#surely not having to do it reflected in a mirror should be easier and yet for some reason everything feels off! ugh.)
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Saw your Mishanks bodyswap art! Very cute and fun! (Mihawk with a genuine smile on his face so so fun)
I imagine Shanks whould have trouble fighting in Mihawk's body at first since it's been years since he's had two arms
yes absolutely, i imagine that too! conversely, i think mihawk would have a little bit of trouble adjusting his balance and reach with a body missing one arm, as well. it's interesting to think about how they both would be forced to change their fighting style, and whether or not they would exchange swords.
mihawk's been seen using yoru with just one hand so he could probably pull it off with shanks's body. also interesting to think about shanks tripping up on having two arms until he naturally slips into his old fighting style again--or would he? because there's also the question of muscle memory, right? would mihawk's body automatically do things that shanks isn't predisposed to doing, and vice versa?
the other thing i find intriguing about body swapping in one piece is the question of whether or not your haki powers would switch as well. they say haki is spiritual presence, so presumably your haki switches if your spirits switch, but if it's the kind of spirit that's tethered to the presence of the body? then consider mihawk having the strongest conqueror's haki out on the blues, or shanks being able to use observation haki at mihawk's level, practically being able to predict the future--or mihawk, able to counter with shanks's haki-kill technique. food for thought!
#rei replies#one piece#mishanks body swap au#mishanks#akataka#dracule mihawk#shanks#akagami no shanks#red haired shanks#re: the genuine smiling#i also like to think shanks in mihawk's body would have this moment where he realizes his cheeks ache from all the smiling he's doing lol#bc mihawk's facial muscles arent used to doing it#and when they switch back shanks teases mihawk about it ('you exercise so many of your muscles hawky but your cheeks? they're weak!')#and he manages to get a smile out of mihawk that's mihawk's version of a genuine smile and it's softer and less wide but it's honest#and oh shanks is soooooo in love with him hahaha#BY THE WAY ALSO I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS OMG but in this body-swapped au mihawk-as-shanks would 100% shave for shanks#like hell is he gonna let shanks grow *stubble* on *his* face. dracule mihawk with STUBBLE? banish the thought!!!!!!#but shanks doesnt do it up to his standards so there's totally a scene where mihawk and shanks are body swapped in the bathroom#and mihawk is standing too close and shaving his lil pointy sideburns and mustache onto shanks's face#and shanks is having a crisis because that's his own face breathing too close and waaaay to intimately but that look of concentration#is ALL mihawk. shanks can practically his eyes--so familiar from the mirror and wrinkled with laugh lines--glow yellow with how#much mihawk looks like himself right now even in shanks's body.#it's all very strange. shanks has been attracted to mihawk for a long time but it's just blatantly unfair that the first time in YEARS#theyre this close again and it's shanks's own body that he has to look at. on the upside he supposes all he needs to do to ogle#mihawk is to look down. pros and cons pros and cons.#(mihawk isnt having a crisis. mihawk is annoyed that hia beard is easier to do in first person it is to do in the third person.#surely not having to do it reflected in a mirror should be easier and yet for some reason everything feels off! ugh.)#i digress
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Hii could you do Simon and his wife arguing like pretty badly and their shouting at each other as their arguing she hears her newborn cry and once she goes to the baby room and feeds looks after her baby she didn’t wanna go downstairs to talk to him she just went on her phone on social media.
(If you’re okay with doing that!)
Thank you so much for the request! I hope that this is what you wanted... I changed it up a little, but I still think it fits the request. Thanks again 🖤
Whispers and Words
Pairing: Ghost (Simon Riley) x Female Reader
Words: Almost 3k (oops)
Warnings: Reader is a new mom, Simon is a bit mean/clueless, reader is insecure, arguing, barely there sexual talk if you squint
Staring back at your reflection in the mirror, a small smile on your lips. You felt like you looked nice. A very casual, but cute dress adorned your body for the first time in a long time. Your baby went down for bed already, giving you a little extra time to yourself to shower and get ready for Simon to get home. You even fixed your hair and put on a little make-up. You felt good.
There really hasn’t been much time over the past 6 months for you to treat yourself, much less dress up. Having a newborn was a full time job! Simon had been gone almost the entire time, not by choice but because of work. You weren’t sure if that was supposed to make you feel any better, because.. Well it really didn’t. You missed him so much, and he missed so many things your baby was accomplishing. Getting bigger by the day. He was home off and on for a combined maybe 4 weeks the past 6 months, two weeks straight after she was born and a few days here and there since. All of that felt like it didn’t even really matter at the moment, your Simon should be home any minute now.
You had decided to spend the time you had getting ready, which didn’t really leave you a lot of time to cook for him like you had wanted. Instead you settled on ordering in from a few of his favorite places, so he would have plenty to eat over the next couple of days. Simon was always a big eater, and you hoped you could get to the market to buy groceries in the next day or two. You loved cooking for him, and he loved eating your food. As much as you would love for him to come home to a big home cooked meal, this would work just fine. The last bit of food you ordered arrived not long ago, so you started moving some food to serving dishes. You hoped it would make it easier on him, just get home and dig in.
Simon was due home about an hour ago, which had you a little worried. You sent him a text about 30 minutes ago, a simple, “You okay?” with no response. You felt crazy checking your phone every other minute, seeing if there was a call or text from him. Nothing yet. You stood from the stool you were perched at, tired of staring at the now cold food. You decided as an attempt to salvage the meal, you moved some food to baking dishes, turned the oven to keep warm and began boxing up the rest for later. Your back was to the door as you had placed the last of the food in the fridge when you heard the sound of a key entering the front door.
Giddiness filled your body, a smile on your lips as you quickly shut the refrigerator door and made your way to the living room. Smoothing your dress nervously as he entered through the doorway.
Simon takes a couple steps in the house, pausing by the door to slip his mask over his head and set it on the side table there for the sole purpose of holding his mask. His eyes then search around the flat looking for you. His tired eyes fall on you with a small smile on his lips. You don’t miss the way his eyes flutter down your frame with slow blinks, which make your cheeks warm. You hoped he liked your dress.
“Look at you sweetheart,” he all but coos, with his arm out for you to fall in with a hug.
You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped once you were in his embrace. Your head rests on his chest, arms wrapped around him as well as you can muster. His strong arms swallow you whole, making you feel a warmth you haven’t felt in a long time.
“I missed you so much, Si.” Your voice is muffled into his chest. You can feel the rumble of his laugh more than you can hear it.
“I missed you,” he responds with a kiss on the top of your head.
You pulled back a little to look into his deep brown eyes, loving that he is here with you more than you can even explain. Simon leans down to press a gentle kiss against your lips, which you return immediately. His hands began working his way over your shoulders, down your spine, before gently resting on your hips. The feeling of his large hands on you in such an intimate spot, that is a bit softer than it was before the baby, caused your spine to straighten.
You pulled yourself from the kiss. “Oh! Food, let me pull it out of the oven for you.” You gave a quick peck to his lips at that and pulled yourself from his embrace to head into the kitchen.
Simon followed in after you, watching you pull a few trays of food from the oven.
“I’m sorry it isn’t homemade… but I ordered all your favorites. I tried my best to keep it warm for you,” you explained. “I was expecting you a bit earlier, so I kept some in the oven for you. The rest is in the fridge!” You clapped your hands together with a small smile. “So you can have more of your favorites over the next few days.”
Once your eyes fell back onto him, he held an odd expression, almost sorrowful. Your throat tightened at the look. Feeling like you made a mistake with the food. Internally cursing yourself, you were so sure he would be excited about having a bit of all his favorite take out, but maybe you were wrong.
“Or if you want I can just put it all up and make you something!” You attempted to sound cheery, but you knew there were barely any groceries in the house.
You turned to the cupboards, looking through them all. Hoping something would magically appear even though you know there isn’t much in there besides some dried pasta, canned goods and cereal. For some odd reason your eyes began to burn with humiliation. Of course he wanted to come home to a home cooked meal, he’s been gone for months and I just ordered him take out.
“Love,” Simon said softly. You ignored him, heading to the fridge. Knowing exactly what’s in there isn’t much better than the cupboards, but you didn’t know what else to do.
Standing there with the door to the fridge open, Simon slips up behind you. He slowly wraps his arms around you, pulling your form firmly against his. Your breath hitched in your throat. As much as you missed his touch, you weren’t prepared for how feeling his strong hands on your soft stomach would feel. Your body has changed a lot since giving birth, which is to be expected, you know that. The both of you just haven’t had any time to be intimate with each other since the baby. Your body needed to heal, and Simon was beyond understanding of that. Then your doctor cleared you, your body was better and this is the first time really seeing him since.
“You did great sweetheart, thank you for ordering all my favorites,” he whispers into your ear. Sending chills down your spine. “I will eat every last bit of it, promise.”
“You sure?” You question softly.
“Of course lovie,” he kisses the back of your head tenderly. “But Johnny asked the team if we wanted to go to the pub tonight.”
Eyebrows pulling down at that with a frown on your face. You turned your head to the side, attempting to see his face from your peripheral.
“What?” Surely he wasn’t going to go.
“Yeah,” Simon pulled back from you to go around the island and perch on the stool you were previously on. “This last mission was a bit tough, and we all wanted to celebrate it going as well as it did. Happy to be back home, ya know?” He says as plain as ever. Reaching over to one of the baking trays and grabbing some chips to toss into his mouth.
“Sure Si, I get it,” you start, slowly turning around to face him. “But… Well it’s just that I haven’t seen you in almost two months, and I was really hoping we could spend some time together.” You bit your lip softly, eyes not leaving his. You hoped he could see the desperation on your face without you having to say it outloud. After a few moments of his blank stare, you decided to change the subject to your daughter. “You haven’t even had a chance to see the baby. And-”
“Y/N, don’t do that.” Simon started with a bit of an edge to his voice. “You know how much I miss you both. I can go out for a couple of drinks with the team, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
“She’s been asleep for a while now, I know she will be up soon. She would love to see her dada, Si.” You felt your heartbeat in your throat now. If he won’t stay home for you, surely he will stay home for her.
“That isn’t fair.” Simon stood from his chair. “You can’t hold her over my head. Our daughter isn’t supposed to be used as leverage.”
“Of course not Simon, that isn’t what I meant. I just meant-”
“What did you mean then? To make me feel even worse about being gone from her? Because I don’t need your help to feel bad about that.” Simon’s voice was unintentionally raising by the second. You had no idea what it was like for him out there, on the job constantly thinking about you and your daughter.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad Si…” You gulped in some air, hoping it’ll calm your pounding heart. “I just have been so lonely and I was really looking forward to being with you tonight,” you explained softly.
“It’ll be a couple hours Y/N.” Simon firmly stated with no room for argument. “I will be back before you know it.”
“I know that, but-” Cries echo throughout the flat, starting at the baby monitor on the kitchen island. You closed your eyes, telling yourself to keep your face even as your bottom lip attempted to wobble. You felt so sad and dejected. “Okay, Si.” You opened your watery eyes and gave a small smile that didn’t quite perk up the rest of your face. “Have fun and be safe okay?”
You didn’t wait for a response before heading to your daughter's bedroom.
“What’s the matter baby girl?” You ask gently as you lean over the crib to pick her up.
“Hungry?” You whisper.
Taking your spot in the corner of the room where your rocking chair is. You set up to feed her. You hum a small song to her as her cries finally calm and she accepts you feeding her. After her little belly was full you made sure that she was burped, then you changed her nappy and she was asleep again. You were grateful she was currently pretty good about getting back to sleep at night. Her tiny body was back in the crib as you looked her over. Perfect in every way. You gently brushed her head one last time before you turned to head back out of the room, but before your hand could twist the knob you changed your mind.
You sat yourself back to the rocking chair, snagging your phone from the end table you had sat it on when you came into the room. You decided to just scroll for a while, not looking at anything in particular, just wanted to mindlessly scroll. Unfortunately it didn’t last long, after 10 minutes of not being able to take your mind off of him. You gave in, phone falling into your lap as the tears began to fall. You held your face in your hand, mascara long forgotten. You tried your best to keep quiet, not wanting to disturb the sleeping baby. Your mind just kept spiraling.
“How could he not want to be here with me?”
“ I felt like I looked pretty… as pretty as I can look anyway.”
“Maybe I should have expected this. It’s so selfish of me to assume he would want to be intimate with me again, looking like this.”
And worst of all, your mind started to wonder if he was even going out with the team at all. “Surely there isn’t someone else… No Y/N stop that.”
You told yourself, nipping that in the bud. Simon would never do that to you, you knew that.
The tears just kept on going and going, until you had no more tears left to cry. You felt exhausted, you couldn’t remember the last time you cried like this and it really took it out of you. Checking your phone again, noting how much time has passed, you decided it was time to just go to bed. Using the back of your hands to wipe away the tears as best as you could before standing with a small sigh. You opened the door gently and slipped out without making any noise at all.
Before heading to bed you wanted to drink some water, you could feel the beginning of a headache coming on. You started on your way to the kitchen, but stopped dead in your tracks before making it more than a few steps. Simon was still sitting at the stool where he was when you went to feed the baby.
“Si, I thought you were gone to the pub,” you breathed embarrassed. You couldn't help but notice the baby monitor in his hand.
“I heard you talking to her, and humming that song you always do,” he started. “And I was just going to listen for a moment until you came back out.” His hazel eyes gazed upon you, heavy with the weight of sorrow. “Then you didn’t come out, and I heard you…” He stopped.
You swallowed nervously, hands knotted into your dress, eyes on the floor. Trying to do anything to avoid the tension rolling off of you in waves.
“Baby,” he started only to falter momentarily. “Look at me please.”
Unsure why, but you just couldn't bring yourself to look up at him. The stool was pushed back, as he gently stood up, his boots thud across the floor stopping in your line of sight.
His thumb and index finger grip your chin gently, pulling it up to force you to look at him. You weren’t sure what to expect, but seeing his beautiful brown eyes watery wasn’t it.
“I’m sorry Si, I didn’t want you to hear that,” you tried to explain. “I’m just being selfish. I don’t want to force you to be here. I’m okay, go out with the team.” You attempt to reassure him. “I just want you to be happy.”
Your poor dress is a wrinkled mess, your sweaty palms constantly bunching and un-bunching the fabric. You weren’t sure why you felt so embarrassed, but you felt shame to your core over him hearing you cry like that.
“You aren’t selfish Y/N, and I am happy, here with you and our daughter. It’s where I am my happiest, love,” he clarifies. “You two are my world, and you don’t need to apologize to me. I am the one who is sorry.” Simon pauses for a second to clear his throat, not allowing himself to get choked up. “I never want to hear you cry like that ever again, especially over me. You don’t deserve that, my sweet girl.” He presses a soft kiss on your mascara stained cheek. “The perfect mama to our perfect baby,” he whispers against your cheek. “My beautiful darling.” Mirroring the previous action, kissing your opposite cheek just as gently as before.
His large hands reach for yours, gently coaxing them from your dress, forcing them to relax. He takes one hand in his and brings it to his lips, placing a soft kiss to it before repeating the same with your other hand. Simon warily looks you over, you are so beautiful, and yet your eyes are so sad. All because you want to spend time with him, how could he be so foolish.
“You look amazing tonight sweetheart, this dress looks great on you,” he gushed. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.” His warm hands resume their spot on your waist.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” you blush.
“Definitely not nothing, love.” Simon realized his mistakes, he was always a bit slow when it came to things like this.
“How about we eat some dinner and get ready for bed love?” He asked sweetly. Large hands engulfing your hips, guiding you to the kitchen. “How does that sound?”
You couldn’t help the smile from forming on your lips.
“I would love that Simon,” you muttered.
Once he gets you to sit on a stool, he grabs some plates for the two of you and places a bit of food on each before sliding the plates over to where the stools are. Simon takes his spot beside you, and leans over to you and whispers, “Maybe then we can have some dessert, yeah?”
Your eyes widen at that, as your duck your head to hide your burning cheeks.
“You up for it, lovie?” Simon beckoned, placing a kiss on your warm cheek.
“I- uh I mean we can, do whatever you want,” you kiss his cheek in return.
“I have a few things that I want.” Simon says with a grin. “Eat up sweetheart.”
Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you enjoyed it, and let me know if you have any ideas or requests.
#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#reader insert#simon riley#call of duty#fic recs#thank you#dad!simon
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Lost and Found - Eddie Munson x Reader (Part 2) | Part 1
WC: 7.0K / navi / preview / request
Summary: Eddie is happy to teach you everything he knows about DnD, he just wishes you weren't so goddamn distracting
Contents/Warnings: eddie n wayne, besties forever <3 very very fluffy lots of yearning and ridiculously cheesy moments, lovesick!eddie, reader wears a skirt and eddie's hellfire shirt from part 1, suggestive material, but still minor-friendly (part three will not be)
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
“Christ on a cracker, son,” Wayne swears, nearly pushed to the ground as Eddie slams the trailer door open, “Calm down.”
“Sorry Wayne!” Eddie barely takes a second to breathe before he flies through the space, feet pounding on the matted carpet of the trailer as he races to his bedroom.
“What’s the rush?” Wayne is well aware of his nephew’s recreational habits, as well as his business endeavors, and shudders to think that there might be some drug-crazed lunatic after the boy.
But Eddie pops his wide-eyed face out from his bedroom only seconds later, shirt and pants torn off to leave him in his boxers as he darts for the shower, “There’s a girl coming over.”
That’s a new one. Wayne has heard a few feminine voices outside the trailer before, when they’re out of stock and need replenishing, but Eddie never showers for them. He probably should, Wayne always tells the boy that if he stinks any worse he’ll have to move out, but he’s never shown an interest until now.
“And,” Wayne peers into the bathroom, seeing Eddie frantically combing out his hair, the plastic nearly snapping under the pressure he’s putting on it, “This is a special girl?”
“I- I don’t know,” Eddie huffs, his crazed panic still alive as he whirls around the bathroom for a clean towel, “Sort of. I don’t really know her yet.”
“Y’know ‘er enough to care.” Wayne prompts him, and Eddie deflates slightly. He’s looking in the mirror, trying to part his hair neatly so that he can wash it easier. He stops, his hands falling from his head to his sides as he stares hard at his reflection.
“I want to impress her.” Eddie admits, his usual self-assuredness now gone, “Or- impress isn’t right,” He puzzles for a moment, his eyes drifting over his features, “Just- I don’t want to scare her away.”
“Well I think it’s good you’re showering then,” Wayne lightens the mood, “‘Not sure she could handle your B.O.”
“Shut up,” Eddie takes the out, shoving at his uncle’s shoulder with no real force, “I’m gonna order pizza for us. She wants to learn how to play DnD.”
Wayne’s eyebrows skyrocket, “She wants to learn? Or have you kidnapped and brainwashed her like those basketball players tell me you do?”
“She’s under my control,” Eddie rasps, his voice thick in his throat.
Wayne snorts, standing up straight from where he’d been leaning against the doorframe, “Alright, boy. I’ll leave you to it, but if you need help getting ready for tonight, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” Eddie breathes, flashing his signature grin at his uncle before he shuts the door.
Wayne watches the closed door with something light and airy filling his chest, maybe laughing gas at the way he chortles hearing Eddie drop the comb into the sink for the tenth time since he started. Then he turns, and the reality of their home hits him.
It’s messy.
Far too messy to accept company, which is why the pair hasn’t for years. Aside from Eddie’s trusted friends, all of whom are far too sloppy themselves to bat an eye at the general clutter around the trailer, no one has set foot in their space for five long years.
Now, he’s all for encouraging Eddie to be himself, that if someone doesn’t like who he is, then they’re not fit for a friend. But he’s sure that you’re far too important to Eddie for that test just yet, and he’s not sure he wants you to get to know his nephew as messy when there’s so many other qualities he possesses. That’s something you can discover later, when you’re hooked on his charm and wit and won’t mind stepping on a pair of boxers or two to get down the hallway. He gets to work clearing away mindless clutter, collecting shirts strewn over the furniture and paper plates tucked under the couch.
By the time Eddie finishes showering (and falling, twice), Wayne has the entire living room de-cluttered, although most of the loose papers and items have made their way onto the kitchen table instead of being put in their places. Eddie steps out of the bathroom, towel tucked around his waist and a hand in his curls, dragging his fingers through the wet tangles, and he stops dead in the doorway, eyes wide.
“Shit,” He breathes, watching his uncle crouch to tug an empty beer can out from behind the door and stuff it into the trash bag he’s got going, “Wayne, what are you doing?”
“Cleaning up,” Wayne states the obvious, raising an eyebrow unimpressed at his nephew’s cognitive skills, “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Are-” Eddie stops combing through his hair, standing limply in front of his uncle, “Are you doing this ‘cause Y/N’s coming over?”
“That’s her name?” Wayne smiles, “‘S a pretty one.”
“You are,” Eddie marvels, “Uh, thanks, Wayne.”
Wayne’s hands and knees burn against the scratchy carpet, the beer can in his hands sharp from being crushed. He stands, the worn fabric of his flannel falling limp against his distressed jeans. He stands there, tattered and messy, looking at the way Eddie’s cleaned himself up.
He’s wearing a tank top, a KISS shirt that he was gifted on his tenth birthday. It’s got tour dates on the back, one of which Wayne took Eddie to as a present. Apparently it didn’t look good enough as a t-shirt though, because the boy had taken scissors to it a few years back, carving out holes the size of craters that expose part of his side.
His hair is bundled up in a bun atop his head, scrunched up and crimping itself while it dries. He always tells Eddie not to do that, to leave it down so that each strand can dry individually, but Eddie hates the feeling of wet hair on his skin, so he pulls it up and leaves it sitting until he can blow-dry it.
The same ripped jeans he’d worn to school are back on his waist, belt cinched tight around him with his handcuffs pinned there. Wayne always tells him he’ll confuse someone, make them think he’s an undercover cop, but Eddie only laughs at him. There’s a chain hooked through his belt that rests on his hip, dipping close to his knee and gleaming in the artificial light above them.
There’s two necklaces bouncing against his chest as he walks over to help Wayne with the overflowing trash bag, his typical guitar pick and a dog tag he’d found in the street one day. It says Sprinkles on one side, but Eddie swears that it looks metal if he turns it the other way, the owner’s number stamped across it.
He has an earring in. Eddie almost never puts an earring in, because his at-home ear piercing hadn’t produced the most sanitary results. He says it burns when he wears earrings, but here he is, a heavy silver hoop through one ear and a black cuff pinched tight at the helix of the other.
Wayne looks at his nephew, his boy, and pride surges through his chest. Pride, a little bit of awe, and happiness. He cares. This is something Eddie really cares about, you are something Eddie really cares about, and it’s obvious by the things he’s done for you before you’ve even come over. Eddie has always cared, perhaps a bit too much, and it’s easy to tell when he does from the little things he pieces together to show it.
“You look good, boy.” Wayne breaks the careful silence the two had slipped into, watching Eddie tug the straps to the garbage bag. He reddens slightly, his cheeks flaring in color, something akin to the shade of the tomato soup he’d managed to botch for last thursday’s dinner. How the boy had undercooked a can of soup, he’d never know.
“Thanks, Wayne.” Eddie mumbles, forearms flexing as he ties a knot into the strings of the garbage bag, “I’ll take this out.”
“We should start on your room,” Wayne points out as Eddie tries making his frantic exit, spooked by praise. Eddie nods once, and Wayne lets him escape to the dumpster to process the emotions he’s got swirling inside of him.
He knows the boy gets shy around praise, which is why he tries not to overwhelm him. But today is different, today is a bigger step than he’s seen Eddie take in a long time, and it’s hard not to burst with pride.
When Eddie comes back inside Wayne is already tiptoeing around his room, dodging suspicious socks and cassette tapes strewn about. Eddie gets to work stacking those, a comfortable silence falling over the pair as they set to work.
“Wayne?” Eddie’s voice is timid, meek.
“Yeah?” Wayne reaches under his bed, pulling out a magazine that he shouldn’t have and a sock, something Wayne doesn’t want to think about as a pair.
“Do you.. Do you really think I look nice?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth he’s stammering, shaking his head so that his bun wobbles dangerously, “I- I mean, like- not like nice, but do you… you think she’ll like it?”
“Son, if she asked you to teach her about your game, I’m sure she’s not scared of you.”
“But is that enough? Shouldn’t she,” Eddie abandons the cassettes in his hand, scratching bashfully at the back of his neck and combing through the stray hairs there, “I dunno, like me? Not just not hate me?”
“Well I’d give her some time if I were you,” Wayne chuckles, reminded of the restlessness of youth, “You’ve only known her a day.”
“Right.” Eddie nods frantically, eyes glued to the tapes he busies himself with again, “Yeah, I will.”
“Hey,” Wayne reaches out, bracing a hand on Eddie’s knee that’s bouncing frantically, “You’ve got this, boy. You can do this. She’ll love you.”
The word love has Eddie’s cheeks flaring the color of it, a deep red that Wayne sees most often on valentine’s day cards. He chuckles once more at his nephew’s crush, shaking his head and getting back to sorting through clutter.
--
By the time Eddie’s watch beeps, a tinny, mechanical sound that has him leaping onto his feet to rush for the door, they’ve gotten his room mostly under control. There’s a pile of dirty laundry stull bulging out of the closet, but that can’t be avoided, as the hamper is broken from a rather unfortunate sledding endeavor a few months back. You’ll just have to live with the sight of yesterday’s t-shirt in the corner, they decide.
“Okay, uh- thanks, Wayne.” Eddie brushes his hands on his pants, already sweaty from nerves, “I’m gonna go pick her up now.”
“Right,” Wayne stands, trash bag in hand with all of Eddie���s discarded food wrappers and beer cans, “Good luck, son.”
The term flares up Eddie’s blush again, but Wayne doesn’t comment on it, offering him a quick hug, a simple pat to the back. It’s all Eddie can handle right now, already a bundle of nerves that he doesn’t want spilling out.
“There’s a $10 on the fridge,” Wayne calls out after Eddie bounds down the steps of the trailer,tugging the rubber band out of his hair and letting it spill over his shoulders, “Use it for pizza!”
“No, no,” Eddie waves his uncle off, plunging his hand into his pocket to retrieve his wallet, “I got it!”
“Eddie,” Wayne glares at the stubborn boy, “Use the money on the fridge.”
Eddie balks at the aggressively kind gesture, but a wry smile curves over his lips, “Whatever. I’ll just sneak cash into your jacket while you’re asleep.”
“You will not,” Wayne huffs, but Eddie’s already taken off for his van, slamming the door behind him with a hearty laugh at his uncle’s grouchiness.
When Eddie pulls up to your house, having checked the little slip of paper buried in his pocket, oh, around a thousand times, one of the upstairs lights is on. It’s the only one on, the rest of the windows pitch black, and Eddie worries that maybe something is wrong. Your house looks near abandoned, but at the rough chugchugchugging of his engine, a downstairs light flicks on. He catches your silhouette thumping down the stairs and sees the outline of a skirt over your hips. His stomach flips and he shuts off the van, hurrying out so that he can beat you to the door. It seems gentlemanly, something he’s never been too concerned about, but it feels right in the moment.
He’s inches from the door as you wrench it open, a fist raised to knock while you step out of it, not expecting him there on the other side. Your eyes widen but you can’t stop your momentum, stumbling clumsily into his chest despite your efforts to slow down.
“Oh!”
“Eddie!” You speak in unison, your voices mingling just as your limbs do. His arms wind around your waist, laying over his hellfire shirt that you’ve tucked into the waistband of your skirt. The material is soft under his touch, but not as soft as your face, which hits his shoulder in your scuffle. Eddie feels a burst of warmth flood through him at the skin-on-skin contact, and holds you steady as you right yourself against his chest. Your hands brace themselves frantically on his stomach, your chest heaving as you gape at him, “I’m so sorry! I- I wasn’t paying attention, I just heard you coming, and- and,”
“If you were that excited to see me,” Eddie doesn’t know how he’s being as suave as he is, because his heart is practically hammering through his ribcage to affix itself to you like a lovesick leech, “You could have asked me to come earlier.”
You feel your cheeks flare with heat as you slump forwards, the crown of your head hitting Eddie’s clothed chest, “Stoooop.”
Eddie chuckles, adjusting the pitch of his voice to your own, “Stoooop.”
“You’re mocking me!” You shove at him lightly, making him stumble a step backwards, “You’re the worst.”
“Hey,” Eddie finally lets you go, his skin instantly cold where it had once touched yours, “You gotta be nice to me. I’m teaching you DnD, remember?”
“Fine,” You huff dramatically, “You get a pass, but only for tonight!”
“Deal.” Eddie’s eyes gleam with mischief, “Ready?”
“Ready.” You confirm, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet.
“Van’s there,” Eddie gestures to his van, nearly tripping over his own feet when you grab his hand, eagerly tugging him along, “Woah!”
“I told you I was ready.” You gush, the words coming out in a soft giggle that makes his heart burst.
You look out of place in his van, too heavenly to be wriggling comfortably into his worn seats. There’s a half-drunk water bottle by your feet that crunches beneath your shoe, and you apologize hurriedly for crushing it.
“‘S okay sweetheart,” Eddie snickers, reaching down to pluck it out from under your feet, “It’s, like, months old.”
“Eddie,” You chide, “It’s probably growing something!”
“It’s fine,” He urges, snickering at your horror, “It’ll put some hair on your chest.”
He leaves you with that, shutting the door to your side of the car and jogging around to the driver’s side door. He wrenches it open, his hair bouncing against his chest as he sits down with a flounce. The radio that he has is already preloaded with the cassette tape he uses whenever he drives Wayne anywhere, his favorite metal artists and their less-overwhelming songs. Wayne always says heavy metal ‘makes his ears bleed’, he’s more into classic rock, but Eddie will be damned if he isn't listening to Mötley Crüe on any drive longer than two minutes. He figures that he’ll be courteous to you at first, just in case metal isn’t your thing either.
To his surprise, a minute into Merry Go Round, your brow dips in concentration.
“Mötley Crüe, right?”
Eddie swears he nearly passes out. His usual response to surprising information, a dramatic flailing of his limbs, doesn’t seem very safe just now, and you’re lucky he doesn’t jerk the wheel to the side.
“Yeah,” He grins dazedly, “You listen?”
“Sometimes!” You pick at a loose thread on your skirt, “I’m into a bit of everything. Really jus’ whatever comes on the radio.”
Eddie suddenly likes you more, if possible. Everything new that he learns about you only adds to the little list of Reasons he Cares, the first and most important being that you’re kind to him. He would never admit it, but he’s like a little lost puppy, trailing after the first person to scratch behind his ears.
“I like your van.” You muse, and it’s so genuinely sweet it nearly makes Eddie scream. You brush your fingers over a Black Sabbath sticker that’s peeling off of the dash, reaffixing the dusty backing to the smooth plastic. It doesn’t stay, it pops right back up again, but you’re onto the next detail now, a pair of old sneakers in the door, autographed by the patrons that watch him perform with his band.
“These are cool,” You marvel at the sloppy, mostly-drunken signatures scrawled over the canvas, “Who are they?”
“Our fans,” Eddie boasts proudly, even though he’s sure seven hammered 40 year olds aren’t the most impressive thing in the world when it comes to an audience, “They watch us perform, remember my band I told you about?”
Eddie watches your eyes light up from the rear-view mirror, but you’re lucky he doesn’t take his eyes off the road completely to see them unfiltered.
“That’s right!” You remember your earlier conversation, “That’s so cool, Eddie, you’ve got fans!”
“We do,” He chuckles, fingers sweating against the steering wheel as you near his trailer, “You should come to one of our shows sometime.”
“If I do, do I get to sign the sneakers?” You’re far too excited to put your name on a pair of ratty old shoes, repurposed as a trophy, but Eddie would be willing to buy a new pair just so that your name can be the only one on the fabric. He thinks about that, about having your name displayed over him, and blushes. He hopes you don’t catch it.
“Of course you can,” Eddie promises, turning much more carefully than he normally does into his typical parking spot, the van sputtering to a stop when he removes the key. He turns to you before you open the door, “How about this saturday?”
“Next,” You compromise, “My parents get back Saturday night and I can’t be out without them knowing.”
“Your parents are gone?” Eddie cocks his head to the side, crimped hair bouncing as he does.
“They’re getting the last of our stuff from our old house,” You nod solemnly, “We don’t even have mattresses here yet.”
“No shit? What have you been sleeping on?”
“The couch,” You recount sadly, “It’s not very comfortable, but it’s better than the floor.”
“Damn,” Eddie sympathizes, yanking on the latch of his door and hopping down, “Well, babe, I’ve got a mattress inside, if you’re interested in staying the night.”
It’s bold, brazen, uncouth, but he tops it off with a teasing grin, so it’s okay. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, happy that it mostly filled the empty van as he slams his door, rounding the front to open your own for you.
“Very gentlemanly,” You praise him, slipping your hand into his to step down from the lifted van, “I’m impressed.”
“Well don’t get used to it,” He teases, squeezing you against his side with a hand that drifts suspiciously low, “I’m not usually this nice.”
“I must be special.” You concur, giddiness in your grin that sends Eddie’s stomach into a cartwheel.
You are, Eddie nods once at you, afraid to voice his thoughts in case they somehow ruin the unspoken adoration between you, More than you know.
Eddie’s pleased to find nothing but a slight oil stain in Wayne’s usual parking spot, his uncle having predicted that Eddie would want alone time with you. He’s half expecting to find a box of condoms on the kitchen counter when he walks in with you, but flicking on the light of the trailer reveals only a spotless living space, junk shoved in drawers to be dealt with later.
“I like it.” You decide with a curt nod, eyes landing on the array of DnD paraphernalia stacked on the couch, “Oh, I almost forgot! I brought you this.”
You reach into the waistband of your skirt, the slim paperback book you were reading earlier neatly molded to your side. It doesn’t retain the curve of your side, flattening back out into its shape as you hold it out to Eddie.
You swear you catch his eyes wandering towards the spot that you’d just pulled the book from, but they snap up to meet your own before you can verify it. He takes the book from you with an eager grin, “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“Y’wanna swap?” You stride over to the couch, plucking a book titled Players Handbook: Compiled Information for Players and Dungeon Masters out of the pile.
Eddie falters slightly, surprised that you’re so eager to get into what might be the least exciting part of learning DnD: the rules.
“Sure,” He nods carefully, taken aback, “Lemme just clear the couch.”
He bends over to do so, and you can’t help that your eyes trace the newly-exposed skin of his chest. The shirt he’s wearing already reveals his side, but as his arms stretch to grab boxes and papers off of the cushions in front of you, it shifts to show his stomach.
You don’t realize you’re staring until he stops in front of you, an eyebrow raised that you don’t catch because you’re ogling him.
“Everything okay?” To your horror, there’s a twinge of amusement in his voice, and you’re certain he’s caught you.
“Yes!” You scramble to act casual, thumbing past the cover of the book to appear busy, “Yes, let’s get started.”
Eddie sits before you do, surveying you with that same cocky gaze. It makes you nervous, your stomach churning slightly, and you perch on the end of the couch that he’s not spread out over.
He lets out a scoff, reaching out, “You can get comfortable, Y/N, I don’t bite.”
He does, however, grab, which you find out when he yanks your legs out from under you, tugging them outwards so that they rest over his lap. He’s reclined against both the arm of the couch and the back cushion of it, looking far too composed for the rampage of butterflies against his stomach.
You melt into your new position so naturally that it scares you. It feels right, cracking the spine of the handbook while your legs are draped casually over Eddie’s lap. Stretching out and getting comfortable on Eddie’s couch seems just as casual as it does on your couch, and you can’t help the dizzy grin that spreads over your face as you realize this.
“Somethin’ funny?” Eddie’s brow quirks at your expression, and you bury it behind the book, shaking your head.
“Right,” He sets a hand over your ankles, locking your legs into their position on his lap, “Lemme know if you’re confused, babe, I’m here to help.”
--
Though the DnD handbook is informative, and slightly exhilarating to peruse, you hope that the actual gameplay is less complicated than it sounds. You’re barely twenty pages in, a good 40 minutes gone by, and you’re not sure you can keep all of the information straight in your head. Hopefully Eddie cuts you some slack, or else you might seriously slow down their game.
"Page?" Eddie glances up from the pages of your novel, peering over at the handbook in your grip.
You look to the corner of the page from where you'd been reading up on character classes, "23."
"The Fighter." He speaks in a low voice, raspy and dramatic. You giggle, half amused by his theatrics and half impressed that he's managed to memorize the 130-page handbook in front of you.
"What about you?" You glance pointedly at the book in his hands, shifting your feet in his lap slightly. You don't realize it, but they press against a rather sensitive spot, and Eddie hunches slightly, his stomach caving in as he tries remaining composed.
"Uh," His eyes frantically skim the page, wide and panicked until they lock on a familiar name, "Weylin- Weylin is just, uh, crossing over the Bridge of Lost Souls."
"Ooh," You wriggle slightly in your place on the couch, consequently burrowing your feet further into Eddie's lap, "I love that part! You meet Ionia soon, you'll love her!"
He can’t take it anymore.
“Uh,” He shoots off of the couch, lowering your feet carefully back down to the cushions where he was sitting, “I’m getting kinda hungry. Pizza time?”
“Pizza time.” You nod jovially, flipping a page in the handbook, seemingly unconscious of Eddie’s predicament, “Pepperoni?”
“And sausage.” Eddie nods, “Be right back.”
When he comes back, tugging a crumpled bill out of his pocket to use for the food and pointedly avoiding his uncle’s money, you tuck your legs up under you to set him sit down. He peers over the top of the handbook, eyes drifting to the words appearing upside-down in front of his face.
His nose hooks over the tops of the pages, and you can’t help it: you giggle. He glances up amusedly at you, his own sweet laugh filling the air as he crumples into your lap. You raise the book over your head so that he doesn’t have to slip under it, and his eyes meet yours from where he lays on your legs.
You stare down at him, entranced by his features. His soft cheeks, his sloped nose, the tinge of red that spreads over his skin. His eyes, shiny and smooth, like melted chocolate that you can taste on your tongue. You brush a hand over his forehead, gathering up loose flyaway hairs that have gathered there. They’re malleable and wiry in your grip, and you twirl them around your finger once, twice, thrice, until they form a spiraled curl.
His eyes follow your finger, doe-like as they cross to track your movement. When you let the hair go it springs off of your finger, bouncing down to rest over his nose, and his eyes dart inwards to follow it.
Apparently it tickles his nose, because he scrunches it up, miniscule wrinkles etched like waterways on a map into his skin. You smooth the terrain, running the soft pad of your finger down the bridge of his nose and marveling how his face relaxes as your touch waves over it.
