wanted the old man next door to fuck you stupid.”
“N-no,” you lie so easily. “Too hot, was too hot and couldn’t get off and—”
“Bullshit. You started splashin’ around out here just praying I’d catch your scent.”
“C-can’t help it, pr-promise. You just always smell so fucking good, alpha.”
Makes sense now why you always seem to be out on a walk when he gets home from work, and why you always seem to need something from him. He was a nice neighbor and gave you his number when you moved in all on your own, a little omega lost in a big college town. You would message him for help around your place at least once a week—changing light bulbs, fixing a leaky faucet, even opening a goddamn jar a few nights ago.
He told you several times to stop bothering him, yet you never could catch the hint that fooling around with an alpha was going to get you bitten.
Relentlessly he pounds his hips, the buoyancy of the water making it effortless to hold you and fuck in deep. His thighs barely feel any strain, his back muscles rolling like a true predator as he starts to use his arms to pull you up and down.
Katsuki slides his fat cock until it’s barely in your pussy, mushroom tip caught by the suctioning ring of muscle inside of you. Then he bottoms out, balls connecting with your ass under the water with a muted thump.
“God, fuck, that’s good, so good,” you’re fucking loud, “feel so fucking good in my pussy.”
“Christ, you wanna let the whole neighborhood knowing I’m fucking you?”
The fuck-drunk little smile on your face tells him that maybe you do.
And he thought he was the perv.
“You’re such a fucking slut,” he whispers furiously, kissing you with so much force it makes your back arch in his strangle hold.
A thick hand wraps around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just leaves it there possessively as his tongue forces its way between your lips. You unconsciously moan, your own tongue meeting his, but he presses it down, not wanting it in the way. You give in, letting him encircle your tongue with his own so he can taste you. He pulls back to suck your bottom lip into his mouth, teeth roughly dragging against it.
“Like feeling my cock spread you apart, hm? Maybe I’ll get you a dildo my size for next time you wanna put on a little show.”
You purr and it makes him want to scratch you to pieces.
The burning stretch of your omega cunt is bliss. The smell of sex and chlorine sting his nose, make him lose it a bit and press so hard inside of you that his cock nearly meets the resistance of your cervix. Not that you seem to mind it—your nails are sinking into his wet shoulders, holding on for dear life as he fucks you in the heat of a summer afternoon.
When Katsuki shifts his hips down, heavy cock sliding out of your tight hole, you bare your teeth and growl at a man nearly double your age.
“Easy, tiger,” he tuts and drops you in the warming water, “turn around and let me hit it from the back.”
He loves that your instincts are to obey.
You turn your back to him with an indignant little huff, bending over the edge of the pool and waiting. Katsuki locks his arms around your thighs, pushing up and letting the water do the work. Your legs float open easily, spreading wide as he spears his way back into your slutty hole.
“Ever been knotted before, kid?”
Looking over your shoulder, you shake your head, hiccuping as he works his shaft in and out of you.
“Please, please, ah, knot me. Wa-wanna know what it feels like.”
He’s toying with an ancient fire, he knows that. One fat knot from an alpha and you might be begging to move in with him, but it’s worth it. Your pussy feels too goddamn good and he’s too worked up not to plug you full.
Katsuki works you into an absolute frenzy, waves of water splashing onto the edges of the pool as you mewl and focus on how effortlessly he fucks you. Your walls meld to him, each thrust hasty and claiming, scented sweat steaming from the heat of your body and the blistering of the sun. His dick curves just perfectly inside you, cockhead purposefully brushing against the most sensitive, spongy spots within your depths.
“Surprised none of your stupid boyfriends knotted this tight cunt before.”
“Wouldn’t,” your fingers are gripping the edge of the pool for dear life, like you’re gonna drown any second, “wouldn’t let them.”
“And you’re gonna let me? Just a slut for older men?”
“Slut for you,” you correct him with a bounce of your ass against his pelvis, “love a big, strong alpha.”
He rolls his eyes at the shameless flattery, yet still the ego inside him flares to life.
“Young, stupid omegas always think they can get whatever they want,” he growls, all while keeping a rough pace inside your body, watching how the water parts for the two of you grinding into one another.
You give him a knowing gaze over your shoulder, sultry and coy.
You are getting exactly what you want. All you had to do was get his attention, pry at his most basic instincts and now here he is losing his mind over the tight squeeze of your omega cunt.
Maybe you aren’t so stupid after all.
But he’ll fuck you stupid, he’s sure of that.
“I’m too old for silly games, kid. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
He proves his point by pawing at your belly under the water, pressing in until you can both feel how deep he is in your guts. The realization makes you whine, pushing hard back against him.
“You think I’m just some toy to use during your heat?” Katsuki tuts, licking at one of his canines. “Just wait until I knot this stupid cunt and you beg me to keep coming back.”
A symphony of sex is ringing in your backyard, sounds of primal grunts, shrill little screams, balls slapping against your ass, water gurgling and splashing.
Any animal nearby knows what’s happening, that nature is running its course and you’re both nothing but senseless bodies looking for the simplest relief.
Katsuki slides the hand on your stomach lower, pinching your aching clit before he starts swirling it under the pads of experienced fingers. You start thrashing, cunt sucking so tightly he’s sure you’re hurting with the need to cum.
“Pleasepleaseplease oh god please!”
You shatter and his pride nearly bursts with you. Your cunt clenches, so pleased to cum around a thick alpha cock. You babble absolute nonsense, beg for his knot and a string of thanks yous and pleases and alpha alpha alpha dripping from your mouth into the wake of the pool.
The way your pussy squeezes him tells him you’ve been looking for this orgasm for hours, walls so swollen and pulsing. You must’ve been fucking yourself with useless toys since morning and finally got desperate enough to make a scene and get him to fuck you the way you needed.
“Poor thing,” he coos, watching your cream float to the surface of the water.
You’re totally mindless now as he continues to fuck you, body sloshing in the pool as he manhandles you to take what he wants.
“Don’t even know if you can handle a knot, kid. You’re too tight.”
That stirs you, makes you flatten your hands against the edge of the pool and push back to meet his rhythm. Over and over, you keep up with him, so fucking fraught to finally feel an alpha swell in your guts.
“Please don’t stop, please. Need to feel it, been in heat for d-days.”
“Oh omega, have you been fucking yourself silly with all the wrong toys, hm? Been stuffing yourself all alone in your room? Should’ve, ah, just asked me to come fix it.”
“You told me to stop b-bothering you…”
“You’ll annoy me when your sink’s leakin’ but not when your pussy is? So fucking stupid.”
Only he’s starting to go dumb at the wrap of your cunt around him. The beast in his belly is raging, alpha instincts boiling in the summer sun.
“C’mon, slut, milk my cock,” he pants and slams into you, lost in the way the water reflects around your curves and how your thighs are locked around his waist. He swears your body listens, some reflexive instinct that has your pussy clamping around his shaft until he can feel the veins of his cock squishing into your walls.
The orgasmic build starts rushing up his spine, inflating the base of his cock inch by inch.
“Holy shit, fuck~” you whimper at the first stretch of his knot. “Kat–Katsuki, ‘m so fucking full!”
Finally he bursts, knot bulging into your gumminess until you’re plugged with him. His cum spills into your tight channel, filling you whole.
Your sweet, stupid omega brain can barely comprehend the stretch. Another orgasm wrecks your body, has you falling face first into the pool. Katsuki scrambles to grab you, hoist you up and into his arms as you gasp and crest and cum all over him again.
He can’t help but chuckle, easily maneuvering his back to the pool’s edge. He lets you calm down in his hold, your head falling against his shoulder as you try to breathe.
“Get what you wanted, brat?”
Katsuki pats your bloated belly, making you squeal as he rubs the heel of his hand against his knot.
You nod dumbly, eyes closing to focus on the feel of him. He smirks realizing you’ll never forget him, your first knot. Omegas really are so emotional.
Yet he’s taunted by the stupid bikini bottoms still floating in the water, mocking just how easy it was for you to boil him down to his base instincts.
He’s too old for this shit. Especially as you start grinding down against his knot, cooing, reminding him you’ll be fucking him until your heat decides it’s done with him.
Dog with No Teeth // Chapter One
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader
Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, canon-typical violence, threatening language, death of a minor character
Word Count: 4.6k
On a scavenging run, two unknown groups arrive unannounced. Through the gunfire, you’re separated, cornered, captured. A skull-faced Lieutenant makes a decision, changing your life forever.
Chapter Two
ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist
Eden is a home.
It is a person. A place. A community
It is the scent of old musty books, and the quiet peace before the rising dawn.
You work by candlelight in the silent hours, an open book resting on the table in front of you. Wearing gloves to protect it, you carefully turn the page, gaze scanning the faded lettering. Most of it is legible, and with some time and care, you’ll be able to replicate it on new paper with fresh ink.
Preservation.
Not of your mortal life and those that live in your community, but the preservation of humanity, culture, and human history. Five years since the world fell apart, and yet you remain, carrying on with purpose, restoring books, transcribing those that are close to falling apart, and keeping records of the years that came before.
It is enjoyable, fulfilling work but you serve a greater need to your community. Here, within your sanctuary of several hundred people, you provide them entertainment and education. The children come to you for picture books and story time, and the adults visit when they need an escape.
You are but one piece of a large whole.
“What are you doing here so early?”
You glance up, smiling at your assistant. “Could ask the same,” you laugh, pushing back from the table. Standing, you remove your gloves and set them next to the book.
