notiddygothgf

[notiddygothgf]

Customer Crush ✧˖°.

── .✦ tags:

ʚɞ 18+ dante x reader, smut, pining, pussy eating, fingering, vaginal sex, riding, kissing, hickeys, clit rubbing, cream pie, nipple sucking, nipple play, praise kink, pussy drunk, afab reader.

── .✦ word count:

ʚɞ 4,761 words

── .✦ authors note:

hiii! this is my first fic so pls be nice :D apologies if there’s any errors and the spacing is weird (tumblr has horrible formatting), or if i’m not very good at writing dante. helpful criticism is appreciated! i had dmc3 dante in mind when writing this, but picture any dante era you want of course! hope you enjoy!! <33

if you do not have your age in your profile and you interact with this fic, i will block you! this is an 18+ piece of fanfiction!!

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It was a Friday; your least favourite night at work. Fridays were always the busiest nights at Bullseye Bar and you certainly hadn’t woken up this morning with the patience to be able to deal with drunk men and bar fights. The only silver lining to your Friday shifts were seeing your favourite customer, Dante. It was a known rumour at the bar that you had a slight crush on Dante, not serious enough for you to think about genuinely pursuing him, but enough that you’d get butterflies when he spoke to you on shift, but you were sure you hid it well enough from him to avoid the potential awkwardness. At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

You got ready for your shift, wearing the black t-shirt with the name of your employment, as per the bar’s policy, and a pair of black leggings, nothing particularly nice considering the fact you’d likely get covered in beer from any spills from separating a fight or changing the casks and kegs - something you weren’t particularly good at since evident by the amount of times you’ve had stout and larger sprayed in your face, but at least your leggings were flattering on your figure. You quickly tied your hair up in a ponytail, put your shoes on, and a hoodie on for warmth on your walk to the bar.

Upon stepping through the threshold of the bar, you were hit with a wave of heat and the stench of sweat from the bustling environment in such a contained space; ‘what a delightful experience, no other way I’d rather spend my Friday’ you sarcastically thought, trying to find humour in the gross atmosphere. Dante was yet to be seen, but that was the least of your concern.

As soon as you clocked into your shift, two drunkards started a fight. You groaned, rolling your eyes in the process before making your way over to the men to stop their quarrel. However, in an attempt to stop the argument, one of the men thew his plastic cup (since glass wasn’t safe at this bar) at the other, causing beer to spill on you during the process.

You stomped your foot and yelled at the two drunken fools, huffing in annoyance at them. There was a small chuckle faintly walking past you, which riled you even more. You ushered the men outside, grunting and cursing at them before letting out an exasperated sigh, walking back to the bar, pulling out a cloth to wipe the beer that had been on your hands and arms.

Someone knocked on the bar; ‘How rude!’ you thought, and dismissed them. They could see you were busy, and so they should learn to wait. The person knocked again, “I’ll be a minute!”, you huffed your words without even looking up at the person. You felt bad for your bad customer survive at this moment, but that was something that you’d think about later, not in the middle of your tantrum. That was until you heard their chuckle. The same chuckle as a few minutes ago. That chuckle you suddenly cursed yourself for not recognising.

“Dante!” Your face lit up, suddenly you weren’t so bothered about the beer that had dried on your hands, sticking to your skin - or the hoodie that was now damp and tainted with the aroma of hops.

“Hey”, he flashed a smile at you, cheeky and amused at you in your now excited state. “You really showed those guys who’s boss, huh?”

You chuckled at his remark, slightly embarrassed at how he saw you react. “Yeah, sorry about that…”, you said, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly.

“Don’t worry about it, I like to see a woman take charge.” He snickered. He brushed a hand through his hair, and you watched it fall back into place, fascinated by the simple gesture. God you were such a fool for him. He glanced at your figure, and the way the leggings flattered your thighs and hips, and you couldn’t help but hope that he was checking you out. “I see you got some of that on you.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, those fools don’t have any decency.” You rolled your eyes and chewed your tongue just thinking about them. Dante gave you his classic grin, his blue eyes attentively staring you down. You brushed off your annoyance to actually be a good bartender, and do your job at serving. “Can I get you anything?”

He nodded, “Whatever your cheapest pint is, send it my way.” You smiled and giggled in response. “Do I get a friends and family discount?” He added with a wink.

Your mind stopped. That simple wink made you feel like a blushing mess, and you felt like your brain needed to reboot like a computer. You coughed slightly to excuse your delayed reaction. “Only for you.” You playfully rolled your eyes, it was no harm giving him the staff discount of 30% off just once. Nobody had to know.

“Atta girl.” He smirked. It felt like he knew the effect he had on you, which you thought you hid well - but evidently not. “What shift are you working tonight?” He questioned.

