#until i figure out if it needs a different name

[angelic-writer]

Project Mimicry (Vol 1) - Chapter 1

"In the beginning, God created the heaven and the Earth." - Genesis 1:1

1983

"This is a test. This station is conducting a test of the Emergency Broadcasting System. This is only a test."

A long, screeching noise blared from the old TV. The Markson family had a different program on when they announced the test. It was some cowboy show their dad loved so much. For eleven year old Jade, it made her stomach churn. It was an odd sound, different from the sounds of horses and gunfire that came from the living room while they were doing family worship. It made her want to jump into her mother's arms and pray to Jehovah for the noise to stop.

Her mom, dad and brother were silent as the attention signal droned on. After a minute, it stopped.

"This is a test of the emergency broadcasting system. The broadcasters of your area in voluntary cooperation with federal, state and local authorities have developed this system to keep you informed in the event of an emergency. If this had been an actual emergency, the attention signal you have just heard would have been filed by official information, news or instructions. This station serves the northern Alabama area. This concludes this test of the emergency broadcast system."

Jade fiddled with the pages of her book, trying to think of the right words to say. Her brother, Caleb had resumed work on his drawing, seeming to not care about anything. Her mother let out a small sigh. "I swear, can they not scare the kids like that?"

"Mom..." Jade quietly said. "Why do they send out something like this? What if it hadn't been a test? Are... Are we gonna die?"

Opal got up from her chair and pulled her into her arms. "Oh sweetie, we're not gonna die. Everything's gonna be okay. This whole thing will blow over in no time."

"Well Jade," Opal's husband, Simon, chimed in. "They played the test on our TV because they want to inform us on what's happening. The world is at a very turbulent time at the moment so they are doing their best to keep us informed. If we were actually under attack, we would've been hiding in the basement." He let out a small chuckle.

"Well, what can we do to make it better?" Jade asked.

"Pray to Jehovah, of course. Our safety is his priority and if we pray to him, he'll protect us."

Jade smiled and snuggled into her mother. Jehovah is the only thing she knew. She may not be like the other "worldly" kids, but she didn't need all those material goods. She didn't need to see the latest movie or buy the newest toys. As long as she had her family and Jehovah, she can get through anything.

Caleb let out a soft coo.

"Oh, we didn't forget about you!" Simon lifted him out of his baby chair and gently rocked him. The whole family began to giggle.

This was their life. This was their routine. Jade was determined to be a good older sister to Caleb. And soon, he will be baptized.

-------

December 24th, 1983

"This is an important message from the Crestwood police department. This is not a test. I repeat, this is not a test. The Crestwood police department has issued a Shelter-in-place Warning for the county of Crestwood until further notice. Reports of unknown figures have been confirmed by law enforcement and the Department of Babylonian Crusaders. For your safety, until 5 PM to 6 AM, stay home, lock all doors and windows and, in the event of a break-in, have access to a loaded weapon at all times. Do not call 911 unless you need to report an emergency. The Crestwood police department and the Department of Babylonian Crusaders thanks you for your cooperation.

Stay tuned for a message from the representative of the Department of Babylonian Crusaders."

"Hello. My name is Dr. Lloyd Evans from the Department of Babylonian Crusaders. We have been receiving reports of unknown organisms that we've decided to call mimics. You may have already gotten the alert from the EBS about this phenomenon, but we're here to tell you about what those mimic types are and what you can do to protect yourself.

The first type are the defensive mimics. They are a sub group of mimics that take on the role of a protector when they find a human. Some pose as aggressive mimics to ward off other humans or they deceive humans they perceive as harmful with their harmless look and kill them. Think of it as a predator camouflaging itself in order for them to eat their prey.

There are three types of defensive mimics. There are Batesian, Mullerian and Emsleyan or Mertensian mimics.

Batesian mimics are harmless. They pose as a harmful mimic to ward off anyone they tries to hurt them or their human.

Mullerian mimics are two or more mimics that advertise themselves as harmful to ward off predators. These mimics often work in groups of two or three.

Emsleyan or Mertensian mimics take the form of a less harmful mimic to deceive the predator and kill them.

These ones can be considered safe, but you should still be wary of them. Aggressive mimics are the ones you need to watch out for. Now, aggressive mimics are the type of mimic that pose as humans to kill them. These types use mind games to toy with their victims. If they haven't committed suicide, the mimic will finish the job.

Predators are a mimic group where they take the form of a loved one, deceive them into thinking they are the real person and then use psychological manipulation. Those are the most dangerous types of mimics and we strongly advise to avoid them at all costs.

Parasites are [REDACTED DUE TO SIGNAL GLITCH]

Now, here's what you can do to keep yourself safe. Stay in your homes after 6 PM, lock all windows and doors and keep a loaded weapon with you at all times. In the event of a mimic attack, follow the S.A.F.E. principle.

S - Secure yourself in a room.

A - Access the situation. Learn how the mimic operates.

F - Fire your weapon. If the mimic attacks, do not hesitate. It can mean life or death.

E - If possible, escape. Do not let them win.

We hope this message keeps you safe. We're very sorry for the interruption and we hope you have a Merry Christmas!"

Though this message was broadcasted to most TVs, some of them reported the S part saying something different. According to reports, it said "Surrender yourself to the Lord."

--------

1987

The young man's back was pressed up against the wall. The shotgun he had in his hands had one shell left. The creature that was at his door kept calling out to him in a mockery of his wife's voice.

"Ralphie... Please let me in... I'm sorry for sca-a-a-aring you back there. You know how I am."

His grip tightened. That wasn't her. That wasn't his wife. She was dead. And now, he was going to die too. His eyes started to fill with tears.

Marla... I'm so sorry... I couldn't protect you... I couldn't save you from these things.

The image of his wife sprawled out on the kitchen floor flashed in his mind. Her neck that was gushing blood... He swallowed, trying to hold back his vomit. They had followed the rules. They had done everything the broadcast said. What did they do wrong? They had to have done something wrong for something like this to happen.

He gritted his teeth. Pondering over this won't help him now. Remember the S.A.F.E. principle, Ralph. Remember.

He secured himself in his bedroom, grabbing his shotgun so he could protect himself. He analyzed the situation. The creature, the mimic, was trying to use his wife's voice to lure him out, using his nickname. Ralphie was what she would call him when he came home from work. The way she said it made his heart soar. However, when it said his nickname, it felt like nails on a chalkboard.

The high school sweethearts had moved into the rural Alabama town after they had gotten married in New York. They thought getting away from the bustling city life would help them. They were in the talks of starting a family when the broadcast came on, talking about reports of mimics.

"Talk about bad timing. On Christmas too." Marla had said while bringing out the cookies and milk. "Let's hope Santa gets there okay."

"I hope so too. But hey, look on the bright side. This lockdown will end at 6 AM tomorrow. We've still got time to celebrate, right?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Besides, anything's fun with you." She gave him a light peck on the cheek.

A low sob escaped him. There was so much they wanted to do together. So many things they had planned. Their entire life... They were now gone.

Oh Marla... Why did they have to take you? What did we do?

God, please... Please help me.

He wiped his face. No, crying and pleading to some higher being isn't gonna solve anything. I have to survive. I have to live on for Marla! If I can get out of here, I could alert the police.

With a sense of courage taking over, he pointed his shotgun at the door. The mimic had begun to claw at the door, no doubt leaving scratch marks in the wood. "Ralphie... Please... Let me in. It's so cold. My neck hurts. Help..."

"Shut up... You're not her..."

The doorknob rattled.

"You're not her. You're not her! You're not her!!"

There was a sudden loud banging making him jump. "Ralph, open the goddamn door! You'd really leave me out here with these things?! How could you?!" The thing screeched.

"You're! Not! Her! Leave me alone!! You killed her, you monster!! You're not- You're not her!" He screamed, tears streaming down his face. "Just try and get me! I dare you! I'll fucking shoot you if you try anything!"

"Ralph..." His 'wife' had begun to cry. Normally, it would cause him to go over and hug her, but he will not be swayed. What it was doing, it was disgusting. It's desecrating his wife's memory, his image, his everything. The nerve of the creature...

The door flew open, allowing Ralph to see the monster. Though it was hard to see through the darkness, what he could see made him freeze.

Its form was tall and lanky, its arms and legs stretched out to an almost inhuman degree. What little hair it had on its head was beginning to fall off. Its skin was beginning to sag. Ralph could swear he was beginning to see bones. The mimic looked at him with empty eyes yet it pierced his soul with an intense glare. It opened its mouth to speak, but all that came out were rasps and gargles.

Ralph began to shake, his aim wavering as he stared at... He didn't even know what he was seeing. It was human, but at the same time, it was not. It looked like his wife, but it was like looking at a decomposing carcass. The smell... It smelled like rotten eggs left out on the hot sidewalk. Bile threatened to come up his throat, but he held it in.

One shot. He had to make it count. If it failed...

The creature began to laugh. It was the kind of laugh that made you cringe. It was an ear-piercing, gurgling laugh that was like if you tried to imitate a toy clown on its last legs.

Ralph pressed his finger on the trigger. Taking a deep breath, he screamed out.

"I will not let you kill me!!"

The gun went off.

--------

2017

The group of kids stared at the small house as their two older brothers talked to the movers. The smallest one of the bunch hugged her teddy bear. Though leaving their home state of Florida didn't seem like a huge deal at first, Catherine still had her doubts. Sure, they were free from all the hurricanes, but they still had friends there. They still had people they could talk to.

But now, she and her brothers moved to a new town. There was no one she knew there. And there was... an abundance of churches. Lots and lots of churches.

@chibisrpblog

[rambling-at-midnight]

Whatever You Need

Request: Jason helping reader through their period

Pairing: Jason Todd x afab!Reader

Summary: Your period takes you by surprise. Luckily, Jason's there to take care of you.

Word count: 1.6k

Sorry this took so long... I started four different Jason fics, which means none were finished. But they should be finished and posted sometime soon.

Sprawled on the couch in your pajamas, watching an episode of The Great British Bake-Off that you’ve seen at least twice before, you feel the first twinge of pain in your abdomen. You don’t think much of it at first, which is a mistake. There are still two days before your period is supposed to start, and you ate ice cream after dinner even though you’re lactose intolerant and ran out of Lact-Aid a couple days ago. You figure you’ll head to the bathroom to deal with the consequences of your actions if the need arises, but you’re too comfortable to move when the weighted blanket on top of you has a name and that name is Jason Todd.

You’ve been on bedrest (or couchrest) for the past week and a half after a bad fall in the rain during patrol twisted your ankle. It swelled to twice its normal size. The upside was that it happened during winter break so you didn’t have to make the choice between limping to class or skipping. The downside was that you wanted your superhero persona to have more of a presence with Gotham’s goons. As a part-time hero, unlike Jason and most of his family, you get much less respect when suited up than, say, the Red Hood.

As a contestant’s dough fails to rise and they begin to have a breakdown on the screen, your stomach cramps again.

Sometimes, if you ignore it, the pain will go away. You’re too comfortable to get up now.

To distract yourself, you run your fingers through Jason’s messy curls. He doesn’t have a wash routine, so they’re always frizzier than Dick’s, but you’ve never minded. He’s devastatingly handsome either way. At least like this he looks a little bit less like something come to life straight out of your fantasies. He’s just a little more real.

Jason hums sleepily and pushes his head into your hands, a bit like a cat nuzzling at you. It’s been a lazy day for you both. You’ve been in the same position on the couch for hours—you on your back, half-watching the show, half-dozing, and him on his stomach in the cradle of your legs, head pillowed on your stomach, not even pretending to watch the show, judging by his closed eyes.

Your stomach cramps again, and this time you feel it—the ache even lower, and a wet heat blooming between your thighs. “Oh, fuck me.”

Jason takes a minute to respond, still interested in your fingers that make his entire body tingle when you massage in just the right way. Then he cranes his neck up, brow furrowed and bottom lip jutting out with his confused frown. “Okay?” He starts to sit up, hands reaching for the hem of your shirt, but you draw your legs up and out from under him and roll off the couch.

“No, not literally,” you say through gritted teeth. “Fuck—did I stain the cushion?” It was no big loss—you’d found the couch on the side of the road and Jason helped you bring it up to your apartment and sanitize it—but a bloodstain would stand out on the light brown color.

“Oh,” he says with realization as you run to the bathroom and slam the door behind you. “The couch is good!” he calls.

Your pants aren’t. It looks like someone died between your legs. You’ve always had heavy periods, especially the first couple days, accompanied by strong cramps. If you get ahead of them and take pain meds, they’re not too bad. Sometimes you can even patrol. But playing catch-up with ibuprofen is a recipe for disaster.

The rest of the day is going to suck.

Because you always feel gross when you’re on your period, and because no amount of wipes would fully clean up the mess between your legs, you hop into the shower and turn up the heat until your skin is bright pink. Jason pops in for a second to drop off a change of underpants and sweats, then ducks out just as quickly.

Turning off the water starts the race against time. As quickly as you can, you apply your preferred hygiene product before any more blood can leak down your leg. Then you towel off and shrug on the new clothes. You still feel icky, but the new clothes and shower helped slightly.

Something sizzles in the kitchen when you open the bathroom door.

“Hey, honey,” says Jason without turning around, standing in front of the stove. He points at the table. “Meds and water are right there. How are you feeling?”

“Ugh,” is your response. You down the pills and almost set the glass back on the table, but at his insistent look, finish it off. Hydration helps with cramps as well.

“You’re two days early.”

“Well, I haven’t been patrolling. Exercise changes can throw my cycle out of whack.” You sniff. “What are you making? It smells good.”

“Chicken stir fry.” You peek into the pan and see broccoli, bell peppers, and a couple other vegetables frying with the chicken. The covered pan behind it, you know without looking, contains rice. “I also have ginger tea brewing.”

All of it, every part of the meal, is meant to help reduce your symptoms and pain.