He shivers slightly under your finger, and you notice a bridge of freckles, the lightest you’ve ever seen, dotting his nose. They stand strong over all of the rivers you have yet to flatten, stretching down towards his mouth in beautiful smile lines.
“You’re pretty.” You muse, your voice barely more than a whisper as you trace his features. He lets his eyes flutter shut when your fingers brush under them, his lashes tickling your skin.
“Thanks, sweetheart.” He coos, the softness of his voice gaping that growing sinkhole of adoration that’s been tugging at your chest ever since you met him. His pretty face, his sweet words, his kind actions, all of them mark him as safe, as good, as loveable.
With his eyes closed, you’re allowed to be as obvious as you want when ogling him, not that you were very subtle before. Your eyes latch onto his lips in a similar fashion as you want your own to do, roving over every crease, mark, and indent in the soft, pillowy muscles.
Before you can think about it, you touch them. Your fingers, their pads soft and hesitant, prod gently at his lips. That has his eyes shooting open, carmeled brown irises meeting yours in shock.
Though you feel his gaze on you, you don’t stop. You let your hands linger on his face, soaking up every second of dazzlingly intimate contact you can get with the man. He studies your face while you study his, the both of you barely breathing while watching the other sit pretty. You swear you feel Eddie’s lips shift under your fingers, puckering ever-so-slightly to kiss the tips of your fingers, but then-
The hollow, sharp knock on the door of Eddie’s trailer shatters the intimacy of the moment, plunging you back into reality from the serene haze you’d been trapped in. You both fall from the clouds you’d lounged atop, plummeting back to earth with the thump of your hearts in your chests.
“I’ll get it,” Eddie scrambles up from where he’s draped over your lap, rushing to the door and snatching the cash off of the counter. You straighten yourself out while he grabs the pizza, cheeks aflame as you look around the room to avoid looking at him. You see a stack of vhs movies in the corner by the television set, and your eyes catch a familiar title.
Labyrinth.
“Okay,” Eddie sets the pizza on the counter, grateful for the paper plates the place provided you, “One slice or two?”
“Two,” You grin eagerly, reaching for the tape, “Are you the reason this was missing from the video store yesterday?”
He laughs at the sight of the VHS in your hands, “Yep, ‘had it since it came out.”
“Rude,” You scoff, “I wanted to watch it last night!”
“Bummer,” Eddie scrunches his brows, faux-sympathy written on his face, “‘Guess you’ll just have to come over whenever you wanna watch it.”
“Well I’m here now…” You push, clutching the case hopefully.
“Pop it in,” Eddie laughs, gesturing towards the machine, “‘Should be rewound already.”
You kneel by the VHS player while Eddie brings your plates over, and your back faces him. It gives him the perfect opportunity to ogle you, only feeling slightly guilty when his eyes trace the curve of your ass.
You turn before he can admire how the Hellfire shirt exposes the angles of your shoulders, abandoning its post and leaving your neck bare. He watches the skin there shift, muscles beneath the surface tensing as you crane it downwards to slide the tape into the receiver.
“We’ll work more on DnD later,” Eddie promises as the main titles roll, music filling the otherwise silent trailer, “We’ve still gotta get a character figured out for you.”
“‘M excited,” You speak through a mouthful of greasy pizza, pepperoni sticking to your lip, “Thanks for the pizza, Eddie.”
“‘Course sweetheart,” He grins at you, then hides his blush in the red tomato sauce on his bread.
Eddie truly believes that you’ll go over more later for the game. But when you finish both slices of your pizza, hands covering your stomach tenderly as he’s sure it’s stuffed, and curl up against the arm of the couch, he knows nothing else is getting done tonight. Your eyes are glued to the screen, Sarah’s dress glittering as her hair flounces with every movement of the couple. He’s never been a Bowie fan, but he reckons you are by the way your eyes shine whenever he’s on screen.
He’s jealous of David Bowie.
Oh, fuck, he never thought he’d sink this low. But he feels something unfamiliar and sharp prod at his chest whenever you pay just a little too much attention to the man on screen, and he prods at your feet with his own.
“Hoggin’ the couch,” He chides you, with no real scorn as he tangles his legs with yours, “Stretched out like you own the place.”
“Sor-ry,” You huff dramatically, clocking his teasing grin and knowing he’s just messing around, “It’s not my fault your couch is comfier than mine.”
Eddie remembers your admission, that you’ve been sleeping on your couch for god-knows-how-long, and his stomach sours. He studies your face, the way that your eyelids droop even though you’re clearly enjoying the movie, the wrinkling of your chin as you yawn. You’re clearly exhausted, and his space is the comfort you need.
He feels something akin to pride at that. You not only feel comfortable enough around him to curl up on his couch, but you feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. He might be new at this, the whole relationship thing, but he knows that’s big.
Suddenly he doesn’t feel such a large blade of jealousy stabbing at his heart anymore, because you’re not cuddled up to David Bowie on David Bowie’s couch, are you? No. You’re curled up with him, on his couch.
Take that, Bowie.
--
It’s around the one-and-a-half hour mark, only ten minutes before the movie ends, that he realizes he’s the only one watching. He’s been glancing back and forth between the screen and you for ages now, but when he checks up on you this time, you’re asleep. He can see your chest rising and falling, his shirt still worn proudly over your frame, and a sleepy smile curves over his face. Your lashes kiss your cheeks, casting shadows down your face that look like spiderwebs. It looks cool, and he makes a mental note to ask you if you’d let him put eyeliner on you to see if he can turn it into a spiderweb. It’s a design he’s been meaning to do on himself, but if he needs a model, why would you turn him down?
The end of the movie isn’t so entrancing to him anymore now that you’re snoozing, and once more he lets his eyes drift over your frame. Your skirt is tucked neatly under your bum, but your thighs peek out of it, soft and plumped by the way you’re laying. Then his eyes rove over your shirt, the familiar, hand-crafted design looking better on you than it ever has on him or his friends. It’s odd, seeing the shirt on anyone but the boys in his friend group, but he quickly decides that it’s his favorite outfit of yours, and that nothing in the world could top it.
The end credits announce themselves in an encore of the film’s soundtrack, and Eddie reluctantly parts from the cozy embrace you’ve found yourself in. He ejects the tape, stuffing it back into its case and tucking it carefully back onto the stack. Now that he knows it’s his ticket to time spent with you, he’s much more reluctant to take it back to Family Video tomorrow like he’d planned. Maybe he’ll keep it, late fee be damned.
“Y/N,” He hates the thought of waking you, but he hates the thought of inconveniencing his uncle even more, and you’re curled up on what will become Wayne’s pull-out.
“Y/N,” He tries again, soft and soothing as he taps your shoulder gently, “Wake up, we’ve gotta get you home.”
The clock only reads 10:23, but he’d feel guilty getting you home at an indecent hour. Typically, Eddie’s philosophy is etiquette be damned, but he has a feeling you wouldn’t be too happy about being dumped on your front porch after two in the morning.
“Y/N,” He slips a hand under your torso, his other sliding under your legs, “C’mon, wake up.”
You don’t. You must have really had trouble sleeping on your couch, because now that you’re dozing off, you don’t seem to wake up easily. Worry gnaws at Eddie’s chest as he hoists you into his arms and you don’t wake, only sighing contentedly and curling closer to him.
His eyes widen and his cheeks burn as you snuggle up to him unconsciously, your cheek pressed against his KISS-clad chest. Your nose nudges into his neck and he swears he sees stars, his knees weakening at the intimate contact like you hadn’t just been touching his lips hours beforehand.
“‘Gonna be the death of me,” He mutters, voice devoid of any real anger as he trudges down the hall to his room. His bed is neatly made, pillows stacked at the head that he reaches up and kicks down with one of his socked feet. It flops flat onto the mattress with a thump, and Eddie lowers you as carefully as humanly possible onto the bed. You aren’t too keen to let go, though, because your arms stay tightly wound around his neck. He tries straightening but you come right back up with him, brows scrunching in displeasure at being jostled around.
“Sweetheart,” Eddie laughs, lovestruck, “‘Gotta let go.”
“Eddie,” You mumble hazily, sound far too much like a lover he’s just accidentally jostled by getting out of bed to get ready for work in the morning, “Don’ go.”
“I can’t leave you here,” He reasons, returning your favor and smoothing out the wrinkle in your brows with his thumb, “I’ve gotta grab my keys and shoes, then we’ll take you home.”
“Nooo,” You whine, sleep tugging at your voice, “‘S too cozy here. I don’t wanna leave.”
“But no one knows you’re staying here,” Eddie’s afraid that your parents might come home early, discover their child missing, and storm his trailer with pitchforks, “Don’t you wanna head back home to your own bed?”
"Couch.” You mumble grouchily, “My parents aren't home," Your voice is groggy and weak, but Eddie swears it's more angelic than any hymn he's ever heard, "'S okay."
"Are you sure?" He reaches up, smooths a hand over your forehead then down your cheek without thinking, but before he can panic over the intimate gesture you're leaning into it, letting out a contented hum that quite reminds him of a kitten's purr.
"'M sure," You promise, already curling up cozily beneath his blanket, looking far too natural and perfect in a space you'd never occupied before, and Eddie feared, never would again.
"Okay." He's breathless and weak as your eyes drift shut, his hand lingering against the curve of your face, "G'night sweetheart."
He isn’t sure what to do from there. He could move his hand, he probably should move his hand, so that he doesn’t stand there for hours holding you, but that seems all the more tempting with every passing second. He marvels at his luck, how he’s managed to get to heaven without dying. Unless he is dead. But he’s almost certain he’ll be sent to hell for the sheer amount of drugs he’s sold to high school students, so he’s sure it isn’t that.
You must be an angel, he decides, one that isn’t afraid of the devil everyone says he is. He gets a brief vision of matching halloween costumes to that effect, a wiry halo perched on your head while devil ears adorn his. The scene’s unfiltered domesticity stuns him, along with how perfect it feels. It doesn’t feel awkward or forced, instead like something you’d come up with on the phone at ungodly hours and commit to months before the holiday.
He’ll bring the idea up to you tomorrow.
For now, he has to figure out where he’s sleeping. He’s not taking Wayne’s bed, but you’re in his, and that would be wrong.
Right?
Eddie studies the way your body is laid out on his mattress, knees tucked towards your chest and arms bundled up below your face, clutching the blanket he’d thrown over you. You take up a fraction of the mattress, the side that he normally sleeps on still unobscured.
Would it really be that bad if he laid opposite you? He wouldn’t touch you, he wouldn’t throw an arm over your waist, he wouldn’t tangle his legs with yours, he wouldn’t press a soft kiss to your forehead before drifting off. He wouldn’t.
He wants to, though.
He gives into another temptation, hopefully his last for the night, and lets himself indulge in your presence. He slides onto the end of the mattress, careful not to disrupt you as you slumber.
It feels weird, having someone in his bed beside him. Weird, but good. He decides, in fact, that there’s no better feeling aside from your fingers on his lips, than you in bed beside him. He stares up at the ceiling, willing the urge to kiss your nose away before he can screw up the best thing that’s happened to him in years.
One single, cautious glance thrown your way, and it’s all over.
Your hand is bared towards him, the smooth skin on the back of it in perfect kissing-range. He would be an idiot not to, right? That’s what gentlemen do, after all, they kiss the back of their lady’s hand. Typically not without her knowledge, or while she’s in bed with him, but it’s the principle of it, not the specific scenario.
He reaches for your hand hesitantly, and once his skin brushes yours he sees fireworks that light up the dark room. They nearly short out his vision, and when he sees clearly again, your hand is poised directly in front of his lips, his own hand still clutching it securely.
“Sleep good, sweetheart.” He whispers, near-inaudible in the darkness, then his lips press delicately against your hand.
Such unimaginable warmth and giddiness fill his chest, that he’s sure he’ll explode. There’s going to be Eddie Guts on the walls and ceiling, rotted sickly sweet from how infatuated with you he’s become in such a short time. Kissing you, albeit only your hand, feels like something he wants to do for the rest of his life, and he can only hope you’re gracious enough to grant him that privilege.
That’s a discussion for the morning, though, or never, Eddie reminds himself. He’s just kissed your hand in the middle of the night while you’re sleeping like a creep, he might not be too eager to admit that to you in the morning in a desperate plea to do it again. He refrains from peppering the rest of your skin in adoring kisses, but keeps your hand clutched in his own, marveling at the way that you can warm him up completely from a single touch.
It must be an angel thing, he decides, as he drifts off into a happy slumber, tomorrow he’ll ask you if it hurt when you fell from heaven.
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson scenario#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson one-shot#eddie munson one shot#eddie munson headcanon#eddie munson headcanons#eddie munson hc#eddie munson hcs#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson dialogue#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x reader fanfiction#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things
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under the influence / hayakawa aki
When Aki gets dragged to the most popular strip club in Tokyo in hopes it'll help him "de-stress", against all odds, you help him do just that. In return, he finally cures your itch for something more.
CHAPTER ONE — STRAWBERRY DAIQUIRI
pairing: hayakawa aki x fem!reader
word count: 34.0k
tags (for this chapter): 18+, aki is a virgin, reader is a stripper, drinking & smoking, strangers to lovers, lots and lots of plot, reader is shorter than aki, reader's had some bad experiences with men, pampering & comforting aki, body worship, dry humping, finger sucking, praise, the calm before the storm (the plot before the total filth)
masterlist.
read on ao3
this work contains explicit content intended for 18+ individuals. please read the tags and do not interact if you are a minor.
The club is awfully lively tonight. Colorful kaleidoscopes of light shine across the floor and the walls, they reflect off the sparkly clothing of the dancers on stage. There's guys drinking at the bar, smoking fat cigars, throwing wads of money, getting lap dances. Music pumps though the overhead speakers so loud you can feel the bass reverberate in your chest.
And yet you've never been so fucking bored.
You don't exactly hate your job. With how much money you make, you could never truly despise it; the privilege to both live well within your means and be able to buy whatever you want is all you could ask for out of a job like this one, really. This particular nightclub is located right in the center of the red light district, and it's known for being the most luxurious Tokyo has to offer, so the customers are plentiful and almost always loaded with cash.
Your manager is reasonable. He allows you to have frequent breaks, he gives you bonuses for every occasion. He never forces you to serve anyone you don't want to. Your coworkers are all kind, great people, and even though you aren't close, you know they'd all have no problem backing you up if you're ever in an uncomfortable situation.
It could be worse is what you always end up telling yourself. You say it in the morning when you're looking in the mirror and putting on your makeup, daydreaming about what it might be like to work in some cooped up office instead. You remind yourself that your day-to-day life could be so much worse than it's fortunate enough to be every time you read another article in the newspaper about the latest devil related slaughter in Tokyo. When you think of it that way, your stresses start to seem trivial in comparison.
There is one thing you can't stand about being a stripper, though, one thing you'll openly admit — and that's how goddamn uninteresting it is.
Dull would be a good way to put it. Lucrative, sure, but also incredibly, incredibly dull. Even on busy Saturdays like this, you find yourself completely worn out and bored to tears, already daydreaming of when you'll get to go home, even though the night has just begun.
Every day is the same story. Get dressed up, dance until your feet are cramping in your heels, deal with sleazy, drunk men all night, and then wake up to do it all over again. Your only reprieve is when you get to go home and count your money.
When you dropped out of school shortly after moving to Tokyo, this sort of experience was definitely not what you were expecting. You really should have stayed in your quiet little hometown, but you ended up listening to your heart instead of your head. You quickly had to shift your plans from living your dream city lifestyle to settling for whatever places happened to be hiring, which left you to choose between the Public Safety Commission or the stripclub.
Hey, this beats becoming a Devil Hunter, at least. You'd take a little boredom over having to risk your life every day just for a paycheck, or needing to make deals with slimy devils in order to get by.
Honestly, the more you've thought about it, the more you've realized that this job would simply be so much easier to deal with if the men weren't so damn insufferable. You've begun to learn rich doesn't exactly equal charitable, and that the men with the most funds to spare are usually the ones who tip the least, act the worst, and have no idea how to follow the rules.
The club is quite clear when it comes to its no-touch policy, but that doesn't seem to stop anyone from putting their hands on you. You're often grateful you're not one of the most popular performers, because although they tend to make the most money, they also have it the worst when it comes to the way they're treated. Nothing could ever be worth the things they have to deal with.
You've seen dancers have drinks thrown at them, you've watched them get stalked, you remember multiple instances where the night was cut short because the police were called. You've comforted several of your coworkers after they've run into the staff room crying because of something some asshole did to them.
And it's no secret a stupid amount of these men are coming here so they can get away from their girlfriends, their families, or even their wives. The thought alone is enough to make you sick to your stomach. How can those men have everything, the things most people in this shitty world don't get to have — happiness, love, wealth, a family — and yet they're still so unsatisfied?
"Hey, beautiful. Let me buy you a drink."
A sudden raspy, drunken voice coming from behind you rouses you from your thoughts.
You decide to ignore it for a second. And then two, and then three. Maybe they weren't talking to you; maybe whoever this guy is, he'll go away and leave you alone because clearly you're trying to enjoy your break by relaxing at the bar, and clearly you don't want to talk to him, so can he just —
"Hey," The man speaks again, louder, and closer to your ear this time. He's leaning over you, he's way too close for comfort. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, you can tell he's tipsy by the way his words start to slur and how they sound heavy on his tongue, "You've got ears, right? I'm trying to be nice here."
You give yourself a half a second longer to get composed before turning to him, sweetening up your tone and putting on your best fake smile.
"Sorry sir, I'm not supposed to talk to patrons when I'm on my break. The boss will get suuuuuuper mad at me if I do." You lift the drink you're holding, swirling the contents around in the glass. "Plus, I already have a drink, see?"
The man eyes you up and down, and for a moment you're worried he isn't going to leave you alone. But finally, thankfully, he stands up straight and walks away, muttering something to himself you don't hear all of because you've already stopped paying attention. "Ungrateful bitch," was the only thing you managed to catch before you started focusing on the peppy club music to drown him out.
If you didn't need this job, you'd have probably cussed that guy out. Hell, you would have started cussing out assholes like him months ago. You've been telling yourself this for ages but seriously, one of these days, your patience is going to wear thin, and whoever decides to go over the line that day is not going to like what they hear from you.
With a frustrated sigh, you roll your shoulders back, relieving some of the tension there, and you bring your glass to your lips, taking a small swig of your strawberry daiquiri. The chill from the ice hits your lips first; you taste the sweet strawberry syrup on your tongue, and when you swallow, the tart rum lingers satisfyingly in the back of your throat.
You usually don't drink at work as a personal preference but it's hard to avoid when you've been super on edge tonight. These days, you feel as if everything has your mind way more frazzled than usual. You were hoping a drink or two would help to settle your nerves. And while it does provide you a nice distraction from the chaos, the alcohol is yet to hit your system, so your swigs are doing little for your current situation.
You're in for a long night, aren't you?
Thankfully, you've still got a while left to relax and enjoy your break, but something tells you you're gonna have to savor your alone-time while you can.
You're working 'til close tonight, which means you won't finish your shift until around 2am, you won't get home until 3, and when you glance up at the neon clock on the wall — the one you always know the exact location of because you spend ages staring at it on every single shift you work — you can tell it's only a few minutes past 10pm.
You absently swirl the remaining contents of your drink around the glass. You'll get through the night, you always do. You don't have any doubts. It's just that the thought of how long you still have to be here is enough to totally kill your appetite.
Oh, whatever. If you want to see the end of this shift as soon as possible, you're gonna need something to take the edge off. So, reluctantly, you screw your eyes shut tight and tip your head back to down the rest of your drink. Luckily for you, you place the empty glass on the counter right as the bartender is walking over. You waste no time ordering yourself another one of the same.
While you're waiting for your drink, you drum your fingers against the surface of the bar and glance around the club. It's still just as busy as it was when you first sat down, unfortunately. It looks as though nearly every booth close to the stripper poles is filled, and most of the ones further away are busy as well. Some groups of men are crowded around the furthest seats to play cards and place bets. You observe the stages, the tables, the columns of neon light cast by a prominent, shiny disco ball. Everything seems to be as usual, but one sight catches your eye and keeps your attention.
It's your boss, who's currently standing at the front entrance, personally greeting two men who have just walked in. They both flash their IDs at the security guards, and once they've stepped all the way inside, your boss stops them and begins to speak to them.
You can hear a friendly, hearty sort of inflection in his voice, but what he's actually saying is difficult to pick up over the loud music. Surely he's starting by repeating the same script he always does: Welcome to Kon Kon Nightclub, the highest-rated club in all of Tokyo! Let us know how we can best please you tonight, boys!
These guys are a little different from the usual crowd, though. They're special, hence why your boss is lingering for longer than he has to. It's easy to tell who they are and why they're so important from the uniform they're wearing: a collared shirt, professional-looking slacks, and a crisp, neat suit and tie.
You've seen this uniform countless times before, whether it be on the news, in the streets, or during your own job — You've been told, "Hey, Public Safety guys. Look alive, and make sure to treat them real nicely," more times than you can count.
Everyone in Tokyo could recognize a pair of devil hunters from a mile away, but especially you and especially, especially your boss.
Simply put, your boss tends to give men from the Public Safety commission special treatment. They're the most consistent customers, usually showing up in order to de-stress from one mission, or to forget about the strife of another. The boss makes certain they're pampered to keep them coming back.
That, and they tend to pay handsomely. Yes, a devil hunter's salary is nothing to scoff at, but most of the time, the reason why they're so frivolous with their cash is because they tend to spend like it's the end of the world — and when you come face to face with the very real possibility of death on a day-to-day basis, for them, it very well could be.
It makes sense why they choose to come here, you suppose. Hunting devils for a living takes a massive strain on someone; you know this to be true from all the hunters you've seen and spoken to. A job like that is rough on your mentality, on your physical well-being. A lot of devil hunters don't form long lasting relationships because they're so busy, but you figure it's also because, to put it bluntly, people don't want to date someone who could be here one day and gone the next.
Not like you can really blame them. You wouldn't get involved with a devil hunter either.
Devil hunters show up so they can relax, so they can get their mind off things and pretend to be normal for a while. A sense of normalcy goes a long way for a job so rotten. You would know, you've dealt with your fair share of men from Public Safety, mostly because the days they have off usually align with the days you work. But to be honest, you don't mind them.
Although you've certainly met a good few devil hunters who are stuck-up and self-righteous, most of them are nothing more than troubled people. They're scared, they're lonely, they aren't used to talking to women. They want a pretty girl's love and attention, they just don't know how to ask for it.
Most of them are good men, albeit a bit misguided. Some of them are crazy. Though, with a job like that, who wouldn't be? Hell, at least when they act depraved, they have an excuse, unlike the rest of the guys who walk in here.
And since the vast majority of devil hunters who come here are regulars, you were able to recognize one of the men your boss is currently talking to the second you saw him.
Dyed blonde hair because he doesn't want anyone to see his grays, a messy scruff you'd hardly call a beard, and a scar on his face you could recognize anywhere; Kishibe comes here every single weekend, so if you didn't see him, then it would be a cause for concern. The only time he isn't here to drink beer from the tap and relentlessly flirt with all of the performers is when he's got devils to kill.
Surprisingly, you'd have to say he's one of the regulars you hate the least. He's kind of sleazy, a little off his rocker, but he's a good guy. He's never rude, and he doesn't tend to bring rude men along with him, either. There's performers he favors much more than you, though, so it's not often where you end up having to service him.
Either way, you're much more interested in the man who's accompanying Mister Kishibe tonight. You're certain he's someone you've never seen before; when it comes to your patrons of the devil hunter variety, you never forget a face — and you definitely wouldn't forget such a unique hairstyle.
The man has his dark hair tied up in a neat, pointy topknot, showing off the pair of distinct, black circle-shaped earrings that adorn his lobes. He's tall, nearly taller than Kishibe. He's clearly much younger though; your guess is early twenties, maybe twenty-two, twenty-four? And in your opinion, he has a handsome face, a sharp jawline with pretty features.
He's maintained a nice, straight posture, with his arms held uniformly around his back, and a blank, serious expression since you first started watching. But from the way he keeps nervously glancing around, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his shoulders tensed up: it's clear to tell he's getting increasingly uncomfortable.
Mister Kishibe says something to your boss you're unable to make out before slinging his arm over Mister Topknot, to which your boss bursts out laughing, and Topknot immediately has an absolutely mortified look forming on his face which he tries to hide by averting his eyes and awkwardly clearing his throat.
Yeah, there's no way this man has been here before. He arrived less than five minutes ago and he already looks like he wants to leave.
It must be his first time coming to a place like this, you assume. His reserved demeanor is enough to tell you all you need to know, but honestly, he just doesn't really look like the clubbing type. Kishibe looks the part, for sure. But this man, with his stiff posture and out-of-place attitude — he's like a fish out of water. He's the type who seems like he'd rather stay in on a Saturday night, not go out and party, and certainly not go and hit up a sweaty, busy strip club.
You've seen this same story countless times before. If you had to guess, this wasn't what he wanted to do, but he ended up getting talked into it, or perhaps even got dragged here against his will, all by his annoying, sleazy coworker. Now, he's got to deal with being uncomfortable for the rest of the night, all while pretending to act completely fine.
You can't help but find his plight a little bit cute.
Kishibe gives the man a firm pat on the back before walking away from the entrance and into the busy club, to which he's swarmed almost immediately by a group of three strippers; one grabs his arm and ushers him to sit down at the nearest booth, one takes his coat from his shoulders and holds it like a souvenir, and the other sits down next to him, crossing her legs and placing her hand on his thigh, leaning in to whisper something into his ear with a coy expression on her face.
As ridiculous as it is, you wouldn't consider their behavior to be at all out of place considering how popular Kishibe is among the women here. He's simple, easy to get along with. Or maybe it's just because of how generously he likes to tip. If you had more patience, and if the usual men who came in here were anywhere near as tolerable as Kishibe, you'd be spoiling them to high heaven too. But right now, you don't care about any of them.
You bring your attention back to where the newcomer guy is still standing awkwardly at the entryway. You're much more interested in what his next move is gonna be.
Your boss places his hand on Topknot's shoulder, giving him a curt nod before walking away. The man stands there for a second, you watch him shove his hands in his pockets and glance over to where Kishibe is currently knee-deep in women, as if he's considering catching up with him. In the end, his chest heaves like he's sighing, he looks towards the bar, and — Oh, he's coming over here.
You turn towards your drink as quickly as you can before he can catch you staring at him. He approaches the bar; you feel your heart leap into your throat when he chooses to stand right next to your stool, and wow, he's way taller up close. His shoulders are broad, his chest fills out his suit. When you manage to steal glances at him, silently praying he won't notice but daring to take the risk anyways, you conclude he's even more handsome than you thought, too.
His face is framed by long, straight bangs, his eyebrows are short and thick, his eyes are a deep, alluring shade of blue, like the sky after rain. The colorful lights from the nearby stages reflect in the shiny metal of his earrings. He reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet and his hands are large, his knuckles bruised, his palms calloused. A defined Adam's apple bobs in his throat when he calls over the bartender —
"Excuse me. What do you have on tap?"
And his voice is low, silky smooth; only a couple of words, and you feel like you could listen to him speak forever.
You're nosy when he pulls his ID from his wallet, placing it on the counter and sliding it over to the bartender with his index finger. With your eyes squinted, you're just barely able to catch the name printed on it before the bartender picks it up: Hayakawa Aki.
Aki is careful to slide his ID into his wallet exactly where it was when it's handed back to him, and then he quickly shoves his wallet back into his pocket. He leans his arms over the bar counter while he waits for his beer, resting his chin on the heel of his palm.
You notice how the buttons of his suit jacket are clasped neatly around his chest, and how his collar is folded exactly, neither side longer than the other. And how his tie is tight and straight and orderly, how it's tucked into his jacket nicely — It's a stark contrast to how Kishibe looked when he walked in, with his jacket already undone, his collar ruffled, and his tie loose, stuck haphazardly into his shirt pocket.
You wager Aki is a lot more professional than his buddy, a lot more uptight. A lot less crazy. That'll get you killed, you can hear Kishibe saying in your head, after he's gone on another one of his unprompted ramblings about devil hunting. Aki is a lot more cognizant of his reputation — and thus, a lot more ashamed than most to be coming to a place like this.
Aki's gaze wanders over the array of drinks in the back of the bar: the short bottles, long bottles, drinks with colorful labels and brands he doesn't recognize, but seem incredibly expensive. And then, he looks towards you.
Your eyes meet his own briefly, for no more than a half a second; you tear yourself away and turn back towards your drink like it was just a coincidence.
You have no idea whether or not he noticed you staring, but thankfully, the creeping sense of awkwardness you were starting to feel quickly fades away as the bartender arrives with a frothy glass of beer, remarking something about the tab before setting it down on the counter. Aki takes it by the handle, but as he's turning to leave, his shoulder accidentally bumps yours just slightly.
It isn't enough to spill your drink, or really enough to displace you at all, but it is enough for Aki to swiftly turn to you and apologize for his mistake.
"Oh," Aki meets your eyes for the second time tonight. There's an apologetic, sincere expression on his face, and he politely says with a nod of his head, "I'm sorry, excuse me."
By the time you've turned to reply to him, to say something like, Oh, it's alright, or It's okay, hey, you're new here, aren't you? he's already gone, disappearing into the crowd of patrons and the swirls of neon lights.
Shit.
You turn towards your drink once more, except this time, instead of patiently nursing it like you've been doing for the past few minutes, you tilt your head back and down the entire thing in a couple of gulps and a few seconds. You set the empty glass on the table, you shift off of your bar seat before the bartender can convince you to stay for another, you pull on the bottom of your outfit to adjust it once you're up and standing.
You have to find him.
The club is rather large, but you've long since memorized the layout, so you know the spots where people like to hang out. Based on what you've seen of Aki so far, if he's not with Kishibe, it's likely he'll be in one of the far corners, in a seat that's furthest from the stages, the performers, and the noise. In the spot least likely to get him into trouble.
So, you walk through the club, in search of the man with the signature topknot. You check Kishibe's usual seat first; he's kicked his feet up on the table in front of him, he's got a cocktail with a paper umbrella sticking out of it in hand and he's crowded by even more women than when he got here — but the person you're looking for is nowhere in sight.
You head towards the back of the club next. Your eyes scan the booths, the tables, even the sidelines where he could possibly be standing. At one point, a guy sitting on one of the front couches — a guy who's definitely not Aki — crooks his finger at you and whistles like he's asking you to come over. You ignore him completely, rushing past without even bothering to spare him a second glance.
God, you're not a fucking dog, and besides, you've got better things to do right now. Better men to talk to.
Finally, you reach the very last booth in the back of the club, and that's when you see him: Aki Hayakawa, sitting in the dimly lit corner by his lonesome, his long legs crossed over each other as he sips from his half-drank glass of beer. His foot is tapping the floor nervously, his eyes are looking everywhere but the stripper poles, and when you start to walk closer, when it's obvious you're deliberately heading in his direction, his gaze catches on you.
You see him do a literal double-take, and you can't decide if it's because he recognized you from earlier, or if it's because of the outfit you're wearing. When he scans you up and down, and when his face grows flushed, his eyes wide, his lips parted in surprise, you start to lean towards the answer being the latter.
You have on one of your usual dancing outfits: a strappy blue one-piece, with sheer black thigh highs and sparkly, blue high heels. Fancy, not unlike what the rest of the dancers are wearing, but certainly something special. The dress has windows on your hips and a window on your chest, it hugs your form tightly, accentuating your shape in all the right places.
It's your boss's favorite, what he'd affectionately refer to as your "big-money outfit", or what your patrons might call a showstopper — Aki probably couldn't see it well when you were sitting down at the dingy bar, but now, when you're standing directly in the bright, fluorescent lights meant to show off the sparkle of an outfit like this one, you're sure he can see everything.
When you reach Aki's booth, he promptly averts his eyes away from you. You almost expect him to tell you off, or to make some excuse to get you to leave. But if he was going to, you start speaking to him before he can get the chance: "Hey, can I sit next to you?"
That question gets his attention. He quickly glances up at you. He eyes you up, and then down, and then back up again, slower than when he scanned you before. His mouth opens for a second, but then immediately closes, like there's something he wanted to say but inevitably decided not to. Finally, with a defeated sigh and an unsure expression still lingering on his face, Aki nods his head and uncrosses his legs, scooching to the side to give you room to squeeze into the booth next to him.
You smile. "Thanks."
You fold your hands neatly in your lap, sitting a foot or so away from where he's positioned. Aki has his head turned in the complete opposite direction, looking at something or other in the distance and leaving you to stare at the back of his ponytail.
You've provided plenty of space between him and yourself so you won't make him too uncomfortable. But still, once you get settled in, Aki seems to stiffen a little: his legs fidget, and his knuckles tense when he grips the handle of his glass noticeably harder than before.
To reassure him, you continue, tone soft and lighthearted, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna do anything. I'm on my break. I just needed a place to sit."
Aki doesn't seem to acknowledge you, but from the way he slowly begins to relax again, leaning further into the plush booth, turning his head in order to look at you from the corner of his eye, it seems like your words were able to put him at ease, if only by a bit.
For a few moments, he looks down, staring idly into the contents of his drink. Then, he looks up, his gaze locked on something towards the front of the club. The sight makes his nose crinkle in displeasure, so he keeps staring for only a second longer before looking back down at the table again.
Whatever he was looking at, you would've been interested to know. Maybe it was one of the dancers who he disapproved of, or maybe a patron was acting unruly. It doesn't matter, though. Either way, you have no idea, because all the while, you've been unable to take your eyes away from him.
This dim section of the club casts his features in columns of shadow and pockets of light. You can see every little detail of his so much clearer. It's the closest you've been to him yet, and the proximity somehow makes him look even more handsome. You're close enough to smell the slight, but unmistakable scent of smoke clinging to him. You get the faintest hint of his cologne: pleasant and fancy and an absolute delight to all of your senses. He smells like salty ocean waves breaking against the shore, like the crisp fluttery pages of an unopened book.
You rest your elbow on the table and your face in your hand. Despite your obvious staring, Aki still seems to be paying you no mind; he closes his eyes and takes a long drink of beer from his glass. A tiny bit of white foam clings to the top of his lip and he wipes it away with the back of his hand.
"Is this your first time coming to a place like this?" You ask with an eyebrow raised, breaking the silence.
Aki glances towards you, his eyes wide, like he fully wasn't expecting you to speak. He's silent for a moment, either pondering how to answer the question, or deciding if you were even talking to him in the first place. The way you're expectantly staring at him tells him you probably were.
"Ah, uhm," He raises his fist to his mouth and clears his throat, he replies a little awkwardly, "Yes, it is. How could you tell?"
The nightclub's music is much quieter here. The sound is reduced to a dull hum where you can only make out the thump of the bass. The noise from people talking, cheering, or drunkenly shouting is a lot less loud from over here, too. It makes it a lot easier to hear his voice, to focus on him and only him.
"Hm, well you seemed awfully uncomfortable from the moment you walked in," You answer honestly with a slight tilt of your head, "And that usually means you're new."
For a second more, Aki stares at you curiously from the corner of his vision, but he doesn't reply — Instead, he breaks eye contact to calmly set down his glass of beer and reach into the pocket of his jacket. He's fishing around for something, and when he finds it, he's pulling out a familiar carton of cigarettes and gently tapping the bottom with his palm until one pops out.
The box is a distinct shade of sky-blue. You immediately recognize the brand: Wild Raven Lights. It isn't the most popular brand in Tokyo, nor is it what you see the guys who usually come here smoking; that would be cigars, or cigarettes with a hell of a lot more nicotine. But it is the kind you preferred. The brand you used to smoke before you started trying to wean yourself off of them.
You watch as a thin white cigarette is placed between his teeth, he shoves the packet of cigs back into his pocket and this time, pulls out a small silver zippo lighter. He flicks the top open, he shields the lighter with his palm. His thumb settles on the wheel, but before he strikes it, he freezes.
With the cigarette still held in his lips, Aki takes a quick glance towards you.
"Do you mind if I smoke?"
You flash him a soft smile and reply, "Nope. Go ahead."
Aki brings his focus back to his cig. With one firm strike of the wheel, the lighter produces a steady flame over the end of the cigarette, flaring it to life. When it starts to burn, he flicks the lighter closed and returns it to his pocket; his eyes flutter shut and his fingers hold the cigarette carefully as he takes a nice, long drag in.
You can imagine how the smoke settles in his chest when he inhales, how the nicotine feels when it hits his veins, the sense of relief he gets when he tilts his head up and blows a thick puff of smoke up towards the ceiling — Just watching him makes you feel relaxed, as if you'd taken a hit yourself. Aki didn't really strike you as a smoker when you first saw him, but he handles his cigarette like a natural.
"You smoke Wild Raven Lights?"
Your question gets Aki's attention. He reaches over the table, he pinches the rim of the ashtray in the middle and tugs it closer. He leans his cigarette over it, and he taps the end to scatter the ashes.
"Yeah." He replies simply. Smoke wisps up from the end of the cig, and it flares with light when Aki takes another deep hit.
"I used to smoke those too." You drum your fingers against the table, and you look away from him for a while to glance around the busy club. "The lights are so much better than the regular ones. Those made me feel nauseous."
There's people all around, dancers and patrons alike. You spot your boss in the crowd for a half-second and briefly wonder if he's looking for you. Your break was supposed to be over soon, wasn't it? The bar seats have all filled up, almost every couch and chair is crowded. And yet, when you're here in this quiet little corner in the back of the club, it feels like you and Aki are the only people who exist.
You like that feeling. You like how it's just you and it's just him.
Aki gives a slight nod in agreement to what you said, puffing another cloud of smoke. More people are funneling in from the entrance. The music grows louder and the lights begin to dim as a few dancers take center stage.
"Hey."
He draws your focus back to him. Meeting your eyes as effortlessly as if it was natural, he gestures his cigarette held between two of his fingers towards you. "Do you want one?"
"Oh, no, no," You answer, raising your hands and shaking your head, "The boss doesn't let us smoke on the job. Plus I've been trying to quit. Thank you, though."
Aki shrugs. He brings his cigarette to his parted lips, his voice is quiet, genuine.
"Just tell me if the smoke starts to get to you."
You've known Aki Hayakawa for all but five minutes, and he's already treated you kinder than any man you've known before him.
Most customers don't have the time or the care for small talk, that's something you learned pretty early on; if they weren't shifting the conversation to something more appealing to them, they definitely would have badgered you for a lap dance by now.