“Only a short one, I’m on until midnight.” You responded as you faced away from him, pouring his pint of the cheapest draft beer. He nodded in response, even if you couldn’t see him. Unbeknownst to you, he was plotting.

“You doing anything after work?” He said in a confident tone as you turned around and handed him his pint. Though he seemed confident in his question, you could see his hands tremble slightly, something barely even noticeable. Your heart swelled at this, you couldn’t comprehend him being a nervous guy, it seemed unnatural for him, but then when you really thought about him, he’d never been able to pick up girls very well given your past conversations.

“No, I’m not,” You responded, “I’ll probably be too tired to do anything.” You cursed yourself for adding that, not even thinking about how that could sound like a possible rejection, but his confidence didn’t falter - thank god.

“You could always just chill out, watch a movie,” He paused. The suspension of his slight pause was killing you, you knew he was going to say something next. “With me…” He tilted his head and his lip quirked slightly, as if gauging your reaction.

“Sounds good!” You reply, a little bit faster than you would’ve liked to not feel embarrassed. “But, I don’t finish until 12, you’re not just gonna wait around are you?”

You didn’t like the idea of him just waiting around at the bar, potentially getting bored and regretting asking you.

He shook his head, “Nah, I’ll go home and then meet you and walk you back to my place.” He assured.

Going to his place. Sounds fun. Your stomach churned in excited nerves, but surely he just meant to watch a movie. It’s rarely how things go when a guy asks that, but you didn’t want to jump the gun and assume he wanted to have sex.

After a while of chatting, he drank his pint and then left. You served customers like normal, and your coworkers noted that you seemed in a bouncy mood after your interaction with Dante. Despite your bouncy mood, the next few hours of your shift went agonisingly slow. You checked the clock after what felt like an hour, only for it to be 10 minutes. You became thankful that a sudden busy rush of customers ordering drinks came in, since it kept you distracted.

Finally, the clock hit 11:58pm, and you decided that you had enough. Two minutes if not working wasn’t going to kill anybody. You went into the back to put your hoodie back on that you had taken off during your shift only to have had a thought dawn on you.

You reeked of beer. You were mortified, you didn’t want to go to his place reeking of shitty beer, and you didn’t bring any clothes to change into - because why would you? If you’re going to work at a bar, you can’t expect to not spill beer on yourself some way or another. You heard him at the bar asking for you, and you had to bite back a groan of embarrassment.

You walked out to greet him, waving a polite hand. “Do you mind if we go back to my place so I can change?”

He raised a brow, and his gaze travelled up your body, lingering on your thighs, sending your thoughts wild. “You look fine to me.”

“Yeah but I probably don’t smell fine.” You replied sheepishly. Having to tell the guy you like that you smell bad was humiliating to say the least.

He gives you a confused look, and just shrugs. “I’ve smelt worse when I’m working.” His expression was nonchalant, as if he truly didn’t care. “If you truly want to go back to yours so you can change we can.” He assured you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

That simple touch was enough for you to decide that you didn’t care, you just wanted to be near him, and if he didn’t care then neither should you. “No, it’s fine.” You smiled and nodded.

You both made your way out of the bar, the refreshing cool air nipping at your face walking out of the hot and stuffy bar. You both made small talk, and the atmosphere felt more awkward and tense, it was killing you. Talking behind the bar was a piece of cake, but for some reason outside of work it felt awkward as if there was some tension between the two of you. He broke the small talk by walking closer to you, and playfully nudging you as you both walked the short distance to the Devil May Cry office.

You gave him a confused look, and he just grinned ear to ear with a cheeky smile. “You look tense, babe,” Your cheeks grew a slight pink hue by the pet name - if you could even call it that. “Is everything okay?”

You simply nodded, “Everything’s fine”. You weren’t going to tell him that the thought of going back to his place was making you nervous, and that the awkwardness was likely all one sided. He unlocked the door to his office, and held the door open for you.

“Make yourself comfortable.” He said, kicking his boots off and hanging up his red leather trench coat. You did as you were told, and followed along with unlacing your shoes, and plopping yourself on the deep red-leather couch adjacent to a window, and crossing your legs as you sat down.

You cleared your throat before you spoke, “So what movie are we watching, I’m not picky so I don’t mind.” You lied, you definitely were picky with movies, but you didn’t want to cause a hassle with picking something.

“I’ll just put anything random on then.” He shrugged and sat beside you on the couch, putting himself comfortably next to you so your thighs were touching.