Sam, your archiving assistant yawns. “Thought I’d get here early since you’re going out today with Zac and his group.” They rub at their eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at the gate already?”
“Shit,” you mutter, checking the mechanical clock hanging on the wall. Sam is right. You should be at the gate right now. “Double shit,” you groan.
Sam laughs and reaches for their own gloves. “I’ll handle this.” Putting them on, Sam settles into your chair. “We doing a refurb on this?”
“No,” you say, running around the room, grabbing your jacket and backpack. “Some of the pages are too faded. Binding is also bust.”
“Transcribe then,” murmurs Sam, gently closing the book to inspect the integrity of the cover. “Where are you going again?”
“Zac mentioned a small town they scoped out. No activity.” You walk over to Sam, yanking your jacket on. “He said there’s a library.”
Sam’s head pops up. “Seriously?”
You nod excitedly. “Said the place was locked up tight. Windows still intact.”
“Untouched?” asks Sam, eyebrows rising in surprise. You nod. Sam whistles lowly. “What a fucking find.”
“I know!” you exclaim. “Could really use some encyclopedias.”
“And dictionaries,” adds Sam longingly.
Tugging on the front of your jacket and then smoothing the front, you zip it up. “Zac said I can bring back as much as I want.”
“Did he really?” Sam shakes their head and opens the front cover of the book. “That man is sweet on you.”
“Which is why I take advantage,” you giggle.
Sam bursts out laughing. “Go. They’ll leave you behind.”
With a grin on your face and a hop to your step, you wave at Sam before heading out the side door and into the early morning. The sun is just starting to rise. Most people are still asleep or starting their day. You walk by the communal buildings where the earliest risers are preparing breakfast. You sigh when you get a whiff of what they’re cooking, wishing you could snag a meal before departing.
As you approach the gate, Zac raises his hand in greeting.
“Have I held everyone up?” you ask tentatively, glancing around.
“Not at all. Still loading up a few things. Your timing is perfect.” Zac smiles, and though you find him pleasant, nothing stirs within you. There is no lust or even romantic interest.
You observe the line of cars queued at the gate. Usually there are only one or two, but there are at least ten vehicles here including the salvaged U-Haul. “Taking a whole convoy?”
“We’re going to need it.”
“For a small town?”
Zac chuckles. “I’m dropping you off at the library. Ben will come with you.”
“I get a security detail?” you ask excitedly and Zac nods. “Fancy.”
Zac scratches at his neck, gaze roaming over the convoy. “There’s a car assembly plant a few miles outside the town. Gonna strip what we can. If things go well, we’ll come back.”
“No activity then?”
“None,” confirms Zac. “We’ve had a scouting team out there for the last two months. Not a soul has passed through.”
“That’s fortunate,” you murmur.
While your community has been largely untouched and unbothered by the outside world, there are still so many unknowns. There have been stragglers that have shown up, and while several have been accepted in and integrated, there are many more that have been turned away or shot on sight. Sometimes you think it cruel, but there are all sorts of horrors in the world now.
Ben walks around the front of the nearest car, and beams in your direction. “Hear I’m looking after you today,” he says, going in for a hug.
You accept it easily. Ben is the comedian of the community, always having a kind word and funny joke.
“And helping me haul books,” you add.
Ben winks in your direction and then turns to Zac. “We’re ready.”
Zac nods. “Load up!” he shouts.
Everyone around you heads to their designated vehicle. Engines roar and car doors slam. You follow Ben, hopping into a dusty Jeep Wrangler.
It’s several hours of open road and clear weather.
You and Ben pass the time by singing songs and playing car games. It’s a good distraction until Zac comes on over the radio and tells Ben their exit is coming up. The rest of the convoy drives on as Ben cuts away to take an exit ramp. A few more minutes and he’s coming to a stop just on the edge of town, parking the Jeep amongst a cluster of trees. The vehicle is completely hidden.
“Ready?” he asks, sliding the keys into his pocket.
“Backpack? Check. Gun? Check. Foldable wagon? Check.”
Ben blows raspberries. “Can’t forget the foldable wagon.”
You playfully smack him on the arm. “You want to haul all those books back yourself.”
“No thank you,” he mutters.
The walk is pleasant, but overall silent. Ben carries an M4AI. The arsenal back home is massive, and whenever there are trips outside the compound, the military-grade weapons come out. He keeps his head on a swivel, but other than the occasional animal sounds and the rustling of leaves, all is quiet.
“Here it is,” sighs Ben, extending one arm toward a stand-alone building at the corner of an intersection.
The library isn’t overly big. If anything, it’s what you’d expect from a small town.
“Now I know you’re excited,” he begins, slightly leaning in your direction. “But you stay close. We’re entering from the back.”
All you can do is nod eagerly, words escaping you. It’s been almost six years since you’ve been inside a library. This is a treat. It takes an insane amount of self-control to not skip all the way to the back of the building.
While the front of the building faces the intersection, behind the library is a small parking lot and two dumpsters. Ben does a slow sweep of the lot as the two of you walk toward the employee entrance. Satisfied that nothing and no one is around, Ben lowers his gun. Removing his backpack, he sets it on the ground, and rummages around inside before withdrawing lockpicks.
Adrenaline surges within you.
A few wiggles.
And then—
Click.
Grinning like an idiot, Ben slips the lockpicks into his backpack and puts it on. Grabbing his gun, he presses himself to the brick wall. Slowly, Ben opens the door with the tip of the rifle. It gives under his touch easily, the hinges even silent as the door swings inwards.
“Draw your weapon,” whispers Ben. “We need to do a sweep first.” As you reach for your Glock, Ben shakes his head. “And leave the damn wagon.”
Leaning the foldable wagon against the wall, you remove your gun from its holster. Ben enters and you follow, shifting your body to watch for anything coming up behind you. It’s a slow sweep. Starting along the wall, the two of you walk the perimeter, checking the back offices, and then finally the center-most area.
Ben comes to a stop near a collection of dusty chairs. Lowering his gun, he sighs with relief. “It’s clear.” He turns in your direction. “I’ll be keeping a lookout at the door. If anything happens, you come directly to me.”
“Got it,” you say with a mock salute.
Ben rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “And don’t drag those books along because I know you will. Leave them.”
You stare him down but Ben doesn’t budge, matching your stare with one of his own. “I mean it. If someone or something comes barreling through the front doors, you fucking run to me. Understood?”
“Sure. Got it. Understood.”
Ben checks his watch. “We have a few hours before we’re expected back at the meet point. Take your time.” He starts to walk away, and then abruptly pivots. “Wife packed a few sandwiches. Promise I’ll share.”
You snort and wave him off. “Bring me my wagon, Ben.”
“On it,” he calls over his shoulder.
As his footfalls recede, you linger in the quiet, dusty library, taking in the significance of the moment. Six years since you’ve stood inside an actual library. Five years since the world fell apart but a year before, third places were quickly disappearing. No one could spend money when wages were low and all the government’s resources were going toward the war effort. Libraries and free spaces shuttered first, losing all their funding.
This place is precious. Special. A rare opportunity.
Of all the books in your community’s collection, they’ve all come to you by the way of others, collected on routine trips and scavenging missions like today. Since stepping inside the walls you now call home, this is the first time you’ve left it. All the stories you receive of the outside world come from the mouths of those who witness it firsthand.
Like a jubilant child, you want to run around—to touch everything. The tips of your fingers buzz with an incessant itch. But you don’t dare remove anything from the shelves. Resisting is almost physically painful as you float through the aisles, taking it all in. To remove a book off the shelf, to open it up, the smell it and feel it would be paradise.
But you know better. You do.
Disturbing them without the right tools and care might cause damage or undo exposure. What you can do is look, to read the spines, and consider your options. Once you know what you want, you’ll drag your little wagon behind you and go about taking the books you want off the shelves.
Ben does leave you alone, and you’re left to wander.
Each step is light but purposeful as you move about the space. You think of everyone back home, of their likes and dislikes, of their needs and wants. More picture books would be helpful as well as some young adult novels. Some of the women have been asking for romance and few of the older folks would like some historical nonfiction.
“Where are you?” you mutter, digging around in your jacket pockets.
Crumpled paper brushes against your fingers. Withdrawing it, you smooth it out as best you can. Using the little light available to read your scribbled penmanship, you pull the wagon behind you, mentally reordering your notes by priority.
Sam wants dictionaries, and you need to grab a set of encyclopedias. Finding the “Reference” section, you survey all your options. Dictionaries and an encyclopedia set are a must, but you also consider the selections of atlases and then the thesaurus collection. The school could really use those resources, and your wagon is large enough to accommodate a few last-minute additions.
Kneeling, you admire the different editions of encyclopedias. Some appear a little worn but otherwise fine. Even though this place hasn’t had power or temperature control in five years, the place was sealed and untouched until you and Ben. It’s likely that everything inside is fine, and all you and Sam will need to do is a rebinding.
You’re completely absorbed, so focused on the tomes in front of you, that the whisper of your name has you spinning around and reaching for your gun.
Ben has his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture. A snarky remark sizzles on your tongue. Ben brings a finger to his mouth in a gesture of silence. Whatever you were going to say dissolves, leaving behind an acrid aftertaste.
Slowly, you swivel your head from side to side but see nothing.
Ben shifts closer, leans in, a glint of fear in his eyes.
“There are people outside,” he whispers.
That’s when you hear it. Distantly, you hear a car door slam, and a muffled shout. The marrow in your bones becomes ice. There are people. There shouldn’t be people.