They wouldn't be keeping their hands to themselves like this, they wouldn't be affording you respect. They wouldn't have asked you if it was okay to smoke, either. They wouldn't be tilting their head to the side to blow their smoke away from you like Aki's doing. No, they'd be puffing it right in your face without a second thought. Even the nicest of the men you've met were still completely oblivious.
If Aki Hayakawa was anyone else, if he was anything like the men you're used to meeting, the men you've always despised, perhaps you would have stood up and left a long time ago. No, you definitely would have. There's no amount of mysteriousness or intrigue or amount of your own unbearable boredom that would have made you willingly stay and accompany the usual kind of patron on your precious break time.
You followed him because you thought he was interesting, because you thought he was handsome, even. You're well aware of the dwindling minutes left in your break by this point. If he was like the others, you would have walked away and gone back to working and found someone else to service who's closer to the crowd so your coworkers can keep an eye on you.
But he's not. He isn't. He isn't rude, he isn't debauched. He's kind and quiet and dammit, it's refreshing to finally meet a man who doesn't look at you the way everyone else does — like an object to be won, like something to be devoured. Aki treats you like you're human.
You could leave. You're getting ahead of yourself right now, definitely. You can't help but trust him though; you have a good sense for these sorts of things, and Aki simply doesn't feel like a bad person, not in the slightest. Yeah, you hardly know him. And that's the problem, you want to know him.
You aren't getting up from this spot any time soon.
"You know," You start, your eyes flickering over him; you examine his professional, straight posture, you can see the slightest prickle of nervousness in his gaze. "You don't have to be so shy. I know this is a lot, this environment, I mean. It's probably overwhelming, maybe a little embarrassing, too. But there's nothing to be ashamed of. It's our job to take care of you. You can relax."
Aki snaps back an immediate response, his tone blunt, his words humorless: "I can't."
He's a man of few words, you've noticed. But that was still far from anything you expected him to say. He takes you a bit off guard, and you can't help but giggle at how serious he sounds.
You're speaking through a smile when you ask, "You can't relax? Why's that?"
"I can't relax when I have to watch…" The bridge of Aki's nose wrinkles up in disgust, his lips curl and his eyebrows furrow. Cigarette still held between his fingers, he points to a place in the distance — "That."
You sit up straight in your seat, you follow Aki's stare and the point of his finger. Honestly, you figured you knew what he'd be talking about before you looked, and sure enough, his gaze leads right to none other than his coworker, Kishibe. The sight is somehow even more ridiculous than the last time you saw it.
There's one girl tenderly massaging his shoulders, another sitting next to him with her fingers hooked in the loops of his belt, and another who's hand-feeding him horderves. The part that really gets you is these aren't the same girls you remember seeing earlier — It's a totally different group.
Kishibe looks like he's having the time of his life, but when you turn back to Aki, the irritated expression on his face says it all.
You chuckle, "Yeah, it's pretty absurd, isn't it? Kishibe is super popular with the girls here."
Aki turns to you in surprise. "You know him?"
"Of course. He's here super often, you know. Every weekend actually, either to fill up on alcohol or to flirt with girls. He's one of our regulars."
"Figures." Aki scoffs. His eyes narrow, and he absently fiddles with his half-smoked cigarette between his fingers. He brings it to his lips, and he finishes speaking before taking another drag. "I'm not surprised. At least he isn't making me pay his tab this time."
"He seems like the type, doesn't he?"
You pause while Aki steadily breathes out another puff of smoke. God, the scent is intoxicating. When his eyes flutter open again, meeting yours, you swallow, and you continue.
"He's a good guy, though. At least, compared to some of our other customers. I understand why most of the girls here are desperate for him."
Point-blank and curt, Aki asks, "Are you desperate for him?"
You? Desperate for Kishibe?
Now that response gives you a full-blown laugh. The way he said it didn't sound like jealousy, or like envy, or even like anger. More like utter confusion. As if he doesn't understand how anyone could act so obsessed, especially towards a man like Kishibe.
Or maybe he doesn't get how Kishibe could let those women obsess over and pamper him, especially women he hardly knows. He thinks it's suffocating, or stupid, or both, actually.
"Ah, no, not really," You clear your throat as your laughter starts to fade, and Aki stares at you with a neutral expression. You shrug, "He's alright, I guess. Not rude or anything like most guys are. I don't hate him. I just think he's kind of… I can't think of a nice way to put it."
"A drunkard."
"Hah, yes. A drunkard." You agree with a playful roll of your eyes, "But it's not like I haven't seen worse. That's why I can't totally despise him, you know? Seriously, you wouldn't believe the pigs we have to deal with on a regular basis. Kishibe's tame compared to those men."
"No, I believe it." Aki exhales one final cloud of smoke before stamping out the butt of his spent cigarette into the ashtray. He grinds it down, almost in an angry sort of manner. "They're all disgusting. The men from the third division are always coming here, and I can't stand any of them. The way they talk makes me sick."
There's a second of silence. Then another. You can feel each one in your heart. Aki looks towards you. He meets your eyes, his voice takes on a much softer, much gentler tone. "I'm sorry you have to deal with people like that. It's draining, I'm sure."
"Oh," You're caught by surprise for a moment, but you shake your head and offer him a reassuring smile. "It's alright. Don't apologize. I'm the one who chose to work here, after all."
Aki takes another swig of his beer without breaking eye contact with you.
"And besides," You continue, "It's not all bad. The pay is good. You get free food and drinks, can't complain about that. And…" You rest your head on your arms, you peer up at him through your lashes. "I suppose not all the men who come here are horrible."
"Yeah?" Aki crosses his arms over his chest, and he leans back, listening closely to you as you continue. Utterly clueless.
"Mhmm. A lot of them are irritating, sure, but most of them are just lonely. Some men come here because they're married or dating someone, and they've become unsatisfied in the relationship — Those guys are always the worst. And some of them come only 'cause they've got money to blow and want a pretty girl to throw it at."
You pause, considering, placing a finger to your chin in an exaggerated thinking pose. "I think… Kishibe is the third type. He's got no shortage of money to burn, that's for sure. And you're probably the first kind. The kind of guy who's just lonely."
Aki squints his eyes. "Are you serious?"
You snort, "Hey, I didn't mean it in a bad way. I think most devil hunters are lonely, that's why guys from Public Safety are always showing up here. But unlike those guys, you seem like you actually know how to treat a woman."
Aki stays quiet for a couple of long, drawn-out seconds. His expression is completely impossible to read. The silence allows you to hear the song that's playing on the speakers, and you recognize it as one you've heard at least a million times on your various shifts. In the corner of your eye, you can see the dancers drawing large crowds around the stages, the lights flickering in colorful hues.
You decide to break the silence. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to make a bunch of assumptions about you right away."
Finally, Aki sighs, and he answers, "Just don't get the wrong idea about me. I'm not someone who would come to a place like this, and I don't want to be associated with everyone who does. I didn't want to come here in the first place. Mister Kishibe dragged me."
"Oh, so it's like that, huh?" You smirk. You knew it, but you still force an air of confusion into your tone. "Why'd he take you here, then? Is it your birthday or something?"
"Pfft. No, it's not. He made me come with him tonight because he said it would help me relax since work's been stressful lately. But…"
Aki trails off. His expression changes, it morphs into something like exasperation. Where his arms are still crossed tightly around his chest, you can see his hand start to clench a little.
"But being here just makes me feel more stressed."
Your heart pangs. You lower your voice by a couple of volumes when you speak next.
"I see. I get it. This place isn't for everyone, that's for sure. It's mean to force you along. You'd much rather be relaxing by yourself at home, huh?"
Aki exhales a particularly heavy breath, but he doesn't respond. He just listens to you speak.
"You don't deserve any extra stress, I'm sure you go through so much already. I can't even imagine the kind of things you see on the job, it must take such a toll on you…" You shake your head. "I keep up with the news when I have time, and I've seen all the stuff about devil attacks that've been happening lately. They can try to hide it all they want but either way, it's always all anyone can talk about."
"Devils have been becoming more and more frequent and even more dangerous with no kind of warning." Aki's eyebrows furrow into a knot, he speaks sharply through gritted teeth. "So many people could die and… And no-one else is taking it seriously. The more the news puts out those programs, the more scared people become, and then, the worse the devils get."
He swallows thickly to combat the dryness in his throat. "There must be a reason for all of this. Impossibly strong devils don't just appear out of the blue. Something or someone is causing it, and before it's too late, we need to… I've got to…"
He doesn't manage to finish his sentence. Still, you're surprised. You weren't expecting him to be so talkative. Aki has a complicated, solemn sort of look on his face, his gaze dark and clouded.
I've got to. The way he says it is like if anything happens, if people die or if something goes awry, it'll be him who's responsible. Like this is all a heavy burden he alone has to carry, whether it's by choice or by circumstance.
He's acting like he can do it, he's pretending none of this bothers him and everything is fine even though it clearly isn't. He's scared. You know he's scared, because he's already fishing around in his pocket for another cigarette — in the same way you remember doing when you felt like your own stress would eat you alive. His knee is bouncing with anxiety, his hands are shaking so much it's making lining up his lighter with the end of the cig and striking it damn near impossible.
You could have been in his shoes. It could have been you who had to fight devils and put your life on the line. But instead, it's a man who's way too kindhearted for his own good.
"Here. Gimme."
Before Aki can protest, you're leaning over the table and snatching the lighter from his clenched hand. He lets go without a fight, he turns towards you, holds still like he's frozen. Cigarette between his teeth, his eyes scan your face, gaze unreadable. You lift the lighter, you strike the wheel and bring a steady flame to his cigarette in one fluid, practiced motion.
Sparks flicker from the end once you've lit it. Smoke wafts up towards the ceiling, the smell of fire and ash once again come to tickle at your lungs. You set his lighter back on the table. Aki glances at you one more time before he takes it.
You've shifted a bit closer to him. As he's fumbling to shove his lighter back in his jacket pocket, he doesn't seem to notice — That is, until ever-so slightly, your knee touches his.
Clearly it wasn't a coincidence, because you aren't pulling away, you aren't moving. You meant to sit this close to him. You're barely even touching, really. But the little bit of contact, just the tiniest bit of closeness: it brings him back to reality, like a rippling pool of water finally becoming still.
Aki fiddles with the cigarette in his mouth. He gives up on taking a puff, snatching it from his lips and holding it between two fingers. He rests his elbows on the table, he exhales a long, wavering breath. Your knee touching his is enough to stop him from shaking.
"Hey." You speak quietly, calmly. You keep your hands folded in your lap and you lean a little bit closer to him so he can hear you better, so he'll be the only one to hear your voice. "Are you alright?"
Aki glances up towards you hurriedly; his expression softens, he gives you a shallow nod of his head.
"I'm fine. Don't worry about me." He answers, and he rolls his shoulders back to relieve some of the tension. "I'm just… I'm…"
You complete his sentence: "Stressed?"
"Yes, stressed. Stressed and tired." Aki replies. He reaches for the ashtray, and he stamps his cigarette out without ever taking a single hit.
"It's hard on you, isn't it? You must be sick of this."
"I'm sick and tired of everything. Of watching people die and not- and just-"
It's then, with his voice quiet and frail and about to shatter, with the music loud and the lights shimmering in gradients of blue, purple, and white — It's then where you see him start to crack.
Aki sighs deeply, his arms shake and he puts his head in his hands. His body curls in on itself, like a turtle withdrawing into its shell. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here. Like he wants to disappear.
"Sorry, why am I telling you this?" His voice is muffled by his hands, "I've said too much."
You manage to huff a dry laugh. "It's okay. You've had a lot on your mind, huh? You gotta get that stuff out of your system somehow. Don't worry about it."
When he doesn't respond, just keeps on breathing deep and slow, you continue talking, your voice reassuring: "You have to deal with so many things, don't you? It's hard to keep all of your stress inside, it'll start to eat away at you. Sounds like you've needed to tell someone all of that for a long while."
After a few long moments leave you wondering if he even heard you or not, Aki finally pulls his face away from his hands. He sits up and leans back in exasperation, he rubs his pinched temple with his fingers.
"I guess so." He replies simply, plainly.
You hesitate. "Listen, this is kind of stupid, and I know you don't know me very well, but… I'm glad I could be here for you. I'm glad you felt like you could open up to me, I suppose. I don't really understand what it's like to be a devil hunter. But I can try to. You can talk to me about anything. Promise."
Aki drops his hands into his lap, he stares aimlessly at the ceiling. "I appreciate it, but I think I'd rather not talk about it anymore. I'll be fine."
You're not sure if he's telling the truth, or if he's only saying that in order to quell your concerns for him.
"Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" You ask, tilting your head at him. "If you want to go home, you can, y'know. Kishibe will be just fine without you. I'll tell him you weren't feeling well. Or you can stand outside, we've got a whole area for smoking and stuff. It's not as loud over there."
"I'm sure. I'll leave later. I want to order another drink."
Right on queue, Aki grips the handle of his beer, and he swiftly chugs what's left in the glass. Then, he sets it back down on the table with a sigh.
You stay silent, thinking to yourself. You rest your head in your palm and tap your finger against your cheek.
All this talk of drinks and finding somewhere quieter has given you the perfect idea.
"Hey, sir, can I ask what your name is?"
Aki glances towards you, and his response comes much quicker than you expected: "Aki Hayakawa."
You can't help but feel a slight smile start to tug at the corners of your cheeks. He introduced himself to you so willingly, and with his full name, too. How cute.
"Hm," You feign thinking for a moment, pressing your finger to your chin, and Aki stares at you curiously with an eyebrow raised. Then, you shake your head, concluding, "Nope, I haven't heard that one before. It's nice to meet you, Mister Hayakawa."
There's another pause as Aki crosses his arms over his chest, his foot tapping idly against the floor, and as you tell him your name. Your real name.
That's a first for you; you've always used a stage name when it comes to guys from the club, all the dancers do. It's something about wanting to keep your anonymity, and not wanting your real life associated with your club work. None of your patrons know what your real name is, and you've often gone to great lengths to keep them from finding out.
And yet, you've just told Aki without even thinking twice. You can't say you regret it. You genuinely don't think he'd do anything malicious, and after what he's told you, after how honest he's been, it wouldn't feel right to lie to him. Even about something so small.
"So, Hayakawa," You start, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere, "If you want, we've got private rooms in the back, I can show you to one. You can get away from the crowd and the noise. I don't know about you, but I've been dying to go somewhere quieter."
A tight knot forms in your gut at the mention of the club's private rooms, just at the implication of inviting someone — a man — back there. You're quick to flash Aki an innocent smile and push that feeling away.
Aki cocks an eyebrow and immediately counters, "Aren't you supposed to be working?"
"Maybe."
Aki's face goes completely deadpan. You try to keep yourself from grinning only to see his reaction, but you're unable to hold back a wide, playful smile.
"Come on, I'm kidding," You tease, rolling your eyes, "I told you I was on break, didn't I?"
Aki glances away from you, and he goes silent, as if he's considering your offer. His gaze is caught on something in the distance again, and when you follow his line of vision, you see he's looking at none other than Kishibe, and at all of the women flocking around him.
You can see the contemplation on Aki's face, how it turns to annoyance, and then into pure disgust, his eyebrows scrunching, his eyes narrowing. It's clear he's getting sick of watching them, of even being around them.
You're certain by now he'll accept your proposal. Your heart flutters with anticipation, and just for good measure, you lean in closer, and you coo one last thing into the devil hunter's ear: I'll make you some drinks?
Those words seem to do the trick, because finally, Aki is uncrossing his arms and sitting up, he's looking towards you and replying, "Yeah. That'd be nice. I'd like to get away from here for a bit."
You smile. "I can arrange that."
You're wasting no time sliding out of the booth, fixing your bunched up dress as you stand and moving aside to allow Aki to follow close behind. He steps out of the booth, he rises to his feet, he stands up straight in front of you and shit, he's tall. So tall your heart is instantly thumping a mile a minute in your chest.
You knew he'd be much larger than you from when he first approached the bar, and you could tell he'd most likely tower over you from when he was standing next to Mister Kishibe and your boss: two men who are already leagues above you in height. But now that he's standing right next to you, the difference in size between him and yourself is much more noticeable. It leaves Aki to look down at where you are, and leaves you to crane your neck in order to peer up at him.
Aki reaches up to adjust his tie, pulling on the diamond until it's straight, and you clear your throat a little awkwardly, trying to force down the butterflies in your stomach. He meets your eyes, and you exchange a wordless glance with him before tilting your head, signaling for him to follow you.
You start heading towards the other end of the club, occasionally glancing behind you to make sure he's still following. In no time, the crowd starts to get thicker. The music gets louder, the lights grow brighter. You're abruptly reminded of what you really hate about this club as everything gets so, so much more suffocating. You can't reach the private rooms without walking past the array of stages, so you're forced to get back into the thick of things. When you were in that quiet corner alone with Aki, you almost began to forget the level of chaos you have to deal with on a daily basis.
You find yourself shouldering through people, trying your best to avoid catching anyone's attention, all while Aki follows you at your heels — but when the crowd suddenly gets thicker than before, when he's worried he'll end up losing you, you hear his shoes scrape the tile as he shuffles closer, and his hand softly settles on your shoulder.
"Sorry." Aki says immediately, his voice a little muffled over the music and noise, but unmistakable nevertheless. He takes his hand away from you as if your skin was liquid hot fire and his palm just got burned.
But even so, it's like his touch is still there. It's like you can feel the ghost of where his gentle hand settled on your body.
He was touching your skin for barely more than a second, but it was enough to make your spine tingle, enough to give you a warm, melty feeling in the pit of your stomach — It felt comfortable, and that's something you've never felt before. Not since you started working here, and certainly not from the hands of a man like him. Until now.
You abruptly freeze in your tracks, and Aki stops not far behind you. Before he can say anything, you turn around and reach for his hand; you grab onto it tightly, firmly. When you glance up at him, you swear you can see his eyes widen in surprise, or maybe nervousness, or perhaps both, but he doesn't stop you, and you don't give him a chance to — You're quickly rushing ahead and returning to leading him along.
With his hand in yours, you find it difficult to focus, though. His palm is naturally cold, his skin is a bit rough; his thumb brushes against yours so softly your heart begins to ache. You find yourself accidentally walking too far and needing to turn around because you were so focused on the tender way he holds your hand that you ended up forgetting where you were going.
His fingers fold loosely over your knuckles; his hand is much, much larger than your own, it almost dwarfs yours entirely, and yours and his fit together in such a way that feels right, that makes you want for him to never let go.
And you know you're a little ridiculous for thinking so. You're getting too sappy, you're losing your mind. You know this man shouldn't be making your heart flutter so easily, with the faintest of touches and the simplest of words.
Yet, you can't help how you feel about him, you can't stop your cheeks from getting warm and your brain from stringing together thoughts of what's going to happen when the two of you are all alone again. Truly alone, with no-one else watching. You can't deny what Aki does to you, and you're sure he doesn't even know.
He has no idea how your heart is pounding in your chest as you reach the hallway and lead him down, or how your breath is coming out faster than it should be and you haven't even arrived at your destination yet. You're excited, giddy, your head spins with a high sort of sensation.
If you weren't slightly tipsy, and if you weren't in such a mood to make impulsive decisions right now, maybe you would be judging yourself more than this. You'd be thinking about something other than the feeling of Aki's hand, you wouldn't be smiling to yourself at the way he follows behind you so obediently.
Maybe you'd find what you're doing to be rather indecent. It's not like you're planning to take things any further with him — but when you know exactly where you're leading him to, you can't rule out the possibility.
Either way, whatever happens, you wager Aki doesn't know what he's getting into.
You glance behind you when you have a few seconds and you spot him looking around, observing the various rooms and entrances that litter the cramped hallway. Some of the rooms are open and spacious; they're more like lounge areas, really, with couches and tables sprawled across the space for many people to sit at. The couches are decorated with fluffy pillows, the tables are littered with finished-off drink glasses. He peers into one once you start to walk a little slower; a set of sheer curtains are drawn in front of the entryway, but it's still possible to see inside.
There's a man sitting comfortably in a leather loveseat, legs spread wide, and a dancer with long, flowing hair perched on his lap. His hands are tangled in her hair, her mouth is on his, and the last thing Aki sees before you tug him forwards and coax him along is the man's broad hands traveling down to cup the shape of the dancer's ass.
Oh.
The rooms get quieter the further you travel, more private, each one complete with colorful lighting and a large, luxurious bed. Most of them are empty, but when you pass the ones which have their doors closed, Aki swears he can hear what's going on inside.
The cooing tones of a dancer sweet-talking her patron, the tell-tale squeaks of the mattress. It makes his mouth go dry and his heart leap right inside his throat — Shit, shit, he thought this was something different, he didn't realize what a "private room" was supposed to be until now, and he feels ridiculously stupid for not realizing it sooner.
He's going to be alone, in a room just like those ones, with a bed, with just you.
Aki starts to walk a bit faster, closing some of the distance between you and him. You hear him right next to your ear, words quiet like a bitten whisper, laced with a sense of nervousness: "Hey, we're not, I mean, are you…"
His sudden voice makes you stop in place. You turn around to face him, staring at him curiously, waiting for him to finish his sentence.
Your eyes on him make him too nervous to piece together whatever he was actually meaning to say, so instead, he looks down at his shoes, he clears his throat, and he tries to come up with the next best thing.
"Isn't… Isn't this kind of thing illegal in Japan?"
"What is?"
Aki's practically sweating. The hallway is starting to feel a whole lot more cramped. "This. This whole… thing. You know what I mean."
His shyness is confirming what you previously figured to be true: that he's just now discovered what these private rooms are really for.
"Oh, prostitution?" You answer in realization, your tone completely lighthearted, like you aren't bothered in the slightest. "Yeah, but there's loopholes to get around it. Come on, this is the most popular club in the red-light district. Did you really think they wouldn't have it under control already?"
Aki's eyes flicker over your face. He stares at you, utterly dumbfounded.
"Listen, if someone wants to do… that sort of thing," You explain, "As long as they do it here, inside this club, they won't get in trouble for it. Besides, you devil hunters get special privileges anyway. If the police ever found out — Hell, even if they sat here and watched you do it, I doubt you'd get anything more than a slap on the wrist."
Aki squints. "So… it's still illegal."
"Well, duh. Are you planning to snitch to the cops or what?"
"I don't have time."
"Then less worrying, more walking." Your hand squeezes his; you signal with a tilt of your head for him to keep following you, but Aki keeps his feet planted firmly in place.
"Wait," He pipes up, his tone serious, "It's okay if we're back here, right? I don't want you to get in trouble."
You're silent for a little too long. "I mean, technically no."
If you could take a picture of the look on his face right in that moment, you would've. Aki's eyes go completely wide, his face washes a tone as white as his dress shirt and his lips fall open a little, just slightly ajar in confusion and astonishment and it's so damn cute that it's impossible for you to keep up the charade for any longer.
"Listen, listen, calm down," You squeeze his hand again, your smile is warm and the sight seems to start to put him at ease.
"I'm listening."
"The rooms back here are supposed to be for VIPs or private bookings only," You tell him, "But the boss frequently makes exceptions for special cases. For special people, I should say."
"Special people?"
"Yeah. Like devil hunters."
Aki's found his composure by now, mostly, at least; he meets your gaze with a blank expression and one eyebrow cocked. "Seems like devil hunters get away with a lot around here."
In response, you simply snort, playfully roll your eyes, and turn around to continue leading him further down the hallway. And this time, Aki swallows down his anxieties and follows behind without protest.
You drag him all the way to the end, to the furthest room at the very back, away from the noise and the people. It's similar to the rooms you've passed, Aki notices, but unlike them, this one has a door that features a shiny, gold plated label with the word, "VIP" carved into it, followed by a small logo of a fox. The doorknob is gold too, distinctly heart-shaped.
You stop, your hand finally tears away from his for what seems like the first time in ages — and you don't have time to dwell on how empty it feels because you're already closing your fingers into a fist and raising your knuckle to knock. You strike the door once, twice, to a chirpy rhythm. Nothing. You press your ear to it and listen, just in case.
When no-one replies, and when you hear nothing inside, you test the doorknob: unlocked. The door swings open with a quiet creak, and Aki follows you as you step inside.
The very first thing he notices is the plushness under his sneakers once he's stepped all the way in — He glances down, and the room's floor is adorned with fluffy, pink carpet, the fibers swallow up his shoes.
Then, when he looks up again, he sees the circular bed in the middle of the room, not unlike what he expected: neatly tucked in covers, a canopy over the top, and an array of poofy, luxurious-looking pillows spread out towards the headboard. It's noticeably fancier than the other beds he saw though, it has Aki wondering just how special this room is. Obviously it's meant for VIPs, and it doesn't take a genius to tell the whole room was decorated to fit… a very specific taste.
Not that he's got anything wrong with pink. There's just a lot of it, from the covers on the bed, to the walls painted a baby pink shade — The whole room is washed in shades of sunset and tulip, dimly lit and illuminated only by hot pink LED lights shining from the ceiling and under the bed, as well as by a warm, little lamp resting on a quaint bedside table.
It's quiet here, though. Quiet enough to hear his own heartbeat in his ears, and just as quiet as you said it'd be. Thank God. It feels nice to be able to think clearly for once.
A wooden mini bar is fit snugly into the right-hand corner, with empty wine and champagne glasses lined up on top, and bottles of various drinks stocked in the underside. Aki's shoulders slump, he sighs; That's right. You wanted to make him something to drink.
You hold the door open for him to step inside, and before you close it behind him, you snatch the "Do not disturb" sign from the inside doorknob, reaching around to hang it on the outside. When you shut the door, there's a very brief moment where you consider flicking the lock — but in the end, you decide to leave it alone.
The sign should be enough. And even if it isn't, does it matter if someone walks in? It doesn't, it shouldn't, because you're only having some drinks, right? You aren't going to be doing anything that you wouldn't want someone else to see. Right?
If you keep thinking about it for any longer, you might end up driving yourself insane.
So, figuring you've hovered at the entryway for long enough, you walk past Aki and make your way to the mini bar. You say as you pass him, "Feel free to make yourself comfortable."
He nods, and he's quick to follow your suggestion. His careful fingers pop each button on his suit jacket one by one, all the way until he's able to tug it from his arms, leaving him in his crisp white undershirt and tie. He hangs the jacket up neatly on a hook on the back of the door.
As you're bending down to look through what's stocked at the mini bar, he's sitting on the bed; you can see him out of the corner of your eye, his legs rested over one another, his arms crossed around his chest. You're bent over to the point where your outfit is riding up, it's revealing more of your ass and your thighs and Aki shouldn't be looking, but he swears he catches the smallest glimpse of what you're wearing underneath before he swiftly looks elsewhere and tries to forget about it, which thankfully, he does right as you're peering at him from over your shoulder.
You notice how his dress shirt is tucked neatly into his slacks, how a simple, leather belt is snugly clasped in the loops. He's perched on the very edge of the bed, as if he's too nervous to sit any further back, too shy to really let himself relax — At least, in the way the room's intended. The mattress dips slightly under his weight, and the martini glasses hung on the rack all clink together when you grab two of them: one for him, and one for you.
"So, Hayakawa," You start, giving him a second quick glance from over your shoulder. "What kind of drink would you like?"
"Oh," Aki grasps the diamond of his tie, pulling on it to work it loose while his gaze travels across the room. He examines the bar, the glittery curtains surrounding the bed, the small set of red, leather armchairs placed in the opposite corner. "Anything is fine. Surprise me."
You're digging around in the compact mini fridge sat next to the bar when you ask, "You like champagne, right?"
"Sure."
"Alright, good. You'll like this then."
Once you've found everything you need, you start to prepare the drinks. There's a small basket of fresh lemons and limes resting atop the bar counter, and you grab a lemon to slice into wedges.
Aki tilts his head, he tries to watch what you're doing, but the only thing he can manage to see is your back, and all he can do is listen to the sound of the champagne being poured. He decides he'll give the room another once-over while he waits.
He turns around, then, and he comes to notice the wall behind him for the first time. It's covered in hooks and racks, with an assortment of items hung up on them; most he doesn't recognize, but he can make out what looks like a leather, spiked dog collar. A matching black leash. A pair of metal handcuffs.
There's a long object that looks like some kind of whip, with a thick handle adorned by red, painted-on heart shaped marks. But when he's struggling to decide what the majority of these things are for, Aki starts to second guess himself on his initial assumption.
He immediately looks away, a familiar prickle of anxiety twists up his spine, the same sense of nervousness he felt earlier in the hallway — And that's when his eyes catch on the nightstand. Right below the lamp, right beside the dark ashtray littered with countless cigarette butts, there's a clear plastic container stocked up of what Aki first thought were wipes, or maybe mints.
Upon a closer look at the packaging, though, he realizes they couldn't be anything else but the one thing he didn't want them to be: unopened packets of condoms.
Fucking condoms. Of course. He really shouldn't have expected anything different.
"Hayakawa."
When you've turned back around, the finished drinks in hand, Aki is hastily trying to redo his tie with a flustered expression on his face, cheeks and the tips of his ears painted rosy pink. Your voice shakes him out of his daze. It causes him to look towards you, his eyes meeting yours.
"Are you okay?" You walk towards him, you reach to place the glasses on the nightstand. Right next to the condoms that you most definitely know are there but so clearly aren't at all affected by.
Maybe he's overthinking. No, he's definitely overthinking this, he's definitely getting way too worked up over something so stupid and obvious. There's no reason for him to be freaking out. He needs to get it together, so why can't he? Why is he so damn nervous whenever he's around you?
Get it together, get it together…
As he stays silent, you continue, "What happened? You look pale."
"Sorry… I'm sorry." Aki uncrosses his legs and looks away. "It's fine. It's nothing."
His clear awkwardness can't help but draw a quiet laugh from you.
"You nervous?"
"I'm not."
"I think you are." You tilt your head at him, smirking a little. Aki doesn't answer, he simply keeps fiddling with his tie, running the smooth fabric beneath his fingers, twirling it into loops before letting go of it again.
Oh, he knows what he's gotten himself into now. He probably knew it from the moment you led him down the hallway, but now that he's all alone with you, everything must be really starting to set in.
"You'll be alright. Just try to relax, yeah? Here-"
You suddenly lean in close to him, and Aki thinks his heart might have skipped a beat — Or two, or three. You grasp his tie and his arms fall at his sides once you start to tug it free from his collar, he forgets how to breathe when you undo it, tossing it on the bed nonchalantly and reaching next for the buttons on his dress shirt.
He thinks of stopping you. He wants to force a cold-sounding What are you doing? from his mouth but it's no use; he's already given in.
"Let's loosen some of these for you."
With gentle fingers, you pop the first button on his dress shirt, and then the second; your ministrations expose his pretty collarbones, defined and curved, as well as the smallest part of his chest, his skin slightly scarred, flushed rose to match the color of his face. Aki's gaze goes heavy, his eyelashes flutter.
You're close, you're so close. You're so close and he doesn't know how to get his heartbeat to slow down, he has no idea what the hell's gotten into him — You graciously give him a bit of reprieve by leaning back and letting go, allowing him just enough space to breathe freely again.
"Better?" You ask, before he can reply you're reaching down to unzip your knee-high boots and starting to take them off. "You can take off your shoes, too."
Aki pauses, but in the end, he decides to listen to your suggestion; he steps firmly on the heel of his sneakers until he's able to carelessly kick them off his feet.
Then, you grab the drinks on the nightstand, you hand him his cocktail and bring yours to your mouth.
Aki peers into the glass. The liquid is a pale shade of pink, not much different from the color of the bedsheets, and the rim is topped with a bright yellow lemon. Cubes of ice jingle inside the glass when he experimentally swirls it.
"I made this batch pretty good." You comment, half to him and half to yourself. Taking a small sip of your drink, you finish it off with a satisfied, Ahh.
"What is it?"
"Pink lemonade mimosa. It's my favorite. Maybe it's kind of… not really your style. But I thought you might end up liking it anyway."
Aki looks up at you for a moment, then back down at his drink. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, he closes his eyes, and he brings the glass up to his lips.
The taste is a sweet one. Lemonade and sugar are the main components, the champagne is more of an aftertaste. It's citrusy, the lemonade lessens the acidity of the champagne. He can see why you'd like this. It tastes like the warmth from the summer sun.
When Aki meets your eyes again, you're staring at him expectantly.
"What do you think?"
"It's good," He answers honestly, "Really good. I like it."
You flash him a warm smile. "Great. I'm glad."
For a while after you speak those words, the room grows oddly quiet. Aki continues to nurse his drink in silence, his expression unreadable, his cheeks flourished with warmth, and you occasionally take sips from yours while allowing your mind to wander.
Since the both of you first walked in this room, Aki's been acting strange.
When you met him, you thought you had him all figured out. He's honest to the point where you assumed he had nothing to hide. He comes off as determined, the serious type, not necessarily cold-hearted, but certainly grounded when it comes to how he presents himself. Even though you knew he was a bit shy about being here, he didn't seem like the type of person who'd get flustered this easily, nor the kind of man who'd stick around for this long. You fully expected him to turn you away the minute he figured out where you were taking him.
You wonder if he's just too polite to tell you no. You question if maybe, there's something occupying his mind, something he hasn't told you yet. You knew there were still a lot of things you didn't understand about him. Still so much you need to learn, so much you so desperately want to know — but you're running out of time.
Your thoughts flash to the busy club. Your boss is probably starting to look for you now, the guests you were talking to before you went on your break are probably beginning to wonder where you went. Once you've finished your drink, you'll have to go right back into the fray — and that realization immediately forces a heavy weight of worry upon your shoulders.
You have only a few more moments with the man you've come to know. Aki will leave, you'll leave. After tonight, you won't expect to be seeing him again. You'll go back to boredom and he'll go back to working himself half to death. And then, you'll be nothing but strangers once more.
It's possible Aki would forget you as quickly as he met you. You wouldn't bother to cross his mind, he might not even remember your name. And why would he have to? This experience would be nothing but a bad memory and a reminder to never again let himself get dragged to places he's already sure he doesn't want to go to.
But you wouldn't forget him.
There's something about Aki Hayakawa that would be impossible to forget. He's kind-hearted, he's softer than any other devil hunter you've come across. He consistently puts you before himself and fuck, he doesn't even know you. It's just the kind of person he is: selfless to a fault.
You're drawn to him, you've felt drawn to him from the start. You think you're good at reading people, you have a keen sense for whether or not someone is genuine. Your trust in Aki hasn't wavered. He isn't like any of the other men you've encountered while working here; honestly, it's almost unfair to compare the two. He's wildly different from anything and everything you've come to expect.
It's a bit of a new feeling for you. The pitter-pattering of your heart, the giddy twist and bloom in your chest. You haven't felt this way about anyone in ages, you haven't been enamored this strongly, this limitlessly in perhaps forever.
You want to show Aki a good time, you want to find a way to make this night truly worth his while. And it's not just because you feel bad about the unfortunate circumstances which brought him here, even though you're certain you'll be chewing out his coworker later. It isn't because devil hunters like him are known for having lined pockets, you could care less about his money. And it certainly isn't only because this is your job.
You want to help him relax because you've grown to care about him, because you want to be closer to him. Aki is more than he lets on; his soul is something tender, intricate. There's sides to him you haven't seen, pieces yet to fall into place. You want to open up his heart to uncover what he's kept hidden, what he wouldn't tell anyone else besides someone like you because in reality, it's easier to divulge your secrets to someone who rests between the realm of close and distant — to someone you hardly even know.
Giving him whatever he wants is the least you can do for him, because whenever you're close, you can practically feel the stress clinging to him like an anchor into hell. You couldn't help but notice the faint cross-hatchings of scars on his chest when you unbuttoned his shirt, or the rough calluses on his knuckles when you held his hand.
If there's one thing you're sure of, it's this: you aren't ready for this night to be over.
If you won't forget him, you'll make it so he won't ever forget you.
You've been enjoying your cocktail the whole time you were thinking, but you decide to give it one more sip; you savor the last delicious taste of lemonade and sparkling wine on your tongue. Then, you smile at him, and you promptly break the silence.
"I like your earrings."
You catch him off guard right away, and Aki's gaze flickers up to your own, his shoulders stiffening slightly. He politely covers his mouth with his palm, swallowing the rest of his drink and clearing his throat before speaking.
"Oh, uhm- Thank you." — His response is curt, his voice carries his familiar sense of professionalism but it still wavers with a hint of awkwardness, with a bit of disbelief, almost. He sounds shy, he closes his eyes and takes another idle sip of his drink. He obviously isn't used to being complimented.
With no hesitation, you boldly ask, "Can I touch them?"
"Ah-" Aki reaches up with his free hand, brushing his fingers over the circular piercing on his lobe like he's checking if they're still there. "My earrings?"
"Mhmm."
His eyes dart over you, up and down. "Uh, sure."
Tossing your head back, you top off the rest of your cocktail, reaching over and setting the empty glass on the nightstand once you're finished. You take a step towards him, close enough to make your knees bump into his. You bend down, and slowly, you reach out to pinch his lobes between your index finger and your thumb.
Aki's gaze stays trained on you, deep blue irises sparked with wonder, with adoration. His expression is blank, he's wordless, but the increases in his breathing and his pretty eyes — Those are a dead giveaway. The backs of his earrings are spikes of pointy metal, and the front are round, they're smooth and glossy to the touch. They reflect subtle glimmers of the room's pinkish light whenever you tilt them.
"They're so pretty." You peer at Aki through your lashes, you're almost certain you see his eyes widen. "Did they hurt? Where did you get them done?"
"Not really, they only hurt for a second," Aki answers earnestly, his voice resolute. "And it was some piercing shop in Kanagawa… It's been a while, so I don't remember the name. I'm sorry."
"It's alright. That's not too far from here, I could go. I'm sure I'll end up finding it."
Your fingertips brush Aki's bangs behind his ears softly, and he sighs, barely audible, gaze never tearing away from yours like he's mesmerized. He's busy swallowing the thick lump in his throat as you abruptly pull away from him.
You stand up straight, placing your hands on your hips. "I got some piercings done when I was on vacation, but I was thinking of getting my ears pierced too."
"You… You have piercings?" Aki glances to your ears; unlike his, your lobes are completely bare. When he squints, he can't even see a hole.
"Mhm, I do." You nod, and Aki finishes off the rest of his drink while you talk. "You sound surprised. Are you?"
"A little."
"I think they suit me. Sucks that they're hidden most of the time, though."