You can’t help it. How is he always so thoughtful? You throw your arms around Jason’s middle and squeeze. So he can keep stirring the food, he shifts until you’re tucked beneath one arm. His hair is in complete disarray from your fingers like he just walked through a tornado. When he notices your gaze, red colors his cheeks and he flattens his hair down self-consciously.

You press a kiss to his shoulder, the highest place you can reach without stretching.

“Go sit down,” he pretends to scold.

In response, you lean into him, heavier and heavier, until he’s practically carrying you. Jason doesn’t even blink at the added weight.

“I plugged in your heating pad,” he says. “It’s right by the couch.” Another thing right next to the couch is a coffee table he stole from the manor when he was pissed at Bruce. On top of it is a bar of dark chocolate and a freshly-washed bowl of your favorite berries.

You kiss his shoulder again. Jason kisses the top of your head, then nudges you away with his chin. “Go. Sit down. Rest your ankle and your uterus.”

“That is not how it works,” you say, mirth in your voice.

“It’s how I think it works,” he mumbles.

When the food is done, he brings two bowls over. You lift your legs and he slips underneath them. He uses your shins on his thighs as a makeshift table, balancing the bowl between them, and absentmindedly rubs your weaker ankle with the hand not holding his spoon.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence as The Great British Bake-Off plays. You finish first, and as soon as he sets his bowl down, you sit up slightly and make grabby hands at him. “C’mere.”

Jason pretends to roll his eyes, but judging by the line of kisses he trails from your wrist to the inside of your elbow as he lies down, he doesn’t mind your bossiness too much.

You shiver at every brush of his lips against the sensitive skin of your forearm. It’s almost enough to distract you from the cramping that’s beginning in your abdomen again—a cramping that eases slightly when he’s atop you again, resting the gentle pressure of his weight on your stomach. Warm, fed, and with his weight on you, is it any wonder you fall asleep?

You’re only woken by Jason’s gentle hand shaking you, telling you that it’s been eight hours since you last applied your feminine hygiene product and you need to change it. You’re tired and sore and cranky, but as soon as you blink your eyes open he has pain medication and water for you to take.

You do so in the bathroom in a daze and tumble into your shared bed, tugging Jason in with you. He goes down easily, using his huge, warm form to surround you with his easy, comforting scent. You left the heating pad on the couch, but the thick arm Jason winds around your stomach does the job well enough, and you drift back to sleep quickly, never fully awake in the first place.

The next morning, you wake to an aching back and stained sheets.

You stare up at the ceiling and swear, which unfortunately wakes Jason, who lifts his head and stares at you, one eye still crusted with sleep. His curls are in wild disarray, one side flattened from the pillow and the other on end as if he’s been spending his spare time sticking forks in electrical sockets.

If the cramps have gotten to your spine already, then the next few days are going to be hell. And this was a nice pair of sheets! The blood had better wash out.

Jason grunts and lowers his head. “Everything we own is bloodstained, honey. Though usually it’s mine.”

You leave him in bed. Your hair feels way too greasy, and your skin feels tacky, and even after a half-hour shower, you still don’t feel great.

As soon as you step out of the bathroom, Jason is there with chocolate-chip pancakes he made himself, accompanied by a fresh bowl of fruit and more meds.

Emotion rises in your throat. You want to tell him so much, like that you love him even though you haven’t said it, or that you can’t fathom going through your period on your own anymore, but all that comes out is, “You’re perfect. You know that? You really don’t have to do all this—or stay home from patrol for me.”

Jason tousles his messy curls and shrugs. “Well, I’m gonna anyway. You need me, and I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

DC Taglist

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts @cliosunshine @fictionalwhor3 @bellathecatastrophe @lonely-star2044 @flanhog @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t

Let me know if there's anything you want to see from me!

[reckoning1187]

A thought I had…

What is Joker’s purpose for doing what he does? He’ll go on and on about “getting what he wants”, but what is he actually after? Fun? Chaos?

I don’t think it’s purely any of that, though he does take some pleasure in them. I think what he wants is for Batman to react. To break his moral code, to kill someone. Maybe to become someone akin to himself, even if it takes the Joker *himself* dying to achieve it. He wants to push Batman so far that he breaks.

Take some of Joker’s very first schemes and heists into consideration: he wasn’t having fun. He didn’t care if he succeeded in robbing a bank— didn’t care about the money or the fame much.

Joker is highly intelligent. He can create any device to suit his needs and can manipulate others very well. His ability to predict outcomes is incredible. Of course he’s bored! He doesn’t have something or someone to compete with. Even revealing his face and his name can’t give anyone an advantage against him. Until Batman comes along.

This man, also gadgety, intelligent and into theatrics (c’mon the whole bat-theme is a BIT dramatic), is probably the closest to his level he’s ever met. Obviously he declares Batman his rival.

Later, Joker obsesses over Batman to the point that he makes challenges that ONLY Batman can solve. To test him, see how he fares, and sees how he responds to different things. He wants to see how he works.

He doesn’t really care who Batman is under the cowl, because

1. Because it doesn’t really matter to him. And let’s be honest, he’s probably already figured out that it’s Bruce Wayne. He simply hasn’t revealed Batman’s true identity because it would take away his playmate. Batman is the kind of guy who would willingly go to prison (as long as there weren’t any rabid criminals loose at the moment).

2. He’s more interested in Batman’s mind and his ambitions.

Later in their stories, Joker almost EXCLUSIVELY targets Batman. Even if his schemes seem random or completely unrelated, his endgame is for Batman to confront him. Joker is testing Batman’s morality. Obviously Joker doesn’t care too much about casualties, but he *knows* it affects his rival. In some of Joker’s biggest schemes and crimes, he hurts or kills hundreds of innocents, or a person that is close to Batman himself.

(-SPOILER AHEAD for ‘Batman: Death in the Family’ and ‘Batman: Under the Red Hood’ and the aligning comics-) Skip to the “End of Spoiler” if you need to.

For example, Joker kidnaps Jason (Robin at the time) with an obvious goad for Batman to come after them. He beats Jason BRUTALLY— but not for fun or for his sadism, but to make Batman react. He kills Jason with the explosion, moments from when Batman could’ve saved his Robin. He WANTS Batman to be angry.

(-END OF SPOILER-)

Joker wants Batman to be pushed so far that he breaks his moral code— so that he breaks his spirit. And *Joker* wants to be the one to do it.

Through all of his testing, all of his trials, Joker truly thinks of Batman as his *one rival*, the only person who could even compete with him, let alone possibly beat him.

And even if Joker *is* killed in the process, he still wins, in his mind. HE is the one to make Batman fall. HE is the one to break him. He wins.

Anyway. Was writing something and this came to mind. I’ve been a DC fan foreverrrrrr and haven’t had anyone to rant this to that will understand wtf I’m going on about. Happy writing! (Or thinking, if I managed to break your brain. Whoops.)

[farseeryirith]

There are no weak Custodes

Felt the need to add a little continuation to my anxious Custodes reader and angel boy. I had a bunch of little ideas that I couldn't expand, so this is the result.

Once again, English - not my first language so pls forgive any grammatical or spelling or wording mistakes I might've missed. I am also yet to figure out how to properly format text posts in a more aesthetically pleasing manner. BUT my New Year's resolution was to ignore everything that tells me to keep hiding my little writings and get better at writing in English, so here I am trying to fulfill that.

Happy New Year!

Sanguinius x fem!Custodes reader

Warning: Canon-typical violence, death, blood, vague descriptions of anxiety, Canon character death

It's the Siege of Terra and no one is having fun!

“You are quite strong, My Lady.” The Angel lands beside you as the last of the orks are being picked off and you are pulling your guardian spear out of the heap of metal the greenskins had decided to call a vehicle. 

“Of course,” you look up at the primarch to reply. “There are no weak Custodes.” 

He smiles at you, and the way your face flushes makes you doubt your statement. 

“There are no weak Custodes, there are no weak Custodes..” you repeat in your head like prayer as you push past pain and exhaustion. “There are no weak Custodes” as your lungs are burning and your nerves are screaming. “There are no weak Custodes” as your once gleaming golden armour turns a bloody red and the bodies pile on and on. “There are no weak Custodes” as one of your still-beating hearts few out of your chest and now defends Eternity Gate alone. 

You want to run, to go to him, help him hold the gate, but you cannot. Your place is beside The Emperor, you are a loyal companion, you have no other allegiances. Guilt eats away at you for even thinking of being elsewhere, and the guardian spear sings its horrible song as you cleave through meat and bone and armour. “There are no weak Custodes” but a sickening image of charred and bloodied feathers takes root in your mind and blistering rage comes to defend you from the fear that seeks to devour. 

Sanguinius had found you on the bridge of The Red Tear, looking through the window at the stars, and came to sit with you for company. You had been so enamored with them, billions of worlds each different from the other, full of life and wonders you had only read about before.

You told him once you had never seen a tree and he took you to see a planet full of forests of them. You wish you could forget the way he had looked at you as you broke off a branch to keep in your quarters. He had flown away and returned with four more, each with leaves of different shapes and colours. 

He looks at you the same way now, with a gentle smile and his eyes flick between yours and your lips. You can hear the quickened pace of his hearts and you know what it means. You know yours are singing the same melody, but you do not want to admit it. 

“Please, My Lord.” you say, turning away from him. “Please do not look at me like this.”

“I can tell you feel the same way, My Lady.” he says softly, and it makes it that much harder to ignore the aberrant song. 

“I know.” an admission of defeat. “But neither of us should.”

You take off, back to your quarters before he can stop you, and you hear him call your name but you proceed ahead. 

Valdor is barking orders somewhere behind you, but you cannot tell what he is saying. There is only the sound of rushing blood in your ears and the muffled screams of the traitor in your hand as you repeatedly smash his head into the ground until it finally cracks and covers your helmet with red and grey. You wipe at your eyes and grab your spear, but before you can charge at your next target a hand grasps your shoulder tightly.

“Sister!” you are shaken from your battle haze. “Are you injured?”

“Lightly.” you barely recognize your voice as you answer. You sound like your throat is full of gravel, and you try to lunge forward to keep going, but you are pulled harshly back by your fellow Custodes. 

“Come then, with the Captain-General,” he says. “The Emperor has taken the fight to Horus. We follow.”

You turn and as your vision clears you can see the boarding party assembling - Valdor with your cadre, The Praetorian, and his sons have formed a phalanx as the Blood Angels file in. Sanguinius is last to arrive as you take your place beside your comrades. He looks at you for a moment, as if he can tell you apart from the other Custodes, and there is something in his eyes that makes your throat feel like closing up. His lips move silently and you recognize your name - he is apologizing to you and your breath stills. 

Over the months of your stay on The Red Tear, your quarters had begun to resemble a real home, as your collection of souvenirs from the planets you had visited grew. The tree branches rested in a vase, that had been procured for you, filled with a gell that kept the leaves green. A bottle full of salt water, and shells from an ocean where Sanguinius had urged you to come planetside without your armour and go for a swim - an experience you would never forget, there had been so much water. A jar full of red sand from a desert world - “It is a shame we are so far, else I would have taken you to see Baal.” He smiled as you watched the sun dip under the dunes. 

You knew you would most likely have to leave these treasures behind on the flagship - Valdor would question you and you would have to admit your delayed return was due to galavanting around the sector with The Angel, watching sunsets and swimming in oceans. And if you admit that, you would cave and admit everything else. 

You would have to admit how The Angel cradled your face in his hand and looked at you with so much tenderness that it made your skin feel too tight.

“I am not made for this,” you tell him, but you know your eyes betray how much his touch is welcome. “I am made for war.”

“So am I,” he says and his voice is just above a whisper as he comes closer and you can feel his sweet breath on your skin. “But we can pretend we were made for more.”

“My Lord..”

“Just Sanguinius. Please.” he cuts you off, insistent. “I am not your lord right now. Right now there is no Crusade, there is no Imperium. There is just us in this room and there is no one guarding the door.”

“Sanguinius, I..” you begin but you are silenced by a gentle thumb caressing your lips. You had bloodied them again and for a moment you think he’ll be put off by your compulsions, but the look he gives you makes your head feel light.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” he says and all the will to continue denying your feelings crumbles. 

“I do not want you to.” he does not wait for you to say anything else as he closes the distance. His wings come around you as if to shield you from the world that does not exist at this moment. He licks the blood off your lips and his arms grasp you tight and pull you flush against him, a deep growl escaping from within his chest.

He loves you achingly tenderly as if you were something precious, as if your body was not made only for slaughter. Like a silken noose, he wraps around you, and you die repeatedly in his arms. Months later, when you return to Terra, you still feel a blazing trail across your skin, everywhere where The Angel had touched you. 

This is what ancient humans feared when they thought of Hell, you think. The ship is a black abyss and there is nothing but daemons around you. You quickly realize that the host of Custodes has been separated from the rest of the boarding party and your hearts stop for a beat, but you swallow the blood in your mouth and ignore the sinking dread. You must push on, you must find them. The Emperor needs you. Sanguinius needs you. 

You follow the Captain-General as you cleave a path through the abominations, and you try to ignore every dying scream you hear behind you. There are fewer and fewer of you as you keep going and the darkness keeps growing closer, threatening to suffocate you. You close ranks so as to not lose any more bodies to the void, but it’s no use - you are outnumbered and beyond exhaustion. “There are no weak Custodes.” and you keep going even after something slices deep at your leg and you fall to your knees for a moment. They.. he needs you. 

You can hear a sister periodically call out numbers near you and, with horror, you realize she is keeping track of time. Seventy-one, by last count. You have been fighting abroad for seventy-one hours now and your armour feels like it is eating you alive. Seventy-one hours and you cannot hear anything save for your laboured breath and your furious hearts. Seventy-one hours and your hands shake as you fear the worst. You are late. 