You swallow, mouth becoming dry. “How many?”
Ben shrugs. “Not sure. But there’s two groups.”
“Two—” You shake your head slightly as that’ll clear your racing thoughts. “What do you mean two groups?”
Ben’s mouth turns downward. It’s an I’m sorry but even that is loaded.
We’re not getting out of this.
There’s a distant hoot of laughter, and then the breaking of glass as if someone’s thrown a beer bottle. It’s still far enough away that you cling to that one comfort. But if they stick around, they might come sniffing. If that happens, you and Ben will be cornered.
Ben nods his head in the direction of the front of the library. Staying low, the two of creep toward the front of the building. There are two sets of double doors. The first set open up into the library and the secondary set of doors lead directly outside. Sandwiched between them is a small atrium. Above the doors are massive windows that bring in natural light.
Out front in the intersection are several beaten up trucks. From what you can see, it’s all men, at least a dozen or two in total. They look haggard. Mean.
“Is that them?” you ask softly.
Ben doesn’t look back at you as he answers. “Just the one. These guys came in loud.” Ben shifts slightly to glance over his shoulder at you. “Surprised you didn’t hear them.”
“Lost in my books.” Ben snorts, and returns his attention to the glass doors. “What about the second group?” you ask tentatively. “Our people?”
Ben eases back a bit. He sits down on the floor, checking over his rifle. “No. Not sure who they are.” He licks his lips, gaze focused on the gun. “They’re all in black. Militarized by the look of them. Organized.”
Two groups. Two different groups.
Ben removes the clip and checks the cartridge. “Only noticed them when one of these guys went around back.” He gestures toward the men directly outside the front doors. “Fucker came out of nowhere and knifed him. Dragged his body away too.”
“Who are they?”
Ben shrugs and rummages in his backpack for a new clip. “No fucking idea. The ones out front might be marauders or slavers or—”
He pauses, gaze growing distant.
“Or what, Ben?” you prompt.
He doesn’t answer, only readies the rifle. “All I know is we need to go.”
All this work, all this effort, suddenly gone.
Your shoulders sag as the reality of the situation sets in. “I have to leave the books. Don’t I?”
“Afraid so,” replies Ben. But he smiles, and though he’s trying, you see the strain. “Next time I’ll make sure to bring you and Sam some books.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” he affirms. “Let’s go.”
At the back door, you withdraw your Glock, posting up beside Ben. He cracks it open. Pauses. Opens it a little wider. He carefully sticks a small hand mirror out the opening. He turns it left then right then back again.
“Clear” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
He exits slowly, and then gestures with his hand. You step outside, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust to the light. Ben starts to cross the parking lot, heading for the exit furthest from the intersection.
The voices of the men are louder out here. A tiny bubble of panic blooms. Then simmers. Then boils.
There is no one around. No one. And yet—
A loud crack splits the air. The wall next to Ben explodes, tiny fragments of debris bursting outward. Ben stumbles backward. He grabs for you. And tugs.
You’re yanked to the side, and then spun around.
Time seems to slow, and yet everything occurs so quickly you don’t entirely comprehend what’s happened until Ben shoves the two of you behind a nearby dumpster.
“Oh, fuck,” you breathe. “Ben. We—”
Horror floods your lungs.
Blood.
Everything. Dripping from tiny holes in Ben’s body.
“Oh my god. Ben.”
You reach for him, but there are so many impact points. Too many.
“Go,” he gasps. “Go.”
“I’m not leaving you here.”
As the words leave your mouth, a barrage of bullets bite into the wall directly over your head.
“Here,” he rasps, handing you the keys to the Jeep. “Leave me and fucking run. I’ll distract them.”
Shouting breaks out nearby followed by what seems like a never-ending deluge of gunfire.
Your eyes burn. “You promised me books.”
He smiles, and there’s more red than white. “You know I always deliver on my promises.”
With a groan that’s more a cry of pain, Ben stands and reloads with a new clip.
“Go,” he whispers just as he steps out from around the dumpster, gun firing.
You turn. Take off. Gunfire follows.
It comes from everywhere, but you don’t falter, don’t pause to check your surroundings. You’re not a raging bull or an agile cheetah. You are pure frenzy, pure panic, like a rabbit running from fox teeth.
“Fucking grab her!” someone yells. “Grab her!”
You don’t know if it’s the marauders or the men all in black, but there is little reason to consider who.
Survival is paramount. Survival is eternal.
In a world like this, survival is lifeblood.
It is everything.
With lungs burning and muscles screaming, you aim for the houses, knowing you can lose them if you scuttle through the overgrown backyards.
The blow comes out of nowhere.
You witness a brief taste of freedom.
And then it’s yanked right from under you.
A body barrels into you, knocking you sideways. The ground comes up fast. You throw up your arms to protect your head and face. It cushions but protects little else. You hit hard.
“Come here,” growls a male voice. Hands are on you. Grabbing. Twisting. “Let me get a good look at you.”
You kick out. Throw your fists in all directions.
“Stop your fussing.”
A quick blow to the face and you’re circling, everything becoming temporarily blurry as the person atop you brings your vision skyward.
“Look at you,” he laughs.
It’s one of the marauders. He smiles down at you, teeth brown and grey from decay.
“Pretty thing. Gonna look cute choking on my—”
His nefarious smile drops as the rest of him stiffens. You freeze, staring up in shock as you try to figure out what’s happened. It’s a slow unfolding. A trickle. Blood begins to pool in his mouth and then it drip drip drips onto your face.
With a soft cry, you wiggle out from under him as he tips over, falling into the grass. Scrambling backward, you start to push up onto your knees, muscles poised to keep moving.
“Don’t move.” A gun barrel presses into the back of your head. It’s still warm. “Get up.”
A pair of black boots come into view. Your gaze slowly ascends. Black boots give way to black pants to a black bullet proof vest to a black balaclava. The only part of him you can see are his eyes.
Someone grabs the back of your neck. It’s a harsh hold, and you’re yanked to your feet. You twist your neck and find another man, this one almost identical to the one in front of you. This is the other group Ben spotted, the ones tracking the marauders.
The one holding your neck squeezes and the other reaches for you. “Fucking move and I’ll shoot you.”
You remain perfectly still—perfectly silent as he pats you down. The knife in your boot is confiscated along with your Glock. When they snatch the Jeep keys, you instinctually reach to take them back.
“Told you not to fucking move.”
The man slaps your hand down and you feel the muzzle return to your head.
“Sorry,” you murmur.
He stares you down for a long moment. It gives you an opportunity to observe him, and his companion. They both wear identical all-black tactical even down to the patches attached to their biceps. The bottom one you recognize. Both American flags. The one above it is eerily similar but you can’t entirely place it. It’s an azimuthal projection of the earth but a top view from the North Pole. Beneath it are two olive branches.
The stranger’s gaze shifts to just above you. He jerks his head, and then you’re shoved forward without warning. With each of them holding an arm, you’re half-dragged back to the intersection the marauders were at.
While their rusty trucks are still there, they aren’t alone. Four armored trucks are parked in a semi-circle around the marauders’ cars. More men in all-black tactical gear prowl the area. Of the first group to arrive, those that aren’t dead have been zip tied and lined up in a row on their stomachs, faces pressed into the asphalt.
When one of them moves, they’re kicked until they fall back into compliance.
“Found this one out by the houses,” says the man holding onto your left arm.
Soldiers. They have to be. This isn’t some ragtag group. They wear uniforms, all of which are perfectly maintained. Even the armored trucks are in decent condition.
A small trio of them standing nearby turn.
The centermost soldier speaks. “A woman?” His surprise is clear. And like the two men who hold you, this man too has an American flag.
He nods toward the group of facedown marauders. “These fuckers don’t let their breeders out of their sight.”
Breeders.
You almost snarl, bite back with an insult. But you keep your mouth shut. Their intentions are unclear, and you’re without a weapon. Entirely powerless.
Survival. Always survival.
He takes a few steps forward, approaching you, gaze assessing. Behind the balaclava, he gives you a once over. “Looks healthy,” he observers. Without warning, he grabs your face. You jerk back, and he clucks his tongue. “Stop moving.”
Turning your face to the left and then to the right, the middle of his brow creases. “Open your mouth.”
You glower, and don’t comply.
He grabs your nose, shutting off your air. You gasp, mouth opening.
“Has all her teeth,” he announces, dropping his hand. “Can’t be one of theirs.”
“We need to show the Lieutenant,” says the soldier to your right.
The man before you stares, and keeps staring. “Do we?”
You don’t like the implication.
“What’s this?”
A deep, masculine voice cuts through the air. It is accented. British. Every head turns, and the soldiers straighten, shoulders back and heads held high.
The man holding your left arm speaks up. “Found her running toward the houses, Lieutenant.”
All the soldiers wear plain black balaclavas. Simple. Straightforward. But the man who steps into view has a skull face stitched into his. A fucking skull.
Instead of an American flag, it’s a Union Jack.
His brown eyes behind the mask narrow. “They don’t bring their women out.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Are their numbers that low?”
“With how we’ve been picking them off I wouldn’t be surprised.”
They bicker back and forth, arguing about you but not actually talking to you.
“I’m not with them,” you say, and they all go silent.
Skull Face glowers. “You’re not?”
“I was running from them.” You glance between the soldiers who shot the man. “They’ll tell you. They’re the ones that shot him.”
Skull Face appears unmoved. “Doesn’t mean you’re not with them.”