Aki's face pinches into an expressive concoction of disbelief and confusion. He looks so ridiculous; you manage to stifle a couple of your giggles, but it's not long before you're practically doubling over and bursting into laughter.
"What's so funny?" Aki doesn't get it.
"It's… It's just…"
The alcohol is starting to hit your system now, surely. You're giddy and your veins are buzzing, your head is as light as air. You certainly aren't drunk — you haven't had anywhere near enough drinks for that. But you're tipsy enough to start feeling the effects. You normally don't laugh so hard at something so stupid.
After clearing your throat, you regain your composure. "The way you were looking at me was really funny. Like you were trying to figure out where they are."
"Will you tell me where they are, then?" Aki asks bluntly while he reaches over to set his empty drink next to yours on the nightstand.
You press a finger to your chin. "Mmmm. How about this, I'll let you guess."
You weren't sure if he would agree to your game, but to your satisfaction, you watch as Aki takes you in, his arms crossing, eyes drawing a line from the bottom of your feet up to the top of your head. His short brows scrunch up a bit, his lips purse as he thinks.
Finally, with a straight face, he answers in complete confidence: "Your tongue."
Nope. You smirk and stick your tongue out at him, revealing absolutely nothing but a bit of a hot-pink tinge left by the food coloring in your drink.
"I'll give you a hint. It's lower."
"... Bellybutton?" Aki sounds a little more unsure of himself this time.
"No. Higher."
Aki's eyes narrow. "Higher, alright, so…"
It's as if you're literally watching him think: he stares at where your outfit hugs your stomach, and then his gaze trails, up, up, up until his eyes are going completely wide because he's sure he figured out the answer and it's making him picture something he really doesn't think he should be picturing.
He feels uncomfortable just sitting there staring at your chest like an idiot, so he clears his throat, he looks up to meet your eyes. He's trying to gauge whether his assumption is right or not by the expression on your face — You answer him with a satisfied, smug sort of grin.
"Figure it out?"
Aki doesn't reply, he can't reply. What the hell is he supposed to reply with? His mouth opens for a second like he wants to speak, but he instead opts to close it and gnaw on his bottom lip until the skin is coming off. He folds his hands delicately in his lap, he fiddles with his own thumbs awkwardly.
"Aw, come on." You tease, playful, "Do you not believe me? Would it help if you saw them?"
"Ah, no, no!" Aki raises his hands up defensively, his cheeks are heating into a pale shade of red. "There's no need for that, okay, I'm sorry, I believe you, so you don't..."
"Calm down," You interrupt when he starts to trail off, huffing a half-hearted chuckle, "You're so adorable. I know you believe me, I'm just messing with you."
Your words calm him down a bit, and Aki's body relaxes, his tense shoulders slumping, his expression softening. His voice comes out quiet and he's staring down at his hands when he says, "It… It didn't sound like you were messing around. Sorry."
"Don't apologize when you haven't done anything wrong. You do that way too much."
"Oh, I'm sor-" Aki cuts himself off before he does the exact thing you just told him not to do. "Right. Okay. Noted."
You give him a couple seconds to simmer; your arms come to cross loosely around your chest, Aki sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, a rosy-pink hue still dusted across his face.
Then, "Your ponytail is cute, too."
"Oh, that's- You think so?" He's instantly flustered. The warmth under his cheeks reignites, his hands feel clammy; he opens and closes them on his lap while averting his eyes. "I- I didn't really… I didn't notice. Or, uh, that sounds stupid, I mean I didn't plan for it to… Well, I wasn't trying to make it…"
Suddenly, he freezes — He lets his arms go limp and he exhales a heavy, defeated breath. "I can't even speak."
"You're okay," You chuckle, "I get what you're saying. Or trying to say, I guess."
By now, Aki's pretty much gone silent, fiddling with his fingers, crossing them over one another — but you capture his attention again when you step in close to him, leaning down until you're more level with his height. His shy gaze locks into yours, eyelids heavy, eyes hazy.
"Hey." You're speaking quietly, your smooth tone is barely enough to make him shiver. "Is it okay if I take your hair down?"
"If-" Aki's breath shakes, "If you want to."
"Mmm, as much as I like the topknot I think it'll be more comfortable with it down, no?" You hum, voice saccharine sweet, smile warm and inviting; Aki is so entranced he almost doesn't notice you're already reaching up to grasp his hair tie.
You tug on it slowly, all the way until his dark hair is free to fall loosely around his face, still kinked in the back from being held up for so long. Aki's breath hitches, his heart starts to thud harder in his chest. You slip his black hair tie around your wrist, and then you carefully brush the messier strands of hair from his eyes: the slightest touch, but it makes his whole body tingle with exhilaration.
"Can I play with your hair?"
Before he even gives himself the chance to think twice, Aki is nodding his head hesitantly, obediently. Like a puppy, following along to the pace you've set while he eagerly hangs onto your every word. He would love that.
You lean in a little bit further. You lift your knee and slot it into the space between his legs, resting it on the edge of the bed to keep yourself steadier.
Gently, your fingers begin to run through his soft hair, starting at the bottom near his neck and traveling up through his scalp, ruffling it as you go until a few strands stick up from the static. Electricity twists from Aki's head to his spine, he exhales a heavy, relaxed sort of sigh; his eyelashes flutter, his body melts.
God, he's pretty.
You knew he was, you've thought he looked like the prettiest man you've ever seen from the moment you met him. But when he looks like this, long hair let down to tickle the back of his neck, to fall in loose, choppy strands and to frame his handsome face oh-so perfectly — He's so damn pretty you couldn't possibly put it into words.
Yet still, you try to, you pull away for a second to tuck some locks behind his ear and quietly whisper, "Why do you keep your hair up, Hayakawa? You're so pretty like this."
"I…" Aki stutters a little, he looks away and takes a deep, shuddery breath in to try and maintain his cool. To pretend like your compliments aren't affecting him. He'll try and change the subject.
"I don't want it to get in my eyes. And I always let it grow out because… sometimes I cut it off. For devil contracts."
You're raising an eyebrow and staring at him in confusion while you separate three thick strands of hair near the front of his face. "What kind of devil would ask for something so weird? I assumed they'd only want stuff like blood and flesh, or bones, maybe. I didn't know a Hair Devil was a thing."
"It's not like that," Aki counters, "Some devils are friendlier with humans than others, so the contracts they offer have looser terms. I have a contract with the Fox Devil. When it gets bored of what I usually give to it, I chop off some of my hair to feed it as a treat."
The way his explanation is given with a flat tone and a totally straight face, as if everything he said was completely normal only adds more to your perplexity. You must know way less about devils than you thought.
You cross each strand of his hair over one another, loosely but intricately. "Y'know, I've heard of many different kinds of contracts, I've seen a lot of devil hunters give up a lot of different things. But I've never heard of something like that."
Aki shrugs. "It's unlikely. Most devils aren't so lenient. I never complain about our contract because hair is the easiest thing any of them could ask of me."
"Yeah? What else do they ask for?"
"It's usually the sorts of things you said. Skin, flesh, blood, body parts. Some ask for years off your life."
You pause. "And you're okay with giving it to them?"
Aki answers quickly and concisely: "If I want to stand any kind of a chance against them, I have to make some sacrifices."
Sensing the strain lingering in his voice, you stay silent after that remark.
You pull away to admire your work: a small, loose braid is arranged behind his bangs but right in front of his ear, trailing down to just above his shoulder. You hold it in your hand, and you give it one last look before gently undoing it with your finger and your thumb.
Then, your hand trails down to hold his face, Aki shivers as you cup his jaw, brushing the pad of your thumb over his cheek. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, your fingertips trailing down, tracing his neck. Both of your palms come to rest finally in the middle of his broad shoulders.
You look up at him, meeting his eyes, searching for confirmation. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"
Aki offers you a shallow, nervous nod in response.
You start by giving his shoulders a tentative squeeze, rolling the muscle between your fingers and your palm, feeling the stiff knots of tension that linger there. When Aki doesn't protest, letting out a soft grunt, his eyes closing, you start to massage him more thoroughly, more deliberately. You apply pressure to the edge of his shoulder blades, you rub firm circles into the space surrounding his spine.
In no time, you're watching his eyes practically roll into the back of his head. He's settling back more comfortably onto the bed the longer your hands stay on him, pressing his palms flat at his sides, leaning his weight onto his arms to keep himself steady.
"You're reeeeally tense," You coo, strands of Aki's hair tickling your knuckles as you work, "You must be so stressed, aren't you?"
Considering how much he's already begun to relax, you weren't really expecting a reply out of him, but Aki manages to answer with a simple nod and with his voice blissed out: "Yeah, super stressed. I can't catch a break. The whole division… it's been crazy."
It's a lot more detail than you expected him to divulge; maybe the relaxation is what coaxes him to be more talkative.
"Do they not treat you very good over there?" You ask.
There's a pause, as if for a few fleeting seconds, he's considering how much he should tell you, whether or not he should tell the truth about how he really feels. It'll mean speaking ill about Public Safety, something he really shouldn't do, especially to someone who works for a business so closely tied to their affairs. The commission wants companies to only hear good things, things like how strong and brave and commendable devil hunters are, how many benefits and funds Public Safety gives them.
In the end though, another press of your fingers right up against his pressure points causes him to cave.
"Not really," Aki shakes his head, he huffs a discontented sigh, "There's good benefits. Decent pay. Paid time off, too. But… it feels like I'm the one who gets stuck with all the difficult jobs these days."
You crook an eyebrow, giving his muscles a particularly firm squeeze. "Oh?"
Aki's eyelids flutter, his brows furrowing, and he continues, "My boss, she stuck me with these two… idiots. Normally it doesn't matter who I work with, but they've been getting on my last nerve. So loud and… unruly. I don't have any time alone anymore."
"A bunch of trouble-makers, huh? And you've gotta be responsible for them? That's not fair."
"Uh-huh… And ever since they joined, the division's been nothing but insanity. There's so many devils- Every mission is just more complicated and more stressful than the last."
"Awe," Your voice is soft, "Sounds like there's a lot you have to deal with, I'm sorry. Hah, so that's why Mister Kishibe said you needed to get somewhere to relax, huh?"
Your hands travel further backward, slipping underneath his shirt, palms rubbing the middle of his back. Aki hums, he nods his head, "Yeah…"
You give his back one more massage, his shoulders one last squeeze. You appreciate the look of total relaxation on his face: his eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Your hands move once more, this time carefully holding onto the very edge of each shoulder.
"Can I touch your arms?"
Aki's eyes flutter open. He meets your gaze, he's barely there, and he replies with a peaceful, hardly audible, Mhmm.
Glancing down, you let your hands slip over his smooth sleeves, to his biceps. You give them a little bit of a squeeze — Your touch is teasing and light, enough to make him sigh, and enough to allow you to feel the firm muscle beneath.
You stare into his eyes: his are nervous, misty. Yours are sparked with something he can't make sense of.
"You're so strong."
"I-" Aki trails off, warmth rises in his cheeks and he tries his best to keep his eyes locked onto you. "It's- it's mostly from training. I used to work out too, but now I… I don't have time anymore."
"Oh, really?" You rub his arms gently, in a comforting sort of motion. Up, slowly, and then down, even slower. "What kind of training? Like training to fight devils?"
"Yes. And sword fighting. Boxing, sometimes."
"Mmm, I bet you're a really good devil hunter, huh?"
Aki doesn't answer. He's warm all over, he feels his heart shake in his ribs. He lets your words toss around in his head, he simply watches with his lips pursed and his face flushed as you reach for the end of the sleeve on his dress shirt.
You start with the cuff, folding it up and over itself, and then you roll his sleeve all the way up to his elbow before doing the same to the other side. Aki observes each of your movements complacently, with heavy eyelids and an expectant gaze. His breath gets stuck in his throat the moment your fingers start to caress his bare forearms.
You trace his mismatch of scars beneath your fingertips, crosshatches of ridges carved into his skin. Some feel long, straight. Following the same direction in a way which makes them come across somewhat like claw marks.
Some are more jagged, deeper, shallower. Larger or smaller, more prominent than the others. Clearly caused by something stronger, or something weaker. Maybe a few of them have the possibility of fading away. But most of them feel deep enough to brand him forever.
You glance down, you hold his arms delicately in your hands, "So many scars."
Your voice is quiet, your tone puts him at ease. And you're touching him so softly, so gently, more tender than he's ever known — Aki shudders. He shudders and shudders and shudders, his heart shakes his ribcage and his emotions constrict his lungs, tight and crushing. You're touching him softer than he thinks he deserves.
"They're pretty." You say, utterly earnest.
Aki sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.
"I can keep touching you here, right? It's not uncomfortable?"
"Yes." He answers shakily. "It's fine."
You have another question for him: "Are these all from devils?"
"Uh-huh," Aki's voice is low, a bit fragile, slightly trembling, "And devil contracts."
"Contracts too, huh?" You feel the length of one of the largest marks under your thumb, and Aki flinches. "There's so many. I was trying to count them but… they keep crossing over one another. I lost track."
Your hands glide downwards until you're reaching for his own, squeezing them tightly, turning them over and beginning to massage the muscles in his palms with your thumbs. Effortlessly, he's melting, focused fully on your touches — on your adoration.
"How long have you been in deals with devils? Or how long have you been hunting them?"
Aki answers with a huff of exhaustion. "My whole life."
"That's…" Your gaze goes soft, "It must be so hard, isn't it? And something tells me you never give yourself a chance to relax, 'cause you're always so busy getting worked to the bone."
"Mhmm." Aki nods. He feels weak. Like he could collapse, and it would be right into your arms.
"You really go through so much." You squeeze his hands again, more deliberately this time. "Hey, is it okay if I ask you something? Something sort of personal."
"That's fine."
"Do you like killing devils, Hayakawa?"
Your question takes him by surprise. Does he like killing devils? Aki isn't sure if he's ever thought about it. You're the first person who's ever asked him.
Sure, it's true some devil hunters get a thrill out of it — Kishibe comes to mind. But not him. Killing devils is just something Aki has to do, something he needs to do. It's a necessity in this world. It's his job to do so. It's what he's chosen to do with his life, and once he made his decision, there was no turning back.
And while it once made him proud to slay something tough, or happy to be able to save someone, or satisfied to find another chunk of the Gun Devil's flesh, it's been a long, long time since devil hunting has made him feel anything but empty. Empty and hurt when he watches another one of his colleagues die. Empty and lonesome when he spends another night alone on his balcony, wondering if he'll have the time to show up at their funeral. Anger once fueled him, but these days he isn't even given the satisfaction of feeling that much.
He hates when he has to search another devil's dead body and blood gets caked under his fingernails, it clings to the crevices in his palms and he knows no matter what he tries the marks of red aren't going to wash out. He hates constantly having to purchase new clothes for work because his suits and his shirts are always getting irreversibly stained. Even once he's home, even after he's spent ages in the shower scrubbing himself clean of every trace of them, there's still the marks they've left, there's still the thoughts in his head that won't leave.
He hates when he gets itchy scabs from peeling off his own skin for contracts, he hates when he has to skip meals because of urgent missions only to end up feeling sick the moment he tries to eat anything, he hates waking up in the middle of the night with his heart pounding and his body caked in sweat because of another stupid, frightening nightmare.
He hates devils, yes. Almost everyone who's a devil hunter does. It's why they do it. But sometimes he hates this vicious, maddeningly endless cycle even more.
So, Aki shakes his head, and he concludes, "I guess not. I don't find it enjoyable."
You stay silent for a moment before you ask, "Then why do it?"
"It's…" Aki hesitates, he averts his eyes, he feels you turn over his hands and brush his knuckles with your thumbs.
He glances down, and you're examining them like they're the most interesting thing in the world, staring with half-lidded eyes at the bruises on his battered knuckles, at the faint scars on his fingers. His nails are trimmed short, they're well manicured. His fingers are long, slender. His palms are fit with rough calluses in the shape of the hilt of his sword.
A deep sigh is expelled from his lungs, "I have to. Or, I don't have to, I'm not being forced, it's just difficult to explain. So I can't- I'm not sure if I…"
"It's alright." You reassure him. "You don't need to tell me if you don't want to."
He knows he doesn't need to. If you were anybody else, if there wasn't something about you that makes him trust you so goddamn much he probably would have answered by now with something like, It's because it's my job, or, It's because I hate devils. He's used those same excuses countless times before.
Aki doesn't have to open up to you, but he wants to, and more than anything he feels like he can.
"I…" Aki starts, he swallows thickly, he wills his voice not to shake and when you wrap your fingers around his hands and squeeze, he closes his thumbs, holds you back.
"I want to kill the Gun Devil. I'm sure that's something you've heard before. Plenty of devil hunters are after the same thing." Aki's lips purse. He shouldn't be telling you this, but, "In order to find it, the government has to track down its pieces, which involves enlisting devil hunters to kill devils who've ingested them. Then, as an individual, you need to have your record full of successful hunts on strong devils in order to qualify to fight the Gun, which means killing even more of them."
The room is infinitely more silent. The sound of his own voice in his eardrums seems so, so much louder.
He continues, "I know there's little chance of success. People tell me I've been wasting my time. And I know I am," His hands clench tighter, they squeeze yours harder, "I know it's all a waste, but I can't quit, there's nothing left for me if I do. I don't care what happens, I don't care if the Gun Devil kills me, I just-"
He pauses, inhales a deep breath. Exhales a long, trembling one.
"It took everything from me. I watched it take everything from me. I have to kill it, I don't have a choice. I have to."
You understand. There's no way you wouldn't, you understand exactly what he means, because truly, it is everything you've heard before.
You couldn't count the number of times you've seen a devil hunter who was after the same exact mission. Since you started working here, you've met a lot of Gun Devil chasers. They come because they're lonely, because they've lost their wives or their families to tragedy, and they desperately need something to fill the void.
Or, they visit the club because they're hunters who are so wrapped up in the pursuit of killing the thing they've driven themselves damn near insane. They work themselves nearly to death, they push everyone away in their pursuits for revenge and don't realize how badly they need the affection of another until it's far too late. Not the fake kind the club can bring them. Real, earnest affection.
Aki is that kind of devil hunter, it seems. Not one who got into it for the thrill, or for the paycheck, or for the attention. But just someone who's hurt. Someone who's been wronged by devils, by this world, and now seeks for any way to counteract that pain, even if it means inflicting more upon himself.
When it comes down to it, you can't help but feel for him, especially now that you've seen how kindhearted he can be, how utterly devoted he is to his job — despite the way he's treated and what he has to go through. Knowing what you know now, everything starts to make so much more sense.
You continue to stare down at his hands silently, thinking to yourself. You brush his knuckles with your thumbs tenderly, you flip his hands over and stroke the intricate future lines on his palms. Soft indents, marks of fate.
It takes you a couple of moments to realize he's started to shake.
His breath comes out uneven, short. The tremors travel from his hands to his arms to his shoulders, and his body tenses up from the pressure of trying to control them. He's rooted in place with his back hunched and his head held down, messy bangs hiding the solemn expression on his face.
Aki attempts to keep his composure, he focuses on steadying his breathing. It's difficult when his heart is working against him, when it's twisted and pulled and pinched in his chest. He exhales a nice, deep breath. In, and then out. In, out. Don't break.
But his bottom lip won't stop quivering, and he hates it; he can't help but draw it between his teeth and bite down hard enough to hurt. His horrible brain and your tenderness, your voice and your touch and every little thing to have to do with you amounts to more than he can take, so overwhelming.
This shouldn't happen. He utters weak little sounds that make the entirety of his frame shake with them. This is stupid, he doesn't even know why he's crying, God, he's so stupid — He's breaking down right in front of you, and he isn't strong enough to stop it.
"Hey, wait."
Your voice sounds muffled in his ears, as if you're speaking through layers of static. You give his hands a patient squeeze and he squeezes back hard, tightly, almost desperately. You ask, "Are you okay?"
Aki nods his head, but it isn't very convincing; he's silent, wet droplets of tears slip from his cheeks to plop onto his arms, your hands, his knees. They soak into your skin, they leave faded marks on the fabric of his slacks.
He tries to open his mouth and say something, anything, but his throat's gone dry, his jaw is clenched up tight. His lips can't seem to mouth the words. And he can't see a thing, his vision is blurry; colors meld together, your arms and his legs and the floor underneath him blend into one until it all becomes nothing more than a single, faded shape. Aki cries silently and weakly, sucking in sharp breaths through his teeth, gripping your hands — yours — as if they're a lifeline.
He squeezes his eyes shut, willing his tears to stop, and like you can sense it, your hand comes to carefully cup the shape of his jaw. Your palm is warm, your touch is the gentlest thing he thinks he's ever felt. You tilt his head up, coaxing his teary gaze to meet yours. Despite how difficult it is, Aki keeps it there. There's a tender look in your eyes, in your expression, something he can't tear away from.
He's pretty. He's so pretty, even like this.
You wipe the tears from his stained cheeks with your thumb. Your closeness makes his breath hitch, your touch starts to settle the gnawing ache in the pit of his stomach. Whether he realizes it or not, he relaxes, he leans into your palm. With soothing words and a quiet tone, you reassure him. Just breathe, it's okay, you're alright. It's okay.
He knows damn well this is stupid. He knows he's such a fool. He's an idiot for crying so much, for shaking and pitifully sobbing like he hasn't done since he was young, all while clutching the hands of someone he barely knows — and yet, those hands in his are the only thing keeping him from falling apart even worse than he already has. No, with every squeeze and brush of your careful fingers, the longer you spend holding his cheek, other hand still connected, you're putting him back together.
For the life of him, Aki can't figure out why.
If he was stronger, perhaps he'd be able to pick up the pieces himself. He wouldn't shift his burdens onto you. He'd wipe his own tears and get away with giving you some half-assed excuse to make you forget all about this, all about him.
That would be so much better, right? It would be, because your hands don't belong in his, soft and warm and perfect in rough and cold and battle-scarred. You're wasting your time, and Aki wonders if you know that already. Is this merely an obligation, has your kindness been nothing more than a job you need to do?
Even if it is, you should have left a long, long time ago. Yet for whatever reason, you haven't. You've stayed. And that's what confuses him more than anything. Why, why are you like this?
Aki keeps his wavering focus on your voice and your face. He's long since forgotten what this felt like, he can't remember the last time anyone cared to comfort him, since anyone held him, whispering such sweet words for his soul to latch onto. He didn't realize until now how much this could mean, how good it could feel to be kept, to finally be known.
It's a scary thought. It's scary to think you mean so much to him already. You're nothing more than strangers, yet the thought of you leaving, of everything ending right then and there hurts.
He starts to breathe deeply, he listens to the echo of your words and syncs up his breathing with the pattern of your own: in and then out, rhythmic and languid. Slowly but surely, everything begins to feel alright again. You wipe the rest of his tears away, and he steadies.
Your gentle thumb caresses his cheek one more time. "Are you alright? Can you talk to me? What's wrong?"
Aki sniffles. He reaches up to rub his eyes with the back of his hand, at the same time half-heartedly pushing yours away.
"Nothing," He answers, tone icy, but his voice still cracks around the edges in a way he can't manage to hide. "I'm fine."
"You weren't fine two seconds ago."
"I'm fine now."
You pause, your hand lingering in the space between him and yourself as you debate whether or not to reach out for him again. Your eyes flicker over his face, he continues to stare at the ground. You're sure he's going to stay silent. But that's okay.
"I'm sorry. It hurts, doesn't it?"
Your voice sounds so, so genuine. Aki's heart sinks down into his stomach.
"You didn't deserve for any of that to happen to you. God, you've been through so much. All of it, I just- I couldn't even imagine."
Aki swallows the lump in his throat, and he replies, "Don't apologize. It's okay."
"It's not okay," You retort sharply, "It isn't okay for you to have to deal with getting treated like crap, on top of all those difficult missions, and on top of the stress from trying to hunt down that damn devil. It just isn't."
"I'm used to it. I knew what I signed up for when I took this job."
Your expression pinches. "Yeah, and I'm saying you deserve better. Better than whatever it is you're used to. Do you not think so?"
"I-"
He starts to answer, but he trails off before he can get anywhere. His eyes go wide, he glances away.
No, no he doesn't think so, but he couldn't explain that to you, he wouldn't even know where to begin. Everything he's ever done, every sacrifice, each and every devil he's slaughtered — It's all been in service of some sort of debt he feels he needs to repay. It was him who lived, it was him who survived when the rest of his family had their lives ripped away from them. He's the one with weight to carry. He's the one who got his brother killed.
And it's him who's watched colleague after colleague, friend after friend die right in front of his eyes, while each time he's been powerless to stop it. When those people fought so hard only to end up in their graves, never able to take another breath, who the hell is he to want something more, something easier? When he's the one who failed to keep them safe, if he stopped fighting for even a moment, how would he be able to live with himself?
This is just the way his life is, the way it always will be. This is the only thing he's known ever since he can remember.
And fuck, he can't say that to you. God knows he's said enough already.
Aki purses his lips into a thin line, his eyes flash with a more than obvious spark of guilt. If his hands folded in his lap, clenched and trembling weren't enough, the look on his face surely tells you all you need to know.
You sigh, and you let your arms fall limp at your sides. "You're so ridiculous."
Aki stays silent for a couple of seconds like he hasn't realized, and then suddenly, his eyebrows furrow, his gaze flickers up to your own. "What?"
"You heard me. You're being ridiculous. And totally stupid."
"What the hell do you mean?" He pouts, "How?"
Oh, you're really gonna give it to him now.
"You know what? Listen," You're starting, standing up straight, "You're ridiculously stubborn. And you're ridiculously altruistic. You should care more about your own well-being. What's gonna happen when you go too far? When you've sacrificed yourself and destroyed your mind and your body so much you've essentially worked yourself to death? If you spend all your time trying to protect others, you don't leave any room to protect yourself."
With every word, Aki's expression softens, softens. He bites down on his own tongue and stays quiet.
"If you don't care about my opinion, it's fine," You continue, arms crossing over your chest, "You don't know me. You don't have to listen to anything I have to say. After tonight, you can leave and go do whatever you'd like with your life, and I won't be able to stop you. But I think you deserve better, and whether you agree or not, that's not gonna change. You shouldn't be treated so poorly, whether it's by yourself or by other people, or by this whole fucked up system. God-"
Your shoulders slump. The sigh you breathe is deep and weary.
"You deserve love, you know that?"
Love.
Aki's eyes are wide, his mouth parts but he can't say anything. Truthfully, he doesn't know what to make of that. All he knows is how your words get his stomach all fluttery, the way they make his chest twisted with an aching, unfamiliar heartsickness.
"I'm-" He stutters, voice shaky, "I… I appreciate you saying all of that. Really, I do. But-" He brings his fist up, clearing his throat. "But you don't need to- Where are you going?"
By the time he's looked up and noticed, you've already walked away. You kneel down, digging through the bar's mini fridge. Glasses clink together as you sift through its contents. Eventually, you find what you're looking for: a cold bottle of water, and you walk back over, holding it out to him.
"Here," You give the water bottle a shake, "Your voice is hoarse. You must be thirsty, right?"
"Uh," Aki reaches out to take the bottle from you. "I guess so."
Now that you've mentioned it, his throat is pretty scratchy. He cracks the lid of the bottle open with a satisfying noise, and he tilts his head back to graciously glug some down. The crisp cold water nulls the fuzziness in his head, it brings relief to his throat, sore from when he was crying. Once he's done, he screws the cap back on and reaches over to set the bottle on the nightstand.
"Better?"
Aki nods, and he sounds much clearer when he answers, "Yes. Thanks."
"Let's talk about something else." You start, "Tell me how you're feeling. Are you sad? Mad at me?"
"No, of course not. I'm not mad. I'm not sad either. I'm just… normal."
Normal, right. His heart certainly doesn't feel normal: it's pounding a mile a minute, and it has been pretty much since the moment you started talking. Or maybe it started the second he stepped into this room with you. No. His heart's been skipping from the moment he met you.
His head is spinning in circles, spinning and spinning and making him dizzy, and he can't think straight to save his life. The ghost of your touch lingers on his skin: of your hands in his, of your palm on his cheek. You left tingles in your wake, you dictated the rhythm of his pulse without even realizing. And now that you've gone and said all of those sweet declarations — You've made it so every little thought circles right back around to you, with no means of escape.
Love, is that what this is? He's been thinking too much already, way too much for his own good, so Aki doesn't bother to give himself the time to consider it.
Maybe he's just drunk. He doesn't feel drunk. He's by no means a lightweight who'd go and get wasted after only a handful of drinks. But maybe the alcohol is what's making him act so weepy and starstruck and stupid. He'll place the blame on that to make himself feel better.
He shakes his head, and he says offhandedly, mostly to himself, "I think I've had too much to drink."
"Oh? I was going to offer to make you something else, but maybe that's not the best idea." You reply. "Are you okay? Do… Do you want to go back now?"
"No, not yet," Aki answers quickly, "I'm fine. My head, it just- it hurts, is all. But all the noise out there, it would make it hurt even worse."
Briefly, Aki remembers how you told him you were on your break. Your break's probably over by now. He should remind you. But he won't.
The noise, yes, but more so, he doesn't want you to leave him just yet. Not for a little while longer.
"Alright. We can just keep relaxing, then."
"Is that okay with you?" Aki asks, a bit hesitant.
"Yeah, but if we're gonna stay here-"
To his surprise, your palm comes to press onto the center of his chest, centimeters away from his pounding heart. You push slightly. "Scooch. Let me sit. My legs are tired."
Aki eyes you with confusion. But when your hand applies a bit more force, he follows along, obediently shifting back on the bed to try and make room for you.
Before he can move to the side to allow you to sit next to him though, you're suddenly gripping his shoulders, you're squeezing them tight and slinging your legs on either side of his. You're straddling him and climbing on top of him, you're settling your full weight on his legs and you're sitting in his lap — and just like that, Aki's completely breathless.
You're in his lap. He's stuttering between words and gasps out of nervousness, he's leaning backwards as much as he can but at the same time, he's trying to get comfortable, letting his thighs spread on instinct to give you enough room.
"Ah, what're you-" His cheeks burn with fiery warmth, his heart starts to pound faster, faster. He keeps his arms at his sides, his palms are getting sweaty, and he closes and opens his hands in unrest, in awkwardness, unsure where or whether he should touch you. He shouldn't, and you shouldn't be so close — Fuck, are you trying to kill him?
"You…" Aki gulps, he struggles to keep his gaze on yours when you're staring at him so unwaveringly, "I was going to move some more so you could sit, but you didn't give me a chance to, so I… You really don't have to-"
You're already smiling, you interrupt him with a small laugh and a playful squeeze of his shoulders.
"It's fine. Don't overthink it, Hayakawa. Just relax."
You hold still, allowing his heart to settle and for him to get used to your weight on top of him. You fit into his lap snugly, closely. Like you were meant to be there. Perfectly, almost; the slot of two puzzle pieces. So close he can hear your soft breathing echoing alongside the pitter-patter of his heartbeat in his ears. His thighs allow you just the right amount of space to sit comfortably. His work slacks are nice and smooth against your bare legs.
Don't overthink it. Is that what he's been doing this whole time, overthinking? With the way his head keeps spinning and spinning, it sure seems like he's been.
Maybe he shouldn't. He could try not to. He'd feel better if he let go, if he focused on nothing but you, if he just trusted you and simply forgot about everything else. All of his worries, all of his troubles. All the hurt he's clung onto so tight. He could, just for as long as you're here with him.
Aki exhales a long, deep breath, he lets his hands unfurl and places them flat onto the mattress. His heart rate slows. He wants to let go, he swears he does. The problem is convincing his mind to shut up is no easy task.
"Whatcha thinking about?"
Aki peers up at you as your sweet voice tugs him from his thoughts. "Nothing."
You breathe a half-sigh, half-giggle, and you wrap your arms around his neck, clasping your hands together and leaning your elbows on his shoulders. "You're always worrying about something, aren't you?"
Aki hesitates for a single moment — your face is so close — before he interjects, "Not all the time."
"Oh yeah? How do I get you to stop, then?"
"I… I don't know."
Sure, he doesn't know, but you might just have an idea. An idea to get him to forget about all those things that've been bothering him, an idea to help take some weight off of his shoulders, if only for tonight. An idea that gets your heart thumping, your nerves buzzing, and your whole body tingling with anticipation.
You know how you can get him to relax, and if he thinks love isn't something he needs, you know how you can show him.
You cock your head, "Listen, how about this. Don't let anything trouble you right now, okay?"
Aki pauses. "What do you mean?"
You lean in a bit more, just a little more, enough to let Aki smell a hint of your perfume; something akin to fresh blossoms and vanilla, completely intoxicating yet perfectly, utterly you.
Your voice is sweet enough to make his heart flip: "I want you to try and let go of everything that's been bothering you, all those bad thoughts that won't leave your mind. I said you deserve to relax and enjoy yourself, remember? And you can't give yourself space to relax if you're always stuck in your own head, don't you think?"
Aki swallows so hard his eardrums crackle, he's stunned. Part of him still can't believe this is happening, that you're here, tangible and right on top of him. Your eyes are locked onto his, gaze warm and earnest. His eyelids grow heavy once your delicate fingers come to hold his jaw.
Quiet and coy, you whisper, "You're here with me, it's just us, and nothing else. It can be just us for the rest of the night, if you want it to be. We can pretend devils don't exist, alright?"
Honestly, Aki doubts himself, he isn't sure how well he'll be able to follow through. But when you're the one who's asking him, when it's for you, he wants to give it a shot. If he keeps his focus on you, on this moment, perhaps forgetting will become simpler than he imagined.
"Alright." Aki replies, "I'll try. Thank you."
"That's all I'm asking for." Your smile is warm. "Just try."
He nods, and it's ridiculous, but after a few drawn-out seconds, he begins to think you're going to do something more.
Your hand on his cheek tilts his head up slightly, holding him perfectly still. Aki's expression softens. He sees your gaze flicker down to rest on his lips, he can hear the subtle echo of your breathing. You're so close, your face is mere inches away from his. The tension between you and him draws out the seconds one by one, millisecond by millisecond, breath by breath.
The funny part is he wouldn't mind it. He wouldn't try to stop you. You've really got him wrapped around your finger, and Aki knows it. He's sure he's past the point of ever hoping to learn how to say no to you. Thankfully, he doesn't think he minds much if he ends up letting you do whatever you want with him.
If you kissed him right now, he might even find himself pulling you closer.
But you don't; instead, your hands start to travel over his shoulders, your warm fingers slip under the collar of his shirt to toy with his bare skin in places he hasn't felt before. The anticipation could kill him, but your touches might spell his demise before then.
You lean in close, your breath warm when it fans over the shell of his ear. "Are you comfortable?"
His eyelashes flutter, and he merely answers, "Mhmm."
"I can move, if you want to. If this is too much."
"No," Aki blurts out, "Don't."
Your fingertips graze over his pulse point before you tug them out of his collar, returning your hand to rest delicately on his jaw. Aki meets your eyes, his breathing starting to quicken; you can hear each sharp, shaky breath he takes in. Your touch is barely there, but it commands all of his attention; effortlessly tender, you make his body shiver, his skin spark with electricity.
You examine the details of his face: deep blue eyes like the depths of the ocean, faint bags set in under them from the stress. His nose is pointed, his brows are straight and short and a bit furrowed up in nervousness. He's pretty when he blushes, his face becomes painted in shades of ruby and pink all the way to the tips of his ears. He's just as handsome as you thought he was from the moment you saw him, even more when he's flustered, even more when it's all because of you.
"You're-"
Before he can finish the rest of what he was about to say, Aki suddenly stops, he shakes his head. He mutters, "Sorry, nevermind."
"No, what is it?"
Gnawing a little on his bottom lip, he anxiously taps his fingers against the surface of the bed. "I don't know. I forgot."
"Come onnnnn," You tease, and you playfully pinch his cheek; Aki grumbles, but you just make his face glow even redder than before.
"You're a horrible liar. You know what it is, so just tell me."
"I was going to say-" Aki trails off. Loudly, he sighs. His tone of voice is nonchalant, like it's no big deal, but the way he shyly averts his eyes away from you says otherwise. "I think you're really beautiful."
His words catch you a bit off guard — pleasantly, though. They get you smiling, your cheeks warm and your heart fluttering. "Thank you. For the record, I think you're beautiful too."
"Am I?"
Aki's eyes go glossy. He asks you that question like he's wanting you to say more, like he's begging for you to keep fawning over him because he can't get enough of it, of the way it feels to be adored.
"Uh-huh. You're so pretty, Hayakawa. I think you're gorgeous-" You brush your fingers down his jaw, your palm presses firm to his chest. It rises, falls, his heart beats beneath his shirt to a rapid rhythm, thumping, thumping. "Inside and out."
You think he's pretty. Aki's so dizzy he can't even think, it's like he's floating, as if he's high. Water beads at his lashes, he blinks the tears away. He lets his gaze flicker from your face, to where you're settled on top of his lap, to something in the distance.
His mind is moving a mile a minute, but no matter what, all those thoughts keep leading back to the same thing. He can't stop thinking about what you had said to him earlier.
Love has never been in the cards for him. Maybe it was something he understood once, but ever since he can remember, it hasn't been something he's had. He's never been adored. Never been put first. His parents loved him, but they spent all their time fussing over his brother. And then, they were gone.
It isn't something he's daydreamed of, isn't something he's at all desired. In this life, love isn't even anywhere close to a possibility. His existence revolves around his pursuits as a devil hunter, and nothing else. He can't have room for anything else. There's no-one. There's always been no-one.
Until now.
You make his heart into something it isn't used to, your touches give him a feeling so simple yet unlike anything he's ever understood: the beat of wings manifested between his ribcage. He's never been one to want, but he wants you, he wants whatever else you're willing to give to him, be it love, or something more. He wants to see what it is you think he deserves, because then, he might be able to understand.
"You look so nervous, pretty boy."
Your tone is teasing, it's tugging and pleading for him to let you in. Your finger comes to rest under his chin, and you tilt it up towards you carefully — just slightly, but enough to call his attention back to you.
"I thought I told you to relax."
"Easier said than done." Aki replies quickly, a little breathless.
You don't get how damn near impossible it is to stay calm when you're so sickeningly sweet. When you're pressed up this close to him, right in his lap.
"Then let me help you."
You brush some hair from his eyes, tuck it neatly behind his ears. You reach for him again, and this time, you're gently grasping his chin between your thumb and forefinger, you're keeping his head tilted up and his gaze locked on you.
"You don't- there's no need for that, you don't have to." Aki mumbles, he's frozen, and his lips quiver when your thumb brushes over them. "You've done enough for me already."