And that he did, he notably didn’t have a TV, but he pulled out an old busted laptop and placed it on his lap, and put a random movie on that he pirated. It didn’t take long before he yawned, stretching his arm around your shoulder. You stifled a laugh at his cliché move, instead opting to smile at him instead. He smiled back at you, instead of a cocky smile like usual, it was soft and gentle. He gently massaged your shoulder, stroking patterns into it. In response, you put your head on his shoulder, and you could feel him soften as you did so. He moved the hand on your shoulder to play with your hair.

“Your hair is so soft.” He said in admiration, he just used whatever he could find in the store and didn’t exactly care about how it made his hair feel.

“Thanks.” You smiled at him, the soft pink hue never seeming to have left your cheeks. You relished in the feeling of him playing with your hair, his rough and calloused hands being so delicate and gentle in the way he touched you made your cheeks grow even darker in colour.

“And you’re so gorgeous…” His free hand moved to cup your cheek. Your mind raced with those words, constantly repeating them on a loop. His tone of voice became like your new favourite song. You felt your breathing become heavier, and your heart rate spiked. You couldn’t even muster words to reply, you just glanced at his lips for a second before your eyes met his again.

He seemed to have understood how you felt, and leaned in slightly - not wanting to kiss you just yet, unless you moved closer. You tilted your head to move closer, and confirm that you wanted him to kiss you. You wanted him to kiss you so bad, but you didn’t want to seem desperate. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. One became two, and two became three. His lips were delicate on yours, and he started off slow, his hand still on your cheek with his thumb moving in a comforting way. His tongue swiped the bottom of your lip, and you opened your mouth for entrance. Your hand moved to his chest, feeling his pecks and how defined they were, and his heartbeat that also began to race.

Your heart fluttered, and your tongues moved against each others, and he let out a soft sigh, clearly pleased with the kiss. His hand moved to your hip, pulling you closer to him so that you were on his lap, and he used his other hand to put the laptop on the floor. You straddled him and began to become more rough with the kiss, putting your hand in his hair to pull him impossibly closer to you, so you could explore his mouth with your tongue, and he matched your pace perfectly. He kept his hand on your hip, and moved down slightly before he stopped, not wanting to push you too far. You wanted it though. All of him. You reached behind yourself, and guided his hand to the plush of your ass. He squeezed it in response, letting out a low groan, before his other hand moved to fondle the other cheek.

You let out a soft and quiet moan, and pulled away from the kiss momentarily to gaze into his eyes that were filled with pure want. He didn’t pull his hands away from your ass, keeping them occupied with fondling, squeezing and massaging your ass cheeks. He kissed you again hungrily, and of course you matched his energy, his tongue immediately darting into your mouth again. You began to grind your crotch against his, going slowly as first before he moved his hands to your hips and began to move you faster, giving friction to your clit and the head of his cock through your clothes. You whined softly as he pulled away from the kiss, biting his lip, holding his breath as he held back a moan.

“Can I take them off?” He spoke wantonly, choking back another moan; his cock stiffening in his leather pants as he continued to grind you against him.

“Fuck- yes…” You nodded eagerly, your voice airy and needy. He lifted you off his lap, and sat you down on the couch as he knelt between your legs, his hand moving to your knees to separate them. You lifted your hips for him, and he slipped your leggings off, discarding them on the floor. You wore a thong with leggings, and although it was a basic one, you were glad that you at least wore sexy underwear to work since a thong was more flattering with the way the leggings showed the curve of your ass. You could visibly see the lust on his face, his eyes half-lidded with desire. He wasted no time in peppering kisses on your inner thigh, occasional nipping and sucking leaving subtle hickeys between your thighs.

He’d been eyeing your ass and thighs all night, and he was more than delighted to get a chance to please you. He spread your legs more, and moved so that his nose was almost pressed up against your clothed cunt, looking up at you for the go ahead. “Yes…” You breathlessly spoke. He immediately began to kiss your clothed clit, and pulled your hips to angle them better and feel closer to you. The wet pooling in your underwear of your slick from how aroused you were was definitely noticeable with your choice of underwear, making it darken in colour in that area. He ran his tongue up the wet patch, and began to suck on your clothed clit. His index finger hooked your underwear, and moved it to the side, giving him a full view of your pussy, dripping wet with arousal.

“You’re so wet…” He sighed in awe at the sight, causing you to only moan in response. He moved his hands back to your ass to start fondling your cheeks again before his tongue darted on your clit, going in slow sideways motion. He moaned at your taste - seemingly enjoying this more than you were, which was shocking given your pants and gasps to his movements. He began to move his tongue faster, switching to up and down motions, laying his tongue flat against your clit. You bucked your hips, desperately seeking more friction and stimulation. One of his hands moved from your ass, to slide a singular finger inside of your slit. You arched your back and moaned at the deliciousness of his finger curling inside of you. He added a second finger, and your back arched, causing your hips to move closer to him.