The darkness lets up soon enough, only to give way to a line of Astartes. There is only a second of stillness before recognition comes through - traitors. Valdor screams to charge and you do with no hesitation. Bolter rounds fly around you, catch you in the shoulder but you keep going. The stink of the traitors tells you all you need to know to ignore the pain - they still see a threat in you, they have not won yet. 

The host of Custodes descends upon the traitors and your eyes meet the ones of an unhelmeted Word Bearer. They are wide and wild as even your few exhausted numbers carve through his battle brothers and cousins with terrifying efficiency. 

“Did He train you for this? To kill Astartes?” the traitor screams at you, horror in his voice, a dreadful realization. “Did He Know? Did He set us up for the slaughter?”

You do not answer his questions. Instead, you grab his face, lightning-fast, and bring him closer. 

“You reek of fear, Word Bearer.” your sandpaper throat bleeds as you speak. “And you are in my way.” you crush his jaw with your hand and move on. You are close to the bridge, you can feel it. A door opens in the distance of the corridor and you are proven correct. And your hearts still again. 

You can see white wings in the air - Sanguinius is there, he is engaged in a desperate duel with the monstrosity that still calls itself Horus. For a fraction of a microsecond The Angel’s gaze darts towards you, and you know he sees you. Those furious darkened eyes go soft and you know he is apologizing to you again. You do not have the time to question why. 

Burned and bloodied feathers fly across the bridge and the Brightest One falls. A cry of despair, a horrid and awful sound, echoes through the halls of the Vengeful Spirit, and deep within you something breaks. You want to scream as well, to curse the traitor, to run and tear him apart. You want to rage, you want to rage and sink your spear into his corrupted flesh and rend him into nothing. 

But you cannot scream, your throat feels like closing up and you find yourself unable to make a sound. Your eyes go dark, but your blade finds new meat to carve, hands moving by themselves. There are no weak Custodes, and your body knows that so it continues to do what it was made for on its own. 

You do not know what happened next. You come through to the voice of The Praetorian barking orders to take what is left of The Emperor to the Golden Throne. You hear you have won - that Horus is no more and the traitors are retreating. But all you can do is fall to your knees and sob, as you look upon the body of the man you loved, and his once brilliant white wings now stained red with his blood.

Later you don the black cape, along with your brothers and sisters. The Adeptus Custodes were tested and found wanting, and have been forever shamed. You tell no one that you do not wear the black out of guilt only. You wear it as mourning garb. 

[emdotcom]

The Spooktube Squad encounters the dreaded Blowjob Brothers, ft. Time (pale cyan, @time71), Emile (reddish color, @lightkrets312), Faye (pink, @fvaleraye), Kat (offscreen, @kittdy), & Emerald (green, that's me). Sure hope they don't blow our jobs, chat.

[freakinator]

yknow with tthe whole cc!kab rping an actual character rather than just being herself with extra steps thing i should prbs talk about her character in a different way compared to other lsers cause it feels wrong to talk about her in the same way that i do for the others when she plays in such a significantly different way

[cursezoroark]

edens!

requested from @emissary-of-dog

[jamiesfootball]

Six Sentence Sunday (and one emoji)

[Jamie]: Really? Did we have to make a new chat just for this?

[Isaac]: No, Dani's got the the right idea. We're dealing with a legend. We may need to coordinate our behaviour appropriately to make sure we don't scare him off to a different team

[Jan]: Which means until otherwise noted, you do not have the signal Jamie

[Jamie]: 🖕

[soutsuji]

There's an English class on Golden Age detective fiction being offered next semester but the prerequisite for it is the intro to literary study class required for all English majors (which I haven't taken because I'm in a hard STEM major and don't have much time for electives, which means that I have to be really picky with my electives and only go for stuff I like AND doesn't have an awful workload) and also even if I did have that prereq, I wouldn't be able to take the class because it's at the same time as one of my major reqs. And also I'll be in two labs next semester and one of them is pure hell so like I literally don't have the time to take more than 13 credit hours (as tempting as it is to keep up my streak of taking 17-18 every semester even though it's been like really pretty bad for my social life and hobbies). Sigh. (Pressing my hand wistfully against the glass) maybe someday they'll offer the class again

[lokissweater]

birds of a feather . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

until he saw you skate.

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

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

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

“hi.”

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

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

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

“yeah! i’m okay! don’t worry!”

but he still couldn’t stabilize himself.

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

“okay!”

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

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

“y—y/n.”

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

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

“when did you start skating?”

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

his eyes bulged.

“hah?! today?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but that concept quickly changed the second you met.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“she’s eight aki! jesus christ.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m training them from now on.”

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

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

“did you hear?”

you shook your head. “hear what!”

“akira wants to coach you and satoru.”

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

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

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

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

“yesyesyesyes!—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

he stuck his tongue out. “says who.”

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

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

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

he grinned and ruffled your hair. “thanks!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he grinned.

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

“toru!”

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

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

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

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

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

and she did it fucking beautifully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“did you do okay?!” you gawked.

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

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

you both giggled uncontrollably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

the two of you sniffled and nodded.

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

“no keep doing it!—”

“it’s funny please!—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the consequences were too drastic— you both knew that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

akira smoothly traveled over to you both.

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

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

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

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

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

akira smirked.

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

“are we— are we—” you stammered.

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

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

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

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

satoru pouted. “no.”

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

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

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

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

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

but he knew damn well what it was.

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

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

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

satoru swallowed, nodding.

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

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

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

“…toru?”

he blinked down at you. “huh?”

“you okay?”

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

“you sure—”

“what time is your date?”

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

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

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

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

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

“do too!”

“do not!”

“do to—”

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

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

“aakkiii!—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

akira sighed.

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

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

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

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

so why were you going on a date?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… no.”

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

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

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

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

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

“it is sweets!” he agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“big and strong and pretty—”

“please don’t go.”

you stilled.

“what?”

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

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

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

“why?”

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

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

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

and you hoped to god he would say it.

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

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

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

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

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

“i don’t want to.”

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

but you were absolutely stupid for that.

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

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

that’s all you needed… just satoru.

regardless if there was something more in question.

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

“you know why, toru…”

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

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

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

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

satoru stuck his pinky finger out towards you then.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured.

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

“birds of a feather.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

until akira’s accident.

“oh my god i’m gonna throw up—”

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

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

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

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

“not as much as i love you—”

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

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

“now i’m gonna cry and throw up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and there was so much blood.

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

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

“i— i don’t know—”

“aki!”

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

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

“you need to stay out of the rink—”

“fuck you!”

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

akira died at the hospital later that night.

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

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

and you and satoru were fucking ruined.

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

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

your aunt was gone. your own blood.

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

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

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

“yes pretty.”

“this is so fucked.”

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

“diabolically fucked.” he responded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

finally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you nodded, gleaming up at him.

“is this a prank?”

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

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

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

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

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

was he about to…?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he stopped chewing.

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

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

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

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

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

my god.

you were about to turn him into a freak.

“okay now you have to kiss me.”

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

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

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

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

“you should.”

“can you forgive me?”

“not unless you kiss me.”

“toru!”

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

you gnawed at your bottom lip in thought.

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

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

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

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

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

his eyes widened.

holy shit.

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

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

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

you both couldn’t believe it.

you were about to have your very first kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you taste like chocolate.” he grinned.

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

“twins.”

“uh huh.”

“i love you.”

you stilled.

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

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

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

“i love you.” you responded.

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

“can i get another s’more—”

“no!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

his heart softened, nodding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“a spin?” he asked. “how sweets.”

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

“and then from there i catch you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

he loved doing things for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“fuck i know right.” you responded.

“language, y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your head whipped in his direction.

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

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

“fuck!—”

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

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

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

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

“but you seem fine when i throw up?”

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

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

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

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

he stiffened again.

“no.” he answered softly. “why..?”

you lazily grinned.

“youuu suureee?”

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

“please spare me please spare me—”

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

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

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

“i was lying for my safety.”

“uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what happened?

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

but he was out of it.

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

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

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

“yes you do—”

“absolutely not—”

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

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

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

“do— do what?”

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

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

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

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

he needs to kiss you right fucking now.

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

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

“i swear i swear i swear—”

“okay then fuck me toru please—”

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

you still tasted just as sweet as he remembered.

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

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

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

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

“open your mouth.”

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

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

“mhm.” you moaned.

your arousal was even sweeter.

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

you gasped. “what?”

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

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

his cock pulsed.

“patience sweets, i wanna taste you first.”

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

“wait toru isn’t this uncomfortable i—”

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

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

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

“toru—”

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

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

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

“too bad!”

“but—”

he spit on your cunt and you gasped.

“i said too bad.”

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

“yummy.”

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

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

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

“i— um—”

he placed his lips next to your ear.

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

“both toru please—”

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

“i can do both!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

thank god his mother wasn’t home.

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

“yeah?” pant “f—for how long baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

“but m’not on the pill—”

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

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

what a stupid thought.

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

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

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

he suddenly raised his pinky to you.

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

“birds of a feather.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

he was so sick of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you made figure skating look beautiful.

you were beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

satoru was so kind.

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

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

“please stick your tongue in my mouth.”

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

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

“what are we.”

you froze.

“huh?”

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

“we’re— we’re friends toru—”

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

“w—well we can’t—”

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

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

“i’m your man.”

“no you’re not—”

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

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

he shook his head. “we won’t.”

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

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

“it— it is—”

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

you blinked back tears.

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

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

“but— skating—”

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

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

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

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

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

“it hurts me too.”

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

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

except it wasn’t dark at all.

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

silly.

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

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

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

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

until the moment was here. happening.

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

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

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

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

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

satoru frowned.

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

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

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

you laughed lightly and leaned your head on his shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

he held it out for you cutely on his palm.

“does this one match?”

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

“oh my goodness— thank you toru!”

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

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

“does they look okay?”

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

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

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

“toru!” you giggled. “not now!”

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

you stuck your pinky out.

“birds of a feather?”

satoru grinned and looped his pinky with yours.

“birds of a feather baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

except satoru’s hands were slippery.

why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“baby?“ he shook you. “hey— baby—”

nothing.

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

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

and why was there so much blood?

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

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

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

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

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

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

no.

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

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

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

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

“help—” hic! “h—help me please—”

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

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

were you gone?

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

were you breathing? had you hit your head?

he couldn’t remember.

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

in front of him. taunting him.

was the world so cruel as to take you too?

it wouldn’t. it couldn’t.

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

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

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

you were knocked out for five days at the hospital.

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

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

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

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

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

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

you had lost so much, too much of it.

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

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

he shook his head no silently.

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

satoru smiled weakly and shook his head again.

“m’fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

satoru brought you bouquets everyday too.

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

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

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

you should’ve just left him behind.

but he was sleeping when you woke.

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

and it hit you bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“oh god you have amnesia—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“janitors.”

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

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

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

“hello?”

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

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

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

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

opportunity?

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

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

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

“holy fuck.”

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

“that was the national olympic committee.”

you froze.

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

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

silence.

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

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

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

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

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

“toru!”

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

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

to finalize your dream and make it a reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“birds of a feather?” satoru beamed.

“birds of a feather.”

and you kissed your thumbs before sealing your promise.

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

“toru…”

“yeah baby?”

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

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

“nah, we’d win.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i love you, toru!”

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

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

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

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

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

“toru!—”

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

it was call me when you get home.

have you eaten yet?

here, let me help you.

whatever you need.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she did.

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

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

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

for love had no limits.

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

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

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

“yes my offspring?”

you playfully glared at your husband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“mmm— nope! scary!”

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

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

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

“but my suffering!—”

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

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

aki.

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

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

of birds of a feather.

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

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

[quitedisastrous]

supposed to be drawing grocery cart but my stupid mind can't compel itself to do so. sigh. perhaps later

[suguae]

Haunted

Toji cannot move on, until he realized too late.

Warnings: Angst, slightest fluff (reader and baby 'gumi moment)

You were just a girl, standing in front of a man, asking him to love you.

How hard was that for him? Yes, he wasn’t good with his words but he wasn’t good at anything else either. He was just there.

Maybe because the woman he truly loved—he was still mourning over her. His sad eyes every time he watched an old couple dance together, wishing he had been doing that but with her. The cute babies babble with their mothers as Megumi babbles with his father, how he wished his wife was still here instead of you. He never said it, but that’s what it felt like. 

And perhaps that's what it was. 

Sometimes he curses himself out when he accidentally calls you his wife's name. During intimate times only. You tried—trying to keep the emotions in as if it wasn’t breaking every part of you, was the hardest part. “Look he’s walking...” You smiled at the dark haired baby who was walking towards you. Toji smiled, making sure he’d record every second of it; deep down he wished his wife was the one the baby was walking towards instead of you.

And it was wrong—so wrong. 

“This relationship, I’m with you but Toji—Toji this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.” You whispered while he ate his leftovers, his brows still furrowed from the argument occurring earlier. Having Toji work from 9–5 wasn’t the best but good thing he had you, helping him out with so much. Picking up groceries, picking up his lovely son—until you mentioned that one of his teachers mistaken you as his biological mother. That right there was enough to make Toji angry for weeks at least.

But not this time.

He stopped chewing on his food after you spoke, waiting for more of an explanation. Which you figured he needed, “I don’t think you’re in love with me–” 

“I like you [name], a lot.” He cleared his throat. He leaned back on his chair as his arms crossed waiting for you to continue the sentence he interrupted. 

Right, he liked you a lot. These three rough years you’ve been dating Toji—that particular l word was never uttered once, not even if he was drunk, or having a special moment with you. You huffed trying to find the right words for Toji to understand. That was until little Megumi started crying from his room. “I’ll try to put him back to sleep, finish eating.” He watched as your fragile little body sulked its way to Megumi’s room.

He knew this was gonna happen, he knew you were bound to leave him sooner or later. 