"But I want to. It isn't because I have to, I want to do this for you, Aki. Please."
Your sudden use of his first name causes his eyes to widen and his thudding heart to skip a beat. He knew he'd like the way you said his name, when you said his last he couldn't help but imagine how your voice would strum the syllables of his first. But now that he's heard it, the way his name sounds when you're the one to say it is perfect.
"Really?"
A small part of him is still doubting this. His worry-filled brain can't help but think the only reason you're still here is because this is your job, and he's nothing more than a patron. Perhaps he's too trusting, but if you're sitting here and you're telling him this is what you want, then —
"Yes, of course. Of course Aki, fuck, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want this with you." The meaning of this is left ambiguous, but you're still talking, and neither of you have a chance to ponder the implication.
"You can trust me," You're continuing, "Let me take care of you. I can help you relax, for once. I'll give you something else to think about. Something better."
Aki pauses. His breath is warm on the pad of your thumb, his voice is a challenge at barely more than a whisper: "And how are you going to do that?"
You know how, and it's something you've wanted to do for way, way too long.
You keep a firm grip on his chin, holding him still. Aki's Adam's apple bobs in his throat when he swallows thickly, his throat dry from the nervousness. His shoulders stiffen, his breath hitches and shakes as you start to slowly lean in, your head tilting, your hand working behind him to gently hold the back of his neck with each centimeter of distance you close.
When your lips brush over his — close enough to feel yours are plush, and his are chapped, but not quite enough to connect — Aki is letting his eyes shut. His breath is hot, it's quick. He focuses on the fluttery beat of his heart in his ears to keep the anticipation from eating him alive. Pounding fast, hard, and then slower, slower.
And once your lips press fully onto his own, he feels it start to soar.
His chest fills with an enveloping, tingling warmth, his cheeks and the tips of his ears burn red hot. After so long of feeling nothing he finally knows what it's like to feel everything — His breath nearly stops as you kiss him softly; tender enough to cause the entire room to whirl around him, hard enough to make the whole rest of the world fade away, as though it doesn't even exist.
There's just you, and just him, at the center of it all.
Still, it's a hesitant, chaste sort of kiss, Aki melts into your touch and allows you to do as you please, and you let the kiss last for only a second or two. You pull back slowly, reluctant to drag your lips away from his, you let his breath mix with yours for longer than you should. Finally, you draw all the way backward, and Aki's eyes flutter open to see you're already staring at him.
You kissed him. You kissed him, and the only thing running through Aki's mind is how much his heart — in the expanse of his chest, warm and all-encompassing, flooding his body with this prickly sense of longing — All he can think of is how badly he needs you to kiss him again.
"Aki-" You swallow, you say his name with an air of caution; perhaps you can't believe what you've just done, either. But you won't stop. Your face is still close to his, and your voice is kept quiet, "How was that? Another?"
Aki nearly stutters. "Yes." His low voice mimics the volume of yours, "Please."
You haven't forgotten the promise you made to yourself, when you swore you'd give him everything he wants from you. And when he asks you so nicely for more, you aren't about to forget.
A telling smile tugs at the corners of your cheeks. Of course.
You lean in once more, eyes closing, head tilting. His shoulders go slack the instant you've kissed him. Your lips connect with his a little easier than before, it's more familiar this time, but your kiss is a bit deeper, a bit harder.
The way he kisses you back is hesitant. Desperate but nervous all at once, like he doesn't want you to stop, like he's needed this. His lips quiver and his jaw locks up, his movements are unsure and clumsy; your lips don't quite meet with his when he leans in to kiss you again, his nose awkwardly bumps against yours. Aki kisses like he's never kissed anyone before — but honestly, with the way he's closed himself off, that might be true.
You kiss his lips again, again, you've been meaning to pull yourself away ages ago, you tell yourself just one more, but Aki leans in for another, and you can't resist. Each one is slow and tender, you only stop when you need an opportunity to breathe — and even then, you barely pull away from him, your lips still brush over his as you gasp for air and your warm breath melds with his own until the space between you is hot and humid. Aki's arms are shaking, he keeps his eyes screwed shut tight.
You reach up, and you carefully brush strands of hair away from his face to tuck behind his ears. You press a long, deep kiss to his mouth, you run your fingers up through his soft hair 'til it's ruffled and messy and his whole scalp is pleasantly tingling. His body relaxes, he's compliant, and he's starting to get the hang of this; he breathes a trembling sigh, his hands tightly clenching the sheets of the bed. He groans quietly, voice muffled by your lips on his.
God, he feels amazing. Nothing matters to him anymore besides your soft lips against his own. Each kiss melts him more than the last, all the way until he's putty in your hands, leaning into your touch as you hold his jaw and draw him in for more. Your other hand slips over his back, it runs along the length of his spine and coaxes him impossibly closer.
The pitter-pattery lilt in his heart refuses to quit. He kisses you eagerly, he utters soft, hushed gasps. Your body rocks into his in a desperate attempt to get closer, and Aki sighs in a mix of surprise and contentment, but he's letting it happen. In fact, he's encouraging you, he's following along to each of your movements, leaning into you once you start to press forwards.
Your lips are perfect, he's addicted — It's like he was made to kiss you. Made to meet you and destined to have you kiss all of his bitterness away, just like this.
He wouldn't mind if this singular moment lasted the rest of his life.
He's disappointed but doesn't protest when you abruptly decide to pull away, far back enough to meet his hazy eyes, and for long enough to allow him to catch most of his breath. His cheeks are burning red, his lips are puffy, pink and kiss-swollen. You're sure you aren't fairing much better; an unmistakable heat blemishes your face, it swells from under your skin and travels all the way down your shoulders and your chest.
You breathe in deep, and you try to calm your racing heart before you speak.
"You're doing good. Are you alright?"
"Yeah."
"I'm going to kiss you again," You're already leaning in but that's fine, he wasn't planning on stopping you in the first place, "Relax more this time, okay? Don't tense up. Just trust me."
Aki nods his head nervously, unsure but willing, and you place your hand on his cheek before tilting your head and diving in again; this time, your kiss is much deeper, it catches him off guard, and he instinctively tenses despite what you told him. You run your fingers through his hair until he's slack, you guide his lips to part when yours do — And when your tongue slips into his mouth, he starts to feel like he's high.
You taste exhilarating, sweet and sugar-ridden and like everything he's ever wanted. His arms continue to tremble, every limb freezes up and a budding ache blooms wild in his core. He's weightless, taken under frothy ocean waves, he tries his hardest to kiss you back but it's so much, his heart hammers in his chest: the bang and reverberation of steady gunfire.
You suck on his tongue gently, teasingly, and he tastes like honeyed liquor and his rich cigarettes — The same kind of cigarettes you always used to smoke. The sensation is dizzyingly familiar, so delicious it gives you a rush to the head, it makes the whole world tilt on its axis.
And it's there, with your lips pressed deft to his, that you realize perhaps you needed this just as much as he did. This softness, this closeness, this genuine adoration. You can't remember the last time you kissed someone like this, when the collision of lips and tongues came so easily, so safely, so naturally.
Aki makes everything easy, he's easy to kiss, easy to trust. Easy to love. Easy to want so, so much more from.
Your kisses get heavy and hot, messes of spit between twofold staggered gasps for breath. You're tired of him keeping his hands at his sides, you want him to touch you — So, as Aki mutters another pretty whimper into your mouth, tilting his head opposite to yours so he can kiss you even deeper, you're reaching down and grabbing his wrists.
You tug them to your waist, you coax his hands to hold you and squeeze tightly. He's trembling a little; his touch is more hesitant than forceful, but he follows your direction and grips you firm. He rubs circles into your skin with his thumbs, his palms radiate warmth. Your kisses lead you to press closer, your teeth bite gently on his bottom lip and he drags you in by your waist, enough to make your hips to rock rhythmically against his lap. Aki gasps, you pull away from him and he's panting hard.
His eyelids flutter open and he immediately meets your gaze, his pupils blown out wide and dark. In a weak voice, Aki starts, "I-I'm sorry, I'm not-"
But you shut him up with a quick kiss to his lips, he's stuttering again as you plant another to the corner of his mouth, then to his warm cheek, to the edge of his jaw. He lets out a heavy sigh as you place the softest kiss over the shell of his ear, his skin tingly when your hot breath tickles it.
"I'm not…" Aki gulps, still trying to talk despite his struggle. It grows more difficult when you're biting at his earlobe, his metal earring sturdy under your teeth, your lips delicate on his ear, "... I'm not good at this."
You huff a low laugh so close he can feel the echo. His whole body shivers, then promptly relaxes.
"It's okay," You coo, voice muffled, barely there. You're beginning to trail sloppy kisses down his neck, and he whimpers; each word is sending vibrations over where he's most sensitive, "You're doing soooooo good. You're a great kisser, Aki."
The thick, dreamy fog in his brain almost causes your words not to register. But when they do click, Aki's blushing a little harder, his mind is a blur, he's so caught up he fails to notice your hands reaching for the buttons on his shirt.
"I… I am?"
You mutter teasing mhmm's into his nape, you work the soft flesh of his neck between your teeth and suck hard. Your lips feel out the telling thrum of his pulse, kissing until it starts to pound faster. Your mouth is warm, tongue wet; you taste the prickle of salt on his skin like you could never hope to get enough.
Nipping at the side of his neck, you fumble to undo each button on his dress shirt, popping them free through messy kisses and bites. It's difficult to undo them blind, and so you struggle for a while, focus split between sucking a deep-set bruise into his skin and hastily getting him undressed.
And Aki knows what you're doing — He should probably stop you, push you away, anything, but he doesn't have it in himself to. This is indecent, he's letting you strip him. You've worked all of the buttons on his shirt down, and you press your warm palms to his bare chest, you drag them down and caress the mismatched ridges of scars. You feel out the subtle shapes of muscle, glide your hands over his smooth stomach and press your thumbs to where his hip bones start to jut out and define the rest of his figure.
If he was thinking clearer, or if he hadn't already agreed to take your advice, he might have put a stop to this by now. Instead, all he can do is utter faint gasps and moans, he grips your waist tighter and he tilts his head back to give you better access. Your kisses and licks and bites right on his most tender spot feel like the sweetest thing he's ever had the privilege to experience, like heaven.
He doesn't need to look to know for certain he's going to have a huge mark on his neck, right where everyone can see. He can try to cover it up with his collar, maybe. Skip work and say he's feeling sick to avoid the shame he'd get from all the stares. He'll figure it out later. It's truly unlike him, but in this present moment, he can't bring himself to care.
As you finally break away from him, planting one last kiss, you admire the mark you've left on his skin: tender and bruised in shades of purple and red, planted on the side of his neck, right above his shirt collar. You trail your hand up to the center of his chest, you measure each pound of his heart; it thrums to an eager, rapid rhythm under your palm.
Aki's gaze flickers over your face, expectant. You lean in some, your voice quiet: "Your heart is beating so fast."
Against his complexion, the mark you've given him stands out like a sore thumb, surely easy enough for anyone to notice even with his hair down. Warm red and purple and blue blossom freely on the side of his neck. He's so pretty, the bruise is so pretty you can't help but dream of giving him more. Enough to cover the whole expanse of his pretty fair skin, enough to last, enough to make him never forget you. And as you reach up and brush your thumb over the blemish, delighting in the way Aki shivers under your touch, his eyelids heavy, breath loud and eager, you can't help but wonder what people will think, what they'll end up saying to him.
If his colleagues at work will pester him about it, if the people on the train will stare when he stands next to them for too long. You wonder even more if when they ask, he would end up telling them the truth.
"Are you nervous?"
He gulps, he forces himself to meet your eyes and hold his gaze there.
"A little," Aki confesses breathlessly. His neck feels bare without your lips pressed to it. "Sorry."
"Should I move?"
"No, you-" His nervousness is evident even without his answer, he takes a deep breath in and attempts to grasp at the composure he'd been clinging to earlier. He swallows and forces his shaky voice to continue.
"We shouldn't be doing this," He says, his face is flushed crimson, his lips are puffy, he doesn't sound very convincing. "You know that, right?"
"Oh, yeah?" You snicker in response, "Why?"
Aki keeps nervously stammering on: "This is- I mean, it's- I know we won't get in trouble, but if you keep going, if we're not able to stop, then you'll… it'll- we'll end up-"
He abruptly freezes, trailing off before he can say anything more. Before he can answer the what ifs you've had spinning around in your brain since all of this began.
Right. You didn't expect him to be the one to say it, nor did you think he was even considering something like that, but he's right.
If this goes on, you'll end up doing something you shouldn't. You'll find yourselves in a tangled mess on the bed, you won't be able to go back once you've taken things too far, you'll strip him of the rest of his clothes and feel his large hands press deft to your bare skin, and once you've reached that point —
"I know." You purposefully interrupt your own train of thought, "And I don't want to stop."
Gaze steady on yours, you wonder how he hasn't managed to look away. "Really? You're sure?"
"Yeah."
"Even if… even if we-"
"I'm positive." You interrupt. "Why? Did you want us to stop?"
Aki's chest rises up, and then down. "I didn't say that."
"What do you want, then?" Your fingers travel up from his neck to ghost over his jaw, his bangs form a mess around his face and you carefully push them aside while Aki takes a nice, deep breath. "Doesn't matter if you shouldn't. Tell me what you want."
What does he want? He already knows, and he's such a hypocrite, such a total idiot. Truth is, he hasn't cared about what you should or shouldn't be doing for a long time now.
There's one last chance to put a stop to this, and you've left the choice up to him.
"I want you to kiss me."
You smile. Falling further and further has been your fate from the very start. And now, he's sealed himself the same outcome as your own.
"Where?"
You lean down until your lips are brushing over his neck like butterfly wings, until he's letting his eyes flutter shut and allowing your sweet voice to consume what's left of him: "Do you want me to kiss you right here?"
"Yeah," Aki answers, his breath is hard and sharp when it's pushed from his lungs, "Yes, please."
So you do just that; you press a set of delicate kisses to his neck, he gasps, you place your hand under his chin to tilt his head up. You plant a messy kiss right under his jaw, then one onto his Adam's apple — Aki swallows, it bobs up and down in his throat, your lips are liquid fire — and finally, you press one over the pretty mark you've already left.
You peer up at him through your eyelashes, you gauge his reaction, and he gestures down to his neck with his eyes, where your lips sit inches away; he's still breathless, still nervous, but he sounds sure of himself when he asks, "Give me another one?"
"Another one of these?" You tap your finger against his neck, over his purpling bruise, skin tender to the touch.
Aki nods. "Please."
You're obliging before he can say another word. You dip your head down, you kiss onto another soft spot on his nape. Aki screws his eyes shut tight, and then, you work the flesh between your teeth, same as you did before. You suck gently, you hum into his skin when his hands grip your waist for reprieve. You kiss the newly formed bruise, watch it take: a mess of red and purple seeping deeper in. The warmth of your breath briefly disappears as you move your head over to the other side.
Aki tilts along with you. Delicate fingers push his hair out of the way, plush lips pepper his neck with kisses, he sighs in pleasure, reaching a hand up at the same time. He shakily presses his palm to the back of your head, and you work to give him another. Your tongue wet on his skin, you suck more harshly, hard enough to make him whine. You only pull away once you're sure this newest mark will set.
Drawing back, you lock eyes with him. You grab his chin, drag his head up, his gaze goes soft, heavy and obedient. He looks perfect, gorgeous when he's like this, pupils blown out, the fair skin on his pretty neck covered in your bruises and your love bites.
They're signs you were there. Pretty little mementos for him to admire in the mirror the next morning until they jog the memory of what you've done, of your plush lips and warm mouth on his neck. He'll tingle at the thought, he'll press his fingertips to each one and will himself to go back to the night you left them.
"Tsk," You scoff playfully, grinning, "You won't be able to go back to work like this."
The bridge of Aki's nose crinkles when his eyebrows start to furrow, "I can."
"People are gonna stare at you."
"I don't care." He snaps the words a bit too sharply than he realizes, but it's out of desperation, out of impatience, "Just kiss me again."
Finally. You're taken aback, but only briefly, in a good sort of way. This is what you wanted. At last, he's honest, he's desperate and he's no longer afraid to get what he wants — or really, what he's wanted all along. Finally, he's acting a little more selfishly.
Without giving him a chance to regret it, you lean again, giving him just what he needs from you.
Your lips connect with his, Aki grips your waist and in turn, you fist his shirt collar, tugging him in as close as you can get him. This kiss is messier than the others. It's needier, it's you melting into him when one of his hands slides up to hold the small of your back, his touch gentle, like he could never hurt you. He wouldn't, you know he wouldn't. And it's Aki dragging you in, tugging you closer on his lap, his head cloudy and fuzzy and only focused on the ever-so perfect press of your tongue to his own.
With each and every kiss, you're taking all the breath from his lungs — You adjust, your hips rock into him just as they did the first time he pulled you closer, and he nearly gasps, his whole body flares with tingling warmth. He wants you even closer, but your tongue in his mouth, his puffy lips messy and wet with your saliva is too much to handle. Aki kisses you back as best he can manage, he licks into your mouth nice and slow while your fingers tangle in his hair: tugging, pulling, gripping.
Amidst your kisses, somehow, you manage to find a window to murmur, "Do you like kissing me?"
You don't get to say anything more, though, because Aki is quick to close that shred of distance between you; he kisses you deeply again, he holds the back of your neck, and into your mouth, he mumbles a muffled, sweet-sounding mhmm.
Truthfully, he does, he loves this. His heart thumps, his eyelids are too heavy to open, drool drips messily from the corner of his mouth.
He's forgotten almost everything, everything but you; you're the perfect vice, just as addicting as his cigarettes, but you're so much sweeter — He can't stop. When you're kissing him like this, pressed up close to him and making everything dizzy and light and feel so good, how is he supposed to stop you? He can't, and more than anything, he wants to drown in more of your touch, in your lips, in all you have to give him.
Your fingers tug gently on his hair, you moan softly, your body presses into him once more, your hips grind down on his. But this time, it's different. It's much more deliberate.
You're testing the waters, getting restless. And he freezes up from the tension; when you pull away from his mouth, his eyes are glazed over, his pupils are blown out wide. You're both breathing hard and heavy, you mutter something and with the way his head is spinning and his ears are ringing, he can't tell if it's a sigh of pleasure or a whine of his name.
Then, your hips roll down on him again, hard, right into his lap, and Aki's eyelashes are fluttering, he's hissing and biting down on his bottom lip, his hands clenching at your sides. His pulse is thrumming, it's insistent and warm on his neck and between his legs, only getting warmer the closer you press.
Your heart is starting to race. Your nerves hum with a new kind of need, an exciting sort of need. You know what you're doing. You'd be a fool not to know. Aki runs his palm along your spine, trailing up, his touch gentle, and your whole body grows impossibly hot. Your head is still reeling from his kisses, you'll blame your impulsiveness on that.
Your lips long to be on his again — and you almost kiss him, you're about to kiss him even harder until he can't even breathe, but you stop as Aki's eyes scan your face, as he opens his mouth and tries to say something but can't. When you get impatient, gripping his shoulders and rolling down on him again, all he can do is gasp.
"Aki…" You murmur his name, leaning in close to his ear. And it's clearer this time, even sweeter than all the times he's heard it before.
"F-Fuck, stop for a second."
He sighs out the words, he squeezes your waist tightly as a signal to hold still, and you freeze in your tracks.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Aki answers quickly, voice shaky. He looks at you through half-closed eyelids, his face is flushed crimson and his collar's askew. His unbuttoned shirt is starting to carelessly fall from his shoulders, slipping down to expose his collarbones and most of his chest. As if on queue, he reaches for it, tugging the sleeves back in place, attempting to clumsily do up the buttons one-handed. He swallows the dryness in his throat and tries to make himself look presentable. Like it even matters.
"Fine, just-" Aki lets go once you help him, tossing his head back. You reach forward, you finish the rest of the buttons for him before adjusting the folds of his shirt collar until they're straight. "Just needed to catch my breath."
"I'll get off of you, if that's what you want." Your thumbs rub along the smooth fabric of his collar. "If it's too much."
"No," He's still a bit breathless, but now, he sounds much more resolute. Little by little, he regains his bearings. He tilts his head all the way backward and looks up towards the pale ceiling to avoid meeting your gaze. He spreads his legs and gets more comfortable, sighs at the extra friction from you adjusting on his lap. He takes a couple more deep breaths and waits for his pounding head and heart to return to normal.
He looks towards you again. Behind his eyes, he sparks with something dark. Something serious and something foreign — It's a look you've never seen from him before. A look filled with something desperate and incomprehensible, washed over with lust and love and whatever lies in between.
"Don't." Aki heaves a deep, steady sigh. "I don't want you to."
His breathing is slow, it's controlled, it contrasts with his heavy gaze and flushed out face. You let your arms wrap around his shoulders and he tries his hardest to stay calm.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure," Aki stares into your eyes and imagines them swallowing him whole. "I promise, I'm sure."
The truth is, he's still nervous, he's fucking terrified, but if there's one thing he's grown tired of, it's hesitating when his heart knows he doesn't want to. From now on, he can't, he won't. No more hesitation.
"You can do anything you want, I trust you. I swear."
You smirk. "Anything?"
You're leaning in, you grasp his lobe and fiddle with the pointy back of his earring. You tilt your head and breathe warm wisps of air onto the shell of his ear, so close he's shuddering, his eyes screwing shut in anticipation. Aki's heart pounds, pounds, pounds.
And with a trembling sigh, he confirms it: "Anything."
"So this is alright, isn't it?"
You rock into him again, and he gasps, he takes in a long, unsteady breath. Aki shivers, he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down. Your question doesn't get answered at first, but his hold on your waist is a subtle form of encouragement, he drags you forwards in tune with the deep roll of your hips until you're pressing into him even harder and even closer than before. Right up against his lap, your arms around him and your chest on his.
"Yes," Aki finally manages; he can hardly speak, he's losing his fucking mind and you've barely even begun. Your palms glide down, fingers nudging past his sleeves, gently caressing his hands and the veins on his wrists. Your hands fold over his knuckles, you squeeze and guide him to hold you tighter. You nip at his nape and he's screwed, he's so fucking screwed. "Keep going, don't stop…"
His hands shake, arms tremble, you press your lips to his neck and leave wet, messy kisses onto every sensitive spot you managed to discover before. Everything's happening at once, Aki clumsily tugs you closer, still. His fingers flex like he's not sure whether he should keep holding on. In the end, when your lips kiss his cheek and you cradle his face in both palms, he opts to tear his hands away from you and place them flat at his sides to give himself more leverage.
His head twirls in dizzying circles. His body betrays whatever wishes for composure he was still clinging onto. It takes you another deep grind into his lap to register what's happening; beneath you, he's getting hot, getting stiff.
You can feel him, firm and thick in his slacks, warm when you roll down on him again; you've hardly done anything, and he's this hard already, from just some kissing and a little bit of friction. You've ignored it up 'til now, but truthfully, you've noticed for a lot longer than you were letting on. Aki's been hard ever since you first kissed him.
You don't blame him, really. He can't help himself, it's cute that he can't help himself. You pull him close and kiss his lips, he can't help if he gets hard just from a kiss, your body presses closer and shoves up against his — your sex against his stiffening cock — and Aki can't help when he sighs into your mouth. You pull back and keep kissing his neck, he groans, his throat vibrates under your lips with the noise and his Adam's apple bobs from the weight of it.
He's doomed. When it comes to you, he can't help himself, and that's the problem. You're rocking into him and even though he should say the opposite, all he can manage to mutter is, Keep going, keep going. Don't stop.
You place a delicate kiss onto his ear, you coo something sweet into it that his tangled mind can barely make out — You sound so pretty, so perfect when you beg — and it's all over.
This isn't like him, he isn't the kind of man who'd do something like this. He should have more self-control. He thought he did. And yet here he is, bucking his hips up into your own as you grind down on him, whining so loud it's embarrassing, his pretty noises turning into even softer grunts as your fingers knot in his hair. You grip close to his scalp, his messy bangs tickle his lashes.
He shouldn't be so needy. Or perhaps it'd be more accurate to say he didn't know he had it in him to be so needy. He wants you so badly he's gone lightheaded, he can't fathom anything but this; nothing else but the way your body clicks into place with his, close, close, right up against him. Enough to tease, enough to make him want you harder, faster, not enough to satiate his appetite.
Though he doesn't dare to take anything further than the pace you've set. You grip his waist with one hand to keep both of you steady, right between the end of his ribs and the beginning of his hips. Lips parted, gaze misty, Aki lets you take whatever you want, like it's all that matters.
And you will, because as much as you want to deny it, you certainly aren't faring much better; there's an ache set deep in your core, you're so desperate for him, to feel him. To have him closer, anywhere, anything, just more. Body to body, yours to his — Aki makes you want him without even trying, more than you think you've wanted anything else before.
The room is quiet, way too quiet. You want to say something to break this silence, you know he won't, but the way you're feeling consumes every thought before it can form. The shifting of the mattress, the rustle of clothing, and Aki's gasps, his fragile whines are the only thing to fill your ears. You rock into him deep enough and slow enough and close enough to make him sob, and he bites down on his bottom lip, shutting his eyes tight, trying to stifle his noise.
He doubts anyone would walk down the hallway and come close enough to this room to hear him or you. But the thought alone, the suspense of someone hearing how humiliating he sounds, of getting caught: it's enough to get him to shut himself up.
"Aki," Finally, you muster something, gasping the words between another firm grind into his groin, "Talk to me."
Despite his best efforts, he's struggling, and you've noticed. He finds it hard to stop himself from whining each time you grip him tight and grind down, even when he's trying to keep his mouth shut, even once he's covered it with his own palm, thinking that would make a difference.
"Aaaaaaaki."
"Shut up…"
Every slight spur presses his lap further into you, making his eyelids flutter and his breath hitch. Don't, you can't say his name that way, not like that, not so sweet.
Leaning in, you kiss his cheek, so soft his head goes hazy, you free your hand from his waist to push his bangs out of the way and kiss his forehead. You grip his wrist and gently, you drag it away from his mouth, he responds with an instant sharp intake of breath. You're straightening his hand and lining up his fingertips with yours, and he does you a favor before you make him wait any longer, intertwining his fingers with yours, gripping tight. He missed this.
"C'mon, don't be mean," You whisper in his ear, you nibble on his lobe, speak through the rolls of your hips into him, "I wanna hear your voice. Please?"
"Sorry," Aki snaps in response, you grip his hand nice and tight, use your free one to hold his face and brush your thumb over his lips. They're quivering, his pupils are wide. He tries. His words have zero bite (they never did to begin with, not from the start) and begin to sound more like pleas, less like demands.
"I-I can't, I can't take it, you can't stop." Aki stammers. You nearly take your hand away from his to grip his shoulder, but Aki holds it tight, squeezing, fingers shaking, "Don't, please, ah- shit…"
You can't fault him for trying, for listening, but his voice is fragile, it comes out in broken words and half-started sentences. You rock hard into him once more, you kiss his ear and start up a steady rhythm with your hips. His mouth falls open when he whines, his thighs wobble, his cock is aching from where it strains his slacks. Aching to be touched, and when it's pulsing between his legs so much it practically has a heartbeat of its own, he can't fucking think straight.
He certainly isn't thinking when your thumb presses to his lips, caressing them before somehow slipping past. Any aspect of reason doesn't exist when you're shoving your thumb into his mouth, onto his tongue — and to your surprise, Aki lets his tongue swirl around it, he takes in sharp breaths to the tune you've set by grinding against him. He chokes on a quiet, sweet, dirty sort of gag as you shove the digit in further.
It's filthy, he's filthy. His eyelids grow heavy, his lips close, and he sucks on your thumb gently, obediently. You grip his chin, you press it in even more, tears prick at his lashes and Aki's body lurches. His hips buck up into you along with the movement and he's gasping, nearly coughing when you abruptly pull your thumb out. You let it linger on his lips, smearing wet streaks of saliva all over them.
He's panting now, hot and quickened breaths; he lifts his pelvis and fucks himself back into you on instinct, without even thinking, sighing and closing his eyes as he does. You adjust, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your movements reach a fever pitch and with a dull thud and squeak from the mattress, you end up pushing him over.
Pushing him all the way until he flops onto the bed, on his back, with you right on top of him, pinning him into place. Body pressed to his own, face inches away from his. Aki huffs in surprise, but you capture his lips with yours before he can do anything more.
He swears you taste even sweeter this time. Honey and sugar, rich and enveloping but sparked with something ever-so exciting. Both of your hands cup his cheeks, and his arms fall upturned above him, he tilts his head opposite yours and kisses you tenderly, slowly — juxtaposed with how urgently he knows he needs you. His thighs shift and squirm as he parts them, trying to get comfortable and give you a better angle. Better access to the incessant throb between his legs.
Your plush lips on his, your tongue exploring his mouth, your kisses and your cunt rubbing right up against his cock — and it's still not enough. Not enough friction or warmth or touch, too many layers of fabric, too much space between your body and his own. He can't, Aki's starting to sweat. So needy and disgustingly desperate, he wants to slap himself until he gets a grip, wants to have you shake his shoulders until he's come to his senses.
He's hard and only getting harder, you grind deeper, and he really can't control himself, can't get a grip when he's already slick with arousal in his briefs and struggling to not finish right then and there.
If he isn't careful, he'll cum just like this. That'd be pathetic. Such a loser, hooking up with you in the back of a strip club and cumming in his pants before you've even really done anything.
He wishes that thought bothered him more than it did. He doesn't feel ashamed. He wishes it didn't make his stomach bloom with warmth and his head go all fuzzy as he imagines how you'd react, how you'd tease him in that sickeningly sweet voice of yours for getting so worked up and promise to make him feel even better. Awe, Aki, you're so cute. You want me to take care of you?
God, he's worse than all the other devil hunters who come here, all his coworkers and even his sorry excuse for a mentor. What the hell has gotten into him?
He has no idea, because the second you've pulled away from his lips, you give him no time to compose himself before you're breathlessly asking, "Does it feel good?"
"H-hah-" Aki gasps, he's slurring; you're a pretty sight above him, and he struggles to speak at first, he's bright red all the way to the tips of his ears, "Yeah, s'good- Don't stop, please don't stop, you can't, you can't..."
Of course it feels good, of fucking course it does. He's so worked up, and for the life of him he can't think of the last time he's been this way. Maybe never. Surely he's never felt this good all by himself before.
Hell, he's been so numb, so busy and so isolated, he's finding he can't even remember the last time he's gotten hard in the first place. He's so stiff, aching so much it practically hurts, he hasn't felt this way in so long — Yeah, never.
You must have noticed. You think he's easy, probably. He wouldn't really have a problem with that. But you're playing dumb, you've got to know how good he's feeling because you're the one who's doing this to him, and it isn't by accident.
You're grinding up and down on where his cock sits heavy in his slacks and you can definitely feel him, definitely know he's —
"So hard." Your voice rings out close to his ear as you grind down on him once again, to the same sort of rhythm, and the fabric of his pants rubs right into the needy, wet tip of his cock, "It must feel amazing."
Aki can't hold back a stuttery moan in pleasure. His hair is fanned out over the sheets in a mess, his thighs shake and squirm and his hands clench, fingernails dug into his palms as he rolls up into you, meeting your movements as best he can. Your weight pins him down, it's difficult to manage, but he needs to, has to. So hard, and it's all because of you; "Sorry, 'm sorry-"
His flustered apologies get a clear smile out of you. You drag your hands up his arms, feel the wrinkled fabric of his dress shirt's sleeves, you reach his palms and you press your thumbs to them, massaging.
"Aki, touch me."
He barely hears, your words are a fuzzy ringing in his eardrums that only register when you're tugging his hands up and placing them both around your waist. Aki cracks his fluttery eyes open. You press a hand to his chest for stability, you use the other to guide his own palm back, back. Shaking fingers travel over the curve of your ass, and Aki thinks he's going to choke on his heart in his throat.
He doesn't protest, doesn't move, doesn't try to fight it. You're cupping his face and stroking his cheeks with your thumbs and he keeps his hands right where you left them: one weakly holding your waist, the other trembling, trying to find stillness, resting right below your waist and barely on your behind, shy fingertips ghosting over the back of your thigh.
You're grinding against him feverishly now — Each time your core meets his, Aki pants harder, he's getting warmer and stiffer and more uncomfortable by the minute. Your rhythm is deep, your body is so terribly hot, the heat transfers from you to him and it makes his head all floaty and heavy. Sweat beads at his neck, beneath his collar and onto his chest.
Barely able to speak, he gasps shakily, he tries to steady his breathing but it isn't any use. He abruptly stutters, "It's… it's- oh, shit…"
"What's wrong?"
Aki wants to reply to you, he does, and he's trying to. But he just keeps gasping and stammering, stumbling over his own words with no idea where to start. You trail your fingers from his cheek to his forehead, you push some messy strands of hair away from his face until you can see it better. Pretty blue eyes, pink skin, the softest expression.
You're attempting to coax him to meet your gaze but he won't comply, he shuts his eyes tight, tosses his head back with a downright filthy groan as your clothed cunt rubs right along the fat length of his cock.
God, he can't take this, he's throbbing so hard and it won't stop, his work slacks are impossibly tight and confined around his dick but one less layer of fabric and he'd be a goner. Any more of this, and he's going to fall apart.
You lean in, tone sweeter than sugar, impossible to resist: "Tell me, sweet boy."
"A-Ah," Aki gasps harder and harder, pants heavier, his thrusts up into you get more feverish, sloppy rolls of his hips as his hand tightens on your waist. The friction feels so perfect, so fucking good, he's getting closer.
He can't breathe, his head is a mess, his stomach's in knots. "I'm… I can't, it's throbbing so bad, I'm gonna-" A sharp, loud gasp, you grind down on him just right, he's right on the edge, and then, "Please, please, I- stop stop stop stop-"
You listen to his words as soon as you hear them. Immediately freezing in your tracks, Aki is finally given a break. His chest heaves with force, he tears his hands away from you to toss his arms over his red face. Everything comes to a standstill. Very slowly, slowly but surely, your breathing begins to calm alongside his own.
He sounded close. He sounded amazing. You feel a little bad for him, almost. He clearly isn't used to this. You got him so damn riled up, only to leave him hanging when he needed you the most. A small part of you starts to regret stopping, starts to wonder what he'd sound like if you didn't.
What face he'd make, how he'd look at you with those pretty blue eyes, pupils dark and his face rosy red. How he'd whimper and sob as he makes a mess of his briefs, even louder and even more pathetic than he was before.
Maybe it's your own fault — it's definitely your own fault — but even as the seconds go by, turning into minutes as you watch the rhythm of his chest grow slower and slower, your mind and your heart won't seem to quit. You can't manage to calm down.
The remnants of his voice echo in your eardrums. So desperate, so unlike anything you've heard from him before. You'd begun to memorize the sound of his voice, the way his tone stays smooth and unwavering, each word spoken with intent, and in this short span of time, your expectations have all been completely shattered.
He seemed nervous, almost; and fuck, he is. Nervous because he's not used to this, yes. But really, he's losing his mind because he's never felt like that.
He's been pent up before, sure. When Aki had his place to himself, he remembers times where he needed to jerk himself off in the shower to let go of some steam. Or nights when he stayed up later than he should have palming himself through his briefs, too needy and lonely to sleep. But those times are few and far between.
He doesn't get like this. Ever since things started getting bad at work, he's hardly felt anything but numb. It's been months since he felt even a shred of what he's feeling now, so long he started to forget what it was like.
Any desires he's had have been nothing more than an afterthought or a stress reliever. He's never been so hard he could barely stand it, or so turned on he was seconds away from cumming in his pants like some kind of degenerate.
And as much as he hates how close he'd gotten, having to stop you when he was right on the edge has his head reeling. He can barely even think anymore. He really needs a cigarette. A cigarette and for someone to tell him to just get a damn grip already.
By now, you've managed to mostly regain your bearings. You keep still, ignoring any lingering ache you have for something more to ask, "You alright?"
Aki catches his breath for a few moments longer before he nods, answering, "Yeah, f-fuck, uh-huh."
His hips shift, he squirms beneath you slightly and it proves to be a mistake when he immediately huffs a frustrated puff of air. He's just shifting with unrest, not trying to get you off of him; the little bit of movement presses his lap back into you unintentionally, and with your head much more clear, you can distinctly feel the fat outline in his pants, the way he's warm and firm and sits heavy underneath.
Trying not to have every thought in your brain circle back to the image of his cock confined in his slacks proves to be almost impossible.
As for him, you've stopped moving — thank God — which gives some degree of relief. But you're still situated on top of him with no signs of moving, and the weight of your body in his lap is overwhelming as is. When you're pressed into him like this, even when you're still, there's no way he can will his mind, let alone his body to calm down, no matter how hard he tries to.
But he doesn't want you to move. Aki draws his arms away from his face and peers at you through droopy eyelids. Everything is so damn hot, the air is thick and stuffy and the room is sweltering. His bangs stick to his forehead from sweat, strands of stray hair cling to the corner of his mouth and he peels them away with his fingers. His chest is still heaving, his heart continues to beat like a festival drum and the sound rings loud in his own ears.
What he wants to do is reach out to you, to pull you into him and feel your body as close to his as possible, even closer than this, just as he's been longing for. But he won't. And he doesn't.
Even now, he isn't confident enough. He debates the idea in his own head for a second. He doesn't think he ever will be. He's got countless things he wants to say to you, but he waits for you to be the one to speak first.
You eye him up and down, he looks like such a mess. It's a huge contrast to how he looked when he first walked in, when you first laid eyes on him. Professional and well-kept, every aspect neat and orderly like it was planned to be that way. Tie done up sprucely, not a button on his jacket out of place. The space between his sleeve and the cuff of his undershirt is exactly two fingers wide, just as he prefers it.
He definitely didn't plan this, though. He would never plan for something like this, not in a million years. You're sure he wasn't counting on having his hair down and askew, a tangled mess where it's fanned out over the bright pink bedspread, nor did he think of his collar getting so uneven, or his shirt getting untucked from his pants, so wrinkled it'll take at least three trips to the ironing board to get rid of them all.
Somehow, he's lost all semblance of the way he was before, too. The way he was trying to be. His cool and collected attitude, his stern sort of facade. He's a completely different person, or perhaps, this is who he really was all along.
He's weaker than he aims to let on. You're the one who's drawn this out of him. You're the one who gets to see the disciplined, strict devil hunter reduced to nothing more than a gasping mess underneath you. The only one. This side to Aki Hayakawa is all yours.