You laugh, and it sounds a bit hysterical. “Why would I be fucking running if I were with them? Wouldn’t I be shooting back at you?”
“No,” he replies flatly. “If you were with them, you’d be bloody running from them. Not shooting at us.”
“She has to be with them. There’s no one else here.” The man who speaks up this time is directly to Skull Face’s right. The accent is different. Scottish.
“I came with one other. Those men shot at us.”
Ben. Oh. Sweet Ben.
“And where are they?” asks Skull Face.
You swallow, knowing the truth. “Behind the library. Parking lot. Near the dumpster.”
Skull Face locks gazes with another solider and nods. Two men break off, heading in that direction. He returns his attention to you. “Who are these men?”
“What?” you ask, perplexed.
“These men.” He points to the facedown marauders. “Who are they?”
These men are strangers to you. “Slavers?” When no one confirms or denies, you guess again. “Cannibals?”
“She’s playing dumb,” mutters the Scots.
“Hush, Soap,” mutters Skull Face. “Who are they? What name do they go by? It’s an easy question. Everyone knows it.”
You shake your head. “I—I don’t know.”
Lieutenant Skull Face leans in, lowering his voice. “If you don’t answer truthfully, you and I can have an extended chat in the back of one of these trucks.”
“She had these.” The Jeep keys are tossed, and he catches them without looking. “And this.” The Glock is presented.
Soap takes the Glock. He turns it over. “They don’t give their women weapons, Ghost.”
So, Skull Face is named Ghost. Fitting.
“No,” he agrees. “Makes it easier for them to fight back.”
The very idea sobers you.
“Who are they?” you ask, feeling safe enough to do so.
Ghost glances up from the car keys. “Your worst fucking nightmare.”
“Lieutenant!” The two men that left for the library return. Jogging forward, they speak in low voices.
Ben is not with them. Ben is—
Ghost nods and steps back. “We’re taking her with us.” The two men holding onto your arms let go and Ghost immediately grabs hold of your shoulder, pulling you forward.
“Pick three of these bastards at random,” he announces, gesturing toward the facedown men. “Put them in Delta truck. Shoot the rest.”
Ghost’s hand at your shoulder slides up, grasping the back of your neck. He leans in close—so close you can pick out the little flecks of gold in his brown irises.
“You’re riding with me.”
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houndtooth [18]
[masterlist]
Ghost x f!Reader tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, abduction, bodyguard, forced cooperation, smut 18+ mdni - cw: see masterlist - 7.4k words thank you to the divine and talented @theorist-fox for helping me figure out this chapter <3
![Houndtooth [18]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9af4754c9a5f9f668dae1e9e24007044/3711c152a1023cb2-3e/s500x750/16f0db05d627d2b273c12459eff604c3ca50828e.png)
You steep in the bathwater like tea.
Loose leaves, dispersing and unfurling in the heat, essences osmosing out through your skin and evaporating in tongues of silver steam. You trace lines into the surface of the aquamarine water, watching the ripples dance away from your touch and ricochet off the walls of the tub.
There’s an ache somewhere in the back of your head, dull, thumping. A dread that lingers, black and sticky like a tumour, feeding on the liquid fear that courses through every blood vessel in your skull. One that continues to grow, even as its presence has eluded you, if only for the time being.
You’re warm. Skin lacquered in ephemeral honey, blanketing and sweet — it placates you, for now. Mollified by a false peace, the comfort of quiet and the gloaming of soft touch.
You should regret what you did.
Begging for him like a degenerate — the memory should be sour to reflect on. Should taste like bile in your mouth as you reminisce on kissing him, on biting him, on coming on his tongue.
It doesn’t.
It was what you needed.
Needed, not wanted, you needed it with the same exigency as a starving animal in need of food, of a wilting flower in need of water. That’s the only way you could begin to explain it. Overwhelmed by such a dearth of comfort that you acted on the impulse to sate it because it was needed to survive.
You hear the flick of a lighter, where Simon sits against the wall beside the tub. Knee propped up, he hangs an arm over it as he pinches a cigarette with the other, sucks down a deep drag.
He looks at you with lidded eyes as the smoke flows from his nostrils in curls, before he reaches over to hand you the roll.
You lean against the side of the tub, forearms propped up on the edge, chin resting on the back of your hands. You free one to take it from him, sip a short puff, and give it back.
In the dim light of the bathroom, he looks like a different man.
His cheeks are pinker, eyes a little brighter. Softer lips. Gentler stare. Perhaps you’re making it up, to make yourself feel better for using him so brazenly.
His familiar mask is still downstairs, tossed somewhere to oblivion. Jersey in a pile on the kitchen floor. His bare chest is bruised, scratched, bitten — blood-red weals where you had abused him with your teeth and your claws, spotted bruises on his neck and shoulders where you suckled on him like a leech.
Your eyes scour the marks that weren’t left by you; white cords of poorly healed gashes, craters left by bullets, knurled and pink where he had been burned. He is covered in them.
“I hope I didn’t hurt you,” you say, as mild as a whisper, a pang of embarrassment at the tip of your tongue.
“Hurt me?” He asks, a low rumble, through a bemused smirk.
You extend a hand over the edge of the tub, trace the tip of your finger against a throbbing red imprint of your teeth in his pectoral, a bite mark so deep it lingers even an hour after its infliction.
He looks down his nose at where you touch him, releasing a pent breath in a huff of laughter.
“Mh,” he grunts, as though only now noticing how you had maimed him. “You’re a little animal.”
“Sorry,” you puff, tucking your hand back under the other.
“Didn’t hurt,” he says simply, poking his cigarette in his lips to punctuate it. “Felt good.”
You smile wryly at that, before you sheepishly glance at the floor.
“More worried that I hurt you,” he says, after a languid pause. Cigarette smoke in a mist around his head, he hands it to you again.
You keep it for a bit, sucking in two consecutive puffs to slow your heart down before giving it back.
“You didn’t,” you reply.
He rocks his head back, leaning it against the dark tiles of the wall. His eyes turn sombre, and he rubs his brow with a tense thumb.
“What,” you ask edgily.
He exhales out a cloud of smoke. “Nothing.” he mutters, under breath, as though to himself.
You shift uneasily in the water and the waves splash quietly against the ceramic walls of the tub. “Do you regret it?”
His stare is heavy. Pointed. Rust-brown eyes laden with quiet guilt and an anger you can’t place — at you, or at somebody else, you cannot be certain.
“Fucking you?”
Your brows twitch into a frown, but soften quickly. You aren’t sure why you’re taken aback by his bluntness — fucking you — given he hasn’t shown much in the way of subtlety in the short time you have known him.
What you don’t like, though, is that he believes himself to have done something to you. He fucked you. A one-way act.
You’re used to being fucked in such a way. A man fucks you, a sire fucks a bitch. In either case, you’re the receptacle. The sleeve for a cock. A passive recipient of fucking, your contribution irrelevant, or worse, unnecessary.
This was different.
“Yeah,” is all you say, resting your chin on the back of your hands.
He lets out a ragged sigh. “No,” he says brusquely, “I’m glad I did.”
Strawberry red stains your cheeks, sugary heat suffusing under your skin. Your tongue is heavy and uncooperative and you have nothing to say.
“I’m glad I made you feel good,” he adds, a murmur. “I’m glad I took you from that fuckin’ mansion. I’m glad I shot your husband. And I’m glad I hit Makarov. I only wish I’d shot him as well.”
He ends his tirade with a final puff of his short cigarette, sucking it down to the filter, before squishing the butt into the marble and adding it to the pile of the last three he already finished.
Your chest is tight, ribs enclosing, lungs sipping shallow. Heart tumescent at the base of your throat and thumping between your collarbones.
“I’m glad too,” you breathe, not quite able to let the words slip out confidently, because you can’t believe you’re saying them. You’re not even sure uttering them aloud makes the sentiment true, but it feels that way.
The silence that follows is as tepid as your bathwater. He shuts his eyes, head leaning against the black tile behind him.
“Will you get in with me?” You surprise yourself when you ask it, and he cracks open an eye to look at you.
“I’ll dirty up your water,” he says frankly.
“I don’t care,” you whisper.
His lips curl as he decides whether or not to entertain you. It was an admittedly uncouth request, and you begin to mourn asking — until he reaches forward and pulls loose the laces of his boots, kicking them off with his socks, they bounce and thud on the tile.
With a grunt he pushes himself up to stand. His pants are already unbuckled, left that way after your tryst in the kitchen, so he simply shucks them down and unabashedly tugs his boxers with them.
You sit upright in the water, and you feel like a little lecher for watching so raptly. You didn’t get to see much when he had you on the kitchen counter — only his torso, which you weren’t upset about. But you did not expect that he’d bare himself so willingly, a man whose face you had barely become accustomed to, previously hidden by a permanent mask.
His legs are long, they look as tall as you — just as wide, too, thighs like hocks of pork and hirsute with straw curls. Tattoos bedizen a single leg, his left; a large gun on his shin, a nautical star on the side of his thigh, other engravings you can’t make out in the dim light of the orange sconce by the mirror.
Your prurient eyes latch to something else, though, as it swings heavy between his legs on his way towards the tub. Even soft, you cannot fathom that you had fit it inside you. Uncircumcised, unlike Victor’s. A hearty mauve at the thick head, sheathed in ruddy foreskin. Pale at the base, corded with veins, and pendulous under its own weight.