You smiled as you opened the door to see the little Megumi standing on top of his little bed. His hands wiping his tears as he ran towards you, his arms now wrapping around your legs. “Sleep with mama and papa.” He cried out as you leaned down to pick up the little boy. “[name] and papa, not mama okay?” You corrected him, if Toji were to find out that he had been calling you that, then that argument would’ve climaxed.

The little boy nodded, his tears now gone as you swayed him around. “Sleep with you.” He mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder as he played with a strand of your hair. “Just for tonight.” You whispered, watching Megumi pick up his head and smile. Content with your answer. 

Toji’s heart could just swell at the sight. You treated his son as if he was your own and nothing looked so much better right now, except for the fact that he wished it was his wife.

Megumi was now soundly sleeping between you and Toji, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His eyes shut tightly hearing those piercing words leave your mouth. It hurt when his wife left him, but this hurt was different—different because he knew it was coming yet he didn’t want to do anything about it. 

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to be the one apologizing.” He watched your soft gaze stare at completely nothing. He was confused, this was his fault. He never treated you how you needed deserved to be treated. “It was my fault for throwing myself at a man who simply was not ready.”

The next morning was silent—baby ‘gumi was confused at the saddened look on your face. Constantly walking up to you asking if you were okay. He was still just a baby, yet he read the room so well. “I’m sure we can work this out—” Toji now sitting next to you on the couch, some cartoon playing in the back as Megumi’s little head sat on your lap. “You’re not ready, Toji.” You nodded, eyes still glued on the tv as if it was meant for you and not the little Megumi. 

“And how are you so sure—”

“Tell me you love me then.” Your eyes are now fixed on Toji’s. It was hard, he felt as if his mouth had been glued shut. You sigh, bringing your gaze back to the tv, “I love you—but it’s hard when it’s one sided Toji.” 

It hurt much more, seeing you drive away as the clueless Megumi waved you out. Poor thing thinks you’re simply going to the store. The house that once felt like home was so dull now. Toji sat little ‘gumi down on the couch. 

His constant, “mama?” or “[name]?” while he kept his gaze on the door every so often. Nothing prepared Toji for this. Megumi cried that he wanted to sleep with his mama and papa, his heart swelled knowing that he had been talking about you.

You were gone, just like his wife. But it hurt—it hurt so much more knowing that you’re alive trying your best to…move on. He stayed up late that same night, stumbling upon a video from two years ago. When Megumi first learned how to walk. You and Toji had just started dating but the look of happiness plastered your face as you watched the little baby walking. 

That was one thing Toji never forgot about, how much you loved kids. Telling him how once you had kids of your own you would finally be able to live in peace. How he heard of it less and less as the years went on, he wonders if you still think that.

next part ->

[astronomalyy]

Thinking about the lifespans of Dungeon Meshi elves... The fact that they're completely unnatural alters my brain chemistry, because you can tell just how haphazardly the demon implemented their wish. They live five times the length of tall-men, so they age at a fifth of their rate. It's simple maths and the implications are terrifying. No wonder their birth rate and population are declining - their early development is so slow that at the age of two, they're still unable to stand.

They don't reach adulthood until their eighties. What does the infant mortality look like? How many elves succumb to illness or injury before they're fully mature? It only takes one accident to lose the child you've been raising for decades - and could you bring yourself to care for another? Add to that the implication elf culture has no idea how to process grief... just look at the way the Canaries treat Rin after the death of her parents. They're callous and insensitive and detached - part of that's racism, but there's also an element of pure cold ignorance. They don't even recognise the emotion on her face.

And that's just scratching the surface... does elven memory accommodate their extended lifespan? Once you reach two hundred or so, do the years start blurring together? Kabru mentions that their temporal awareness is remarkably poor.

Two years feel like a few months. Their lives are longer but not fuller. They're older but not wiser than the short-lived races, and most refuse to understand this. Those that do grasp it are interesting - namely Otta, who's ostracised for pursuing half-foot women.

A 30-year old elf is a young child; a 30-year old half-foot has entered middle age. Otta is in the equivalent of her late twenties. She knows that her elven lifespan makes her no more mature than a half-foot - but she also acknowledges that it creates a rift between herself and her partners, and not just in the eyes of society. 'She dumps them as soon as they pass 30', but probably not for the reasons Lycion assumes. For this to be a pattern, decades must have passed - it's possible Otta doesn't want to watch them die as she herself barely ages. No doubt some of her previous lovers have already passed away. In the end, all living 400 years accomplishes is leaving them out of sync with the rest of humanity.

Marcille's perhaps the best example. As a half-elf, she's got 95% of her life ahead and the thought terrifies her. She's going to lose everyone she loves, over and over and over again, and this cycle has barely even started. She runs at a different pace. This context adds so much to her dynamic with Falin in earlier chapters.

Marcille loves her! She's scared for her! Maybe even of her! She's grown attached to a short-lived girl who she met as a kid when Marcille was a teaching assistant! Biologically and developmentally, they're the same age, but chronologically she's twice as old as Falin! Considering what happened to her mother, is history repeating itself? Her feelings towards Falin are tangled and messy and fascinating. They're also more than a little homoerotic, which makes Marcille's infantilization of her friend all the more interesting. It feels like her way of resolving their power imbalance, of remaining a responsible (former!) authority figure... but it's also a coping mechanism. She's frightened by the ways Falin is maturing and changing - aging - and keeping her mental image of her friend as young as possible is her way of denying the march of time that's destined to sever their bond.

Marcille's dream of lifespan extension would remove the need for this obfuscation, render them equal... only, they already are! This desire is imposed onto Falin, but it's primarily for Marcille's benefit. Watching her fight for a world nobody wants, for reasons both selfish and altruistic... it's as tragic as it is understandable. I love this manga.

[endlessthxxghts]

Biology

“Uncle”!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 5.4k

Summary: Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

Content/Warnings: able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship. If there’s anything that should be up here but I missed or I made any improper tags, please let me know!

A/N: Hi, my loves! This is slightly different than what you’re used to coming from me… All I can say is, you’ve read the warnings! Don’t bite if it is not your flavor! But for those who do like, I really hope you enjoy! And to my love @strang3lov3, thank you for prompting this and encouraging this side of my brain to finally stop hiding in the shadows. And thank you for your eyes on this and the mood board as well. I love you.🩶

masterlist | notifs blog

“Hey, hon, when you headin’ over to uncle Joel’s?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. “In about ten minutes after these cookies cool. Need something from me?”

“Can ya grab my toolbox before ya leave? Forgot it there the other day,” he replies. “Figured you could get it since you’re already goin’ there today.”

“Sure thing. It’s not the heavy one, is it? Because I don’t know if that old man’s back is ready for a heavy lift like that yet.” The timer on the oven beeps. You slide on your oven mitts to pull the tray out. “Made two batches by the way. How many you want? I’m taking some to Uncle’s, too.” 

About a week ago, Joel had a contracting accident. Some newbie wasn’t watching the older man’s back as Joel climbed up a wobbly ladder, and the next moment, Joel’s footing slipped. He landed right on his lower back, a piece of wood perched on the ground, sitting at just the right spot on the floor to render him immobile. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, and your father, his best friend since before you were born, are the only two Joel trusts to get the job done perfectly, so Joel put them two in charge until he heals. 

Bed rest, the doctor had ordered Joel, for at least three weeks. It’s been one so far, but with you offering to be his nurse — one that forces him to stay in bed unless he needs to eat or use the restroom — he thinks he just might be back to work by next week. If you’ll let him, that is. 

“No, it’s the small one, hon, you got it,” your father reassures you. He lovingly slaps his growing belly as the trays hit the kitchen counter. “Y’know, darlin’, ever since you moved back, I’ve been gainin’ some weight. Can’t imagine what you’re doin’ t’ Joel over there.”

Your lip pulls up in a smirk. “Joel is in good hands, y’know. And technically, I don’t have to leave you any,” you say with a challenging brow, pulling the cookie trays out of his reach. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’ that,” your father’s eyebrows raise in worry. His daily cookie is very important to him. “You can leave me like… five… or six.” 

“I’m just gonna leave you a whole batch. The six are gonna be gone before I even leave the house,” you tell your father as his hand subconsciously reaches for the cookie tray. 

He scoffs, “Ya have no faith in me.”

“So what’s in your hand already?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, walking away with a mouthful of warm cookie dough and melted milk chocolate chips. 

“Uh huh,” you yell back. “Gonna be leaving in just a sec. I’ll see you later.”

It takes less than ten minutes to get to your uncle’s house. You unlock the door using the spare key he gave you as a teenager, and immediately, nurse mode is activated. 

“Uncle Joel!” You yell, exasperated. He turns around from his place in the kitchen, painfully slow. He’s going to make his back worse. “What do you think you’re doing?” You place the fresh cookies on his dining table along with your keys. You cross your arms angrily for good measure. 

“My coffee’s cold. I was warmin’ it up,” he huffs, annoyed.

“Bed, please.” Your hands find his waist, and you guide him back to his room. “You know I’m here around this time. You didn’t wanna call me first to see where I was?”

You ease him in a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He grunts as his ass meets the mattress. He grumbles his response. “Need to start gettin’ back to everythin’ independently, y’know that, don’tcha?”

“Is your memory going with your back, too, unc?” 

“‘Scuse me?” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Three weeks were the doctor’s orders. Not one,” you tell him, putting your foot down. 

He lays himself down with another wince at the motion, no acknowledgement to your words. God, he’s so stubborn. 

“I’ll go make you a fresh cup,” you tell him, feeling sympathetic for the man. His work is his life, and it’s not going to get any easier with age. 

Making your way back to his kitchen, you wash out the coffee pitcher, replace the grounds and the filter, and do some light cleaning as you wait for the bitter, brown liquid to brew. 

It’s only been five minutes since you returned to the kitchen, and the painful moans and groans from his bedroom have only gotten louder. You search around the place and find the heat pack you bought a few days ago and pop it in the microwave. You grab some pain meds, fill up a glass of water, and just in time, the microwave sings to you, telling you your contents are ready. 

Ignoring the coffee for a moment, you make your way back to Joel’s bedroom. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is tensed up in pain. Poor guy. You knock at his door to catch his attention before entering. “Unc?”

One eye peels open. “Yes, nurse?”

“Funny.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat. “Come take these.”

He makes no move to get up. 

You set the painkillers and the water on his bedside table, the heat pack wedged underneath your armpit. You start to reach for Joel to help him up, but he stops you. “I got it,” he grunts. You let him have this win. 

You hand him the glass of water first, then the pills. He swallows the painkillers in one big gulp, swallowing down the rest of the water in another. He eyes the heat pack in your arm. 

“Do you want-”

“Yes,” he says immediately, reaching for the soft warmth. 

“Lay down first, I’ll put it underneath you.”

Without another word, he positions himself. His body jerks when your soft hand slips underneath his back, pushing him to lift a little while you slide the heat underneath. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” he forces out, eyes clamped shut. It’s not okay, you think. 

“How would you feel on your stomach?” you suggest. 

“Dunno. Never tried.”

“Well, then.” You set the heat pack down, and it’s your turn to crawl, uninvited, into his bed. You walk on your knees towards the opposite, unoccupied side, adjusting the pillows in a way you think might be the most comfortable. This isn’t your first rodeo dealing with an old man’s back; you’ve got your dad. This is, however, your first rodeo dealing with an old man more stubborn than a screaming goat not getting his way. “Come on.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean no?” 

“That ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “I swear to God. I will flip your ass over myself if I have to.”

“You’re bossy,” he spits.

“So you’ve said.” 

Not giving him a chance to prepare, you hook your one hand at his side and your other on his hip, and you pull him towards you. It doesn’t fully flip him over, but it does the trick in getting him to finish the rest of the action himself — albeit, with a very strained yelp from the back of his throat. 

He groans for a few minutes more as you adjust some flat pillows underneath his belly and then prop the lukewarm heating back right at the base of his spine. You’ll probably have to heat it up in ten minutes again, but it’ll do for now. You stay in your spot for a minute, and already his pained noises begin to subside. 

“Better?” You know it is. You just want him to admit it. 

And when a single huff with zero protests from the grumpy man reverberates around the room, you know you’ve won this round. 

“I’ll go get your coffee now,” you hum. 

A soft rasp of your name has you spinning back around as you reach the room’s threshold. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” he tells you. 

“It’s what I’m here for, unc.”

You put his fresh cup of coffee in a thermos this time. You can’t imagine how often he’ll get up being in this position, but at least the freshness will be there with every sip he does end up taking. 

“How’s it going?” You ask him as you set his coffee nearby. You feel the heat pack on his spine, and it’s as you called it to be by now: room temperature. “Want me to reheat it?” 

“‘M okay,” he replies, voice groggy. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Okay.” You stand there for a moment. You can tell the heat helped, but his body isn’t entirely relaxed. He’s still tense, as if a nerve or something is being pinched. 

You recall your memory from a while ago before you moved back with your dad. Your brother, who is a mixed martial arts athlete, had a sparring session that hurt his back, nearly in the same area as Joel. He had you running his massage gun over his muscles nearly every night for a month straight. “It needs to uncoil somehow,” he told you. An idea crosses your mind then. 

You saunter to Joel’s en suite bathroom in search of some type of lubricant. Sitting loud and proud on the center of the bathroom counter is a little bottle of Equate’s Personal Liquid Lubricant. Your brain falters for a second, the bottle of lube throwing you off your original plan. That is absolutely not the kind of lubricant you were looking for. Shaking away the image from your mind, you bend down to look in the cabinets underneath. Bingo, a bottle of Aveeno body lotion. This should do. 

You invite yourself onto his bed for the second time today. “Let me give you a massage.”

“What?” His head turns to you now, utterly confused. He definitely heard you wrong, he thinks. 

“Let me give you a massage,” you repeat. “It’ll help.”

A massage actually does sound nice right now. But you’ve been nothing but bossy this last week while Joel lays here helplessly. He’s bored. And he’s had enough. “It ain’t gonna help.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

Jesus. Haven’t you had this conversation before? You mentally slap your forehead. Again, leaving him no other options, you reach for his flannel atop his shoulders and begin to pull them down. 