He looks calmer now. Figuring you've given him enough of a breather, you start to slide from his thighs. Aki props himself up on one elbow and you don't think anything of it until he abruptly reaches out, grabbing your wrist before you can fully get off of him.
"Wait."
"I'm not going anywhere," You reassure, reading his mind, glancing up to meet his eyes, "Just give me a second to stand up."
Although he stares at you hesitantly for a couple of seconds, he ultimately decides to let go and leans backward, allowing you to get yourself standing up straight.
"I'm just taking off my dress real quick, okay? It's too hot in this thing."
You take a step away from him, and you reach for the zipper on the back of your dress. You're grasping it and dragging it down and Aki's eyes go wide but he figures it's far too late to tell you to stop.
"Right." He replies matter-of-factly — Right, that's fine, he's prepared for this — and nothing else he could hope to say would carry any weight, because even as he speaks, you're already starting to slip the straps from your shoulders.
He finds himself unable to take his eyes off of you as you slide the dress all the way down your legs until you're able to step out of it and kick it aside. In turn, you find it impossible not to notice how he stares, his face blushed out up to his ears, flighty gaze scanning you up and down, lips pursed in a manner that tells you he wants to say something but he doesn't have the guts, like he always does. You look up, and he turns away the second you catch him staring.
And yeah, you are heating up like crazy, so you'd certainly be more comfortable with your dress off, but his eyes on you are a reminder of the reason you're doing this. The real reason. You've stripped down in front of customers before, you've done it on every one of the stages more times than you can count, but Aki is different. This moment is different.
It's nowhere near the same, because Aki doesn't look at you the way those men did. He takes all of you in, each curve and tiny detail, like you're something to be loved, like you're precious. He stares at you like he'd sooner get on his knees and worship you than ever dare to leave you hurt.
He didn't touch you like anyone else ever has, either. No, his touches were soft, they were hesitant. They carried a level of carefulness and piety you're sure you haven't experienced, they're so wholeheartedly Aki that you think you'd recognize his hands and his touch even if you didn't know it was him. You'd feel his unsure fingers and the warmth of his shaky breaths and know you'd be safe no matter what happens.
Nothing you've experienced tonight has been anywhere near what you're used to. He's always been special. That's why you're still here, why you never want to leave him.
And it isn't wrong for you to want more, right? Your head tells you it is, but your heart tells you it isn't, and you've always had a hard time listening to the former. It isn't when it's Aki, when he's already become more important to you than anyone. It isn't when you've been so starved for this without even realizing, and when Aki is the only man you want to give it to you.
Besides, you've already come this far. Fuck, you knew what you were getting into, and maybe, deep down, you wanted something more with him from the very start, whether it was his time, his touch, his affection. His love.
So, what's the sense in stopping now?
When you've tossed your outfit aside, you're left in only your thigh-highs and a dainty set of matching lingerie. A glittery bra, and lacy underwear that clings to your hips with thin, black ribbons.
Aki was right. He thought maybe his muddled up brain was just imagining things when your dress was riding up earlier. Or perhaps he was trying to convince himself he imagined it so he could avoid feeling embarrassed over what he accidentally saw. But no, he didn't. They are black, and this time, he can't manage to tear his gaze away.
You want him to stare, you think. You love when he's looking at you, when it's clear you've captured every last shred of his attention — and right now, it appears you definitely have. Aki swallows, he looks you up and down and then shyly rests his weary gaze on your own. You'd do anything in the world to always have those pretty blue eyes on you, on only you.
He remains reluctantly still, in a trance as you crawl back over him. You draw closer, the mattress shifts under the addition of your weight. Your outline starts to take up his vision, and your fingers, tracing his jaw at first, are then beginning to run through his hair — Tentatively, he allows a hand to slip behind you and hold the small of your back, nice and gently. Comfortably, as if it was meant to be there. You don't try and stop him.
He looks you up and down one more time. Breathes in, sighs out, purses his lips again, wants to speak but doesn't. His gaze locks with your own, and his expression goes the softest you've ever seen it. He finds some stability in your eyes, enough to finally admit something of what he's been thinking.
"You look pretty."
You twist a strand of his hair around your finger and chuckle, "Think so?"
Aki could answer that with just a yes. Yes, you are, I know so. But instead, he stalls. He freezes up because in reality, there's so much more he wants to say to you.
You look pretty, and you're beautiful, you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He really doesn't deserve you, your kindness or your sympathy or your beauty. Before, he was sure the prettiest sight he's ever laid eyes on was the sunset over the snowy mountains in Hokkaido, but you make him beg to reconsider.
And if he said it, as stupid and cheesy as it is, if he was somehow able to find words that don't exist to describe how perfect he thinks you are and how great of an imprint you've already left on him, it simply wouldn't be enough. It wouldn't be enough to deserve the softness of your heart even if he gave you everything he has.
He wants to kiss you again. He holds your face in his shaky palm and he almost does. Almost.
"Aki, I-" You start, he's pulling you in but he's suddenly stopping, your eyes flicker over his face and your voice trails into weakness towards the end, "I really want to keep going."
"You do?" The sweet lilt in your tone makes him answer quickly, before he's even really thought about it.
"Mhmm, is that something you want too?" Your palm is creeping up his chest and he hopes you can't feel the skip in his heartbeat.
"Ah, yeah, just- uh-" He steadies himself with a slow breath in before he speaks again, "What do you mean by… you know. Keep going?"
Now, you're the one leaning in. Aki inhales sharply, he half-expects you to kiss his lips like he was hoping for but instead, you leave his heart stuck up in his throat when you tilt your head and cup your hand around his ear; your voice is a crisp summer breeze as you sigh out his name.
"Aki…"
Heart sinking back down, it's warm and melty inside his chest. Your next words make it stutter.
"Do you wanna fuck me?"
"Huh?"
His response comes out of shock; you push yourself up, your eyes stay locked onto his and he's so caught up with trying to remember how to breathe he almost doesn't notice how you're sliding back and reaching for his belt. Your fingers grasp around the buckle, you aren't trying to undo it, just fiddling, making it jingle to prove a point. The sound gets him to come to his senses, your words hit him like a slap in the face and before you can make another move, he reaches to grab your wrist and stop you.
He's barely able to speak without stuttering: "Hold on, just… hold on."
"Sorry, too forward?"
"It's- you're- look, you-" He can't even talk, "You can't say it like that."
"Ah. You're right, I shouldn't have. We don't have to do anything. If that's what you want."
Clearly, you've got the wrong idea. He wants so goddamn much with you, he wouldn't even know where to start.
Aki shakes his head, he snaps and stammers quickly in response, "No, no, I- I want to, I do. But I..."
Trailing off. Your eyes widen. "Really?"
Gently squeezing your wrist, he sighs, and he continues, "Yes, I want to, it's just… I'm- Shit, how do I put this?"
"You're scared? Too shy?"
"Sure, yeah. But that's- it's not what I'm trying to say." Aki looks away from you, once again trailing off into silence until you have the mercy to break it for him.
"What are you trying to say, then?"
He's fucked. Gotten himself in way, way too deep. Messed everything up the moment he decided to open his stupid mouth. You make it impossible to lie. Why couldn't he have just not said anything?
"Nevermind."
"No, no nevermind," You take your hand away from his grip, his fingers go slack and he lets go without a fight. You hold his face and softly squish his cheeks 'til his lips are pursed even harder than before. "C'mon, you have to tell me now."
You don't understand. He could, and this shouldn't be so difficult. But honestly, telling you would feel like quite possibly the most humiliating thing he's ever done or ever will do. Normally he wouldn't care as much as he does, he knows he's being real stupid right now, real embarrassing in his own right, but when you're the one involved it becomes a completely different story. He cares about your impression of him more than he'd like to admit.
Still looking away, "I can't."
"I'm pretty sure you can."
"I- I don't know. Listen, I want this with you. I do. But, I mean I'm… I haven't-" Again and again, he tries to set himself up to say the words, only to fail each time. He sighs, "You wouldn't want to do this anymore if I told you."
"Not true," You huff, smiling, "It's not so easy to change my mind. I already said you can tell me anything, didn't I? Just say it."
Aki stays silent for a few long, drawn-out seconds. His voice comes out quieter this time, softer, more uncertain. "I… I haven't- I've never… you know…"
He takes a quick glance up at you before looking away, his cheeks are burning. Never what?
You're clueless at first. The last thing you want is to push him too much, so you keep quiet, patiently waiting for Aki to sort out his sentences. You caress the length of his jaw with your thumb, listen to the way his breath hitches and tilt his chin towards you a bit when he refuses to look at you.
Right when you thought you were getting close to cracking him, he shuts down again. You wonder if it's something you did, if it's the environment, if the pressure managed to overwhelm him at last. You're starting to realize you and him are so close and so far at the exact same time, and there's still so much you don't understand.
He seemed like the innocent type, the kind of person who keeps themselves out of trouble, but any other guy would have forgotten that whole charade by now. Aki is far from any other guy, sure, but even for someone like him — No, especially for someone as straightforward and composed as he is, he should have no problem pushing his nervousness aside and taking charge. On the surface it'd seem that way.
Is he always this nervous? Is he actually a nervous wreck constantly struggling to keep it together? Is he too focused on his goals as a devil hunter to talk to girls? Working yourself to death all the time doesn't leave much room for other pursuits. But he's handsome and polite and honest with a good personality, so there's no reason, nothing you can think of to explain why you wouldn't want to get closer to him.
There's no reason for him to be so anxious. So troubled, so shy. It's just sex. Right?
At that moment, without him ever saying a word, everything starts to click in your brain. His hesitance, his inexperience. What you probably should have realized from the very start.
Yes, he does have a reason to be so scared and so clumsy with everything. There is a reason why a man as stern as him would suddenly start to act this damn unsure of himself. You've finally figured it out.
Oh. He's a virgin.
#aki hayakawa x reader#aki x reader#chainsaw man x reader#aki hayakawa x you#aki x you#aki hayakawa smut#chainsaw man smut
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Dirty Work 18
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.
Characters: Loki
Note: happy weekend.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
“How do you like it?” Luciana asks as she spins you to face the mirror.
Your eyes round at your own reflection. You can’t help but lean forward to get a better look at yourself. You never had a haircut like this. Nothing more than the discount trims that were often worse than not just growing it out or your at-home hack job.
“Wow,” is all you can utter.
“I hope that’s a good wow,” she chimes.
“Uh, yes, yes,” you sit back and tear your eyes from the mirror. “Thank you, it’s–”
“Oh, aren’t you so lovely!” Frigga interrupts as her heels click across the salon, “oh, it’s so wonderful. Look at you!”
Before you can react, the chair’s turning again. Frigga sweeps your hands away from under the cape and pulls you to your feet. Luciana moves to undo the long black shroud and swipes it away from your body, littering more hair onto the floor.
“Just a moment,” Luciana girds and brushes the stray bits from the back of your shirt, “there we are.”
“I must say, darling, you are even more stunning than I thought,” she keeps a hold of your right hand, “oh, Eliana, El!” She tweets across the salon, “what about makeup? Hm? Nothing too heavy, maybe a lip and some mascara–”
The platinum blond chuckles, endeared by her demanding client. You see where Laufeyson inherited that; the way the command rather than ask. You could never.
“I’ll take the little fawn,” Eliana agrees, “I have just the thing in mind.” She approaches on her long slender legs, “she has perfect colouring.”
You can’t help but preen at the compliments. You’re not used to them yet, you doubt them. These women are all so put together and gorgeous, surely they’re just being nice. You’re so much the opposite, your like a novelty; a doll for them to dress up.
“Sit,” Eliana points to another chair, “just relax, honey, I’ll take care of you.”
Frigga lets you go and you obey. You climb up into the chair and gasp as the back reclines. Eliana starts by swabbing your face with a cool liquid then pats it dry. Next, she applies a fragrant moisturizer. Her touch is relaxing but strange. You’re not used to anyone touching you.
You close your eyes as she sets to her work. She explains that she’s applying some liner and how to get a little wing at the end. She says you should keep it thin and subtly, then has you check your first eye in the mirror.
“You see, a nice brown, or grey is all you need, black is so harsh,” she shows you the pencil she used.
“Oh, thanks,” you murmur.
“Let’s even that out,” she nudges you back again and you appease her.
As she draws on your other eyelid, you hear a subtle buzz, followed by Frigga’s shrill greeting. She apologises to someone unseen before she carries on her call, heels tapping further and further away. You can hardly focus between her, Eliana’s directions, and the chatter all around you.
“Mmhmm, yes we were thinking of the Garden…” Frigga trails off as the door rings then swiftly blocks out her conversation.
“Mascara, look up,” Eliana directs, again, you obey. There’s nothing else you can do.
As nice as it all is, the hair, the makeup, and all her lovely plans, you can’t help but be embarrassed. Frigga, and Mr. Laufeyson, know you can’t afford all this. It doesn’t feel as much like kindness as it does condescension. As if they are the blessed elite giving you, a noone, with all their privileges.
It’s not a kind gesture, but a statement. You’re so far below them, you don’t even know what you don’t have. If you are to be anywhere near them, you have to fit their mold.
🧹
After the salon, Frigga drags you down the shopping strip. You shy away from the gleaming windows and the faceless mannequins in their luxurious outfits. You couldn’t wear any of it. It wouldn’t look right. Anyone would know in an instant that you don’t belong.
Inside the first shop, you make yourself as small as you can, crossing one arm to cling to the other, folding your shoulders in. You’re frightened of brushing against anything or knocking over that hand display with all the jewelry on it. As you pass a mirror, you nearly trip. You forget for a moment that it’s you staring back.
You shake your head and back away. You don’t like that feeling. You don’t recognize yourself. Even if you never really loved the girl looking back, she was familiar.
“Darling,” Frigga gives you a start as she nears, “how about this? Hm? It’s absolutely adorable.”
She holds up a purple dress; almost like an overall but more refined with three buttons along the right side. She has a plain white blouse behind it. It’s lovely but you don’t know if you like the length. You don’t think you’ve worn a skirt since grade school.
“Oh, it’s… nice.”
“Come on, try it on,” she pleads, “it would look so good on you, darling. With your figure.”
You gulp and blink, looking down at yourself. What figure? The boxy button-up and straight-legged tweed don’t betray much of that. Your body is your body; it’s just there.
“I’ll try,” you relent. It wouldn’t be polite to say no.
“Alright, you take this to a dressing room and I’ll find some shoes,” she shoves the hangers at you, “excuse me,” she turns and waves to the associate who greeted you on entry, “yes, please, she needs a room.”
The woman with ginger curls approaches and you hand over your, or rather, Frigga’s picks. Her name tag reminds you of her introduction; Celia. She guides you into the back to a large room lined with curtained stalls. She takes you to one and hangs the clothing within. You thank her quietly and turn to stare at the lilac fabric.
You sigh and pull the curtain shut. You strip away reluctantly. It’s all so surreal, you don’t want to believe it. You’re wary of the unusual good luck, the unearned generosity. Why would Mr. Laufeyson agree to this? And why would Frigga want to spend time with you, a maid wearing a title beyond her means?
“Darling, are you ready?” Frigga calls through as her heels tap out her arrival.
“Almost,” you call back, shimmying into the purple overall as you try not to rumble the sleeves of the blouse.
You refuse to look at yourself before you face the curtain and brace yourself. You step out as Frigga waits patiently, sitting on one of the leather poufs with a pair of white loafer flats in her lap, little silver bows clasped by the toe.
“Oh my,” she gasps as she rises, “oh darling, that’s… that becomes you. Oh,” she nears and hands you the shoes, “put these on then. Let’s see the whole look.”
Like most things in life, you let her bowl you over. You just go along with what you’re told. You go through the motions numbly, waiting for it to be over.
You bend to slip into the shoes one at a time. Once you stand, she ushers you around to face the mirror. She squeezes your shoulders before playing with your hair, setting you straights as she stands behind you.
“Look at you, darling,” she purrs.
You falter as you see the woman staring back at you. That’s you! You can hardly see yourself under it all. You press your hands to the skirt, wishing for a few more inches, and squeak the soles on the floor as you shift awkwardly in the stiff leather.
“This is it. It suits you so well. Sharp collars, cinched here,” she touches your waist, “I think we have a good start.”
“Um, thanks, but er…”
“You can wear that out. It’s a lovely outfit for lunch,” she insists, “but I’m thinking a few boucle jackets, some matching skirts, a splash of pastel,” she rambles on dreamily, “pearls, of course, maybe some rose gold…”
Your brow pinches over your nose. You don’t know what to do. You can’t say no and even if you were brave enough to, you don’t think she’d hear you. She’s like her son, that way. She only sees what she wants and there’s no denying her.
“Oh, thank you so much for humouring me,” she drawls, “you know, ever since the divorce, I’ve been terribly lonely.” You’re startled by her sudden shift. You blink at her, “my own daughter was never one for the shops, at least, not with me but Sif… she… well, c’est la vie.”
“I… I’m sorry.”
“Why? Oh, don’t apologise, it is me who should,” she laughs at herself as she leads you back into the shop room, “to you and your own mother. I have accosted her daughter!”
You nod and seal your lips. You feel the pluck in your chest. You distract yourself with a nearby dress; it’s beige and boring.
“I hate to overstep but Loki did mention your father is sick. I’m certain it can’t be easy,” she hums, “it never is. You and your mother–”
“My mother…” you pipe up, voice cracking. You shake off the wave of dizziness and sigh, “my mother is dead.”
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” she touches her chest, “dear me, I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have–”
“I’m not upset. I never knew her,” you shrug and move on to a more colourful dress. “Just me and dad.”
“Well, it’s nice you have each other,” she says.
“Yeah,” you agree dully.
She’s quiet as she browses beside you, sifting through hangers. Tension ripples between you. Neither of you know what to say.
“How about this?” She holds up a satin blouse in a dainty shade of rose, “it would compliment your complexion.”
“Um, sure,” you let the thickness in the air slake away, “I… I’m not picky.”
“Oh, darling, you are too agreeable,” she teases, “you best not let my son play on that. He could always hear a no or two, yes?”
You nod, uncertain what she means. He’s your boss, you don’t tell him no. He doesn’t ask for your input. He just says and you do. That’s why you’re here. He needed a toy to give his mother, and you’re playing along.
🧹
The restaurant is just as resplendent and upscale as the shops. You try to keep stride with Frigga as she struts up to the open doors, a hostess standing behind a podium just outside as the sunlight beams down in a mid-afternoon haze. She smiles at the elder blonde as she greets her with enthusiasm.
“Good afternoon, we were hoping for a table outside,” Frigga declares.
“For two?” The hostess asks as she looks down at the tablet in front of her.
“A bigger table, please, we have someone joining us,” she answers.
“Great, we can fit you in,” the woman assures and waves you through the small gate of the patio.
She takes you to a table near the colourful flower beds and offers the drink menu. Frigga thanks her and sits as you mimic her. You do your best not to fidget despite the persistent displacement zinging through your nerves. She browses the menu and taps her groomed fingernail on the table.
“Is it too early for Zinfandel?” She wonders.
“Oh, I don’t… know,” you put your own menu down, content with a glass of cranberry juice.
“Or perhaps a white?”
You shrug. You don’t drink. You never have and never really thought of trying it. You rub your cheek and look around, squirming at the other diners in their carefree conversations. What are you doing here?
A new server approaches and takes your orders. Frigga gets her wine and you murmur your request for a glass of juice. You hand over the menus and she checks her slender golden watch.
“Mm, I did say two,” she tuts and takes out her phone.
It’s almost amusing to see someone disappointed in Mr. Laufeyson. To be on the other side of the table. You’re not the one rushing to meet a deadline for once. You twiddle your hands in your lap and peer around at the din.
A table of women sit with cocktails and green salads, gabbing loudly. They are probably your age. Friends. Something you never had. Probably never will.
“Mother,” a voice proclaims across the patio and you wince. It’s familiar but not the timbre you expected. Maybe it’s a coincidence.
“There you are,” Frigga stands and you turn to look over your shoulder at the burly blond. Oh.
You rise too, not wanting to seem rude. Thor hugs his mother and kisses the top of her head, “I was caught behind an accident,” he explains, “oh,” he faces you, “and who… it is the little maid!” He takes you by the shoulders and you flinch as he bends to kiss your cheek, “you remember me, yes?”
You can only nod as you wriggle out of his grip. You resist the urge to wipe your cheek.
“Maid! Do not call her that,” Frigga chides as she sits.
You lower yourself back to your seat. Thor drags out the chair next to you and you try not to show your discomfort. He is almost too wide for the seat as his thigh presses to yours.
“I never got a name, you know? Brother hides everything away,” he sniffs, “so forgive me,” he leans as he tries to look you in the face, “a proper introduction is in order; I am Thor, you recall, hm?”
You nod again and eke out your name. He offers his large hand and you hesitate to take it. You won’t be rude though. His grip swallows your hand up, tight and unyielding. When he finally releases you, you let out a slow breath and stare at the table.
“Speaking of,” Frigga remarks, “he is late.”
“Not surprising, he can hardly be bothered to leave his cave,” Thor scoffs, “what a nice colour.”
He touches the button on your dress and you squeeze your legs together, trying to sidle away without being obvious.
“Thanks,” you murmur.
“Oh, we had a wonderful day shopping,” Frigga supplies, “she’s so sweet.”
“Ah, yes, I’m certain father will be happy to hear you had a spree,” Thor chortles.
“What he doesn’t know…” Frigga giggles.
The server returns and sets down the stemmed glass of dark wine and your juice. Thor orders rye as you lean forward to sip, the tangy flavour tautens your cheeks. You feel your chair shift and sit back, only to meet the curl of his fingers on the back rest. He doesn’t draw away, his leg splaying wider to touch yours again.
“So we are waiting on him?” Thor challenges and slaps his stomach with his other hand, “I’m starving.”
“We’ll give him another ten,” Frigga girds, “perhaps he is also stuck in traffic.”
“Not to worry,” Thor booms, “we can have fun without him, eh. Probably more.”
“Oh, don’t,” Frigga reproaches, “this is supposed to be a nice family meal, you will not start with him again.”
“It wasn’t me. He’s the one who stormed out–”
“Enough,” she interjects, “we are moving past it.”
“I’ve moved on,” Thor insists, “mother, really, I am not the one who keeps picking fights.”
“Mmm,” Frigga purses her lips, “nor do you discourage them.”
“Me?” Thor feigns innocence, his fingertips brushing the back of your collar, “I only said hello and he went out of his mind.”
“Um,” you sit forward, knocking the table slightly, “er, I… is there a bathroom?”
“Oh, yes, darling,” Frigga turns to you as if only then recalling your presence, “just through the front door to the right.”
“Thank you,” you stand, “sorry, uh, excuse me.”
You turn and scurry off, clutching the sides of the dress to keep it from riding up. Once you get inside, you roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the sensation of his touch. You reach back to tug at your collar.
It’s peculiar to think, but you hope Mr. Laufeyson gets there soon.
#loki#dark loki#dark!loki#loki x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#dirty work#series#avengers#mcu#marvel#thor#au#maid au
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it’s just a game - lee felix
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
pairing: gamer!felix x fem reader
rate: 18+
genre: smut
warnings: explicit language/profanity, explicit sexual content, hard dom!Felix, sub!reader, angry sex, unprotected sex, grinding, dirty talk, fingering, pet names (doll, toy), overstimulation, creampie, cum eating, oral sex (mentioned; f receiving)
author’s note: this is my first time writing smut so sorryy if it’s not good also i wrote this while high but i revised it while sober so it should be fine? idk hope u enjoy <3
wc: 1.4k
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
“FUCK!”
You sigh and lean away from the mirror, just barely having avoided messing up your eyeliner due to your boyfriend’s outburst in the next room.
You’re more than used to this, and you contemplate just closing the door to focus on getting ready to go to dinner with your friends. It’ll take him five minutes to get ready, but you have a routine to finish. You decide not to when you peer through the doorway to the bedroom and see Felix at his gaming desk growing increasingly more frustrated.
“Calm down,” you call absently from the bathroom.
Felix’s childlike tendencies definitely have their pros and cons, and you lovingly accept both. His anger issues while gaming though? Definitely a con. You don’t mind it most of the time-- you kinda like seeing your usually calm and sweet boyfriend get so pissed off at others, as long as it’s not at you (which it never is). But you do intervene when you’re worried about him getting overly stressed. Getting him to snap out of it usually isn’t very difficult.
You leave the door open as you finish your makeup, jumping a little when the final touches are followed by the sound of Felix’s fist slamming on the table.
“Felix, calm down,” you repeat, still checking your reflection to make sure you haven’t forgotten any part of your routine. You’re more absorbed in deliberating whether you’re going to leave your makeup sprawled out all over the sink counter or clean it up and let Felix use his own sink space for once.
“I’m fucking carrying them and they can’t even-- fuck,” his argument trails off into curses under his breath again as his teammates re-infuriate him. It’ll be more convenient to leave your makeup there, you decide. You roll your eyes as you hear him hit the desk again when you step out into the bedroom.
“It’s just a game,” you remind him. Your expression shifts instantly as his eyes snap up to meet yours, and you’re met with an intense darkness in his gaze that you had yet to encounter before.
The realization hits you, heart racing; this is not like the other times. His eyes travel over your figure as he takes in the sight of you in the tiny slip dress you were about to wear your dress over-- your breath escapes you for a minute.
“Fuck this.”
Within the minute, his headset is off and Felix is up from the desk, grabbing you and dragging you to the bed. Once you finally catch your breath, you speak up again.
“What are you doing?” You ask, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. His actions become more aggressive for a second before he responds.
“I’m relieving my anger. Calming down. That’s what you wanted isn’t it?” he growls into your neck, then returns to placing harsh kisses across it as he cages you in under him.
You open your mouth to respond but decide against it, only for a choked moan to escape as he starts grinding down against you. His hands are around your wrists, slowly moving them up over your head against the mattress.
“Since you’re so concerned, you can help make me feel better about it.”
“But we have the dinner--” you protest.
“Then hurry the fuck up,” he whispers, then instantly cuts off your ability to respond as his lips finally find yours, kissing you in a way that makes your head spin.
Holding your wrists with one hand, Felix moves the other down to push the loose fabric of your dress over your hips. You wiggle and hold yourself up to make it easier for him, then continue to hold as he tugs your panties down.
As he starts working on his pants, he finally releases your wrists, knowing you won’t move them. Instead, he brings his free hand down between your legs, interested to find you already dripping.
“Aw,” he teases. “You were going to dinner like this?” When you whine instead of giving a real response, already losing the ability to think, he pulls his fingers away.
“You wanted to be good and help Daddy feel better first didn’t you?”
You nod, quickly slipping into your usual dynamic.
“Y-yes daddy. Please let me help.”
He returns his fingers, stretching you in preparation, while his other hand starts stroking his cock.
“Good girl,” he says in his ridiculously deep voice. “You’re going to be so good for me.”
Finally, he removes his fingers and slowly sinks into your heat. His hands on your hips are sending waves of sensitivity through your body. You moan as he finally bottoms out and clench around him as best you can. The feeling makes Felix drop his head on your shoulder, cursing under his breath again. He pauses before moving, considering.
“Take this off,” he decides, tugging your dress up. You pull it off with ease and toss it to the side.
His hands travel from your hips up to your waist to your tits, thumbs playing with your sensitive nipples. The feeling makes you shiver as he slowly starts moving. Eventually, his hands slide back down to the sides of your thighs, squeezing them and providing support when he picks up speed and force, the harsh thrusts bruising.
“There’s a good girl,” he says, “You love being Daddy’s little stress relief toy don’t you?” You can barely put words together as he continues pounding you.
“J-just for Daddy to use,” you breathe, “Whenever you want.”
“My perfect doll. I’m gonna use you so well,” he groans, his hands on your hips again, moving you to meet his thrusts. You hold on tightly to his shoulders as pleasure courses through you with each of his movements.
It’s not long before your back arches and you’re seeing white, your orgasm coursing through you in waves.
Felix pulls out for a second and you barely have time to wonder why before he’s flipping you over and re-entering you from behind, picking up a pace even faster than before. The overstimulation is overwhelming but you want to be good for him. You arch your back and let him adjust you until the angle makes you scream.
Soon enough, you feel your second orgasm building, and from the way his hips suddenly seem reinvigorated, you can tell that he’s close too.
Your senses are hazy, and you barely notice when one of his hands travels from your hip down your front till one touch to your clit makes you twitch and clench around him. He rubs a few circles and you’re cumming hard on his cock, this time even more intense than the last.
Seconds later, you feel him do the same as he fills you up. You love that Felix always likes to time it perfectly like this. He continues to fuck you through both your orgasms, until he finally slows down and pulls out. The mixture of fluids follows, spilling onto your thighs.
Felix can’t help but scoop some up with his thumb and bring it to your lips. You should be exhausted, but Felix has never spontaneously taken his anger out on you like this before and now you want to see if there’s more where that came from. You open your mouth obediently, looking innocently into his eyes as you swirl your tongue around his thumb, swallowing every drop. He lets out a shaky breath and removes his thumb.
“Don’t look at me like that, we don’t have time for more. We have to go to dinner,” he urges. You sigh and lay back against the mattress, letting him clean up the mess.
“I don’t wanna go anymore,” you whine, knowing that’s not an option. Finally sitting up once he’s done, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror across the room and are grateful to find that your makeup is mostly intact with just a few smudges here and there. Your slip and panties are a mess on the floor, and you decide to mess with Felix through dinner and forgo replacing them when you put your dress on.
“So did all that help you calm down?” you ask teasingly. He blushes, a little embarrassed for losing his cool now that he’s snapped out of it, but still cocky.
“Of course. My pretty doll always makes me feel better,” he says, grabbing your face and placing a little kiss on your nose. You roll your eyes at his belittling behavior, knowing full well you love it.
Felix’s delicate balance between his preference for being a hard dom and his usual fluffy personality never fails to amaze you. He’ll keep the act up all night, yet you know that in the morning you’ll find flowers on your table and his head between your legs as a little reward for being good for him.
#stray kids#skz#stray kids smut#skz smut#lee felix#stray kids felix#skz felix#lee felix smut#skz felix smut#stray kids felix smut#gamer bf felix
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Jumpstart is a character-driven slice of life, containing drama and romance. It's mainly inspired by the show 90210 and the movie Mean Girls.
You had multiple sticky notes on your bedroom ceiling, bathroom mirror, and any other surface you were able to get it on.
How to be rich by 21:
1. Survive high school Survive the final year of high school
2. Move out and get a pet (finally!)
3. Become rich and famous (should be easy enough...)
This list has followed you ever since your eleventh birthday when you were suddenly bombarded with the dreaded question:
‘What is your dream job?’
Quite frankly, you didn’t dream of labour. At least not the regular kind. Call it psychic, but you knew you were destined for the easy life, filled with copious amounts of wealth, relaxation, and travels. You were are special.
Seriously, you had everything set out for your 'rags to riches' story:
You weren’t the most popular, but you also weren’t eating lunch alone in the school bathroom. ✔️
You made sure to work a part-time job, starting from the age of thirteen, so it would be easier for future fans to relate to you. ✔️
You were on your way to being crowned ‘Most likely to be famous’, which would have made for the perfect moment on ‘The Late-Night Phil Show’.✔️
Everything was going to plan… until it wasn’t.
Not only did your mother decide to marry some wealthy businessman, but she also packed up all your stuff and moved you hundreds of miles away from your home that screamed ‘humble beginnings’ and into a five bedroom (minimum) mega mansion.
Oh, and public school? Forget about that. From tomorrow on, you’ll be one of those rich private school kids. Goodbye 'rags to riches' background, and hello nepotism allegations.
Though, that’s a problem for future you...
Right now, you’ll have to adapt to school life the way the people at the top of the food chain do it.
Get ready to ‘survive the final year of high school’ filled with gossip, betrayal, romance, angst, and social drama you could’ve sworn only happened in movies and TV shows.
Jumpstart is rated 18+ as there will be mentions of sexual themes, drugs, alcohol and violence.
Choose your MC's name and gender.
Decide your MC's personality, clothing style, and much more.
Get involved with 1 out of 4 romanceable characters.
Climb to the top of the hierarchy at Maplewood Private School.
Jumpstart your way into the life of stardom and wealth.
Isaiah/India (m/f) 'the high school worldwide heartthrob':
You could’ve sworn you saw them gracing the red carpet in some of the hundreds of magazines stashed in one of your moving boxes. Child of the famous celebrity make-up artist, Naomi Lawton and basketball star, Sean Lawton. Wanted by many, yet only successfully claimed by A. Though, judging by how many people I can be regularly spotted with, it begs the question: Does I care?
Appearance: Sepia skin tone. M! has short coily black hair, mostly styled in cornrows and decorated with some silver hair jewellery. F! has long bleached coily hair, currently styled in waist-length blonde braids.
Alison/Anderson (m/f) 'the school's number one':
Not quite like the ones in movies… they’re somewhat nice? At first, they can be straight-up vicious, ripping apart any and every little detail they can get their hands on, but once you earn their trust, you’ll learn that behaviour is much more of a façade than a true reflection of them.
Appearance: Olive complexion with sprinkles of freckles on their nose and cheeks. M! has short curly ginger hair that loosely hangs over his forehead. F! has shoulder-length ginger curls and bangs.
Tegan (m/f) 'the estranged childhood best friend'
You were eight years old, when their family decided to move someplace else, ripping your, what you thought to be inseparable, bond into two. At the start you tried to keep up, exchanging letters almost every day… then weeks… then months if anything, until complete silence. You’re not sure who stopped sending them first or when even, but one thing’s for certain: you were no longer friends. No, after ten years, you definitely weren’t.
Appearance: Brown skin tone. M! has black buzzed hair. F! has straight, waist-length black hair.
Levi/Leighton (m/f) 'wherever they go, trouble follows aka the school's bad boy/girl':
For someone with a big reputation, there’s next to nothing that can be found on them. And all your pestering questions are met with nothing but warnings, yet you can’t help but grow more curious about them with each passing encounter.
Appearance: Tawny skin tone, though you can’t help but notice the faded scar tainting their otherwise clear left cheek. They have wavy brown hair, reaching down to their shoulders.
Reblogs are more than welcome and thanks for reading!
DEMO TBA
#jumpststart if#masterpost#interactive fiction#cog#choicescript#wip#intro post#choice of games#interactive novel
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Open Her Eyes
Pairing: Lady Lesso x Fem!Reader
Summary: The Reader and Lady Lesso attend the Nevers and Evers ball. The Reader, although she has never paid attention to her appearance, changes her mind for the first time under pressure from Dovey.
Author Note: It's short and very fluff, but I hope you like it.
You've never been a big fan of balls. If you could, you surely wouldn't be there, but being a teacher required your obligatory attendance. '
After two friends, Readers, Sophie and Agatha, with their arrival at school, first completely upset the balance of Good and Evil, and then turned it into something like unity, everyone was relieved that the border was finally over. But before anyone could thank them, they vanished, apparently returning to Gavaldon.
It didn't bother you. Moreover, you were perhaps the most grateful person you could have been for breaking that balance and rules. It finally made you believe that someone you couldn't be with because of these divisions would finally have that chance.
And that someone was the Dean of the School for Evil.
Lady Leanora Lesso for whom you had certain feelings. Being a teacher from the School of Good, you had no chance of getting closer to each other than in the relationship of two teachers.
But at some point, this line that was supposed to separate you, started to blur. You started bumping into each other more and more often. You started talking more and more. You started to think about each other more and more and you got closer to each other. Yet both of you were afraid to take that one big step that would destroy the line between you once and for all.
Until someone did it for you. These two Readers.
But despite this, you haven't seen Lesso in some time. As if she was avoiding you. You were hoping maybe it would be easier now. That now that the division has disappeared, something will finally change between you two, but … nothing like that happened.
Clarissa found you in your room as you sadly sat in front of your mirror and stared at your reflection.
"Y/N, what happened, Dear?" she asked with concern in her voice as she walked over to you. You sighed tiredly, rubbing your face with your hand. "You should be getting ready for the ball."
"I know, but … I don't know if it makes sense for me to go there" you replied quietly, turning your head towards her and looking at her beautiful dress with even more sadness. Clarissa has always been pretty, and has been the true epitome of beauty, grace and fabulousness. Sometimes you wanted to stop, be such a grey mouse and be able to shine like that too.
"What are you talking about? Why do you think so?" She put her hands on your shoulders, frowning in worry.
"I… I…" You started, but you didn't know what you were going to tell her. "I think I like Lesso… " You replied softly, looking down and blushing, fearing the woman's reaction.
"I knew it" she muttered, smiling victoriously as if she had won a bet. You looked at her in surprise.
"You knew it?" you asked surprised, and she nodded her head.
"Come on, it was obvious that you were drawn to each other." She waved her hand dismissively, and you parted your lips even more in surprise. "But that doesn't explain why you don't want to go to the ball."
"Well, I don't think Lesso is reciprocating my feelings. It is possible that what was between us until the balance between Good and Evil was broken is gone. She hasn't wanted to talk to me for a few days. I think … I'm not enough for her " you replied sadly, and tears of failure gathered in your eyes. You felt bad. You felt rejected and your heart was broken by Leanora's ignorance.
"Don't you even dare say that!" Dovey snarled quickly, immediately hugging you to her. Her sweet scent, although completely different from Lesso's, allowed you to calm down a bit. "Lesso just needs to open her eyes. And I think I have some idea how to do that" she said, and a sly smirk appeared on her lips.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
You felt your nerves grow more with each passing second. The dress, white in a shimmering rainbow glow, trailed behind you with a grace that no one had ever seen in you. Your hair was pulled up in a bun from which a few strands had leaked out. Clarissa even gave you a beautiful make-up that emphasized all your face qualities. When you looked in the mirror, you couldn't recognize yourself. You looked like a real princess. You couldn't believe it.
You were the last to enter the ballroom late, as Clarissa had ordered you to enter. You didn't want to do it at first because you knew it might be too much, but Dovey was very insistent, so you gave up on her again.
When the door opened and all eyes landed on you, you felt that in a moment you would not stop and run away from here. But the moment you saw Dovey smiling at you, and then Lady Lesso standing next to her, her mouth parted, you felt certainty.
Your eyes met and you followed Clarissa's advice and smiled softly. You walked slowly through the room, as if nothing, focusing only on the redhead, who was staring at you in shock.
Clarissa was holding back a laugh along with Anemone as they saw Lesso's face and when her cane slip out of her hand and fall to the ground. Everyone in the room was silent as you gracefully approached her and nodded gently, as befits a princess.