It makes you swallow as he lifts a colossal leg over the edge of the tub, settling immediately into the water and forcing waves to splash up the sides and dribble onto the floor. With his added mass the water’s surface brushes your nipples, they stiffen when it tickles.
He sinks into the water with a strained sigh, head hanging back over the rounded edge of the tub. The water laps just below his sternum, and his legs overlap with yours — great big knees jutting out of the glossy surface on either side of you, you tuck your knees together, but wedge a foot at either side of his waist. Takes up the entire fucking tub, titanic as he is.
“Nice, isn’t it?” You say quietly, amused.
“Mh,” he hums.
“Bet you haven’t had a bath in a while.”
“You saying’ I smell?”
You snort. “No, I just mean, you know, like, specifically—”
He cracks a wide smile, eyes shut. “I know,” he says. “It has been a while.”
In the quiet you hang your arms over your knees, silently observing every scar on his freckled body, each more grisly than the last. Your eyes fix to a burl of keloid under his ribs, thick and purple, scarred skin shiny where it healed wrong.
“You have a lot of scars,” you quietly muse.
He only grunts.
“Are they all from — fighting, and stuff?”
His eyes open and cut across the tub, as if to check why you’d ask such a thing. You feel a bit guilty having asked it, but you know so little about him; the man himself is a mystery, enigmatic as he is reclusive, and you’ve let him inside you. Some part of you feels owed a glimpse of who he is.
“Some of them,” he says.
“Not all of them?”
“No.”
“What else are they from?”
His stare is forlorn. He seems to take a moment to decide whether or not to answer you.
“Couple from when I was a kid,” he says mutedly, swiping the pink slit in his top lip. You don’t want to know how he got that as a little boy. “The rest are from Mexico.”
“What happened in Mexico,” you ask, near a whisper, curiosity getting the better of you.
He sucks deep a breath, drumming on the edge of the tub with the pads of his fingers. You haven’t yet seen him so uneasy, so patently upset. His eyes are black with it, pools of tar that swirl and bubble, plainly haunted by something you don’t need to see to understand.
“Sorry,” you say abruptly. “Don’t tell me. You don’t need to tell me.”
He drops a hand from where it rests on the lip of the tub, and plants it on your calf. Grazes your skin with his thumb. He gives you a faint nod, and he doesn’t elaborate. You wonder if he would have felt obligated to tell you if you hadn’t relented.
“What happens next?” You ask, if only to fill the silence.
He licks his teeth. “That depends on what we got tonight.”
“Oh, shit!—” you suddenly blurt, jolting up, and he looks taken aback. “I heard some things when they were in the dining room.”
He straightens himself, sitting upright and watching you keenly. “What.”
“Um — they said something about a vault. At the house in Russia, I think, after I lied and said I heard the assassins talking about a USB drive. Sergei said, um, Victor’s digital assets hadn’t been compromised, and that you hadn’t touched the vault. So maybe there’s something important in there.”
“Did they say where the vault was?”
“No — only that you didn’t find it, so I guess… somewhere you didn’t look,” you explain. “They’re getting someone else to sweep the mansion again. Vladimir said — he said Konni, I think, are inept, so must have missed something. Then Sergei said he’d talk to someone called Arkady.”
He chews on that for a moment, glaring into the surface of the water.
“You know him?” You ask.
“I do,” he says. “Anything else?”
You take a second to think, to comb through the weeds of everything else that had happened in the last few hours.
“Well, when… when you interrogated me, you asked about a factory, so I told them I overheard the people who killed Victor talking about a factory.” You say, suddenly feeling like the only information you had gleaned was vague and useless, and you pick at your fingernails. “But I was vague about it, I didn’t want them to think — you know, that I knew too much. So I told them I thought it meant warehouse. Then one of them said, ‘they know about Mialstor’.”
He cocks his head at that. “What?”
“Mialstor, is what he said,” you repeat. “I guess that’s the name of the factory.”
He suddenly grins, eyes wide with a vigour you had not yet seen at all in him. He reaches forward with both hands, and your instinct is to recoil — but he grabs you by the cheeks and tugs you towards him.
“Fuckin’ brilliant,” he hails, pressing his forehead to yours and almost shaking you in exuberance. “You’re brilliant, Mia.”
A rush of blood rises up from your chest, turning you pink, and you’re not yet sure what you did right. “Do you know it?”
“Yeah, I know it,” he says, reeling back from you slightly. “Just can’t fuckin’ believe we hadn’t thought of it already.”
“So — so, that’s good?” You ask anxiously, “I got something?”
He chuckles dryly, grin wide; tilts your head downward to plant his lips on your forehead, and your blood turns to syrup.
“Yeah, you fuckin’ did,” he croons.
His praise sends a tickling warmth down your spine, gooseflesh pricking up on the surface of your flushed skin. Turns you to pudding. Not just the assurance that you had done something right, that you were inching closer to your freedom — but an expression of genuine pride, of unburdened affection, truly alien to you. Surreal. Much like most of the last several days, tonight especially.
You rest a wet hand on his knee, unsure where else to put it, his skin is cold in your palm.
You have always had little control over what your body chooses to do, proven further as you tilt your head upward, until your mouth meets his chin, his stubble prickly on your lips.
And as though hearing the thoughts even you could not, he takes the burden from you — his lips find yours, and his mouth opens to take you. You draw in a shuddering breath, his tongue glides against yours, and he breathes your air from its source.
There is no reluctance left in him, seems you have bled him dry of any remaining reservations. No longer wastes his energy questioning the morality of how he touches you. His hands jump from your cheeks to your hips, and he hoists you up and between his knees — plants you astride his pelvis, his thighs a backrest, a seat made for you.
His lips take no pause, lavishing from your neck to your collarbone, taking your soft breast in his mouth as you straighten your spine. His tongue feathers over your nipple and a whine escapes your throat, hands firm in the hollows of your waist, holding you in place as he indulges himself.
He bucks his hips to tip you forward as he leans back against the reclined wall of the tub, wide hand fixes to the back of your neck, under your hair.
You kiss him without haste but no less eager, tobacco on your tongue, hunger in your teeth. He smooths a free hand down your spine and it makes your hairs stand on end, grazing until it reaches your ass, and he burrows his fingers unabashedly into the pillow of your flesh.
The silence of the room is peppered with quiet splashes of water and breathing turning heavier, then the whimper that escapes you as you feel his cock growing harder underneath you. Wedged in the petals of your pussy, suddenly taking up more space as it steels in the cleft of you.
You arch your spine to glide your cunt down his shaft, gripping in the soapy wetness of the bathwater — curl forward as you grind upward, releasing a puff of wanton air as your clit rubs against the bulb of his head, where it lies flat against his stomach.
He hisses as you knead against him with your full weight, gluttonous hands boring into your hips to compel you even further downwards; but you persist unfettered, rocking your pelvis back and forth along his shaft until you can feel your slick between his skin and yours, not yet dissolved in the bathwater.
You can feel him growing frustrated. He tries his hardest not to burrow his fingernails into your skin, masseters jutting out as he grits his jaw, temples divoting in the strain.
You straighten your back, looking down your nose at him; cheeks calescent red and lids heavy, luxuriating in his desperation, panting through your open mouth.
“What do you want,” you ask, voice low, resting a hand flat on his rigid pectoral to balance yourself.
He glowers at you, panting, hopelessly grinding his hips up into you to chase the friction.
“You know what I want,” he grits, enormous hands briefly loosening to slide to your waist, before they dig in there instead.
“Say it,” you hum, stilling with the blunt head of his cock nestled between your folds.
He cracks a grin, jaw slack, he laughs at you incredulously. At a loss for words, for a beat, as he futilely rolls his hips.
But his eyes are dark, and they do not leave you. Through a smirk, he says; “I want you.”
You liquefy when he says it. Insides turn as gummy and bittersweet as jam.
You know he means your body, your cunt; you, the parts of you that matter. You can’t help but burden his hungry words with a weight they were not intended to carry.
Still, you raise yourself just enough to reach beneath you, taking his cock in your kittenish fingers — your tongue wettens when you touch it, hard as titanium and hot as molten iron. Girth dizzying now that it is tangible in your hand, when you wrap your fingers around it and hold it upright.
His eyes go glassy when you slot the head of his cock between your labia, nudging it at your entrance — you gasp through wet lips as you sink back down, lancing yourself on the length of him until you sit flush with his hips, impaled to the helve.
It’s harder to breathe around the size of him in this position. It ached delightfully the first time, when his head mashed into your cervix, when he buried deep — now he takes up all the space inside you, bullying your womb out of the way to fit, and he hadn’t even moved yet.
He keeps his hips still, in fact. Busies himself with his hands, they graze over your thighs, up your waist, around your breasts, along your collarbones.
“Say it again,” you breathe, voice broken.
He smooths a flat hand down your sternum, between your breasts, over your belly as if just to feel the warmth of your skin.
“I want you,” he murmurs, no longer smiling.
A heat blooms in the hollows of your eyes, tumid with unspent tears, and you keel forward to taste him again; with an open mouth you seal your lips to his, and exhale all of yourself into him. A wide hand weaves into the hair at the back of your head, the other sweeps from your waist and around your ribs, settling in the divot of your spine.
Still, he does not move. Doesn’t rut himself deeper, doesn’t reel back his hips to indulge himself with the slightest friction. Instead, he moves his lips to your cheek, curling his hand to the top of your head, before nestling your face into the crook of his neck.