“Hey, hey, wait, now what in the hell-” He tries to stifle back a laugh as he wriggles in your hold, trying to playfully push you off without hurting himself more in the process. 

You quickly release his clothes, hands up in surrender where he can see them. You’re just realizing now just how forward your action must’ve been. “How am I gonna massage you-” 

The embarrassment written all over your face has Joel tearing up as he tries to hold his wheezing laugh in. With his eyebrow quirked at you, he responds, “If you wanted me naked, kiddo-”

“Jesus, ew! Really?” An unbearable heat spreads across your cheeks. Your eyes are downcast, looking everywhere else but him. “It- it’ll be better if I can directly touch-”

Only then do you feel the bed shaking with his laughter. He’s fucking with you. And here you were, about to offer something that would relieve a whole lot of pain. “Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, pulling yourself up and making your way off of his bed. 

“No, okay, wait,” he laughs, trying to catch his breath. “Jus’ messin’ with you, who am I to deny a massage?” He raises his eyebrows once, twice. Still messing with you, seeing how far his taunting with you can go. 

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpan. 

“‘M not the one tryin’ t’ massage her uncle,” Joel says as he attempts to shrug his shoulders at you.

“I’m gonna leave now.” One foot makes it to the ground before Joel speaks again. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, ya can’t take a joke? I’m only messin’ around. Come back. Gonna leave me hangin’? In pain? C’mon, nurse.” His tone falls softer, sweeter. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his words. And, fuck, why is it making you heat even further, in places beyond your face? In places you shouldn’t be?

“Fine,” you relent. “Stop saying weird shit then.” You still can’t look at him. Not after the way your body decided to react in the shift of energy. An abrupt shift of energy, as far as you can tell. 

He’s your dad’s best friend. Your uncle, for crying out loud. Not by blood, but still. There’s never been a feeling beyond that. Sure, you’ve had your silly little school girl crush on him during your young teenage years, but that was your hormones being your hormones. You grew out of them. Even your own father can’t deny the conventional attractiveness of his best friend. 

Plus, suggestive commentary is bound to make anyone feel hot. It’s basic biology. Your response is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. At least, that’s what you convince yourself of when you climb back into your uncle’s— no, into Joel’s bed, trying to ignore the way your panties stick dutifully against your throbbing core.

Joel leans onto his side as you get yourself situated, unbuttoning the bottom half of his flannel, so you can flip up the bottom to reach his lower back. After the bottom half of the buttons are undone, he lays back on his front. “Here,” he calls your name. “Jus’ lift it up from the bottom.”

You scoot closer to him, standing on your knees, and you reach over to grab the hem of his flannel, pulling it up as gently as possible, exposing just enough to be able to reach the irritated areas. You frown at what you see. Inflamed skin, purples and yellows dancing all across his lower back, forcing him away from the very thing he lives for. He may have been a stubborn bitch this entire week, but that doesn’t stop the sympathy you feel for the man. 

You put some of the lotion in your hand, rubbing it between your two palms to warm it up a little. You place your hand on the side closest to you first, moving in circular motions and adjusting your pressure ever so often. “Let me know when the pressure is good.”

So far he hasn’t said much, a slight groan here, an exhale there. You feel a knot as you move lower, so you increase your pressure. You’re met with a literal moan, and you swear you have to bite back your own vocal response. “Fuck,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, jus’ like that, ‘s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Okay,” you squeak, your thighs clenching together to attempt any kind of relief to the heat between your legs. 

After a few more passes over the area — and a few more indulgent, harder presses of your palm to pull more angelic sounds from him — you switch to the other side. Except, at this angle, you don’t really have as good an angle as you did before. Your leg swings over his ass, bracketing him in between your thighs, before you can even register the move your body just made. A soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel the new angle you’ve just given yourself. 

“Joel?” You call sweetly. Innocently.”I- I’m not hurting you or anything, am I?”

Hurting? No. Putting him through Hell? Close enough. 

Joel has done many questionable things in his lifetime. Getting involved with taken (married or otherwise) women, couples who wanted a third… Joel has lived through it all. Mainly in his younger years, but nevertheless. He has done and seen many things. But none of these things have ever included getting a fucking hard on for a girl — a woman? — he practically had a hand in raising. You call him uncle, for crying out loud. 

His physical response means nothing. It’s basic biology. The tender yet skilled touch of your warm hands directly against his even hotter skin, lighting every single nerve ending on fire, forcing the blood to course through his veins, to make its way down south— 

“Christ-” he snarls as you practically sit on him. His mouth shuts instantly as his eyes shoot open. He didn’t mean for that to come out. “Y-yeah,” he corrects. “‘M alright.” 

“Just- just let me know,” you tell him. He can hear the shake in your voice. He can tell biology is doing a number on you, too, based on your tone alone, if the heat engulfing his rear as you try your best not to make contact with it isn’t enough to go by. 

He focuses on his breathing as best he can as your hands push slightly past his jeans, getting underneath the seam of his boxers, and then immediately softening your touch as you run your fingers up his spine, awaking a chill he never knew was possible until now. You rub beyond the exposed area of his lower back, reaching his shoulder blades and entirely up to his shoulders, forcing the flannel to rise with your hands. He’s so broad and warm, and you would absolutely be drooling all over him by now if you weren’t so shocked at how tight his muscles really feel. How has this man not gotten any injuries sooner? How was he still doing all this heavy lifting? You dig the pads of your finger tips further into the thousands of tiny knots you feel, and his body jerks in actual pain this time. 

“God damn, girl,” he snaps. “What are you doin’?” 

“How the fuck do you even function?” You sound genuinely horrified. 

“What-”

“Your shoulders and neck are fucking covered in knots how do you even-” you cut yourself off with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You need to flip over.” 

Fuck. 

“Why?” He asks defensively. 

“I’m gonna break these knots. I need to start from the front.” 

“Ya ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my neck, I swear to God-”

“Quit being stubborn. What did I say earlier? I’m gonna flip you myself if you don’t-”

“Alright, fine, gimme a sec,” he bites. Joel takes a deep breath, at war with himself for how he’s going to handle his next course of action. 

Whatever happens next, there is no avoiding the fact that you will be made aware of the bulging erection between his legs. You can know about it, that’s fine, but the second you make contact, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to control himself. Which is why he rips off the band aid quick. Flipping himself over with you still hovering over him, he tries his best not to touch you. Though, the second he’s comfortable, his focus is on your waist, grabbing you immediately and missing the way your eyes widen at the tenting fabric of his jeans. He pulls you higher up to sit on his lower tummy. 

You squeak out a little gasp as he adjusts you, and fuck it makes the pulsing between his legs even worse. He releases you, bringing his hands back to his sides. 

“Comfortable?” you whisper. You try so hard not to use your voice, worried that it’ll reveal just how turned on you are by this situation you’ve put yourself in. He gives you a single nod, and with that, you lean to grab more lotion. 

The angle you are at forces you to lean the front of your body onto Joel to be able to reach his shoulders. You can feel his body tense underneath you; you can hear his labored breathing as your hands further push away his flannel, working away at each knot. 

You lean forward further, giving yourself the ability to reach just below Joel’s neck. With this action, your hips shift, pressing down against Joel’s belly in a way that sends a sudden jolt of butterflies through your core. Your hands freeze in their movement, breath and fingertips stuttering as your entire face and neck heat up. You sneak a quick glance to Joel, and his eyes are still relaxed. He didn’t notice. 

It takes you a moment to start your movements back up again, but when you do, you can’t help the way you repeat exactly what you did before — allowing yourself another experimental roll of your hips against his soft abdomen. Only this time, you’re way less sly, for the whimper of pleasure you thought you could hide slips right out, right for his sharp ears to take note of. Shit. 

“Y’ alright there?” His eyes are trained on you now; he knows what you just did. Joel sports a quirked eyebrow as he waits for your response. 

“Mhm,” you rush out, ignoring his piercing gaze. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to run over the knots in his shoulder again without driving your hips into him, but even the push and pull of your arms is a full body movement, and you feel it. You feel the growing wetness in your core, the growing heartbeat that his bare tummy no doubt can feel now. 

Your body is splayed across him, the warmth of you leaking through your bottoms and onto his hot skin as you pathetically try to play off the fact that you aren’t grinding your wet cunt across him right now. With a rasp of your name, he takes a sharp breath in. “What are ya doin’?” He grunts, pained. Conflicted. 

This is so wrong. But it feels so good. Your arousal — how utterly desperate you are for the older man underneath you — is shone all over your face, brighter than any other feeling of disgust or wrongness you’re trying to convince yourself of. But the internal battle is still there, though, and it forces your hips to come to a full stop. It forces cries of apologies from your lips. It forces regret. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you choke back a sob. “Please, I- this is so wrong, I’m so stupid, uncle, I-” 

God damn it. Joel is too damn hard to deal with this shit now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, will you cut the fuckin’ uncle bullshit?” He finally snaps. His hands spring to life, finding their way up your thighs, tightening once they reach your hips. He forces you to move again. “Ya think I wanna hear that fuckin’ word while you fuckin’ soak me? Huh? While ya rub on me like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

“Shit,” you moan, the strength of his hand making the assault against your mound all the more intense. “Joel, please,” you cry, your fingers shaking as you hold onto his chest. 

Your thighs begin to tremble as he maintains a rough pace to your movements, his bed creaking with every shove of your hips against him. His grip on you is one of steel, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh, no doubt leaving tiny bruises as a reminder of today’s actions. 

He is fucking covered in you — the slick of your desire pooling through your bottoms and into his skin, making each grind smoother. He licks his lips at this, his eyes dark as he drinks you in from above; your own eyes glossy and a sheen of sweat along your skin. “Look at ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low enough to send a fresh wave of arousal pouring from your hole. “Fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby. Needed me that bad, did ya? Was tryin’ t’ tell ya earlier,” he grunts, “Y’know ya just had to ask.” A lazy smirk pulls across his lip. 

You let out a whimper at his words, your hips finally rolling alongside his own guidance, instinctively searching for more friction. “Atta girl,” he groans, “That’s it, fuck- makin’ a fuckin’ mess a’ me, darlin’.” 

You’re panting now, the rhythm and pressure mixed with the filth of his Southern drawl ignites every single nerve ending throughout your body. He watches you with a dark intensity, the brown of his eyes replaced with pure black lust, his eyes unable to stray away from the pleasurable desperation filling your features. 

“Gonna come like this, sweetheart?” He taunts, driving you into him even harder. 

“Mmm- my God, yeah- yes,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly finally tightens, your breathing ragged as needy moans escape your lips. 

With a final roll of your hips and the utterance of a that’s my girl, the coil finally snaps, pleasure crashing over you, coursing through your veins as you come all over him, your slick unable to stay within the limits of your clothes, leaking and dripping down the sides of him and onto the mattress below. Your thighs convulse around his waist, his hold on you continuing your thrusts, dragging out your orgasm until your own hands find his and rip him away from you.

“Ya ain’t done yet, sugar,” Joel gruffs, grabbing the globes of your ass cheeks and dragging you down, letting you feel his ignored and now raging erection. 

“Never said I was,” you purr, a soft moan blessing his ears at the feel of his bulge against your ass. He can feel your smirk against his chest. 

Body still trembling, Joel lifts your ass in the air, sliding your bottoms down over the curve of your body. The stickiness of your panties pulls off with a wet squelch, the cool air of the room mingling with the wet warmth of your bare pussy, the stark contrast forcing chills to run through your veins. 

“God,” he murmurs as you give a little wiggle of your ass in the air. “Pretty as a peach, huh, darlin’?” He guides you lower, pushing you down onto his bulge. The hardness of him beneath you immediately sends a fiery need to your core. Your hands move on their own as you pull your body up, reaching for the buttons and zipper of his jeans, undoing them with ease despite the eager shake of your hand. You pull the jeans down just enough to let his cock spring free, thick and angry and leaking. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swallow your gasp. “God, I need you so bad,” you whine, already lifting up to line the tip of him to your swollen cunt. 

You sink down with a breathless moan, your head flying back as your hands grip onto his tummy to keep you from buckling. 

Joel’s breathing stutters, his moans filling the air as you practically choke his cock. “Shit- so fuckin- fuckin’ tight.” His hands find their home on the meat of your ass, holding you tight, grounding himself from coming like a damn teenager.

You move slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside of you, how big he is. God, you don’t think you’ve ever taken anything quite as long and as thick as him. Your heart skips a beat at that, knowing that he’s ruined you for anyone else. 

It isn’t long before the raw need takes over, and you move faster, hips rolling back and forth as you ride him, the wet sound of skin against skin as you alternate to a bounce ever so often. 

Despite the risk of hurting his back even more, he can’t stop himself from gripping you tighter, his nails digging into your flesh as his hips buck up into you, starting their own rhythm, meeting every one of your thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming with the size of him; it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, mixing sweet whines of ecstasy with whines of overstimulation, and it’s the best music to have ever graced his ears. 

“Look at ya,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for this, weren’t ya? Fuckin’ made for takin’ this cock, huh, sweetheart?” 

You nod weakly at his words. They send a flutter down your belly to your pussy, and his mouth is all it takes to send you to your second brink of collapse — your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you move, as he drives himself into you without abandon. 

Every thrust pushes you further to the edge, the sting of the stretch, the sensation of being so full — it’s almost too much to bear. He can hear it in the way your cries change. It’s becoming too much. 

“Y’ can take it, sweetheart, almost there,” he grunts. His hands take over in guiding your movements, urging you faster, harder, bringing you both to the cliff’s edge. 

“C’mon, baby, can feel her squeezin’ me, know she wanna come, baby. Breathe, doll, jus’ let go,” he rasps, his words coming in staggered.