"Lady Lesso, would you like to dance with me?" you asked calmly, still smiling slightly. The woman didn't answer you anything. It was only when an amused Clarissa nudged her side that she seemed to return to the ground.
"O-Of course" she replied quickly and held out a hand that you accepted with satisfaction. She led you to the center of the room, never taking her eyes off you as she was slowly getting used to you. The music started playing and you both started dancing along with the other couples. "Whose idea was that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she turned you around and your dress swirled beautifully around you.
"It was Clarissa's idea, do you like it?" you asked hesitantly, well aware that your confidence was gone, but Lesso had regained it.
"You'll have to apologize to Clarissa because I'm going to rip that dress off you tonight, My Love" she replied, whispering in your ear and sending shivers down your spine.
"You'll have to make it up to me for this waiting" you said, turning your back to her and letting her hands wrap around your waist. Her lips landed on your neck leaving a soft kiss there. You sighed softly, at which she smiled devilishly.
"Don't worry, I'll do it."
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#12. "Just do it."
Thank you for letting me indulge yet another one of my "fifty different ways they could have met that didn't involve anyone dying" daydreams. Mwah!
“Just do it,” Eddie says to his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror. “Today. Today’s the fucking day, yeah? Just do it.”
How can he do it, though, with a zit on his nose? Eddie doesn’t spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about his face or anything, but like… that dude’s a whopper. Red with a white center, and he should probably squeeze it, but if he does that, it might bleed, and he can’t decide if it’s better or worse to ask Chrissy Cunningham out with a zit or the bloody scab of where a zit used to be.
Probably he should just pop it at home and wait until tomorrow. That’s the solid course of action. Besides, he has Hellfire after school, and if he asks her out today, he’ll be distracted, and the sheepies deserve his full and undivided attention.
Plus—plus!—he and Chrissy have been partnered up for a month on this stupid English project, and it’s due on Friday and today’s Wednesday, so if he asks her out and she says no, that’ll throw off the whole vibe of their presentation. Which, if he says so himself, is a pretty badass show. Funny what happens when you actually make an effort in school, even if it’s just to impress the pretty blonde who initially didn’t seem thrilled to be partnered with you but now laughs every time you make a dumb joke.
It’s a lot easier for Eddie to concentrate on a task when he knows Chrissy’s gonna smile and say something like, “Eddie, that’s so good!” or “I never would have thought of that!” when he’s done.
“Friday,” he says to his reflection just as the door to the bathroom opens and some bespectacled freshman stumbles in, sees Eddie, and beats a hasty retreat.
Yeah, that feels about right.
It’s his free period, and he was originally gonna meet Chrissy in the library to work on their poster, but she put a note in his locker this morning saying it was a lovely day and could they please work in the quad instead?
She’s got the girliest handwriting, and he definitely sniffed the paper to see if it smelled like her perfume.
(One time, she left her scrunchie on the table, and Eddie stole it while she was in the bathroom. It’s uh… seen some things. He’s a dick. But, whatever. She has eighty of them.)
When he arrives, Chrissy’s already sitting at one of the four painted-green picnic tables that decorate the quad. Her hair’s in a ponytail, which he pulls to announce his arrival because he’s five and she’s cute, and he wants to shove her down a slide on the playground to tell her he likes her, or whatever.
Jesus Christ, life would be easier if she hadn’t dumped Jason Carver two weeks ago, thus opening herself up as an actual option rather than a fantasy. And, sure, Eddie gets that he’s not even remotely close to her league, but whatever. Even a first date would be more than he deserves.
Chrissy twists at the tug on her hair, and her mouth’s painted with his favorite shade of peachy-pink, lips twisting into a smile. “Hi, Eddie.”
“Hey, sunshine. I finished those drawings.”
“Oh, let me see!”
Their presentation is on A Tale of Two Cities, which Eddie actually read (because he really is determined to fucking graduate this time), and also sort of dug because there was a lot of war and intrigue. It’s not Asimov, but he can see the appeal. For the presentation, he and Chrissy are doing a poster depicting the major plot points, and when she found out he wasn’t the world’s worst artist, she asked him to draw and…
Yeah, he’s been making an effort. Not just because he wants to get in her pants, either, but because he likes her as, you know. A person. She’s kind of weird, and he likes how her brain works.
Sitting across from her, he tugs out some loose printer paper from the ream Wayne stole from the plant a year ago. Management would be furious, Eddie’s sure.
Fuck management. Every time he rips the edging off a fresh piece of paper, it makes him smile.
“Oh, wow, Eddie,” Chrissy says when she sees the final piece, which is Carton approaching the platform with the guillotine. “This is amazing.”
“Ah, thanks,” he says. “It’s no big deal.”
“No, it’s perfect. And I lettered the quote.” That had been Chrissy’s job—picking out the appropriate sentences and hand-lettering them on paper she soaked in tea to make it look old. “Once we have them pasted on, we’re done.”
“So… cool, yeah. Done.”
Chrissy carefully places his final drawings in her folder and shrugs. “We don’t have to meet tomorrow, I guess.”
Shit. Eddie leans forward, fingers digging into the edge of the table. “Uh. Oh. I guess not?”
“Maybe just Friday, before we present?”
“Totally.”
“Cool. We'll kick butt, and then hang out Friday night.”
Eddie's brain stutters to a halt. "We're hanging out Friday night?"
"Yes. You're taking me out to the movies."
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Why don't you just use your book to make me love you, Chrollo? It would be easier than pretending I'm ever going to change my mind about you.
"Is this suggestion for your sake, or for mine?”
You’ve learned there’s nothing Chrollo loves more than returning a question with one of his own. Despite the heavy inquiry, he carries on with his previous task, testing an assortment of jewelry on your person using some unknown rubric. Right now, he’s deciding on your earrings for the evening. He holds up a silver pair with teardrop-shaped sapphires dangling from it, humming low in consideration.
“Surely, you aren’t foolish enough to think I’d ever suggest something out of consideration for you,” is your scathing reply. Having seemingly decided on this ostentatious pair, he unclasps the earring backing and then slides it into place. You feel his warm breath tickle the nape of your neck while he does so. The sensation is unpleasant, far too intimate and in your personal space.
If the upward quirk of his lips visible in the mirror’s reflection is anything to go by, he’s doing this on purpose. Drawing out every lingering touch just before you could call him out on it.
“I fail to see how that would benefit either of us. In my case, I like you as you are; I savor it, even. You’d taste much too bland if I took your individuality away,” his fingers glide over your collarbones. Back and forth, back and forth. “As for you... are you certain that’s what your little heart desires?”
You raise an eyebrow. He takes the hint and elaborates further.
“Your consciousness wouldn’t just fade away, you know. You’d be a prisoner and your cell would be made of your own flesh. Your hands... your legs... your lips... they would move in ways you’d never condone. You’d feel everything, experience everything. Yet there’d be nothing you could do to stop it. Does that not frighten you, dear?”
The metal band he places around your neck is nowhere near cold enough to make you shiver as much as you are now.
His lips graze the shell of your ear, soft, teasing. “This is just my opinion, but... I think it should. Very much so.”
#yandere chrollo x reader#yandere hxh x reader#yandere x reader#interactions#my stuff#answered#Anonymous
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WIP WEDNESDAY
tysm for a tag @corpocyborg
I'm not sure I if I shared it already or not, this WIP is quite old (I finished 2 fics since I started this one) yet I would like to finish it one day and need a push xD
"How do you usually start?"
"I undress."
Heinrix's reflection remains still, but Isabella feels how his hands on her shoulders move subtly. Their eyes meet in the mirror, and she suddenly is overcome by the desire to yank the strings on her dress to let the fabric flow down her arms and lean to the chair’s back so that Heinrix’s palms slide down, as by their own will.
It's not the best time for this, but...
Maybe later.
“I’m not kidding,” Isabella says. “It'll be easier later to clean myself than my dress."
"Reasonable."
She watches his fingers trail along her collarbone to touch the lace at the edge of her neckline.
“I’m afraid we'll have to break this tradition,” Heinrix feigns a heavy sigh, but the corner of his mouth is raised in a slight grin. “Otherwise I'll be less than helpful.”
"Oh no. So what should we do?"
“There is a simple solution,” he doesn't hide his smile now. "I will undress."
#this one should have been zero ZERO sexy#and here we are I dont contol them#oc: Isabella von Valancius#Rogue Trader#heinrix van calox#gigiltrader
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Since explaining the No Exit au went over super well, I've decided to introduce y'all to The Late Blooming Perennial au.
This one starts with Tulip's adventure on the train, when she reaches the Chrome Car. Except, reflections can't think or feel when they're in the Mirror World. They can't feel discontent. (I wanted a real reason as to why most reflections were content, and I felt like this explained better why they don't all try to escape aside from "they like being reflections")
So Lake has never wanted anything before, until they switch into the Prime World with Tulip- but they don't know what to do. They haven't had the chance to Exist yet. The chance to be their own person or make choices- not even to think about what choices they might take, in theory.
Instead of trying to trap Tulip or run away, they talk, and work out a plan a bit faster. Making a narrow escape and traveling together instead of splitting up. Lake doesn't know much, and even if being around Tulip sometimes makes them feel weird, she's the only person they have. Tulip helps them hide from the flecs and ends up taking a lot longer to get off because the two of them often have to take detours now that they're traveling together instead of apart.
They're on the train for so long, in fact, that they run into a magical deer and a boy who talks too much.
For the sake of not having too many characters, Atticus stayed behind in the Unfinished Car, working with that king instead of going forth with Tulip and One-one.
After Lake and Jesse argue, and Lake begs Tulip to let them travel with "the deer" because Tulip has her own denizens and Lake wants to feel normal, like every other passenger. Well, they move forward. Tulip is excited to meet another passenger and her and Jesse get along pretty well.
Lake wanted to be more cautious about who they befriended, given their circumstances. Circumstances that they had yet to reveal to Jesse. That leads us to the Toad Car.
Jesse panics, but Tulip won't stand for it. She and Lake mock the flecs (loudly), and while Jesse isn't sure he should trust them- he's inclined to. Tulip is a human, like him. They explain what happened, how Lake came to be, and he turns around.
This leads to Lake being Extra soft on Jesse, which Tulip teases them for immensely. Lake is Not subtle. Jesse is the first person aside from Tulip to see them as a real person, to treat them normally. He had no obligation to help Lake or "make it up to them", the way Tulip did. He could have traveled on his own after they escaped the flecs. But he didn't.
He stayed.
They have a few run-ins with the Stewardess, but it's easier to fight her/run off with the three of them (and a magic deer and a talking robot-ball).
Lake (finally) shaves their head using a train wheel. Much to Tulip and Jesse's horror and dismay. There is lots of screaming and yelling.
All-in-all, everything seems to be falling into place. Their numbers going down bit by bit and the future seeming brighter now that they aren't facing the train alone.
Until the Ball Pit Car.
The Stewardess is set. The conductor will stop at nothing to put an end to their journey.
Jesse stands up for them. He sets his shoulders, he blocks the path. He won't be swayed by threats.
His number drops to zero.
The Stewardess forces him through his exit, flinging him without a second thought.
Lake, who had been defending Tulip (keeping her behind them since the lasers only bounced off uselessly), breaks. They try to fight the Stewardess, but that only leaves Tulip open. Amelia takes her shot.
Horrified, Lake holds Tulip. The first person to care about them. To free them, before they even knew they were trapped. And it's their fault she's dead.
Except she isn't dead. Just. Changing. Just different. Morphing into something inhuman, something that Tulip had warned them about in their early days.
The next sequence is similar to the canon of Book 1. They have to trap Tulip, who's now a ghom. The Cat helps Lake get to the front of the train.
The fight with Amelia is a bit quicker. Lake is made of metal and they are pissed. They don't pull their punches.
Lake turns Tulip back, doesn't talk to Amelia the way Tulip does. They lost Jesse, sure, but they don't know how to deal with loss. How to explain that to someone else. And while they understand Amelia to some extent, they care more about the fact she hurt their friends.
One-one takes over the train, and he grants Tulip her exit. Tulip, however, is smarter than Jesse or Lake.
She lets Lake go first, and when she realizes that it won't work, she fights One-one about it. Lake isn't a denizen- and he should know that! They came from the Mirror World, which is attached to the train just like the real world is. But not a part of it.
Eventually, they get Lake through (who is relieved that after messing up, Tulip was still willing to fight for them), and the two are finally safe in Minnesota.
Of course, the first thing they do is look up one Jesse Cosay, and save him from getting a return trip on the train.
#the late blooming perennial#infinity train#lake infinity train#jesse cosay#tulip olsen#infinity train book 2#infinity train au#Infinity train book 1#i literally made this bc i wanted an excuse to doodle all of them hanging out#Theyre just so underrated#yellow's aus
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Heart Equals Home | Charles Leclerc
*Photo Creds: Dan Istitene via Getty Images*
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
A/N: This is going to be a series, yes, the DR series was discontinued and archived because I couldn’t seem to understand where the plot line was going, I had major creative block every time I went to add more to it. I’m sorry for anyone who was following it but I may return to it in the future, I’m not sure yet. But for now, I want to start a fresh chapter with a new series and I hope you enjoy.
A/N: There is no summary for this because firstly, I can’t be bothered to write one and secondly, it’s pretty self-explanatory from the first chapter really. I’m writing in first person for this because I find it’s an easier way of writing plus when you imagine it as an ‘I’ thing, it becomes a lot more intimate and thus personable as well as realistic, and enjoyable!
Warnings: fluff, mentions of smut, clubbing, alcohol, swearing
Masterlist
My first love. A love that I never saw coming, a love that left imprints on my soul and would do so for all of eternity, or atleast for as long as I was alive. For months, I stayed up thinking about him, wondering where in the world he was, on an emotional and physical level.
I guess he went through a lot of torment, but he never opened up about it to me a lot, on the days that he did, it was the sort of stuff I’d hear in a movie as the main character corrected their path to one of redemption and justice.
But those days of digging up the past are over for me, in fact, I don’t even know why I ever did think about him so much because I never really was on the receiving end of an opportunity to tell him how I feel about him. No, how I felt about him.
Past tense, because that’s what it is, the past. It was something I was told by my good friend, Leya, if I just keep going back to the beginning then I won’t have enough time to continue everything else, because other people will get bored of waiting. I mean, she was referring to a long night of clubbing and the fact that I was entirely too focused on my makeup rather than my outfit but still, I found it moving enough.
“That dress is cute.” Leya’s head was perched up on her arms, her eyes raking over my figure as I twirled in the mirror. “The bottom half of the dress is shorter than my underwear.” I snorted, returning my gaze to her in the reflection.
“So fucking what? It’s Monaco, it’s once in a lifetime.” A groan left my mouth just as Carla entered, pushing her hair behind her shoulders. “Y/N, when was the last time you were here?” She innocently inquired as Leya tutted, “like years ago no? I still can’t believe you LEFT Monaco for America, that’s like leaving a gold mine for a cave.”
“I didn’t leave, my family moved Leya, it’s a part of life. You know how you moved from Liam to Jayce in the span of a week, it’s a part of life.” Leya made an insulting mocking noise and threw a pillow at me from behind her, but I expertly dodged it.
“Okay okay, but how long has it really been?” I sighed, combing through my hair with my fingers. “I don’t know, five years maybe?” My mind instantly went back to what life was like five years ago; small, meek, repetitive, but the one person that didn’t make it seem so dull was a person long gone from my life.
Before I could fall into a deep train of thought, I caught myself. “Five years? Jesus, you never came to visit?” Leya questioned, now sitting with her arms holding her up behind her.
“Monte Carlo got more expensive over the years, we couldn’t afford to. It’s only when I got my promotion that I.. well, am here,” I truthfully answered.
“What about all of your old friends?” Carla added but Leya turned to her annoyingly, “she has us? Who else would she ever need?” I nervously let out a chuckle and glanced between both of them, deciding to change the topic while I still could.
“Come on, we should get going.” I ushered and Carla turned on her heel to head into the bathroom where she left her purse, while Leya scurried to the mirror to take a look at herself close-up simultaneously nudging me on the shoulder.
I moved away when I heard my phone vibrate on the stand just below the TV. I skimmed over the message with my eyes, a smile on my lips as I clicked on it and read it out loud. “Eric and Zac are meeting us there, and apparently, Luca is finding his own way.”
I ended with a chuckle and Leya joined me, “Do you reckon it was truth or dare?” I smiled, not looking up from my phone as I typed out a response to him. “Oh for sure, but with alcohol, just to be on the frisky side.”
I shoved the phone into my clutch and brought it over my shoulder, hopping on one foot either way to get my heels on, once that was done, I looked around to see Leya behind me, reapplying her lipgloss for the millionth time while Carla was anxiously checking the time on her phone.
“Right girls, we ready?” I nodded, popping my ‘p’ on the end of my ‘yep’, and looked back to Leya just as she dropped the tube of lipgloss into her purse.
“Let’s get this night fucking started, PLEASE.”
I threw my head back in laughter as Eric mumbled a joke in my ear, the tip of his nose grazing my bare skin. “Stop.” I commanded but another laugh escaped my lips so he knew I wasn’t being serious, “do you know how hot you look in that dress? Fucking sinful.”
A blush creeped over my cheeks and my chest, I clenched my thighs together and there was a playful smirk on Eric’s lips, knowing what he was doing. “Behave, I’m not doing it in a club again, we both know how it ended last time.” His mouth turned into an ‘O’ shape as he remembered the fond story we both like to tell on the nights we get piss drunk.
“Poor man definitely let a little piddle out.” Placing a hand on his chest, I pushed him away with a wide smile on my lips, rolling my eyes too. “I’m getting another drink.” Eric nodded, squeezing my arm to grab my attention again, leaning in to ask me if I wanted him to come with but I shook my head, telling him there was no need.
I strolled over to the bar, planting myself on one of the stools and leaned on to the counter with both elbows on the marble, the cool surface in contrast to my sweaty arms sent goosebumps up my skin.
“Margarita, shaken please.” I ended with a friendly smile, my head tilting slightly to the left, the alcohol I’d already consumed hadn’t quite hit me yet but I was definitely starting to feel some effects of it.
My mind was a slight haze, not realising the bartender had slid my drink over to me until I forced my eyes wide open. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, tensing up from the unfamiliar contact. If I elbow them, how far would they be pushed back? What if I just smashed this glass over their head, how much would it cost?
But I eased when he leaned into my ear, “I’m going to go and grab Luca, he’s lost himself somewhere.” I chuckled and whisked around on the chair, “you shouldn’t have let him walk here.” Eric winked and traced his finger along my jawline, “he insisted.”
Tilting my head up, he leaned forward as if to press a kiss to my lips but only smiled against them. I clasped my hands around his neck and pulled him into me, deepening it when he placed two hands on my waist. “Later.” I groaned annoyingly against his mouth which caused him to let out a sigh, “you’re going to finish what you started soon, baby.”
He tilted his head down to his jeans and I laughed, pressing a final soft kiss to his lips before unclasping my hands, pulling away. “I’ll tell Leya to be with you until I come back.” I nodded my head, my heart warmed like I was a teenage girl with a school crush.
He swiftly made his exit and I was left alone at the bar again. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was staring, either from afar or really up-close, but someone was piercing their eyes into the back of my head. The alcohol was definitely starting to take effect, the room spinning slightly every time I turned my head so by the end of it, I decided to leave it be and let whoever was staring stare, plus take it as a compliment.
I lazily stood up from my seat, realising that the bar was getting busier so it was going to get a whole lot more cramped in the matter of minutes, even seconds. As I made my way through the ever-increasing group of people, I winced when I heard someone’s voice incredibly close to my ear.
At first, I believed it was Leya because Eric mentioned he’d tell her to come to me before he left but this one was masculine. The voice didn’t seem laced with alcohol or slurred, nor did the person who’s voice it belonged to touch me anywhere let alone inappropriately.
That was when my mind registered what the voice said. “I never thought I’d see you again.” My eyebrows subconsciously knitted together at the confusion of who it could be, maybe an old friend who noticed me from far away? Maybe a Monacan relative I haven’t seen in years?
The voice becomes a person when they walk around me so that I can see them in clear view now. The man’s hair was messy yet looked incredibly fluffy, the kind I’d want to run my hands through. Even under the club lighting and the booming music, his eyes were piercing, the green in them obviously apparent even from a distance, they were the kind I’d get lost in. His pointed nose and his pink plump lips, the kind I’d pepper kisses over every chance I got.
Except I have. I have ran my hands through that hair before, I have lost myself in those eyes before, I have left kisses over that nose and those lips.
Fuck.
“Charles,” I manage to breathe out. He smiles, he loves the way I mumbled his name, he knows the memories of us in our teenage years came flooding back to me like a harsh wave over the shore, much like they’d flooded back to him when he first saw me from across the club.
Neither of us say anything to each other, either because we didn’t know what to say or because we didn’t want to, instead we wanted to soak each other in, let our eyes wander over the other’s body, notice the tiny things that have changed because we’ve both been absent from each other’s lives for a long time.
He tilts his head towards an empty high-top table near the back of the club and I find myself absentmindedly following him, like a lost puppy finally reunited with its owner. He’s wearing a black shirt, prints of the brand marked on the shoulders, short sleeves.
His figure remained the same, but I guess that‘s a given if he chose to remain in the same career he was in years ago. Motorsport. Perhaps he’s a little bit taller, but I couldn’t be sure, I didn’t spend any minute with him judging his height, I spent those minutes with him in all of his glory, soaking him in, believing he was mine.
While my feet were carrying me to where he was going, I didn’t feel much inside of me. Maybe my stomach had flipped a few times or my breath had caught in my throat when I came to the realisation of who it was, but not much else. I liked that.
As he turned, I felt my legs weaken a little from the alcohol and he subliminally extended his arms out to catch me but I adjusted myself without his help, his arms returning back to his sides. There was a part of me that wished he did, so I could’ve felt what I did years ago, a yearn for his touch, for his attention, but I’m older now, I’m not a teenager.
He knew he couldn’t hold me anymore from the lowering look on his face, he must’ve saw me clasp my hands around Eric’s neck and pull him closer so I could feel his lips on mine. I felt ashamed at that, but I shook it out of my head, I don’t owe him anything.
“How are you?“ I asked, I watched as his eyes faltered a little, I guess there was a possibility he wanted me to say something else, anything else.
Maybe he wanted me to ask where he’s been all these years, tell him if my feelings for him have changed, pull him into me, but I couldn’t know for sure.
And this was awkward enough.
My eyes were rather widened, my mouth was slightly agape, my heart had begun palpitating under his gaze, he watched my every movement as if I would slip away if he looked away for a second.
I wasn’t sure why he was having an effect on me, but I guess it was because I was seeing the same man who once held so much substance in my life again, the man who I thought would never return.
“I’m okay.” His accent was as prominent as ever and I grinned at that, a man of layers I used to regard him as, maybe he still was. But I wouldn’t know, I mean how would I? We’re not friends but I guess we never really were even when we were close.
“You look.. great.” He paused for a moment before he finished, and a blush tinted my cheeks, it was a compliment, of course I was going to react to it, I would react like that regardless of who it was.
His eyes dragged over my body and I don’t know why but I adjusted my dress so it covered me a little more, suddenly feeling the need to be modest, mentally cursing Leya in my head for convincing me to wear it. But she didn’t know, I didn’t know, nobody knew this was going to happen tonight, neither did Charles.
His gaze met the floor, “so do you.” I returned, it is human nature to compliment them back if they compliment me first. At least, that’s what I was taught by my mum growing up.
“How, how long has it been?” I added, I didn’t want the conversation to end and by the way Charles’ eyes lit up slightly, he was pleased with my question. But I don’t know why.
“Five, six years?” He responded, even though it came out like a question rather than an answer. His jaw ticked, he couldn’t comprehend that it’d really been that long he’d gone without his first love by his side.
I wanted to tell him that I’d missed him, but I was mad, I was mad that he’d never attempted to find me as I’d attempted to find him the first year I’d gone without him. But he meant more to me then, not as much now, so I ignored that pesky feeling and pushed it aside.
“I’m sorry I-” Charles begun but he was cut off as his eyes fell to the approaching figure besides me, I followed his gaze and weakly smiled as Eric draped his forearm around my body, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I wanted him to continue but when I returned my eyes to him, his eyes were on the bar and his hands were tucked away into the front pockets of his washed-out jeans, his jaw clenched.
“Who’s this?” I breathed in and forced a smile on to my lips, trying to act as if the conversation had been a pleasantly surprising one, looking up at Eric. “Eric, this is Charles, an..”
I subconsciously paused, rattling through the options in my mind as to what I could use to introduce him as, the Monacan noticed my slight hesitation but he didn’t step in.
“He’s an old friend, from when I lived in Monaco.” Charles refrained from scoffing, meeting the gaze of the man who was eyeing him suspiciously. “Charles, this is Eric, my boyfriend.”
He forced a tight-lipped smile, taking Eric’s hand and shaking it before letting go. “It’s nice to meet you man, I’ve never met any of her mates from here.” He finished, running his hand up and down my back like he always does.
“I’m glad to be the first one.” He met my eyes and offered me a smile, one that I sceptically returned. He patted Eric on the shoulder before walking away, I wanted to turn back and see if he was watching me but I didn’t, he wasn’t a part of my life anymore, I needed to accept that.
“Wanna make a bet on how many of your friends we’ll run into tonight?” I hummed in response, lost in thought. “Let’s just get back to our friends.” Eric noticed my shift in personality and nodded, taking my hand and following me back to Carla and Luca.
The three got lost in a drunken conversation but my eyes were constantly scanning and searching the room, I don’t know what I was expecting to do or to say to him if I saw him, maybe I was hoping he’d finish his sentence, what was he going to apologise for?
For never trying to find me? For bothering me at the club? For never contacting me? For never becoming anything more with each other when we had an infinite amount of potential? What was it?
My mind was spinning in circles and somewhere, I half-wished he was feeling the same, wondering if there was anything left unsaid on my part, but how could I know?
“Dude, are you with us?” Lando cut Charles’ thoughts short as the Ferrari driver met his eyes.
“Yeah yeah, what’s up?” The Brit didn’t seem convinced that his mate was listening, trying to figure out where he was looking until he landed on the wrong group of girls that Charles definitely wasn’t looking at.
“Someone catch your eye?” He smirked as he questioned, the Monacan turned away from his friend and rolled his eyes, finding his oblivious nature entirely too amusing.
“No, definitely not, Lando.” The Brit groaned, wanting and needing something to entertain himself, which usually meant taking the piss out of one of his friends.
Charles couldn’t stop the feeling of waves of guilt and sadness washing over him, maybe if he’d met her again a year earlier, she’d have been happier to see him or she’d be single and not with a guy that she’s over the moon to be with.
She deserves that, someone who treats her well, someone who is able to fully commit his time and attention to her whenever she needs it, the one thing Charles couldn’t afford to give.
But he wanted to know more. He wanted to know what she did for a living now, did she follow her dreams that they used to talk about for hours and hours on the roof? He wanted to know what her favourite season was, did it change, did the reason change? He wanted to know if she knew anything about him, did she really forget or had she been clinging on to hope that they’d reunite just like he had for half a decade?
But she has a boyfriend, a group of friends, people she was willing to travel to another country with, clearly trusting and loyal people, she looked like she was doing really well for herself, her skin was glowing just as much as it did five years ago, her body he still yearned to reach out and hold, her hair he still wished he could comb his fingers through.
She seemed so close and familiar yet so distant and unusual.
It’d been a long night of drinking, and any thoughts of Charles or the conversation we shared or the unfinished sentence he left alone had been rid from my mind from the toxic invasion known as alcohol.
Me and Eric both left the club together and earlier than the others, unable to keep our hands off of each other in the back of the cab he called while I stupidly giggled away.
Rounds and rounds of sex, drunkenly hilarious kisses and cuddles diminished the wedge between us that I was scared Charles had created by simply making an appearance in my life again, but Eric is perfect for me. He loves me, cares for me, and doesn’t deserve to be thrown aside for a man who didn’t bother to find me for five years.
Eric falls asleep earlier than me, my naked body pressed into his side, his arm snaked around me while his other arm is tucked behind his head. I press a lazy kiss to his lips and another, running my hand over his chest and pressing a kiss to his collarbone before finally resting my head.
My head is blank as I grow tired, but I know it’ll be filled with thoughts the moment I wake up, along with a banging headache.
No pun intended.
Message me or comment if you wanted to be added to the taglist!
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#f1 imagine#fem!reader#oneshot#f1 one shot#charles leclerc x y/n#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc#scuderia ferrari#ferrari#f1 x reader#f1 fandom#f1#f1 x you#f1 x y/n
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Day 18 Broken Glass
For day 18 of whumpril
Familiar faces, Set episode 10 of season 3 Originals, follows after this days 16, 18 and 27 of febuwhump.
Elijah deals with the consequences of his own overconfident and underestimation of Tristan.
Hayley and Jackson happen to time their talk at a bad time but manage catch Elijah before he does something drastic
Warnings for self harm and discussion of drug use, withdrawal and self harm.
----
It was a good thing Elijah was familiar to muscle aches, from his episodes and gymnastics or his problem would have been noticeable during their confirmation to deal with Tristan. He wouldn’t want Tristan going into the dark with the belief he won anymore than Elijah wanted him to.
Yes Elias had loved him, but to Elijah he was nothing and would be forgotten.
He just needed to get through this, the after effects that Tristan likely hadn’t even thought for or planned.
Elijah didn’t like his reflection, he had gotten used to the fact it was never the right face looking back at him, too old, too young, black eyes and a wide smile or blood covered, this time it looked like he felt tired and fragile.
With his hair a mess from the way he had been pulling at it, he looked like an addict jonesing for a fix.
It wasn’t completely wrong.
Klaus was away helping Cami, Freya had human hearing and should hear it and Sage had gone out for the night after making him promise to stay inside. He’d complain about her protectiveness but he brought her back for this reason and then foolishly went off alone, placed himself back into Tristan's hands and ended up reliving his last two lives at the same time.
Dealing with the itch under his skin he hadn’t had to deal with for decades and hoped he never would again.
So he shattered the mirror, uncaring of the sound it would make or the broken glass that was going to cut him.
If he fell back into old habits he'd be dead within weeks OD-ing the moment he got high enough to forget his current body didn’t have years of build up endurance.
It made it better, easier to ignore the burning itching under his skin when he could focus on the burning stinging cuts now decorating his hand. The ache from his chest and the ghost of a feeling of Tristan’s hand in his chest had long faded.
He had hoped dealing with Tristan would chase away the lingering consequences of his brief return to Elias, knowing Tristan was trapped.
It hadn’t.
He had barely had a taste of his once addiction, Tristan wanting to use his time with his pet in other ways, and yet the hunger for it was back.
He had already healed those bitemarks and bruises but removing them had just left him with the withdrawal.
The burning itch, the need, the skin crawling.
He wasn’t a desperate run away on the street anymore, looking for a way to first escape his nightmares and the black eyed monster in his reflection and then the memories of what he did to earn the money for his habit.
He was Elijah Mikaelson, one of the original vampires, currently a witch that had power others would flinch from.
Reminding himself of that didn’t get rid of the crawling under his skin, the trembling that was trying to take over his limbs..
He swallowed as he eyed the broken glass in the sink, red staining white.
Before he could reach it the door slammed against the wall and two hands settled on his arm.
He pulled his eyes away from the remains of the broken mirror and his blood staining them and the sink to look at intruders.
Hayley and Jackson stared at him in horror, anger and concern.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, smiling at them as if nothing was wrong as the words came out calm and controlled.
Surely the married couple should be at home comforting each other at the pain and near loss they had suffered today, because of Elijah’s first sired, the grudge he had created and the personal army he had also made for Tristan to use.
“We came here to talk to you.” Jackson explained as Hayley seemed speechless as she took him in, Elijah shifted his shoulders slightly, as he realised what a mess he likely looked like, the movement caused Jackson to release his arm but Hayley just pulled it closer to her examining his glass littered skin..
“What do you think you were doing?” Hayley snapped pulling him from the sink, Jackson followed as she pulled him from the bathroom..
Elijah was at a loss, first in how to explain his actions that wouldn’t worry her more or sound so obviously a lie and second why she was here, so instead of speaking he stayed quiet.
She pushed him to sit on the bed, sending Jackson a look over Elijah’s head that he couldn’t muster the strength to try to read before she vanished back into the bathroom, returning with his first aid kit.
“I’m not going to ask you to heal that.” she told him as she ignored the collection of healing plants and pulled out the rest of the tools. “You don’t really look in the head space.”
“I’ve already healed the rest of the damage” he told her realising as he struggled to focus on either of them she was right about his head space, his skin was crawling and his attempt to control his jitteriness had failed as he noticed he couldn’t stop the way his legs were bouncing.
“Tristan got into your head.” Hayley said more likely to herself as she treated his hand, plucking out shards of broken glass.
“He trapped me in my own head.” he replied, as he switched his glaze between Hayley and Jackson, he wasn’t sure what to say, why they were here or how to convince them he was fine and that they didn’t need to bother themselves, he rarely struggled with knowing the right words to get what he wanted but now he was useless.
Neither of them should be stuck dealing with Elijah as he failed to keep control of himself, he was a thousand years old he could deal with memories of a damaged teenager.
Apparently not.
“You want to tell us what happened between the pair of you?” Jackson’s voice broke the silence that had grown and Elijah looked up from where he had lost himself watching Hayley work on her hand to be surprised that Jackson was sitting on the bed beside him instead of standing.
Was he really that unaware? He had never been so careless around Mr M- Tristan.
“He was my first s-” he winced as Hayley pulled a partially deeply embedded piece of glass free.
“We got that,” Hayley interrupted him, bringing his attention back to her “that doesn’t explain why you followed him into the warehouse.” ‘or why he kissed you’ Elijah thinks she also wants to ask.
“I’m guessing it happened sometime since you lost your original body.” Jackson added as Elijah stared at Hayley.
Elijah thought about correcting him that he hasn’t lost his original body, it was downstairs besides his sibling’s coffins but instead gave them the answer they were after, the sooner he said it the sooner they could move on and never think of that life.
“Tristan found a messed up teenager on the streets and had him for about a year. He wanted his pet to love him and he got what he wanted.” it was easier to explain as if Elias was another person, to put some distance between them, like Elijah didn’t remember desperate for his praise, as if he couldn’t feel his own happiness at Tristan’s gentle touch.
“You loved him.” she almost choked of those words, stopping her work to stare at him,in horror-pity-disgust, Elijah couldn’t tell.
“Elias did.” He tried to correct them but even his own voice was shaky and unsure.
“Stockholm syndrome.” Jackson mused leaning closer to Elijah to see Hayley better perhaps, Elijah couldn’t help but melt into him, warm-solid-real, better than the strange floaty feeling he had started to feel besides the itch under his skin.
Some small part of him noticed the way Jackson froze for a moment but that part was quickly losing against the hunger and need for a fix.
“He’s gone now.” He shrugged, already tired of any more talk of Tristan. “these no need to pay him anymore, mind.”
“Then what was this about? you hurt yourself.” Hayley asked as she finished taping down the bandage.
“A distraction.” the answer escaped him before he realised how bad it would sound if he expanded on it.
“What?” she asked
“I needed a distraction.” he offered instead of what she really wanted, he couldn’t admit what he was, that even after a whole new life he was still a desperate addict.
“And cutting up your hand and arm was what you chose?” she said incredulously. Elijah stared at his bandaged hand not looking at either of them as he chewed the inside of his lip to stop himself from adding anything else, he could feel the weight of Hayley’s stare but she made no move to let go of his hand and with Jacskon at his side it was nice, not to be alone.
“You're shaking” Jackson’s words distracted him and Hayley from wordless standoff, any words he had stalled on his tongue as Jackson spoke again. “Withdrawal?”
Elijah glared at his other hand, the one not held by Hayley, that had joined his legs, moving without his permission.
“From what?” Hayley asked, he didn’t look up from her hand moved from his wrist to carefully curled around his bandaged own. “Elijah.” she called, ducking her head into his view to catch his eyes.
It was Hayley’s tone and the way she looked at him that had him giving in, the lack of judgement.
“Heroin.” he admitted, it wasn’t much, more likely Tristan had given it to him out of amusement than true attempt to harm but it had brought his memories of Elias’s withdrawal with it and while his body didn’t really need it his mind thought they did.
There was a growl from Hayley.
“He drugged you.” Jackson spoke, while his tone didn’t carry any feeling Elijah looked between them to notice a growing yellow colour to their eyes
“It wasn’t much,” he tried to reassure them. “give it a few hours and it will pass.”
“A few hours.” Hayley echoed.
Elijah shifted slightly leaning away from Jackson and then violently shuddering at the sudden chill that sinks deep into his bones.
“What did you want to talk about?” he asked looking between the two, the sooner they spoke the sooner they could leave and no longer waste their time on him failing.
“Not while you're like this.” Jackson said quickly, Elijah looked up to meet the other’s eyes, finding himself closer than he had expected.
“My mind is clear, it’s just my body’s reactions.” he countered, his mind was mostly clear, he admitted to himself as found he couldn’t remember when he had returned to leaning against Jackson’s side.
“So you need some sleep and you'll be free of this in the morning?” Hayley queried, forcing him to look back to her.
He nodded, not at all surprised as Hayley pulled him up and started to help him into the bed, he allowed her, too tired to bother trying to argue, relieved he had thought to change out of his suit earlier for a looser set of clothes.
He was a little surprised when Jackson and her didn’t leave once Elijah let her man handle him into his own bed.
“We came to talk about our relationship.” Jackson explained, Elijah blinked perhaps he was wrong and his mind was affected because the words were not making sense.
Relationship, ‘our’ as in the three of them, he was in love with Hayley which he thinks she might return, but she was married and loved Jackson, he remembered her screams in the warehouse, the fact that it had broken through to the nightmare he was trapped within his mind.
Jackson loved Hayley.
Elijah's reluctant admiration and attraction towards Jackson was one sided.
So he wasn’t sure where they were getting with the ‘our’.
“Yeah.” Jackson nodded at Elijah’s silence, “ so we’ll talk about it after you’ve slept this off.”
“Easier said than done.” He couldn't help but argue slightly, being left alone with this feeling and his own thoughts was the last thing he wanted or needed.
He wouldn’t undo Hayley’s care and work binding his hand but once they left he could find another way to distinct his body's nerves and heal it with magic in the morning once the worst of it had passed.
Hayley and Jackson looked at each other in silent communication. Elijah had to accept he really did need sleep as he found himself again unable to read a thing that passed between them, normally he was better at this.