You wonder what thoughts of yours he can hear, can feel through your skin, can taste in your mouth, that you yourself are not privy to. Because with a free hand he scoops underneath you, lifting you like you’re weightless in the water, and unsheathing his cock from inside you. Sits you back down on your side against him, with your knees tucked in.
You’ve resolved not to cry, but quiet tears drip from your eyes regardless of your attempt to subdue them. Their origin eludes you, they roll anyway.
“I’m sorry,” you croak, into the balmy skin of his neck.
He draws in a slow breath, your head rises with his chest, lets it out just as languidly. His hand knots a little firmer against your scalp, his lips press into your hair.
“Don’t be.”
![Houndtooth [18]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/33ce03c51443d46cf05bc8d8fbc915fa/3711c152a1023cb2-ea/s500x750/e40763ae9cda3551b3a4ebaf9920f4c16918a5c4.png)
He can’t explain it.
Whatever it is, palpitating behind his sternum, aching like cardiac failure.
He’d have called it guilt, perhaps, in the days leading up to now, while he has you purring on his chest like a cat. He pets you like one, a listless hand stroking your damp hair from your forehead to the back of your neck. Keeps still like you’re as skittish as one, liable to jump off his lap and scurry away into the shadow if he moves too quickly.
He’s not sure what he’d call it, now.
It was hatred, first, bubbling and acerbic in his chest at the sight of you. That hadn’t lasted long, though. Then, it was pity, when he watched you cower away from himself and others who hurt or threatened you, or when he had to listen to your husband unjustly berate you. Then, it was shame, for salivating over you like an animal despite how he exploited you. Next was guilt, for exploiting you at all.
Whatever it is now, he doesn’t have a name for it.
He would have indulged you, if you wanted him to. He’d have fucked you to sleep in the bathwater, or simply coaxed another orgasm out of you with his fingers, or his tongue, if you asked. He could never be unwilling to surfeit you if that were what you needed from him.
He could tell, though, read it on your lips, see it in your eyes, that it wasn’t what you needed. That you were acting out of routine, out of habit, a machine on autopilot. He’s sure that you know well how potently magnetising you are. That any man would lust over you, would fuck you in a heartbeat, and would tell you so. You don’t need him to attest to that.
He’s certain you’d be expectant of it. Certain that sex is the only affection you are accustomed to receiving, and that anything else has been a means to an end.
He has always had a similar attitude.
He doesn’t dole out affection freely, nor does he willingly receive it. A fuck was once all he needed, and he decided himself uninterested in, or unworthy of, anything more than that. He has always prided himself on it, in fact, that he never needs anything else. Doesn’t need reassurance, or care, or sympathy. Doesn’t need touch beyond the kind that gets his cock hard.
Can’t explain why he doesn’t want to be that for you.
He doesn’t want to be another dog, so you called them; an animal that mauls, that bites, that scratches and grabs, hits and breaks. He doesn’t want to be a creature of hunger and hatred, destined only to consume, to masticate then swallow.
He doesn’t want to prove you right. He has already been that creature, that dog, for all of his life. Sharp-toothed and brutal, permanently apoplectic with a rage that never dissipates, turbid in his blood like silt. Antipathy aimed indiscriminately, at everybody, himself no exception.
That sediment that terminally thunders through him has settled, temporarily. A momentary taste of amity, while you lie curled up on his stomach, gently breathing against the skin of his neck.
Pride beats through him, too. He’s bright with it. He’s fucking proud of you — not a sentiment he would ever have expected to hold.
Clever girl, using what little knowledge you had gleaned from him to fish out intel he would never have found himself. Clever girl, feigning uncertainty about the very language you’re fluent in to milk them of even more. Staggered by your courage, brave girl, maintaining strength within arm’s reach of those wolves who so deeply terrify you. Brave girl, standing up to the warmongering sadist even as he had his hands around your throat.
He wants to tell you so, but it’s not in his nature, would go against his grain — regardless, it seems you have fallen asleep, judging by the shift in your breathing. Slow, deep, in a torpor that leaves you limp against him.
The water isn’t hot anymore. Not quite lukewarm, either; the exact temperature of the surface of his skin, so it feels as though he isn’t submerged at all.
He’d leave you sleeping, if he could, but he can’t have you spend the night in cold water. If he had another set of arms, he could gracefully get out of the tub and carry you to bed without needing to wake you. Alas.
He adjusts himself, skin squeaking against the ceramic walls of the tub, and that seems to be enough to disturb your slumber.
You quickly push yourself upright with your hands on his chest, and he releases you. Your stare jumps around as though you had forgotten where you were, until his hand falls to the small of your back, and you catch his eye in the dim yellow light.
A pent breath escapes you, and you rub an eye with the heel of your palm. “Sorry,” you croak.
“For what,” he says torpidly.
“For — for falling asleep on you.”
He lets out a puff of laughter. “Seems like you needed it.”
You smile sheepishly, and his stomach tightens up. “Guess so.”
You stare at him, for a beat, and he swears you tilt your head in thought — lids heavy, eyes shadowed by exhaustion but laden with a quiet comfort. Not once would he ever have thought he’d see such an expression in them, so used to them being wide and frightened, or wet and ruddy with tears.
“What do we do now?” You ask quietly, and he wonders how metaphorical you’re being. “Have we — is there more to do, still?”
Not metaphorical at all, evidently. “There’s more to do,” he replies, remorseful.
Your expression sinks, and he feels guilty again. “Right,” you breathe. “Do I have to see him again?”
Him, he needn’t ask. The way you say it, thick with hate, speaks his name for you.
He reaches for you, brushes your jaw with his thumb, sweeps a damp curl of hair behind your ear. “No.”
You all but deflate with relief once he says it.
“I need to check in with my team,” he adds, with a huff. “C.O. will figure out what happens next.”
“The Captain?” You ask, a grumble.
He nods.
You chew on something to say, a divot between your brows. “I don’t like him.”
He smirks at that. Hopes he gets to tell him that, one day. Bird says she doesn’t like you. “He’s not everyone’s cup o’ tea.”
“No, I mean, I don’t trust him.”
“No?”
He doesn’t blame you, he’d never vouch for the man. He just wants to know if the Captain had done something to you to make you feel that way, while he wasn’t around to see it.
“If he had his way I’d be dead already,” you say sombrely.
He grimaces. You’re probably right.
“I wouldn’t let that happen,” he grunts, hand smoothing over the curve of your shoulder, brushing down your arm. He can’t stop touching you.
You adjust your position on his lap, not quite getting comfortable, but turning to face him better. “How can you guarantee that if he’s your commander?” You ask, tone interrogative. “What if he orders you to kill me?”
“I wouldn’t,” he says, more forcefully, anger bubbling in the back of his throat at the thought.
He hasn’t considered it, going against direct command, breaking the chain of authority that he has been beholden to since birth. His eyes go dark as he thinks about it. Such an order an immovable object, his newborn compulsion to safeguard you an unstoppable force.
He doesn’t know what would happen. Only that you’d be alive at the end of it.
Concern bleeds into your features, but it seems you elect to believe him, answering only with a faint nod. “Okay.”
“You should get some sleep,” he says.
“Do we have time to?” You ask dubiously, dread in your throat.
He huffs. “You do.”
A look of pity cracks through your features, but you relent with a nod. “Okay.”
With some maneuvering, you push yourself up and step a leg out of the tub, standing on the tufted bathmat. Your skin prickles up in the cold, tiny bumps of gooseflesh feather your skin, faint hairs standing on end.
There’s no caution in your nakedness, no lingering reluctance in having his eyes soak you in. You stand unblushing, and he watches as you float to the towel rail; the way your calves tighten, lush thighs bounce with each small step. The way the faint light catches in the valley of your spine, shimmers on your soft skin embellished with drops of water, carves out the nectarine contours of your ass.
He’s not ignorant of his lechery. Acknowledges that simply having sex with you should not embolden him to abandon all shame as he relishes in the sight of you, he can’t quite justify it — but there’s more to it than that.
Not anything he can articulate nor make sense of. But you let him admire you, so he admires you.
You’ve already collected a towel for him by the time he gets out to follow you, handing it to him as you drape your own around your own shoulders. He’s not shy about spectating you as you dry yourself off, running the plush towel down your torso, arms, legs, before wrapping it around your hair and wringing out your locks.
You dump your towel on the floor by the vanity once you deem yourself dry enough, leaving your hair damp down your back. He puts his boxers back on, slightly less comfortable with his nudity than you. He’s not sure why, perhaps just habit. He’s used to staying hidden.
Seems you get stuck in the mirror.
He watches, quietly, as you glower into it like you can see somebody on the other side. Eyes penetrating like you hate her. White-knuckled hands clutch the edge of the vanity, as you let out a frayed sigh.
He shuffles over until he stands behind you. More than a head above you in the reflection, the shadow you cast.
Even with your brows curled in worry, lips in a caustic line, you’re pretty. So pretty. He wants to tell you so. His mouth won’t let him utter the words.
“Do you ever look in a mirror, and—” you hesitate, “and think, ‘who the fuck is that’?”
He bites down on nothing, but nods in response. “Most of the time.”
You blink at yourself, a slender finger lifting to graze the yellowing bruise under your eye.
“I used to look so normal,” you say quietly, musing to yourself.
He exhales as if to laugh — can’t imagine that you ever looked normal. You’re abnormal, by nature. He’s sure it would come across as an insult if he were to say so, but he doesn’t mean it as one. Even as he imagines you in a hoodie and jeans, crossing the street, buying cigarettes from the corner shop — you’d glow.