The wet tightness of your walls, both the feel and the sound, causes Joel to fall first — a low, guttural groan filling the room as he fills you with his hot, thick spend.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you, unloading everything he’s worth, sends you over your edge, your pussy clenching around his cock as you come, the sensation rippling through you, shredding your vocal cords as you scream out in pleasure. 

Everything goes dark for you, nothing but the fuzzy sound of Joel’s sweet praises at the top of your head as he guides you through your come down. 

“Did so fuckin’ good f’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

For an asshole, who knew he could be so sweet? 

You roll off of Joel as soon as your heart steadies, your entire body on fire from all the exertion. You can feel Joel’s body stiffen as you use him for support. His back is killing him right now.

A few moments pass as your eyes slowly start to close, but the deep gruff of your name stops you from dozing. 

You turn your head to the man beside you. “Yes?” 

For the first time today, it’s Joel who can’t make eye contact with you. “Can you, uh… can you-” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his awkwardness. “Can you warm up the heat pack again?” 

Your smirk lifts your cheek before you can even try to stop it. “Come again?” 

He lets out a frustrated huff. And he can’t turn away from you. His back is killing him right now. “My back-”

“Yeah, what about your back?” 

“You fuckin’ little shit-”

You giggle as you flip onto your side, your hand holding your head up to get a better look at him. “Your back is hurting, baby? Need me to get the heat pack for you, hm?” 

He doesn’t respond. He just has the deepest, most grumpiest scowl known to man on display. 

“Oh, come on. You need my help, is that it? Need to hear you say it, unc.” You emphasize the last syllable of your sentence, a belly laugh threatening to escape you. 

Oh, two can play at that game. “Yeah, baby, I need your help. I need the help from my beautiful, beautiful niece, hm? My beautiful, needy niece whose pussy gets all soaked jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout me, huh? Gets all wet and needy thinkin’ ‘bout her uncle-”

Your resolve finally snaps, your eyes clamping shut as you cover your ears, loud la la la’s coming from your mouth as you ungraciously roll yourself off of his bed. “Enough, fine! Fine! Fuckin’ nasty,” you groan as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“‘M not the one who started it, sweetheart,” Joel says, a triumphant smile plastered across his cocky face. 

“I made you cookies by the way,” you yell after a beat. “Want one?” 

Joel’s hand reaches for his belly. He doesn’t need one, that’s for sure. “Yeah,” he responds not a second later. 

You come back to his bedroom, heat pack in one hand, no cookie in the other. You hand him the heat pack. You make him adjust it himself. 

“Where’s the cookie?” He asks, a tinge of impatience on his tongue. 

“Oh, I thought you were gonna come down and get it.” 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just figured you wanted to start being more independent and all. Given how strenuous you were being a few moments ago,” you offer with a faux innocence.  

“I swear to fuckin’ God, when I get my hands on you-”

“Your hands on me? Yeah? When?” You start making your way out of his bedroom. “Come get me if you wanna show me a lesson. Know you been dying to all week.” 

If he can fuck you the way he did, maybe full-time bed rest isn’t what Joel needs. He needs to stretch and move around; he needs to activate his muscles, especially being on the older side. It really is basic biology.

I would absolutely love to hear what you guys thought of this! Any and all your love and commentary truly keeps me going and motivated even when the writer’s block is at its strongest. Wouldn’t be here without you all. I have so much love in my heart for you! Talk to y’all soon🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

Leaf divider by @saradika-graphics

[nightingale-prompts]

Lay Me to Rest- DCxDP Prompt

Warning: Blood and gore

There has been a series of murders across the country. Each death was varied and self-inflicted. At first, they all seemed like suicide but each had a strange range of symptoms before death.

Sudden paranoia, incoherent mumbling, screaming or yelling, going in and out of their homes sporadically, random fixations, and finally self-harm.

The victims were teachers, parents, businessmen, truckers, and even a crime novelist. All unrelated and in different states.

Each victim didn't seem to have a connection until an investigation discovered that each one had been an active serial killer. The body counts ranged from as little as 5 to as much as 23. The killer was named the Serial Serial Killer which wasn't creative but it was catchy. Some called them the Angel of Vengeance but most thought it was cringy and overdramatic. Many people didn't want them to be caught but others hotly debated letting a killer dispense justice when their crusade could easily turn into them killing people for innocuous things.

The police were still questioning whether this killer even existed. One thing was clear, there was a trail and it led straight to Gotham. A goldmine for them. Naturally, Batman had gotten a hold on the case and began an investigation.

The biggest question was how the killer found their victims and how they knew that they were killers.

The answer was obvious. They didn't need to figure it out. They just needed to wait. Why just in the effort to investigate when a serial killer tries to convince you to leave with them? So bars are the obvious place. But that's shaky at best since there is a period of torment that takes place that allows the victims to return home. The killer doesn't care if the victims could call the police, perhaps because they know their victim won't.

Bruce started to build a profile. He saw a pattern here. Each of the victims had a preference for their victims as well. They targeted young people, mainly boys. Odds are the Serial Serial Killer matched that description or age range. So bars weren't the hunting ground. So parks were more likely to go unnoticed and boys tended to hang out there longer after dark.

The killer was more than likely a victim himself so he may have a few scars but probably not noticeable enough that his would-be assailants would be turned off. There is no ignoring the predatory nature of the victims. Each killed children for gratification in some form. It's not that the boy is attractive but he probably has traits that the victims found attractive in children. So babyfaced, short, native, and polite.

There was much else Bruce could get. There was nothing concrete and he still didn't understand the method that was used. So far this was guesswork.

It wasn't until a few weeks later while he tracking another killer that he found his answer.

Dr.Kinder a Biologist by day and a killer who experiments on his victims at night had picked up a promising new lab rat a week ago. He had intended to slowly dissect the boy. He had gotten so used to the screams he stopped using anesthetics besides he wanted to see how the fear response caused the organs to shift.

To his surprise the boy didn't fight, in fact he seemed to jump to the table and say he didn't need restraints. Disturbing. But he was restrained anyways.

As the doctor cut him open the boy didn't react, only humming to himself as he watched the doctor.

"What are you hoping to find?" He asked. "I'm getting bored and this bearly hurts."

The boy annoyingly never stopped talking and never missed a chance to ruin the moment. There were never any screams or cries but incessant talking.

Dr.Kinder found the boy disturbing so he simply took an axe and chopped the boy into pieces. Not once did he make a sound. The doctor thought it was over but the next day the boy was back. He sat on the autopsy table kicking his feet in nothing but his bare skin.

"What the hell are you?" The doctor gasped in horror.

"I'm bored. Play with me again." The boy purred.

Bile crawled up his throat as the doctor restained this...thing again.

This time the boy spoke differently.

"You cut me up last time. Did you do that to the last boy. After you...you know." A sick grin spread across his cheeks.

The doctor cut open his neck this time and let him bleed out.

Everyday he came back and every day the doctor killed him until the time between his death got shorter and shorter. The days began to blur and he had no idea how long he had been doing this. But that thing kept talkimg to him.

Dr.Kinder stared down at his desk at the papers trying to think of anything but-

"I wonder what people would think about what you've done. You're a disgusting and depraved man doctor. Look at what you've done to me." The sing-song voice of that demon called out.

He could feel those blood-soaked arms wrapped around his neck.

He flinch as he pushed the thing away.

"Oh, are you going to beat me or stab me this time? Ooo, or are you going to put me through the woodchipper again?" The demon asked as the doctor wrapped his hands around his throat.

He just kept squeezing until the boy went limp. It never ends. The blood never goes away. It covered every surface of the room. Dripping, conjugating, and spreading into every corner. Whenever he turned his head he could see body parts spread across the room in the pools of blood he could they the faces of the others that he had killed. Each face wretched in agony.

"You hold on better than the others. I've been eaten, torched, and disemboweled before but after coming back a few times they usually end it after a few words. But every time they don't feel guilt. They just don't want to face consequences." The boy said. "Do you even remember my name? The one I told you when you picked me up on the side of the road or was I just another body to use and discard? I used the name of your first victim. I hoped you'd notice."

The doctor knew he couldn't kill the boy but he could end himself. He had tried it once but just like the kid he came back without a scratch.

"Not yet. This is your life now. Come on, let's taste death together. Again and again and again and again and-" he repeated over and over.

This was hell. This was his hell.

But it came to an end eventually. Dr.Kinder put an end to himself in a gruesome display.

Batman had only caught the tail end as he faced a young boy standing an a pool of blood.

****

"Yeah, that thing is like a worse version of a revenant. Doesn't really have a name yet to describe it. It's undead for sure. You kill it and it just comes back." Constantine said "Why did you bring it here?"

After a long bath and some new clothes, the kid looked normal as played on a phone given to him.

"Look, I didn't know what else to do." Bruce explained.

"You leave it alone!" Constantine said exasperated "Look they are harmless to anything they don't bear a grudge towards. Think of it as a force of nature." Constantine said.

"I just want to know how to stop him." Bruce said.

"Well you can't kill it but you can't bring him back entirely. You can just soothe it 'till it stops targeting its victims. It must have died pretty gruesomely to go to these lengths. You need to find where it died and lay it to rest. Properly." Constantine sighed knowing that appeasing this soul would be more than just difficult.

"Danny, come on. Let's go." Bruced said putting a hand on the boy's head as Danny stood up to leave.

"Okay. Bye!" Danny waved to Constantine.

[reverieblondie]

Remember Me?

Pairing: ExNerd!Miguel O’Hara X fem!civillainreader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Praise, Unprotected Penetrative Sex (wrap it before you tap it), , Oral, Cowgirl, Missionary. You and Miguel make a mess...

Summary: Miguel has changed a lot since high school, but one thing remains the same...how he feels about you.

A/N: I have been trying to write about Miguel for weeks now! Every time I get close to finishing something for him I reread it and hate it! So I am posting this before I can change my mind! I hope you all enjoy I tried my best!

Word Count: 6,823

“Pfft…I can't believe this is real; this can’t be real!” Gwen keeps repeating to herself, trying to stifle back her laughter. 

“I know! I couldn’t believe my eyes when Peter showed me but here it is!” Miles agrees; Pav quickly slings his arm around Miles for a better look.   

“Take a look at the specks on him. Did you know he needed glasses?” 

“Flip to the club photo. Now, that will shock you all.” 

At Hobies request the teens quickly start flipping through pages. The sound of flipping pages and then the sudden bursting of laughter from the small huddle was something Miguel could no longer ignore. Miguel wasn’t sure why the teens and Peter were in his office. But since the events with the spot and some well-deserved apologies, Miguel, in the teen's words, “Chilled out,” and now they seem to hang out around him more. Meaning they are often now in his office… Miguel, of course, tried to appear as indifferent as possible to this change of pace, though He had to admit it was somewhat nice to have the cheerful ambiance that came with them... Hell, sometimes they could make him chuckle; Miles was actually pretty funny. But, of course, he keeps these things to himself. 

Miguel makes his way to the huddle to see what could possibly be so enthralling. When he sees what's causing their uproar, his blood runs cold, freezing him dead in his tracks.

Is….that…his….yearbook…

It was turned to his picture and plan as the day under his unrecognizable photo was his name. So there was no getting out of this saying it wasn’t him…

“Miguel, is this really you?” Miles questions pointing to the picture. 

“Must be his name right there,” Pav teases, making Miguel groan. This was an actual nightmare. 

Looking over them, Miguel sees the picture they are all questioning; the difference is pretty night and day. A young 17-year-old Miguel was way scrawnier compared to his now bulking physique. His dark brown eyes were hidden behind his thick black-rimmed glasses, the only ones his mother could afford at the time. Miguel's thick, wavy brown hair looks untamed as it hangs down his forehead, threatening to cover his eyes if not for his glasses, the rest hanging loosely down to the nape of his neck. Poor kid was desperate for a haircut. Their cheekbones and jaw were still chiseled, and his face was not yet littered with lines of stress, sleepless nights, and age.  

Hobie quickly grabs the yearbook, vigorously flipping through the pages until he stops on a picture of a young Miguel holding up a mathlete trophy, awkward smile and all. “This is my favorite picture. Do you still smile like that, bruv?” 

“How did you all get this?” Miguel asks in irritation, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that will somehow stop his building anger and embarrassment. 

Very aware of the sight of Miguel about to rage out, the young spiders quickly part, pointing the blame to a laughing Peter. Who finally quits his laughing fit as now he is staring into the eyes of a very irritated Miguel, waiting for an explanation. 

Peter nervously clears his throat before speaking, “Wel, uh…do you remember a couple of days ago when you told me to drop off that equipment at your apartment? Well…I happened to see this on your living room bookshelf and thought I would look at it. Then I saw how much you had changed… I figured the kiddos would get a kick out of it…”

Miguel's eyes narrow, and his talons pop out, ready to bounce, but that is quickly escalated by Gwen taking back the yearbook, prepared to negotiate peace. 

“Okay, okay, no need to rip his head off; we will return your book.” Miguel's body relaxes as he sighs of relief, holding out his hand for the book, but Gwen smirks, holding the book back out of his reach, “But, you have to show us your old crush first.” 

Miguel’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, freezing at the terms of the agreement, and everyone else, including Layla, starts oohing. Making Miguel pitch the bridge of his nose again, muttering under his breath, “Esto tiene que ser una pesadilla…” (this has to be a nightmare…) 

Then, to make things worse, they start chanting, “Show us….Show us…Show us! Show us!!”

The chatting became too much, and he snapped, holding out his hand irritatedly for the book. “Fine! I will show you; just shut up!” 

A yay fills the room as Miguel starts irritatedly flipping through the book as soon as it’s laid in his hand. Everyone waits in bated breath until finally landing on the correct page. It's the page he spent the summer before college staring at, the picture he had agonized over. Miguel pauses, taking in the picture, and he feels those familiar feelings rushing up and swelling in his chest…Those high school crushes do hit you hard…

Even after all these years, he still remembers you so vividly; seeing the picture always solidifies for himself as confirmation as to why he had liked you so much. Beautiful and popular, everyone would only have positive things to say, even if your friend group wasn’t as nice. Miguel remembers that sweetness fondly. Though, behind that sweet smile, there was a mischievous side of you; he recalls hearing it hidden in your cooing voice when you would say that pet name during chemistry class… 

“Miggy~”     

The memory warms Miguel's cheeks, but he quickly dismisses the feeling. “There, that's her.” 