“Well you're not going to be alone.” Hayley told him and Elijah couldn’t stop his audible noise of confusion as both of them started undressing slightly to join him in the bed.
Maybe Tristan had given him more than he thought, as he watched in stunned silence as the bed shifted and he found himself between the married couple.
His bed wasn’t too small, it was twice the size of his bed back in mystic falls and yet he still found himself sandwiched between the two, one of Hayley’s hands reaching out to entwine with his bandaged one as the over reached over him to hold Jackson’s.
He felt Jackson’s other arm move to rest above their heads, nothing was making much sense to Elijah as he laid in the quiet, but the feeling of both of the either side of him was working as a much better distraction than the cuts had as he couldn’t feel the itching under his skin.
He closed his eyes and decided to stop thinking. Hopefully in the morning he could think clearer and he could understand what was going on.
#whumpril2024#whumprilday18#Broken Glass#tvd fanfiction#au- Familiar faces#the vampire dairies au#the originals au#fanfiction#the vampire diaries#elijah mikaelson#jackson kenner#hayley marshall#elijah x hayley x jackson
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Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Thirty Four
Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.
-x-
Hi friends!!
As always, thank you so much for your love for this fic <3 It means the absolute world.
This chapter is twice the length of the usual SGW chapters, but it is their wedding, so I wanted to make sure I did it justice and gave them the day they deserve.
Please do let me know what you think <3
The next Instagram series for this universe will be posted tomorrow.
-x-
Words: 6k
A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List and will be updated as we go along.
Read over on Ao3, or below the cut
As promised, Aaron takes her to the mall the following morning.
He’d sat patiently as she tried on a few different dresses, his feedback relatively useless to her since he told her she looked beautiful in every single one. She knew the moment she’d picked the right one though, the way his eyes lit up as he looked at her was the only answer she needed.
The dress was white, long-sleeved and came down to just above her knees. It was form-fitting, tight around her bump in a way she didn’t usually dress. The v-shaped neckline of the dress gave more than a hint of cleavage, something she had given up trying to hide somewhere at the start of her second trimester, and she had a feeling that Aaron’s love of the dress had everything to do with how amazing even she could admit her breasts looked in it.
She smiles to herself as she thinks of the lingerie she’d bought when Aaron had taken Jack to the food court. It was a lacy matching set, also white, that the woman in the store had been delighted to find for her. Emily was excited for Aaron to see it, even if all she did was take off her dress and eat dessert in her underwear this evening like she currently wanted to. He always took her lead, more than happy to comply when she needed him, desperation for him thrumming in her veins, but he was also happy to simply sit next to her when sex was the last thing she wanted.
She stands in front of the mirror in their bedroom for one final look at herself. She had chosen flat shoes, her feet far too sore for even the tiniest of heels. She’d curled her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. It was the longest it had been in years. Her bangs have long since grown out, and the way her pregnancy made her hair healthy and shiny was the only side effect she actually liked. Although JJ had warned her it would be short-lived, that post-partum hair loss was real and that she should prepare herself for it.
She spots Aaron walk out of the bathroom in the reflection of the mirror, an adoring smile on his face as their eyes meet. They’d been home for an hour or so as they got ready, Jack all but vibrating with excitement for their plans for the day, not so patiently waiting in the living room, yelling up the stairs every few minutes and asking if it was time to go yet.
“You look beautiful,” Aaron says, repeating what he’d said when she tried the dress on for the first time only a couple of hours ago. “So damn beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she says, her cheeks flushing as she looks at him over her shoulder for a moment before turning back to the mirror, “You look pretty handsome yourself.”
He hums, “I’m wearing one of my work suits, sweetheart. It’s what I wear every day.”
She isn’t sure how to tell him that was the exact reason she loved it. That marrying him in the same clothes he’d been wearing when she fell in love with him was perfect to her. A suit instead of a tux that she probably would have let her mother pick out because it was an easier battle to give way on than something else like the dress.
“I never thought that this is what my wedding day would look like,” she smiles wistfully as she straightens the material of her dress over her bump, critically eyeing how it clung to her skin, “I always imagined I’d be a bored socialite. That I’d marry someone that my mom deemed appropriate and have a big fancy wedding with a puffy dress and baby’s breath flowers everywhere, where she invited a ton of people I’d never met and use the whole day as a networking opportunity,” she turns to look at him, her chest blooming with love for him as he adjusts his tie, his suit one that she’d seen him wear countless times to work, “I never pictured this,” she says, closing the gap between them and taking over fixing his tie, the silk of it soft against her skin, “Or you.”
He eyes her carefully, looking for any hint on her face that this wasn’t what she truly wanted, that she was just going along with what she thought he wanted. He’d done the big wedding once before. Whilst he could never regret marrying Haley, his love for her, although different to what it had been when they first met, was something that was as much a part of him as breathing. She was the first person who had shown him that he deserved the love that had always been missing in his childhood, she was his first love. The mother of his son. But it still hadn’t worked out. They’d grown apart, heading in different directions as they got older even though they’d once walked the same path. The promises they’d made each other when they were barely older than kids themselves broken even with the best of intentions.
Emily loved him differently than how Haley had. There were no expectations, no desire to change him into someone he had once been. She took him as he was, damage and all, and loved him because of those things not in spite of them.
“There we go,” she says, laying the tie flat against him, stroking her hand down his chest as she does so, “Perfect.”
He smiles softly at her as their eyes meet, “Are you sure this is what you want, Em?” He asks, wanting to check just one last time. He reaches out for her hand and squeezes it tightly, “If you want the big wedding with the puffy dress and the baby’s breath we could do that instead once the baby is here.”
She chuckles lightly and leans in to kiss him, her lips soft against his, “I think I’m puffy enough right now without the dress,” she jokes, and he shakes his head at her, and she cuts off any attempt from him to call her beautiful, “And baby’s breath smells like piss at the best of times and that was before Nugget turned me into some kind of starving bloodhound.”
Aaron laughs and shakes his head at her, his hand on her lower back as he pulls her closer, the material of her dress soft against his fingers, and her bump pressed between them. Her heightened sense of smell had been a real issue at first, especially during her first trimester. Now she was more used to it there were only certain things that set her off, such as the smell of strong perfume or uncooked chicken made her feel nauseated.
“You’re the prettiest bloodhound I’ve ever seen,” he says, leaning in to kiss her, tasting her laugh on his tongue.
“Thanks, honey,” she replies. She hooks her arms around the back of his neck and runs her fingers through the short hair on the back of his head, “I always expected I’d have that stuff but I don’t need any of it. All I need is you, Jack and Nugget,” she says, smiling up at him, “And a foot massage when we get to the hotel later.”
She’d booked the hotel last night. Delighted at the thought of spending a night in a fancy hotel just the two of them - the one more traditional aspect of a wedding that she actually wanted. She glared at him, shutting him up with a simple raising of her eyebrow, as he looked over her shoulder and commented that the one she’d chosen was expensive. He’d left her to it after that, and she knew that at some point soon they’d have to discuss money again, that he’d have to get comfortable with the fact that her money was now theirs.
Especially because by the end of the day, he’d be her husband.
He pulls her in for another kiss, “I’m sure I can stretch to that.”
Any further conversation is cut off as Jack calls up the stairs again, his impatience clear, “Daddy, Emily, let's go get married!”
They both chuckle and Aaron leans in for one more kiss before he pulls away and winks at her, “You heard him, sweetheart,” he says, linking their hands together, “Let’s go get married.”
___
“This is boring.”
Emily chuckles as she turns to look at Jack, smiling when he raises his head from her shoulder, his lips forming a pout as their eyes meet.
“We’re just waiting our turn, sweetie,” she says, pushing his hair from his forehead, “And then Daddy and I will get married.”
“Then we’ll eat?” He asks, looking past Emily at his father.
“Yes, buddy,” Aaron replies, his arm over the back of Emily’s chair, “Then we’ll eat. And then Mommy is coming to pick you up and we’ll see you later in the week.”
“Applicants Hotchner and Prentiss?” The judge says as he walks out of his chambers, looking back and forth until they identify themselves.
“Right here,” Aaron says, standing up first before he helps Emily up, his hand tight around hers. Jack jumps up, all of his excitement returning immediately.
The judge looks them up and down and smiles, “I’m Judge Johnson, come with me please.”
Jack runs in after him, already talking to Judge Johnson at a rapid rate only an excited child could. Aaron takes a moment to squeeze Emily’s hand, stopping them both in their tracks.
“You ready?” He asks, his smile wide. She can’t help but smile back, her heart swelling with love for him and hope for their future.
She can’t help but think of everything that has led her to this moment. How her father leaving had led to her mother’s drinking. How that in itself had led to Emily sacrificing a job opportunity so she could save her mother’s life by giving up a literal part of herself, before she ran away to a job with the FBI in the mid-west that she hadn’t wanted so she could escape the life she’d found herself in. How when she was ready to come back, to be herself again, she ended up in her dream job at the BAU, totally unaware that she was about to meet the man she loves. The man who had taught her that the love she felt every day now was possible.
The man she was about to marry.
“I’ve never been more ready for anything,” she replies, squeezing his hand before they walk into the Judge’s chambers.
“Jack here has been filling me in on you two,” Judge Johnson says, smiling at Aaron and Emily, “Apparently he’s very excited for his Daddy to marry his Emily.”
Jack nods enthusiastically and points at Emily’s stomach, “That’s my baby brother or sister in there.”
Judge Johnson exchanges a kind smile with them again and looks back at Jack, “Well, we’d better get them married, huh?” He looks at Aaron and Emily, “Do you both have your ID and your marriage licence?”
Aaron nods, disconnecting from Emily as he digs through his pocket, pulling out both of their driving licences and the marriage license and placing them on the Judge’s desk. He briefly looks at them before nodding.
“This appears to be in order,” he says pushing the documentation back towards them, “Do you have your own vows?”
“No-”
“Yes,” Aaron says, cutting over Emily and smiling at her, “We also have rings.”
“Aaron,” she says, flicking her eyes between him and the judge, “I haven’t prepared anything.”
He smiles and reaches for her hand to squeeze it, “Then I’ll go first to give you some time to come up with something.”
She shakes her head at him and presses her lips into a firm line to suppress a smile, “Ok,” she says, blowing out a steady breath, “You go first.”
Aaron looks at the judge who nods, letting him know he can start, and Aaron pulls the box with the rings out of his pocket, opening it and slipping the one intended for her into his hand.
“I’ve never really been someone who is very good at expressing how I feel,” he says, holding her left hand delicately, like she was made of something fragile, as he lines up the ring with her finger, holding it in place as he carries on, “But then I met you, and immediately I felt like I could. Of course, at first those feelings were mostly irritation and mistrust,” he says, smiling when she chokes on a laugh, the sound wet as it catches on a sob, “But they quickly turned into happiness and affection. And then love. I somehow started looking for you whenever I walked into a room,” He says, clearing his throat to push down the emotion that was climbing up it, “You have saved me, Emily Prentiss. Literally. And it will be the honour of my life to love you and make it up to you for the rest of mine.”
She lets out a sob, tears falling onto her cheeks as he slips the ring onto her finger. She looks back up at him and shakes her head, “How the hell am I supposed to follow that?”
He smiles and passes her his ring, “You’ll do great.”
She’s about to cuss him out when the Judge clears his throat, and Emily briefly looks at him, not missing how the older man is looking at him with his eyebrow raised. She turns her attention back to Aaron. For a moment she isn’t sure what to say, how to express what he means to her, so she just settles on the truth.
“You say that I saved you, but I feel like you saved me. You love me without condition, something I have never experienced before you,” she says, smiling shakily at him when he reaches up to wipe a tear from her cheek, “No matter what happens you’re always there to hold me up, you’re strong so I don’t always have to be. You let me into your family, and helped me realise I could be part of one,” she reaches for his hand and holds his ring in line with his ring finger, “I love you so much, and I promise that I will for the rest of our lives.”
She slips the ring onto his finger, emotions she wasn’t expecting flooding her chest as she does so. They stare at each other for a moment before they turn to look at Judge Johnson, both of them unsure of what was next.
“I need you both to sign here,” he says, pushing a form towards them along with a pen each. They do as they are asked, unsure how something so simple could be so meaningful. The room falls into a brief silence before Jack pipes up.
“Is that it?”
All three adults laugh, and Judge Johnson speaks first, “Yes, Jack. That’s it,” he turns to Aaron and Emily, “According to the laws of the Commonwealth of Virginia, I now declare you husband and wife.”
Aaron doesn’t need further instruction, his lips are already against his wife’s as the Judge tells him he can kiss his bride. He pulls her close, his hand on her lower back as she kisses him back. They laugh as they feel the movement from the baby pressed between them.
“I love you,” he whispers, something quiet and just for them, before he stamps another kiss against her lips, “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” she replies, shaking her head slightly, in awe of the fact this had happened, that he was her husband.
“Daddy?” Jack asks, and they both turn to look at him, neither of them moving even a little bit out of their embrace. He bounds over to them and Aaron picks him up, pulling him into his and Emily’s embrace.
“Yes, buddy?”
“Can we go eat now?”
Emily laughs, and she presses a kiss to the little boy’s temple, “Yes, sweet boy. We can go eat now.”
___
There is a part of Emily that would love to know what her mother would make of her wedding lunch being at a diner. She knows she’d get a kick out of her reaction, of the look of barely covered disgust that would cross Elizabeth’s face as the news sunk in, but it’s not something she’s going to get for a long time.
If ever.
Every time Emily felt her baby move, the sharp kicks and punches that never seemed to stop these days, she wondered how her mother felt when she was pregnant with her. If she felt the same connection Emily felt. If she spoke to her in the middle of the night when those kicks and punches kept her awake.
She wondered if there was ever a time when she had come first.
“Are you ok, sweetheart?”
Emily looks at Aaron and she nods, ridding herself of the thoughts of her mother for today at least, wanting nothing more than to enjoy her time with her husband and her step-son, the fact she could officially call them that now making her skin tingle with joy.
“I’m ok,” she says, squeezing his hand on the table, “Just a little tired.”
“We can nap when we get to the hotel,” he promises, putting cash down on the table to pay for their meal, “Haley is meeting us in a few minutes.”
Jack sighs, “Do I have to go home?”
“Yes, Jack,” Aaron says, smiling at his son, “But you’re coming over on Tuesday and Wednesday. If I’m on a case by then you’ll need to look after Emily and Sergio for me,” he says winking at his son as if it was some great conspiracy.
Emily shakes her head adoringly as Jack nods very seriously, “Because I’m the man of the house.”
“You two are so silly,” Emily says, her smile getting impossibly wider.
“But you love us,” Jack says, sliding closer to her in the booth, his arms as tight around her as they could be these days with her bump in the way. She pulls him closer and kisses the top of his head, breathing in the sweet scent of his shampoo. She rests her cheek on top of his head and looks at Aaron, her love for the two of them threatening to spill out onto her skin.
“I really do.”
Aaron smiles at the sight in front of him, the love Emily and Jack had for each other was one of the many reasons he loved her as much as he did. He had no doubt that Emily would love Jack in the same way she’d love the baby when they were born, that for her there would be no difference in her affection for their children.
“We should get going,” he says, checking his watch and realising Haley was likely already waiting for them, her need to never be late meant she often arrived early. Emily nods and slides out of the booth, groaning as she stands, the ache in her back making her question how bad it would be when she was even further along.
Aaron grabs her hand and Jack grabs her other one, leaving her sandwiched between her two Hotchner boys as they exit the dinner and walk to the nearby park where they’d agreed to meet Haley. As soon as they spot her, Jack runs towards her, excited to see his mother even though it had only been a day since he’d last seen her.
Emily feels herself start to put some distance between herself and Aaron as they get closer to Haley, always feeling a need she couldn’t explain to ensure Haley felt respected, that she wasn’t flaunting her relationship in front of her. A notion that felt ridiculous when she was visibly pregnant, and now married to him.
Aaron doesn’t let her pull away, his hold on her hand tightening as he squeezes it, refusing to let go. She smiles at him, grateful once again that he understands her as he does, and they make it to Jack and Haley’s side.
“Hi,” Haley says, her smile plastered on her face, an expression she’d never admit she practised in the mirror before she came here, “Jack was just telling me about today. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Aaron replies, pulling his wife slightly closer, letting go of her hand so he can put his arm around her.
“They both cried,” Jack says, his smile wide and Haley laughs, looking back at the pair of them.
“Really?” She asks incredulously.
“Well I cried,” Emily explains, “But I blame that on the baby,” she says, knowing she would have cried regardless before she tilts her head towards Aaron, “He got a little misty-eyed.”
Aaron shakes his head at her, a loving glint in his eyes that he always got when she made fun of him. Emily winks at him and wraps her arm around his back, her need to get some of the weight off her aching feet by leaning on him overriding her usual desire to hide any kind of physical affection for him from Haley.
“I was getting married, I’m allowed to be emotional,” he says, his hand squeezing her hip before he looks back at Haley.
She watches them intently as she often did when they were all together. It was something that had been rare ever since her reaction to finding out Emily was pregnant. She wished she could take what she’d said in the heat of the moment back, well aware that she had damaged a relationship with someone who rarely trusted anyone. Emily had put more walls around her again, their interactions only ever about Jack or Aaron, at a push, and only if needed.
A small, very petty, part of Haley hated that she’d now lost the one thing she’d had left over Emily. The fact she’d, at one point, been married to Aaron. Their relationship was legally binding for years until it wasn’t, a signed piece of paper ending it as simply as another had started it. She’d already accepted she was no longer going to be the only mother of his children, and she accepted that Jack loved Emily almost as much as his father did, but this, for a reason she couldn’t explain, was a little harder to take.
In some way, she thought it was because it truly marked the end of her and Aaron. Even though he lived with and was having a baby with Emily, the fact they were now married, matching rings on their fingers glinting in the sun, truly put the final nail in that coffin. Putting the promises they had made each other in front of everyone they knew all those years ago firmly to rest.
She’d lost him a long time ago, and right now, as she watches the way he looks at Emily, she wonders if she’d ever truly had him. She clears her throat and looks at Emily, and she doesn’t need to be a profiler to see the discomfort on her face, likely brought on by being pregnant and being freshly married and standing in front of her husband’s ex-wife.
“You look beautiful, Emily,” Haley says, smiling when Emily’s face lights up at the compliment, her hand immediately cupping her bump as Haley looks down at it, “It’s kind of unfair how amazing you look this pregnant.”
Emily chuckles, “Thanks,” she replies, rubbing a circle on her belly, “It’s all smoke and mirrors I promise you, usually I’m just wearing leggings and an old t-shirt of Aaron’s most days.”
She regrets it as soon as she says it, well aware that any of Aaron’s older clothes were likely bought by the woman standing opposite her. Haley takes it in her stride and smiles kindly at her.
“Did you guys get any pictures?”
Aaron shakes his head, “The waitress in the diner took one of the three of us but that’s it.”
Haley frowns, looking around the, mostly empty, park they were in, a perfect backdrop for wedding photos, “Come on, you need pictures of your wedding day, why don’t I take some?”
Emily looks up at her husband, and she sees the same hesitation in his eyes that she’s currently feeling, neither one of them wanting to make Haley feel awkward, no matter how nice her offer was.
“Haley, it’s ok-”
“Aaron, you know I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” she says, raising her eyebrow at him and holding out her hand, “Now give me your phone and shut up.”
Emily covers a chuckle with a cough and fails to suppress a smile as he looks down at her with his eyebrow raised. Aaron does as he’s told and hands over his phone, smiling a silent thank you at his ex-wife, her response a simple shake of her head letting him know that it was ok.
They would be in each other's lives forever. Connected by love and their history, and their son that had been born out of it.
The least she could do for him, and for Emily, was to take photos for them to remember their day. The start of the marriage that Haley knew would last forever.
___
Emily smiles as she hears Aaron audibly gasp as they walk into their hotel room. It was much grander than anywhere they’d ever stayed before, something she’d treated them to for their wedding day. She’d booked the room under Mr and Mrs Hotchner, purely just to see the smile on Aaron’s face when she said it when they were checking in.
“This room is beautiful,” he says, crowding her from behind after he drops their bags to the floor, his chest against her back as he wraps his arms around her, “Just like my wife.”
She chuckles as she leans into the kiss he presses into her cheek before she turns her head just enough to capture his lips against hers before he pulls away.
“You’re ridiculous,” she says, turning in his arms, an adoring smile spreading over her face, “Husband. God it’s warm in here,” she says, feeling the now familiar heat building up in her body, a level of discomfort she could never quite get used to even though it was how she felt every day. “Can you turn up the air-con?”
“The air-con is on full blast, sweetheart,” he says, covering his shiver at the cold air as he smiles at her, “You could always get naked,” he winks at her, his smile turning playful, “There will be no complaints from me.”
She rolls her eyes at him and steps closer, “I am wearing very nice lingerie under this dress,” she says, feeling nothing short of pride as she watches him visibly swallow thickly.
It’s chased quickly by guilt because she knows she doesn’t feel up to anything other than just laying down. Her body aching from a long day that had involved more standing and walking than she usually did these days. It made her feel frustrated, her body no longer entirely her own - something that had become abundantly clear as she became breathless walking up the stairs to the courthouse, a baby pressed up where her lungs used to be.
Aaron watches as her smile slips from her face and her eyes start to shine. He thinks he’s seen her cry more in the last 7 months than he had in the entire time he’d known her.
“Em,” he says, pulling her into a hug she gratefully returns. She fits perfectly in his embrace, her lack of heels letting him rest his chin on top of her head, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just…really tired and sore. And all I really want to do is sit in bed in my underwear and eat room service dessert,” she says as she pulls back, “But it’s our wedding night and we should totally be having all kinds of gymnastic sex-”
“Sweetheart,” he says, cutting her off before she can spiral, his hand gently cupping her cheek, “For a start, even if we’d had a regular wedding with the puffy dress and the flowers that smell like piss, we would have been on our feet all day. We’d be exhausted and would probably just collapse into bed the moment we got there,” he says, not mentioning that he is talking from experience from his first wedding. He smiles as she nods, her eyes brightening up again, “And, I had a feeling that was what you’d want to do, so I pre-ordered every dessert on the menu last night after you booked the hotel and they are being delivered in 30 minutes.”
She smiles widely at him, love and affection for him spreading through her veins. She wonders how she got here, how after everything, she found herself lucky enough to be loved by a man who knew her so well. By a man who wanted to spend the rest of his life continuing to know her, to grow with her.
“You might well be the perfect man, Aaron Hotchner.”
He chuckles and stamps a kiss against her lips, “Try and remember that when you’re in labour and hate me for ever touching you.”
“I could never hate you,” she says, kissing him once more before she turns around and pulls her hair out of the way, silently asking him to unzip her dress. He does so, gently pulling the zip down her back and helping her push the material down her arms, both of them letting it fall to the floor. He presses a kiss to the top of her spine, smiling to himself when she shivers, and then he pulls away.
She steps out of the dress and he leans down to pick it up for her, not even giving her the chance to try to do it herself. When he stands back up straight, the dress already neatly hooked over his arm, he’s met by the sight of her looking at him with her eyebrow raised, a fake frustrated look on her face. In any other circumstances, he knows she’d be mad at him for what she considered to be coddling her, even though they both knew she couldn’t lean down like that anymore. But the joy of the day overrides everything else, the fact they were finally husband and wife laying over everything like a blanket.
He looks her up and down, the sight of her, of her belly, in the lingerie she’d chosen enough to make his breath catch in his throat. She was gorgeous, and she was his.
“You really do look beautiful,” he says, sure he’s lost count of how many times he’d told her that today. He hopes that she knows he means it, that he’s not just saying it, and the blush to her skin that travels from her cheeks down to her chest lets him know that she does. He steps towards her again and kisses her cheek and then her forehead, “Why don’t you go have a bath, sweetheart, I’ll let you know when the dessert is here.”
Emily nods, the thought alone of a relaxing bath already soothing her aching muscles, and she kisses him before she walks into the bathroom. She runs a lukewarm bath and uses some of the rose-scented oils the hotel had left on the side. She groans in pleasure as she sinks into it, and she smiles when she feels the baby move.
“As soon as you’re out and I’m recovered from having you I’m having the hottest bath of all time,” she says, drawing circles on her belly, the top of it sticking out of the water, “The type that Daddy says burns off the top layer of my skin.”
Her 30 minutes are over quickly, and she hears Aaron talking to the person delivering their food. She climbs out of the bath and dries herself off before slipping her underwear back on, the thought of wearing any more clothing than that, even her pjyamas, is enough to make her skin itch. She walks back into the bedroom and smiles at the cart full of desserts that Aaron had wheeled next to the bed.
“Ok, this is officially the best wedding day ever,” she says, her mouth practically watering at all of the food.
“It’s nice to know it’s the cake that’s made you feel like that, not the fact you married me.”
The playfully sticks her tongue out at him as she climbs onto the bed, “You know what I mean.”
“What do you want to start with?” He asks, and she looks at all of her options, her eyes falling on one in particular.
“The chocolate cake,” she replies, and she smiles gratefully as he passes her the plate in question. He sits next to her on the bed and tugs her towards him so she’s sitting in between his legs, her back against his chest as his hips framed hers.
“How’s Nugget?” He asks, resting his hand on her belly, smiling at the roll of the baby under her skin.
Emily groans and takes a bite of her slice of cake, “It feels more like I’ve got a whole goddamn rotisserie chicken in there these days instead of a nugget,” she grumbles light-heartedly, her soft smile letting him know she was, at least partly, joking. “I can’t believe there are still 10 weeks of this to go. And that’s if I don’t go overdue.”
“It will go quicker than you think it will,” he assures her, adjusting how they were sitting so he was taking more of her weight, relieving some of the pressure in her back. He watches as she eats the cake faster than he thought humanly possible, but he decides not to comment, “And it will all be worth it in the end.”
“I know,” she says, putting her empty plate on the nightstand before she places her hand on her bump, “I’m just starting to feel impatient. I want to meet the baby, to hold him or her. To know if it’s a him or a her.”
He kisses the side of her head, “We could find out you know, the doctor will have written it in your file.”
She shakes her head, “No, I don’t want to. I want to find out when the baby is born as I’ve said all along,” she says, shrugging one of her shoulders, “I’m just excited.”
“Me too,” he says, cupping her cheek to tilt her head so he can guide her into a kiss, “And we still have plenty to do before Nugget is born,” he says, “We need to finish the nursery. We need to pick a name so the poor thing isn’t named after your favourite food from McDonald’s their whole life.”
She laughs, stamping her lips against his again, “That’s true,” she pulls back to look at him, a question she realises she’s never asked crossing her mind, “Naming someone feels like a lot of pressure. How did you and Haley come up with Jack?”
He smiles as he thinks about it. Those conversations felt like they happened to somebody else, which, for all intents and purposes, they may as well have.
“Haley vetoed a lot of my options,” he says, and then he chuckles, “And I had to veto a lot of her choices because I didn’t want to name our son after a serial killer.”
She laughs, the sound loud and booming and it makes the baby kick even harder. She looks up at him, “You’re kidding right?”
He frowns, unsure what she’s laughing at. She pulls away to look at him properly, amusement dancing across her face, making her look infinitely more beautiful than she already did.
“What do you mean?”
She clears her throat, swallowing back another laugh, finding it beyond endearing he’d never made the connection. “Honey…Jack the Ripper?”
She watches as the penny drops, his eyebrows shooting up his face before he starts to laugh himself.
“Well, shit.”
-x-
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Text
Sparks- Xiao
Pairings: soldier!Xiao x Princess!reader
Au: royal(?)!Au
Genre: fluff, angst if you squint
Summary: in which Xiao thought he’s not cut for happiness, until a certain stubborn princess proves him wrong
Warnings: Mentions of war, potential social isolation, unexpected pregnancy, bombs, intoxicating gases, unmentioned nudity if you squint
W.C: 2.6k
A/n: I’ve had this idea setting on my desk since last DECEMBER so I thought I’d share <33 also not proof read please lmk abt any mistakes
Likes and reblogs are appreciated.
The smoke was alerting.
Unlike the carbon disulfide, which he loathed more than one should, it was clear of any color and had a rather pleasant odor to it.
The green haired male was so, so close to making a sprint for safety, to save himself from yet another week of no sleep, illness, and migraines. But soon he recalls what the head general, the kind brunette known as Zhongli, fed his ears a million times before they sent him into this place: “friend, not foe.”
The male took a deep breath; friend, not foe.
The process went agonizingly slow. They told Xiao they’ll get him ready for what they referred to as a ‘ball’. He wasn’t really sure what it was but his best guess was that some ball shaped food was awaiting him, although he could not process why he need to get dressed to meet food.
The male was well aware he wasn’t exactly in the best state before he came in, but why was rubbing his feet necessary if they were going to throw a pair of boots on them anyway? He couldn’t make since of the use of all the powders and sticky liquids they were rubbing on his skin only to wash off a few moments later? It was a waste of the sweet-scented material in Xiao’s opinion. But he wasn’t here to imply his thoughts on these foreign items, that’s not his role and he will not be the man who meddles in other people’s jobs. Even on the rare occasions when he was asked which smell he preferred or if it was ‘too much’ Xiao remained silent; he will not speak unless his head general demands it. It’s always been this way.
After a tantrum of colors, the women dressing the male seemed pleased with the uncomfortable clothing they put him in.
Soon, he’s put in front of the reflective glass and he could barely contain his excitement over the sight before him. Xiao could not believe his eyes as a giddy grin made its way into the muscles of his cheeks. Sure, he’s seen himself in mirrors before, but he wouldn’t have recognized himself right now if it weren’t for the purple mark on his forehead and the peculiar shade of his hair.
Before he could express his gratitude towards the women who dressed him a few knocks came from the door, causing on of them to rush to it and open it with a few graceful moves.
The head general’s outfit was in fact very different from what Xiao was wearing, catching the latter’s interest; they’ve always worn similar uniforms with very few and specific design dissimilarities, so seeing Zhongli and himself dressed so differently is quite something.
Although Xiao would never bring it up, he was sure that the older man was plenty easier to recognize than himself, that with Zhongli always seeming to invest a lot of care into his appearance – to set a good example, Xiao presumed.
“Look at you,” the brunette started, his deep stern voice filling the room, “You look so clean and nice.”
“Thank you, General Lapis,” the younger male acquires, dipping his head gratefully. “So do you, sir.”
The young women couldn’t help their expressions, either amused or surprised at Xiao’s ignorance and blatancy, as Zhongli let out a light chuckle.
“Thank you, Xiao, I’m glad you think so,” he smiled at the now confused boy. “Shall we get going?”
“At your command, sir,” the forehead tatted male brushed the confusion off rather quickly. If not spoken about it does not matter, as he should not question the head general’s actions.
---
On their way to the grand hall the amber eyed general explained what a ball actually is, previously presuming Xiao would’ve been confused of it. He also Explained to him why it was held and how special he is, which was the reason he was invited to an event of such.
To be quite fair, Zhongli great respect towards the younger male, formerly known as Atlaus. He was born on the battlefield, given birth to by a female soldier who was foolish enough to never inform the heads about her pregnancy. She was supposed to be discharged with her baby but they were on foreign land and cargo wasn’t rare but impossible. And so, the green haired male, now referred to as Xiao, was raised on the frontline of battle, survived up till now by some miracle, and hadn’t known anything but it.
Before long, they stood by the hall’s enormous entrance. The door was flung by soldiers left and right. But of course it was, the life-sized hall behind the giant gates possibly holds the most important lives to grace the land of the living.
General Lapis didn’t have to ask, as the guards immediately recognized him and two of them gracefully walked to the door and pushed it open in practiced motion. If he didn’t know better, Xiao would’ve thought these men were automated just like the bombs he’s seen and used on the battlefield.
The sight before him was so beyond fascinating he could swear his jaw hit the floor. It was – his limited vocabulary could never form a sentence that described it fairly. Is this what they called heaven? Xiao doesn’t really recall dying but maybe this was his ‘oasis’ after walking in the desert for days on end.
He loved metaphors.
His nose tickled with mixed scents, not a single one unpleasant. The rainbow of colors, be it people, clothing, or visuals, was all sight pleasing; as if his eyes were getting cleansed after all the gruesome things he’s seen in the war.
“Enjoy this,” Zhongli pats the arm-tatted male. “It’s to celebrate you.”
Xiao’s train of thought gets cut off, glancing at Rex Lapis and back at the heaven, hesitant and distracted, stiffly nodding.
“Wh-what’re your commands, sir?” The shorter asks, unable to take his eyes off the colors that he couldn’t understand. The brunette by his side chuckles lightly; even though Xiao no longer works under him, he can’t change his habit.
“I command you to do anything you please tonight; enjoy everything to the fullest.”
The words General Lapis said were more fascinating and foreign to Xiao then the ball itself. He turns to the older male, golden eyes staring at him in awe with a smile tugging at his lips, “Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”
He smiles contently as he pats Xiao’s back. “You earned it.”
Only then does the male in the brown suit, meant to cover up his burnt arms, leave Xiao's side; the absence of his worth present to take his place.
The short man tries to wander, glaring daggers at every mortal soul the dares glance his way. Xiao has always been left out, because he grew up among only adults and once he became a unit captain he wasn’t approached thanks to the scary aura that was him. He never had to socialize and so the amount of people staring and whispering was not but a bother to him, making him wish they’d go back to their business and not notice him like when he was staring at them from the entrance, little toys who had no idea of any but their own existence.
The male with the forehead mark successfully made his way through the gatherings, careful to avoid any uncalled-for contact whatsoever. Sooner than later, he finds himself standing by a long, long table covered with a thin, white cloth and all sorts of edible goods.
To Xiao this valued more than the whole of the ball, starting by the grand hall it was held in down to the people celebrating something they were utterly ignorant of. Food wouldn’t bother him. No, it won’t judge or whisper about him, plaguing his mind with self-doubt and other dark, implacable thoughts in the process. This –the mercy and silence of food – was all he could ask for at the moment.
“I personally recommend Almond Tofu.”
He practically jumps. One second, he was staring at the food and the next a female was right next to him, her warmth evidence of her assault of his personal space.
“Oh- sorry- was that too close?” the female before him chuckles, rubbing the back of her neck in an awkward manner. “It’s a habit, I apologize.”
Xiao does not speak to her, instead opting for ignoring her and turning back to the food. He may seem collected and calm, but the male was genuinely terrified of the girl.
He had no idea how his defense got walked through. He, the Xiao of unit 1, the man who led four units at the age of thirteen, who would sense if a person was fake sleeping by their shoulders, had this girl barge into his personal space without him noticing.
He wanted to blame it on the loud ball where anything, down to the thoughts in his own head, was muffled and almost inaudible, but Xiao knew he couldn’t. He killed seven men sneaking up on him not only during an active battle but also in a bomb zone. How could an average, clearly spoiled to the core female trick his guard and get so, so close? She could’ve killed him and he wouldn’t know until the blade was out his chest.
“Hey- don’t ignore me!” the latter grumbles, leaning a fist on the table to support herself. “I’m trying to converse with you, okay?”
“Which one’s the Almond Tofun?” He raises one of his oddly shaped eyebrows, not sparing the female in a sparkling dress a glance. He wasn’t interested in the food she mentioned all that much, but he thought that maybe having a conversation where the other side isn’t tense and scared of him isn’t a bad idea.
“Tofu,” she corrected with a slight snicker, grinning at the pale boy. “It’s this one.” Her jeweled finger pointed at a certain plate with white cubes on it. He would’ve thought it to be ice if it wasn’t for the temperature. “Hold up, I’ll serve you some.”
Xiao watches carefully as the female reaches for a round empty plate and serves a few pieces of the gelatinous cubes, adding what he assumes is a fork on the plate and then directs it toward him. He observed every switch of her fingers for any sign of threat but returned empty-handed. He does not know this strange female and couldn’t assume her intentions.
Then it occurred to him.
Friend, not foe.
General Lapis’s words crossed the arm-tatted male’s mind. He had complete faith in him and knew full well he wouldn’t bring Xiao somewhere threatening both unarmed and without any instructions whatsoever.
“Yo, forehead tattoo, my hand is starting to hurt,” Y/n grunts, pushing the plate further until it almost came into contact with his chest.
Xiao looked at the insistent female once in distrust, then at the peculiar dessert.
Friend, not foe.
Reluctantly, he pulls the plate out of her fingers, taking a step back to maintain a safe distance between the two.
“Enjoy! Everything the cook here makes is delicious. Don’t eat too much, though, so you get to try as much of it as you could.”
(a few hours later)
“And then he was like- ‘I don't know you’-” the female mimics with a funny face, earning herself a chuckle from the male. “Like hello? Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“How bright of him,” Xiao chuckled. “If I were you, I’d just leave.”
For a very long while, Xiao watched the other soldiers talking and laughing together. He admits he hasn’t made any sort of effort in becoming close with any of them, he didn’t know what he was missing out on and so he didn’t long for it. But in reality, sometimes he wished they’d invite hi, when they all sat long at nights. He didn’t know what about him made them not want to approach him, seeing they never interacted with him to judge. It was like that for so long he got to the point of accepting the doom he lived in, convincing himself he wasn’t made for such.
But the pleasant warmth that filled his chest proved his theory wrong, and the girl sitting beside him telling him tales he wouldn’t’ve believed about his previous head generals proved every person that whispered ‘unapproachable’ and ‘scary’ loud enough so he could hear wrong.
“Tell me about yourself, Xiao,” the female suddenly suggests, looking at the male expectantly. “I only heard rumors but honestly none of it seemed to match what I saw of you today.”
Xiao looked at her, some of her features inaccessible to eyesight because the moon wasn’t bright and they chose to sit outside, away from the hustle of the ball. Her interest in knowing more about him and approaching him despite what she’s heard of him in rumors gave him a weird feeling.
He doesn’t recall if there were any other symptoms, but his heart slightly sped up and he felt his face heat up, too. According to what little he read it’s a case called being ‘flustered’.
He then feels weird sparks in his stomach. Like little, ticklish explosions in his guts. He had to go see a doctor because he doesn’t know how to cure this flustered illness thing by himself. So, just in case it’s contagious, he lays a hand over his mouth and nose, not wanting to infect the girl he has grown fond of.
Xiao thought he wasn’t cut for happiness and would never have the sort of connection even the old generals seemed to have, but the sparks lighting his stomach tonight proved it different.
#Genshin#genshin impact#xiao#xiao genshin#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin fluff#genshin impact fluff#genshin impact x reader fluff#genshin x reader fluff#genshin impact xiao#xiao genshin x reader
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