He lacks the eloquence to say such a thing, so he says nothing. Instead cranes his head and presses his lips into the swell of your shoulder. Fleeting, a simple kiss, he doesn’t linger.
“Go to bed,” he tells you.
“What will you do?” You ask quietly, pretty eyes fluttering shut as his lips graze your skin, before he steps back.
“Got some calls to make,” he answers.
“You’ll stay in the house, right?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Yet would have been accurate to disclaim, but he doesn’t want to frighten you. He knows you’d hardly sleep.
You nod, finally acquiescing, and he follows a few paces behind you as you wander out of the bathroom towards your bedroom. Leans against the jamb of the doorframe and watches as you pull a comically oversized t-shirt over your head, brush out your hair in front of your mirror, tug open the drawer of your nightstand.
Grits his teeth as you toss two oxycodone tablets into your open mouth, and swallow them with a placated sigh. Comforts himself with the promise that you’ll break your habit when you’re free from the hell you’re imprisoned in.
When you’re free, he thinks — ruminates on the prospect. He was ambivalent about your liberation when he first took you on, considered you deserving of whatever fate befell you. Let the Captain believe that you were unlikely to make it out of the arrangement alive, so no additional measures needed to be taken to ensure your emancipation.
He’ll make it right.
Observes silently as you settle yourself into bed on your side, tugging your thick covers up until they brush your cheeks, shimmying yourself deeper into the mattress. Thanks to him, it has been several nights since you have slept in a bed, and the relief is visible in the softening of your eyes and the pleased curl in your lips.
Sweet thing. He’ll get you out, or die trying.
“Night,” he grumbles, and your eyes blink open before landing on him.
“You’ll wake me up, won’t you?” You ask, “when it’s time to go?”
“Course.”
You nod. “Okay. G’night.”
He flicks off the light switch on the wall with the back of his finger. Remains in the door for far longer than necessary. Attentive as your breathing settles, as your eyes grow heavier, as your lips part slightly in your slumber. The shadow of his silhouette drapes over your body under the covers, haunting you, he’s sure. Only once you roll over to your other side, does he step away from the frame, and carefully shut the door behind him.
He pulls out his satellite phone as he meanders down the hallway away from your bedroom, dialing up the Captain and holding it to his ear.
He picks up on the first beep.
“Jesus, I’ve been waiting for you to check in for fuckin’ hours. Thought you’d gone AWOL.”
“Not quite,” he murmurs.
“Why’re you so quiet? S’the weather dirty?”
“It’s clear,” he says, as he makes his way down the staircase, out of earshot. Dithers for a moment about whether he’ll disclose why. “Didn’t want to wake the bird.”
“She’s still kicking?”
“Affirmative.”
Price chortles on the end of the line. “You’re a bloody good guard dog, I’ll give you that. How’d she do?”
“She did good.”
“Go on then, we don’t have time to piss around here.”
He makes his way to the kitchen. Eyes catch on the counter. On the glitter of the broken glass that sprinkles over its surface.
“We need to get ‘er out, sir,” he says rigidly.
“What?”
“Mia,” he grits. “I’m not leaving her in this fuckin’ shithole.”
An uneasy pause cuts through the line, as Price considers his response.
“What’s changed? Has she ended the damn war?”
“She’s not a war criminal. They’ve kept her prisoner for years, captain, they fuckin’ torture her.”
“She’s gotten in your head, then, has she?”
“If you’d spoken to her, John, you’d see the same.”
“See what, exactly.”
“An innocent girl.”
Price lets out a beleaguered sigh. “Christ,” he grumbles. “What’ve you gotten yourself into?”
A mess.
“Just get her the damn passport,” he demands, patience wearing thin. “She’s earned it.”
“Has she? You haven’t even told me if she found anything of any value.”
“Guarantee it.”
“Guarantee what?”
Ghost rolls his eyes. “That she’ll be sent home, for fuck’s sake.”
“When she’s done her job, I’ll see what I can do.”
“She has.”
“Not while we’ve got no missiles, she hasn’t.”
“Mialstor Munitions Factory,” he grunts, finally revealing the intel he called to share. “That’s where they’re making the missiles.”
“She found that out?”
“Affirmative.”
“That’s only a few clicks north of you.”
“Just under one-fifty.”
“D’she get anything else?”
“Sounds like we missed a few spots at the first estate,” he answers reluctantly. “Digital assets in a vault we weren’t aware of.”
“Right,” Price says urgently, a familiar rigidity that portends a plan. “I’ll call you back in a minute.”
The call ends with a click, and Ghost busies himself by collecting the gear that is scattered around the mansion. Finds his jersey and t-shirt on the floor of the kitchen, and his mask hanging from a cupboard handle, where it had fortuitously landed when you tossed it away. Gets himself dressed again, returning the balaclava to its rightful place. Grabs his tac vest from floor by in the foyer, handgun still tucked into the holster on its side. Returns to the bathroom and puts his trousers back on, boots to follow.
He knows what Price will inevitably ask of him. He just hopes he can get you out before he is ferried off to fulfil his next mission. Knows how dangerously distracted he’ll be if you’re stuck here without him.
His sat phone rings as he does up his belt. He picks it up immediately.
“Yep,” he answers quickly.
“Zero-seven, we’re sending a bird to you at 0400 hours. Bravo and Delta teams will meet you two clicks south of the factory.”
He checks his watch. Just before two.
“We’re storming it?”
“Affirmative, lieutenant. No time to waste.”
“Seems a little rash for you, captain.”
“You trust your bird, don’t you?”
His jaw tightens. “I do.”
“Then there’s no use sitting on our hands, is there?” Price barks. “MacTavish will be joining you at Mialstor. Garrick and I will be heading back to the estate to find what you missed.”
“They’ll be sweeping the mansion again,” he says. “It’ll be swarming.”
“Counting on it.”
Not unlike the Captain to dive right into the hornet's nest.
“You sorted exfil for the bird, then, I take it?”
“Jesus, lieutenant, get your bloody priorities straight. There are lives on the line.”
“So is hers,” he spits. “If they get to her they’ll fuckin’ kill her. Worse than that.”
“She should’ve thought about that before she married one o’ them.”
Ghost swallows his simmering insubordination before allowing himself to speak.
“Do you hear yourself?”
The silence that follows is ugly. He can hear the Captain gritting his teeth through the phone, can see the line that forms in his ever-severe lips. The man has always been callous, dangerously pragmatic — but this level of cold apathy is out of character. Pure desperation.
They’ve been hunting the same organisation for the better part of a decade. Makarov has never been so within reach, so close to being ensnared in their maws — seems the Captain has lost sight of his own humanity in the pursuit of his heroism.
Far be it from Ghost to be the one to discern it. Until now, their roles have been reversed. Ghost the cur, Price the muzzle.
A perturbed grunt crackles through the phone speaker. “Look, If her intel was good, if we find those missiles — I’ll get her out.”
“I don’t give a shit what we find there,” he growls. “I don’t care if we get there and it’s a fucking empty field. We’re getting that girl home.”
“What’s she done to you, Simon?” Price asks, earnestly, and Ghost’s knuckles turn white. “Alright. We can’t get another bird out before the operation. But afterwards, I’ll try.”
“You’ll try?” He grits. “Or you will?”
“I’ll do my best,” the Captain replies. “Just — don’t let her distract you, eh? Remember what’s at stake.”
“Haven’t forgotten, sir.”
“Good. I’ll check in with you when you’re on the helo. Get a few zees in while you can, yeah? Need you sharp.”
“Copy that.”
Price closes the call with over and out and Ghost fights the urge to throw the chunk of plastic into the vanity mirror.
The thought makes him sick. Leaving you here. Alone, unguarded, in a mansion with no defenses, no bulwark to shield you from the men who wrestle to maim you.
Abandoning you, just as he said he wouldn’t.
He doesn’t have a choice.
Guilt swelters within him as he makes his way down the same corridor, hovering outside your bedroom door, hand yet unwilling to touch the handle. The thought of telling you makes his tongue swell up. Having to utter the words aloud, having to see your face when you learn he has no choice but to leave you here.
How could you believe him when he says he’ll be back? What stock remains in his promises?
He loathes confessing to it, but he reminds himself that the Ultranationalist scum have no reason to return to your summer house, yourself notwithstanding. Makarov’s sadism is unearthly, but he would not jeopardise a decades-long scheme just to have his fun with you. He’ll come back for you eventually, no doubting that. The creature oozes such repulsive lust for you that it lingers in the air even after he was forced to leave the estate.
Simon will return to you before he even gets the chance. He’ll come back to guarantee it. To ensure your safety.
He twists the door knob, and it opens quietly, hinges fresh and well-maintained. A crack of light slices into the room through the opening door, cloaking where you lie on your back, a single forearm jutting out of the duvet and resting softly on the pillow. Deep in slumber.
You don’t stir as he makes his way into your room, feet heavy on the carpeted floor. Gentle face doesn’t twitch as he sweeps a tuft of your hair with a thick finger, from where it had draped over your nose, scooping it behind your ear, off of your neck. Eyes fix to the beating of your carotid artery beneath the velvet skin of your throat. The divots that carve beneath your collarbones as you breathe deeply.
Makes his chest sink to imagine that you’d sleep so tranquilly in his presence. That you could ever let your guard down in his proximity. He wonders how long it will take for the other shoe to drop.
Still, he leaves his tac vest leaning against the foot of the bed. Dumps his boots off beside it, upright and neat, as he was trained to leave them.