The teens quickly grab the book back, climbing over each other to marvel at the picture of the girl the oh-so-scary Spider-Man 2099 had a crush on when he was their age. 

“Wow, she's stunning!” Gwen complements 

Miguel hums in agreement, “Yeah… the prettiest girl in my grade…prom queen, part of the student council, incredibly sweet…, and we took chemistry together…” 

Pav and Hobie shoot Miguel a smirk, and he quickly huffs, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Ever work up the nerve to confess?” Pav questions, ever the romantic. 

The group watches as Miguel closes his eyes, thinking that the blush from earlier is slowly rising to his tan cheeks, making them all gasp in excitement. 

“You did!” They all scream, but Miguel is quick to correct them. 

“Well…technically…I didn’t” 

“What do you mean technically?” Miles prys

Miguel can’t believe he admitted this much, but since he's already down the rabbit hole, he might as well give some more context: “At graduation…I kinda did, then I…ran away…”

A look of shock and confusion fills the teenager's face, but Peter is all grins and is going to give Miguel a high five: “Ah, the mysterious type. Nice.” 

Gwen quickly swats him on the shoulder, earning a whine from the man. 

“Not nice! That is so confusing! You just ran? Did you ever talk to her again?” 

Miguel takes a second to avoid eye contact, stoically starting to the side, before letting out a quiet, “No…” 

There is a collective groan, and Miguel rolls his eyes, trying to contain his high school embarrassment. 

“Can we stop talking about this and return to work now?”

“Have you seen her since?” Miles questions, 

“No,” Miguel answers sharply, irritation coming back up.

“Wha-what! How will you ever win her love if you don’t clear up the misunderstanding and confess your true feelings!” Pav laments, making everyone look at him with a raised brow. 

“Pav, mate…you know how long it's been since he's seen her?” Hobie chides 

Pav shrugs slightly, muttering, “Maybe it could be like a romantic thing…” 

“So wait, You have all the resources and never thought to at least search her out? Aren't you curious?” Gwen prods 

“No, I never thought about stalking my old crush. Now, can we please-” 

“She lives in the city!” Miles' voice calls out, making Miguel whip around.

Miles and Layla stand on Miguel's platform with your picture, info, and social media pulled up on his halo screens. Everyone is quick to web over, including Miguel. Miguel quickly pushes away a beaming Miles as he takes in all your information. He sees where you went to college, where you work, and…

“Ooohhh! She's still single!” Pav beams, looking at Miguel expectancy.

Miguel rolls his eyes as he keeps looking at you, still as perfect as he remembered. Somehow, you seem more confident in yourself, you seem…sexier…

Feelings start rising back to Miguel's chest. He hasn’t seen you in so long, and even your pictures still stir something within him. 

“Wow! This is awesome!” Miles beams, pointing to one of the screens 

Miguel, being too lost in your pictures, hasn’t realized what the teens are yammering about until they all start shaking him back and forth in excitement. Then he finally hears it.

“You can see her at your High School reunion! It's coming up in a couple of weeks!” 

Miguel turns his head to the invitation Layla had pulled up. “You got this a month ago but didn’t think you would be interested…. It looks like you will be attending now, though!” 

Before he can protest, she is RSVPing, and all the teens are hollering in laughter and giving high-fives. Everything is happening so fast that all Miguel can do is stand there in something akin to a trance. That's until Pav comes up to him with a giddy smile, 

“It’s like density!” 

Miguel groans…he wants everyone to get back to work…

They really got him here….How the hell did he let them convince him to come here? They even managed to get him to dress up…

Hair in its usually slick back style, slate gray button down that did little to hide his bulk, and black trousers that he thought appeared too tight but Layla had insisted upon.  

Miguel stands uncomfortably off to the side as people he used to know all gather together, chit-chatting about their lives and reminiscing on the good old days… All while Miguel stays sulking in the corner…Maybe things from high school haven’t changed that much. Well, despite the whole genetic splicing that made him a superhero… Instead of still being the captain of the Mathletes team, he's now the CEO of Aleamax. However, one thing remains the same: When he is in a room filled with all these people from school, his eyes still roam around, trying to find you…

High school had not been kind to a nerd like him. He was 9 inches shorter, and the most important things to him were keeping all A’s, getting into his dream college, keeping up with his favorite comic series, avoiding bullying, and wanting so badly to kiss his crush. 

Miguel vividly recalls all those times in chemistry when you two worked so closely together. Miguel shyly mutters the mixing process while you lean in with stars in your eyes, taking it all in. Miguel never knew if you were interested in what he was saying or if you were trying to get a good grade, but he didn’t care. You still made his cheeks flush and heart race all the same. 

“Then…When-when you add fluid B to A, you will get a fizzing reaction…” 

A shaking Younger Miguel tries to steadily pour in the fluids while you watch, leaning in so close he could smell your sweet perfume and look at your glittery glossed lips. 

“Wow! Miggy, you’re so smart.” Your voice would be like sweet honey praising him, and the mere closeness of you to him would make his body feel like it was going to melt. 

“I keep telling my friends I have the best lab partner…” Miguel feels his throat dry as your hand slowly curls over his forearm. Then the bell rings, and Miguel is flustered, packing his things as you smile sweetly and wave goodbye. 

God, you must have been just messing with him, toying with him, knowing he was like a love-sick puppy for you. The worst part, if this was the case, he would have let you…Miguel would have let you toy and bat away at his heart until you felt content with it fully unraveling to you. Pathic…is that what you thought? Well, if it wasn’t what you thought of him before, it must be what you thought after his pitiful confession…

Miguel thinks back to that night when he last saw you…that all too familiar warmth threatens to take him over, so as he stares down at his drink, he slips back to that moment…

The ceremony had ended, everyone had exited the stadium, and Miguel was taking a second to calm himself in the dark hallway. High school was over, and his life was beginning. He was thinking back on all his decisions for this new chapter. Miguel fidgets with his graduation cap and feels about what awaits him. Then he thinks about the things he missed out on…

Then your face comes to mind…he had vowed to confess; even if you laughed and rejected him, he wanted to get his feelings off his chest. But when it came down to it, he let his shyness get the better of him and let you slip through his fingers without telling you. This was high school? He was sure to like other girls…but why was this eating away at him so much? Why did he feel so sick to his stomach for not doing this… 

The sound of clicking heels fills the corridor, and like fate, you are walking through the hallway back toward him. Miguel adjusts his glasses, unsure if this is some kind of halustion brought on by self-pity, but no… it was you…

As soon as your eyes locked to his, your lips curled to that all too familiar smile, the one that was so sweet. Then your voice rang that teasing nickname you graciously bestowed upon him.  

“Miggy, what are you doing, silly? Hanging out in the dark…Don’t you want to go celebrate?” 

“Oh…... I didn’t plan to go to any parties… just going to go home and get started on some summer reading…”

The smile that curled on your lips was additive as you stepped closer to his slouching form, “hm…Miggy…always so prepared… I’m going to miss seeing you around so much. I’m sure you're the only reason I passed chem!”  

“No…I am sure you will have more interesting people to talk to than a nerd like me…” 

“Maybe I like talking to nerds like you.” 

The statement made Miguel look up to see you so close to him mischive filling your eyes. Leaning in so close to him, he feels like he can’t breathe when he looks at you so close like this…

“You don’t mean that…” he chuckles softly.

Then your index finger lifts his chin, and you look at him with sweet eyes, but your tone is stern, “Don’t tell me what I mean…” 

Miguel feels his heartbeat quicken, and his palms begin to sweat. Before he can return to rational thought, he leans into you. 

He so gently cups your cheek with his nervous hands. Brushing his nose against yours, his shaky breath fanning over your sparkly glossed lips. Then, when your lips finally meet, he isn’t sure who fills the gap. 

The kiss was so sweet, and he held you so gently, but he knew you could feel the shaking of his hands and the heat rushing to his face. Everything around you two seemed to fade.

Eyes shut tightly from falling into the depths of the kiss, he pulls away to breathe. Peeking open his eyes, Miguels sees you are breathless, and your face is burning with a deep blush. You look so surprised... and he doesn't know what to say or how to explain. 

“I’m sorry…I just had to do that once…”

Then he ran off… leaving you alone in that dark hallway, scared of what you would say next…

“Miggy!” 

“Miggy!”

“Miguel?” 

Lost in his thoughts, Miguel failed to notice that one of his ex-classmates had been trying to get his attention. One of them must have finally recognized him. Looking up from his cup, Miguel expects to see one of his old mathlete teammates, but as he finally meets their eyes, he feels his heart stop at the sight. 

Looking up at him with that same sweet smile, you look just like he remembers: completely radiant. Your pictures showed you were still beautiful, but in person, you are the thing he remembers most about you: breathtaking.

“Miguel, that's gotta be you… Do you remember me?” -How could he not remember you?

Miguel feels himself staring at his thoughts, running everywhere; what does he say? What does he do? 

“I…I, of course, remember m-my lab partner.” -Okay, a little shaky…But with your face seeming to light up when he says he remembers and your eyes roaming over him, he can’t chastise himself too much for stuttering now. Miguel feels his hands starting to become clammy, and his stomach feels full of butterflies…shit…this feels like high school all over again. 

“I can not believe how different you look!”

“Yeah, late growth spurt and I uh… I started going…to the gym a lot….You though! You still look so beati- uh nice…good you look outstanding…” His mind is running a mile a minute, and he can’t believe how he is acting right now! He's Spider-Man, and he’s acting so nervous?

Smirking, you look as if you could read his mind about how nervous he is, though to anyone with working eyes, it was obvious. 

“You think I look good?” you ask, playful spinning, making Miguel's eyes take in just how tight your dress is. “I was hoping for beautiful…” you smile, giving him a wink. His blood rushes in his veins, and he swallows his suddenly dry throat. 

You could eat him alive…and he would let you…

“Beautiful then, you - uh… you have always looked beautiful…” 

“Thank you, Miguel, you look very handsome.” Miguel feels his heart racing as you step closer. Your eyes stay on his confident smile on your glossy lips. It teeters on cocky, and Miguel can’t bring himself to hate it���he loves it…

“Though Miguel, I do have to say…I miss the glasses; they were really cute.” 

“I still have some that I wear sometimes,” he says a bit too eagerly. 

Your smirk widens, “Really? Does your girlfriend like them?” 

“Oh, I don’t have a girlfriend.” 

The smirk on your lips borders on sinful “Good…” You purr 

Miguel feels a wave of electricity shake through him. Are you flirting? Miguel can’t help the smile and blush that's now reached to the tips of his ears. Miguel came here thinking that you wouldn’t be here, and if you were, you would be avoiding him, but he didn’t expect this. Do you even remember it? Well, of course, you would! Who forgets getting kissed, and then the person runs? He needs to apologize before he never sees you again. 

“So Umm…I am glad I got to see you, well other than it’s just nice seeing you…but I want to apologize…” 

“You’re talking about graduation.” Your cheerful voice cuts him off and utterly confuses him. Furrowing his brow, he’s lost and hoping you can explain. 

“Miguel, I liked the kiss…I wish you wouldn’t had run away…” 

Miguel is sure he’s died, and there is no possible way you're saying this to him. Sweet, perfect you, liked when he kissed you. Nerdy awkward him? Gently, Miguel feels your hands touching his chest, slowly dancing your fingertips over his muscles. Miguel hopes you can’t feel the way his heartbeat is racing right now. 

“You know, now that I really think about it…you owe me an apology or something. It was very rude of you to kiss me suddenly and then run away like that, teasing me. Then, when I went to reach out to you, you didn't have any socials. That's not very nice to do, you know…”  

Your hand slightly grazes his jaw, and he feels like he could melt. Rising to your tiptoes, you try to whisper in his ear as you lean into his chest, your chest rubbing against him. Miguel can feel himself starting to break a sweat. 

“I thought you were sweet…” 

Miguel feels you start to pull away, and in a moment of bravery or desperation, he carefully places his hands on your waist. Leaning down, he whispers back to you. 

“Could I make it up to you somehow?” 

“I have an idea…if you're up for it?”

Gathering his confidence, when he sees your smile, he squeezes your sides slightly, “Anything you want.” 

Without any hesitation, you grab his large hand from your waist and pull him along with you to slip out of the reception room into a dark hallway. The irony is not lost on either of you as you grin and pull each other close. Your lips are so close to his as you lean into his chest. 

“You're not going to run away this time. I want you to do this properly this time…”

Part of Miguel feels like he could be dreaming; your arms are wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangled in his hair, smiling at him so sweetly. Your eyes are one of pure hunger, and your voice is so transparent with your want. It’s perfect. 

Miguel brushes his thumb over your tempting lips, slightly dragging the bottom down while he tries to archer himself back to reality. Moving his hand to your neck as he leans in and kisses you. Your lips are soft and perfectly guiding against his. Miguel's hands fall to your hips; he digs his fingers into the plush of your skin, making you gasp into his mouth with a moan. It’s been a long time since he’s kissed you, and he wants to make sure you know how much he wants you… trying his hardest to impress you. 

The fingers in his hair tighten to a fist as you guide him to part his plush lips, then slip in your tongue to get a taste of him. It’s gentle at first but quickly heats up from your eager influence. Then you start straddling his thick thighs, grinding slightly against him. Both your bodies feel like you’ve been set on fire in a blazing flame of want. 