He looks at his watch again; 02:01. Gives him just under two hours to get some sleep. He could sleep anywhere — decades in the military have inured him to sleeping on raw dirt, hung over the back of a truck, upright in a plane.
Doesn’t want to, though.
He drops into the bed beside you, atop the covers, flat on his back. Heavy head sinks into the thick down pillow beneath his head. Luxury, all of it — not only the dizzyingly opulent bedding, but the body lying next to him.
You shuffle slightly before rolling onto your side. Eyes still shut, you nestle your forehead into the swell of his bicep, sleepy hand scooping under his arm to hold it close to you.
You let out a satisfied sigh, and sleep immediately swallows him whole.
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The Mask I Live With - pt 15
Roommate|Reader x Simon Ghost Riley
Gaz, to his credit, hadn't hovered after dinner. He'd given you space, letting you retreat to your room like he knew you needed time to yourself. You were grateful.... but also a little unsettled, left alone with nothing but the hum of the night and your own thoughts. Your leg still throbbed, but you barely noticed it. Instead, all you could think about was the strange fluttering in your chest. That kiss still echoed somewhere deep in your bones.
You laid on the bed, phone resting on your hand, thumb hovering over the screen. You couldn't shake the feeling that you needed to reach out. To say something.... something small; something just to tether yourself to him for a moment.
After a moment, you typed.
You: House feels weird without you here.
You stared at it for a second, feeling like an idiot and debating whether to delete it. But finally, your thumb hit the send button before you could talk yourself out of it.
You didn't expect him to reply at all. You knew better. He was probably already in mission mode—shut off, focused, unreachable.
Let it go. Just put the phone down and go to sleep.
But five minutes later, your screen lit up.
Ghost: Not the same here either
Your eyes widened, breath hitching, and chest tightening. The fluttering in your chest soared up your throat.
Another message came through immediately after.
Ghost: Won't be gone long. Don't wait up.
Short. Controlled. But you could feel it—the weight of his words, the way he was keeping himself in check, balancing the same line you were.
You hesitated, biting your bottom lip as your brows furrowed, before you texted back.
You: Be careful.
This time, the pause was longer.... so long, you almost thought he wouldn’t answer.
Ghost: Always.
You didn't text back. You knew he couldn't let himself get pulled too deep; knew he'd shut it down before it could distract him. And you didn't want to be the reason something happened all because you wanted to text.
But somehow, just knowing he did, knowing he'd seen the message—and took the time to even talk—settled low and warm inside your heart.
******************************************************
What you thought was a short mission, ended up being a little over a month. The sound of the front door unlocking jolted you from the nap you were taking on the couch.
You sat up, heart thudding, almost not believing it until you heard heavy footsteps and saw his figure in the doorway. He looked... worn. Shoulders tense, posture tight, exhaustion written in the lines of his eyes. There was still that ever-present sharpness in his eyes, but it was dulled now, tempered by fatigue and something heavier.
His gaze landed on you instantly, scanning you head to toe like he had to make sure you were still in one piece. You carefully stood pushing up with one crutch, softly hissing at the slight, unfamiliar weight shift onto your injured leg.
You had been cleared to start walking with partial weight-bearing a couple of days ago. A big win. One you hadn't had time to tell him about yet.
Before you could say anything, Gaz appeared from the hallway, grinning like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
"Look who finally decided to show up." He quipped, slapping Simon shoulder as he passed. "My babysitting shift's over, mate. She's all in one piece." Simon shot him a look but didn't reply, eyes flicking back to you. Gaz continued as he glanced over his shoulder, smirking. "Gotta say.. you're a real pain in the ass to watch over. Think I deserve hazard pay."
You rolled your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. "Pretty sure I'm the one who had to keep you entertained."
He grinned. "Whatever you say, Riggs."
Simon exhaled through his nose, clearly done with the banter, brow furrowing slightly. "You alrigh'?" His voice tired, but focused solely on you.
You nodded, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. "Yeah. Got cleared to start walking."
His eyes dropped to your leg, assessing, and you could almost see the calculations running in his head. Before he could do anything, Gaz grabbed his jacket from the chair.
"Well, my job's done. Off to get a proper meal that doesn't involve frozen pizza." He winked on his way out. "Don't break yourself again."
You slightly flushed, glaring at him, but looking back at Simon who was waiting for the door to click shut.
"Didn't tell me." He quietly said.
You shrugged, shifting your weight awkwardly. "Didn't want to bother you."
His jaw ticked, but he said nothing, crossing the room instead as he removed his skull mask. His hand reached out, hovering just shy of your waist, gloved fingers twitching like he wanted to steady you but was holding back.
"Try walkin' on it yet?" He asked.
You hesitated. "A little." He gave you a look.... clearly not thrilled. And you knew better than to lie. "I was gonna go to PT tomorrow."You added, trying to keep your voice light. "You should rest. I've got it."
That did it.
His eyes darkened, a muscle in his jaw flexing as he took a step closer, crowding into your space without even touching you.
"Not happenin'. Not goin' anywhere on y'own."
You blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in his tone. "I can handle it." You insisted.
He shook his head, eyes still locked on yours. "Y'don't get it. Been away too long already."
Your throat tightened. The room felt still, like the air between you had thickened.
"You're back now." You whispered.
He stared at you, hand finally settling at your waist as his fingers pressing just firm enough to ground you without throwing you off balance.
"Yeah. And m'not leavin' y'to do this alone."
Your breath hitched. It wasn't about the injury anymore. Not really. It was the exhaustion in his eyes, his thumb brushing against your hip, the look he was giving you. He'd fought like hell to be here. And now that he was, he wasn't letting go. Not even for something as simple as physical therapy.
"Okay." you said, giving in, leaning into him.
"Good."
The was the last of the conversation until you woke up the next morning. You tried to slip out of bed quietly, thinking maybe you could manage to get dress and go to PT without waking him. He needed to rest. But of course, before you even had both crutches under your arms, you heard the soft creak of floorboards behind you.
"Where d'you think you're goin'?"
You sighed, fighting the urge to roll your yes as you glanced over your shoulder to find him standing in the doorway. Still rumpled from sleep, grey t-shirt hanging loose, hair messy from where he'd run a hand through it.
"I was just getting ready." You said. "Didn't wanna wake you."
His brow twitched, a small frown at the corner of his lips. He crossed the room, taking the crutch from you before you could argue, steadying it as he held it out again.
"You're not goin' anywhere without me. Told you." You opened your mouth to protest, but the look on his face made you shut up. So, you nodded instead, trying not to let your heart beat too fast.
By the time you made it to the rehab wing on base, Simon was walking half a step behind, watchful. Overbearing....... definitely in your personal space. The physical therapist glanced between the two of you when you checked in, clearly recognizing him but saying nothing.
But the moment you were a few exercises in—practicing weight-bearing steps between the bars—Simon's posture shifted. He didn't say a word, but you felt it. His eyes never left you... watching every shift, every grimace you tried to hide, like he could somehow take the pain away just by being there.
You tried to ignore it; tried to focus on the task at hand. But you knew how stubborn he could be. Which made it almost inevitable when someone else caught wind of the situation.
"You're hovering."
Price's unmistakable tone, cut through the room like a scalpel.
You glanced up from the parallel bars, where you'd just finished a set, and sure enough, there he was, eyebrow raised and standing next to Simon.
Simon didn't flinch, didn't even look at him. "Makin' sure she's doin' it right." He simply replied, eyes still fixed on you.
Price huffed under his breath, lips twitching into a tiny smirk. "You've been back.. what? Twelve hours?" He murmured, voice low enough that only Simon and you could hear. "And you're already glued to her side like you've got nothing better to do."
He still didn't react, but you caught the faintest change in his posture—shoulders squaring, jaw tightening just a bit.
"Nothin' more important."
That one sentence made your stomach twist. You felt Price's gaze look to you, his expression briefly softening before he shook his head, amused at the situation.
"Well, don't let me stop you, Lieutenant." He teased. "Just remember, she's got to learn how to walk without you at some point."
When he didn't get any further reaction or response from Simon, he walked off, chuckling under his breath as he gave you a curt nod.
You exhaled, wiping sweat from your brow, glancing over at Simon.
"You know you could've stayed home."
"Didn't want to."
It was simple. Final.
You swallowed hard. "Well, I guess I'm stuck with you then." You muttered, a teasing glint in your eyes.
He was lucky his balaclava was on. You were sure the physical therapist's mouth would have dropped to the floor if he saw your roommate do anything remotely of a smile.
"Damn right you are."
I'm already working on the next chapter and I can't wait for you all to see it!! 🤭
Pt. 1; Pt. 2; Pt. 3; Pt. 4; Pt. 5; Pt. 6; Pt. 7; Pt. 8; Pt. 9; Pt. 10; Pt. 11 (Simon POV); Pt. 12; Pt. 13; Pt. 14
Masterlist
Taglist: @jessicab1991 @maskedbyghost @kittygonap @nappingmoon @chaos-4baby @ohdrey89 @skeletonsucker @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @roastyyytoastyyy @simonexxx1 @mrmountainman @thebumbqueen @lucienofthelakes @letiferian @jennamelinda12 @mulletmcghee @kittykatgorl @strawberrygato @ghostslollipop @emeraldeyes1805 @chaosundcoffee @whos-fran @fangirls94 @rafaelacallinybbay @quiet-loser @shondlenoodle @iceblossom1013 @sssophia0-0 @a-lil-bit-nuts @kalypsoox @nicolebarnes @jesskiddingg
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