“Miggy, I always liked you…just-”

Before you can finish your words, Miguel drives his tongue back into your mouth, eager to taste those words he had always wanted to hear. His hands cup your ass as he drives his knee deeper between your legs, letting you use him more. Breaking the kiss, you let out the most perfect moans as your body tingles and shivers. Miguel hasn’t had enough of you yet as he keeps his mouth kissing against your flushed skin. His tongue rolls over your rapid pulse as you keep grinding and mewing for more. 

“Fuck, miggy~”

Miguel licks a long strip up your neck before grunting in your ear, “I… I only came here… to see you…t-talk to you…” 

His rough words make you grind against him more, and right as Miguel starts to feel your slick soaking through his pants, you pull his hair, successfully pulling a whimper from him, which is quickly cut off by your soft lips to his again. Then, as you pull away, you bite his bottom lip, which makes him shiver. 

“Can…can I take you home…” Miguel asks breathlessly, his hands still squeezing your ass. 

A small giggle leaves your kiss-bitten lips as you take a second to fix his now-disheveled hair, thanks to you. 

“Take me to your place, Miggy; you still owe me…” 

Miguel feels a rush of excitement run through him, making his length throb at your words. You really are going to eat him alive…

It's the perfect sight he’s only ever dreamed of seeing, you sitting on his large bed completely naked, a sweet smile on your face, soft legs crossed over each other, waiting patiently for him. Miguel adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose…you had insisted, and he’s finding he can’t deny you…

Miguel slips off his underwear, kicking them away. Your eyes widen as you see his massive length slap against his abdomen, then hanging heavily. Your eyes rake over his immaculate form; the sight of you licking your lips isn’t lost on him. 

“Strip for me, Miggy,” you taunted as you dropped your dress with little effort, waiting for him to follow. Of course, he did. He would follow anything your sweet voice commands. Just please…let him touch you…

Running his hand through his hair, Miguel approaches you, but your sweet voice turns to him in disapproval, and he pauses. 

“No walking, I want you to crawl on your hands and knees…please? Miggy~” 

Every time you use that old nickname, he feels his cock twitch. Keeping his now blazing eyes on you as he slowly sinks to his knees and begins to crawl to you obediently. The action is meant to make him look submissive, but you find that even now, he looks like a predator getting ready to devour its prey… The shiver that shoots down your spine goes right to your sex, making you drip down on his sheets. 

As Miguel crawls closer, you unfold your legs, stretching one out slowly toward him. His large hand immediately catches your ankle. Hungry eyes look up at you, blazing with want, as his hand slowly caresses up your leg. Miguel's lips kiss softly against your calf while he whispers faint words under his breath after every kiss. His eyes watch you as he slowly raises your legs, the back of your thighs being pressed against his broad shoulders.  

Miguel's hands grab your hips, making you slip a moan. His eyes turn softer as he hears you moan, his lips coming away from the fresh mark he's left on your inner thigh. Miguel's lips part to apologize, but you're quick to interrupt before he can. 

Leaning forward, you push his glasses back into their proper place and caress his cheek. “You're doing so well for me, Miguel…though…It does feel like you're trying to make me beg… Are you trying to tease me?” 

Miguel's lips curl into a smile as he lowers his face to lick his tongue against your clit. You throw your head back at the hot contact, Miguel groaning at the sweet taste of your cyprine. 

“I wouldn’t dream of teasing you…” Miguel's lips lower down to your clit before he gives it a quick lick. 

Unable to help yourself, you grab a fist full of his hair, making him let out a soft groan, “Then devore me, Miggy; you still owe me, remember? And I-Ah!~” 

Before you can finish your taunting, Miguel is driving his face into your wet sex to selfishly devore more of you. Long slow licks of his warm tongue send waves of pleasure to flood your body as your toes curl from every push of his nose to your clit. 

His breaths for air huffing against your quivering sex, the tip of his tongue darting back to lick against your soft folds, making you whine. Looking down at him, his glasses crooked and hazy and his groans continue to vibrate through your pussy. Then the sensation of his tongue probing you open makes you close your thighs against his head and grab this thick hair, pulling hard enough for a grunt to slip through his chest. Getting the message, Miguel moves his tongue to lick your sensitive clit as his finger slips into you. Your grip on his hair gets tighter as you squirm, grinding your hips against his face, mouth hanging open as your chest heaves moan after moan. Your body starts shaking at the addition of another finger, making you feel jolts of pleasure that make you need to roll your hips onto his face more. 

Miguel could carless at the apparent use of his face for your pleasure; it's all he craves right now, your cum to dip all over his eager tongue. For your hips grind onto his face for hours. He would stay on his knees worshiping you like this until you're calling out from too much pleasure, and even then, he doesn’t know how he could pull himself away from your delicious taste. 

You feel him groan into you, the vibrations rushing through you to cause you to gasp and shiver as his tongue keeps sliding in and out of you, desperate for your sweetness. You want more, need more, you crave it with every roll of your hips; you want him in you deeply. Unclenching your thighs from his head, you pull his hair, forcing his face from you with a wet pop. 

Miguel's eyes are blown as he keeps them steady on yours, his full lips parted and panting. The sight of his face glistening with a mix of his saliva and your arousal is sinful and complete perfection. His poor glasses are resting on his face, still lopsided from his ravenous pursuit to taste your cunt. Leaving forward, you keep a smile as you hold his cheek; he immediately melts into it. Grabbing his glasses from his head, you toss them to his nightstand; before he can say anything to you, you're leaning forward to bring him into a kiss. His lips and tongue are laced with you, and you can’t help but want to giggle as he groans and leans his whole body onto you, so needy for more. 

With a gentle push to his massive chest, you can change the positions as you now straddle his hips effortlessly. You are slowly running your hands up and down his chest and abdomen, feeling his hair decorating his skin, making your mouth water. As you shift yourself up, you feel his swollen length hanging heavily as you nudge against it. The tip is hot and already pebbling with glistening pre-cum, straining for you to envelope around him. Reaching down, you flick your eyes from his eyes to his length. 

Miguel sure has changed over the years, but his face is so breathless and furrowing with every strained pleasure as you slide your thumb over his cocks slit. Whining so softly, sounding like the sweet nerd you remember. On the other hand, Miguel is witnessing you in a way only his mind had fantasized about. Your smile is no longer so sweet but devious; He wants to push his cock into you so deeply and have you shudder and scream while you gush all over him, But this teasing and taunting… it's mouth-watering. 

Touching his length, you feel the sheer heat of it as you carefully trace over the soft skin, feeling every vein. Tracing over the red weeping tip, you feel him shudder and mumble something under his breath as you grasp him to hold against you, seeing that he measures to your stomach. You can't help but bite your lip in anticipation of the stretch. 

Your eyes flick back to Miguels, “Think it will fit?” you tease.

“I will make it fit…” his rough voice sends a shiver down your spine. 

Lifting to your knees, you line up his tip to brush on your clit, making you gasp as you slip him through your folds. Then finally, you slip him in slowly, feeling his cock stretch your fluttering hole; the stretch is intense and makes you roll your eyes as your back arches. Miguel grabs your ass tightly, bucking his hips to sink in a bit faster; he pants a sorry as you let out a moan and squeeze your hands on his chest for support. Looking down at his beautifully blushing face, you only smile as you sink deeper. 

“So eager, Miggy~” 

All Miguel can manage is a smile as he works hard to keep himself from bottoming out immediately. He so badly just wants to shove it in deeply and rut into you like a damn animal. A groan builds in his throat as he tries to keep himself from whimpering as you continue to sink so slowly. His cock throbbing and stretching your walls as it heats your insides. Before he can manage a whine, you sink all the way down, taking every inch; before either of you can moan, you lean down to catch his lips in a needy kiss, taking control you guide him, your tongue pushes past his lips to taste his groans. While his tongue eagerly does the same. Pulling away from the kiss, you grind against him, relishing in the feeling of his cock pushing in deeper and his trimmed hairs tickling your sensitive skin; you can’t help but bite his bottom lip to compensate for the mind-numbing feeling. 

Miguel's hands squeeze harder, making you release his lip as your cunt to clenchs on him, the moan of his name dropping from your lips as your hips start to grind on him at a slow pace. Using your hands, you slightly push yourself up and rock your hips back and forth, letting his cock slide to bully your gummy insides, brushing your cervix with every nudge. Miguels is mesmerized as he roams his hands over your body, worshiping every inch of your skin with his careful fingertips brushing and rubbing you so tenderly. His hands come to your breast, where he takes a minute to squeeze and pinch your nipples, your whimper in response, and grind harder against his cock, pushing him to rub harder against your cervix.

“You look s-so fucking beautiful…your body, your…tatse…I’ve never stopped thi-thinking of you…” Miguel mutters through pants of hot breaths. 

The words spur you on, and you start to pick up your pace, making him moan out and guide your hips to rock back and forth faster, “Always so sweet…” you coo to him…the words are less taunting but just true; he has always been sweet to you…

“Only for you…” he muses, and you can’t help but smile, 

“Good…” 

You feel yourself starting to sip from having a clear head that's now blurring in a haze of lust as you continue to pursue your pleasure on his girth. Pushing in and out on him quicker. Your hands grab onto him tighter as you ravish your tight pussy with his throbbing cock. Begging for both his and your release. Fucking so deep in you, now your jaw falls slack as his cock keeps pushing against your velvety sweet spot, making jolts of pleasure pulse through your body with every bounce. 

The sweat that has built on your bodies works hard to try and cool your fevered states, but with every push into your cunt and with every clench around his length rousing him to go deeper makes it all in vain. There is no cooling as you two approach your white hot release, bodies only growing more hot and sensitive with every whine and every mind-numbing push. So close to tipping the other to ecstasy…

With a couple of aided thrust from Miguel fucking up into you, your muscles tenase and your mouth falls open in a pitched scream of his name as your danm burst making you clench and shudder on his cock, coming undone on top of him. You're quivering on his length as he carefully grinds you through your drenching pleasure, the feeling of his cock slipping deeper as you eagerly ride him through your high. 

With the way you clench so tightly and grind faster, Miguel couldn't help but feel himself throb and spurt right into your cervix. The feeling of it spurting so thickly, his cock pulsing inside of you, feeling so heavy in you with each twitch. This cum is hot and fills you so that it's leaking down mixing with your arousal, creating a sticky mess. You can't help yourself when you side on more and more feeling your cunt want to stick to his skin. 

Haze starting to clear you fall forward on him, you try to catch your breath in between placing frantic kisses to Miguel's chest and neck. Your orgasm leaves you utterly satisfied, but Miguels is not done…

With a quick turning over your body, you're lying on your back now as Miguel situates himself between your legs. He takes time to look over your flushed form, his massive hands dragging over your sensitive body, and you shiver and buck your hips up. Miguel takes your legs, pushing them up to your chest, making your mew from his touch, your pussy completely exposed to him. Miguel feels his breath catch as his cum leaks out of your trembling puffy cunt in milky drops. Miguel releases one of your legs to fall to his shoulder so he can plam his cock, still erect and ready for more. His red eyes flick back to your blisted-out face, and though you're at the point of overstimulation, you still ache for more. 

“M-Miggy…” you're the one to tremble shyly for him now, and the switch of the roles makes him fold. He’s helpless for you…

Leaning down carefully, Miguel cages you between his massive arms as he places a gentle, sweet kiss on your begging lips. Breaking the kiss, he whispers in your ear so softly, “More? Can you give me more? Perfect girl…let me feel you again…please…” 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling his damp skin, you buck your hips up in your whine of, “More, Please, Miggy ah—I need more of you, always. You are so good to me.” 

He catches your hips in a quick grip as he lifts them up, smiling; it's everything he has ever wanted to hear from your sweet lips. And he is always eager to satisfy you. 

Miguel slips his cock into you with a groan; you're already so sensitive as he pushes down to the base, filling you so quickly that your body already starts quivering around him. Pressing soft kisses to your sweaty skin, he rolls his hips slow and deep. He is taking his time with you. Every thrust is hot and tingling, and you feel that familiar tense starting to build up again from the consistent pace he's set. Managing to open your eyes through moans and rolls, you see Miguel with beautifully flushed cheeks, eyes filled with want as he softly pants and whimpers with each clench of your wet cunt. 

As his pace quickens, you feel him throb, giving you new resolve to meet your hips with each thrust, and your core starts to burn deliciously. Your nails find their place, digging into his broad back. Every slap of his balls to your overly sensitive skin makes you moan and throw your head back. Miguel takes the opportunity to kiss and lick against your neck, his hot breath rushing over you. With a final clench and strained moan, you feel that white-hot wave of pleasure burn through you; his body shudders at the feeling of your cunt, so desperate to cum against him to milk him dry again. His groan borders on a whine as his hips are still, and you feel that familiar throbbing against your cervix as his thick cum fills you up. Looking up at him, you watch his face contort to be in complete pleasure; the sight of it is completely addicting. 

Staying in you till you are both down from your highs, he slowly pulls out his softening cock. The pooling of both of your cum completely ruins the sheets underneath you, but Miguel doesn’t worry about that. He brushes stray hairs from your face and whispers he will be right back. You're too exhausted to move, and you can only twitch slightly as you feel a cool cloth cleaning you up so gently. 

After cleaning you up, you feel the bed sink beside you and the feeling of an arm around you, bringing you closer to his warm body, his other hand brushing through your hair so carefully. You gather your energy to curl into Miguel with a broad smile. You two lay there, slowly drifting away in each other's comfort. 

Clearing his throat, Miguel tries to be as unawkward as possible, and it only manages to make you smile more; you two just had amazing sex, and he’s still nervous; some things die hard, you guess. Looking up at him, you see he’s trying to gather up the best way to approach his next words; this night has been everything he hoped, and he doesn’t want to blow it now, but he needs to know the answer to his question, 

“Can-can I…take you out on a date?” 

His face is completely sincere and flushed; you have to bite back your giggle before you answer. 

“Miggy, about time you asked…” 

You two set the date up for the next night; Miguel, of course, wore his glasses…