He pumped his fingers in and out of you, each time they went back in, they would curl, resulting in a moan erupting from your throat. He sucked on your now puffy clit, your fingers moving to his scalp to grip his hair, slightly digging your nails in. “Dante- I’m so close!” You slapped your free hand to your mouth to quieten down the loudness of your moans and words. He continued his ministrations on you, occasionally changing from sucking your clit, to swirling circles on it. You slammed your eyes shut, and you felt your legs beginning to shake as your climax was inching closer by the second.

He began to buck his hips slightly, desperately seeking friction against nothing, hoping that his movements would cause his clothes to rub to give some sensation on his dick. “I’m cumming!” You gasped and whined as with one final suck of your clit, and pump of his fingers, you came on his fingers; but he didn’t stop his actions, he just slowed down, riding out your high. Once you were left a sweaty and panting mess on his couch, he pulled his fingers out agonisingly slow, and released your clit from his mouth. He observed your cum dripping down his fingers, before sticking them in his mouth to suck on, moaning at the taste of you on him.

“You taste so good, babe.” He purred, and moved his head to your slit to taste your cum dripping pussy firsthand, slipping his tongue inside of you to suck it out, moans coming out of both of your mouths. He finally released his mouth from your cunt, dripping with your essence. He sat back on the couch and immediately kissed you again, his tongue in your mouth. You could taste yourself on him, and it was driving you insane with delight. With a swift motion he broke the kiss and, he threw his shirt next to yours on the floor. You moved to start kissing his pecks with hot, open mouthed kisses before you gradually made your way down his torso.

Your hand clutched his dick over his pants, where you began to stroke his cock. His head went back again the couch and he closed his eyes in sensations of your touch. “I wanna fuck you…” He stated, his voice gruff from how drunk he was off you.

You nodded, the excitement of him being inside you made you desperate and eager. He unzipped his pants, and slid them off him, kicking them off his ankles. ‘No underwear, huh.’ You thought to yourself. Just as you thought, this wasn’t going to be a movie night given the laptop being on the floor covered by your clothes and the way he just made you cum, so you rightfully jumped the gun earlier. But you couldn’t help but wonder if his lack of underwear meant that he was planning this from the moment he entered the bar earlier, or if he took them off when he went home to prepare.

You followed suit as pulled and kicked your thong off your legs. “How do you wanna fuck me?” You cooed. He pulled you back onto his lap, his thighs inbetween yours as he moved his hand to the base of his cock, teasing your clit with his pre-cum, making you whine with the teasing. His hand moved to the end of your work-shirt, and he lifted it off you, his eyes at your bare chest since you didn’t wear a bra.

He licked his lips before he spoke, “I wanna fuck you like this.” His head moved so he could grasp one of your breasts, rolling your nipple in between his fingers. You gasped in response, and tensed at your sensitive bud being touched. He could tell you were enjoying it, so he latched onto your other nipple, and began to lick and suck at it, as he continued to play with the other. You whimpered under the sensation, and you bucked your hips, his cock grinding against the meat of your ass. You were so horny, and needed to be fucked by him, but you didn’t want to beg, not just yet anyways. He removed his hand from your nipple, to the base of his cock as he lined it up with your dripping slit. He pulled his head away from your nipple, and gave you a reassuring nod.

“You ready?” His tone was soft and sweet, but he was teasing the tip of his cock against the entrance to your cunt.

“Yes- Dante, please fuck me.” You whined in desperation, submitting yourself to begging for him.

“I need to get a condom.” He sighed, happy to use one, but not wanting to release you.

“No!-” You said, almost too quickly, he tilted his head and raised his brow, confused by your outburst. “If it’s okay with you, and you’re not sleeping with anyone else..”

“You like it raw, huh?” His cocky grin returned after disappearing for a while, you couldn’t say you didn’t like seeing it though. “You’re naughty.” He teased, whispering in your ear, his voice low and sultry.

He slowly inserted himself inside of you, it was painfully slow as he stretched you out, you both groaned in satisfaction at the feeling of your walls around his cock. He pulled himself out again, and you pleaded with him to just fuck you, and to stop teasing, where he just chuckled in response. His grip moved to your hips again, squeezing the soft skin as he slid you back down onto him. He began to thrust his hips into you, and used his hands to move you up and down, bouncing on his cock. The tip of his dick hitting your g-spot making you curse under your breath as you held back any moans too loud to spare him, and his potential neighbours the embarrassment of hearing him fuck you.

“God,” he hissed “you’re so fucking tight.” He continued to use your hips, not letting you do any of the work that comes along with being the one on top. How gracious of him. He moved you both so that he was lying back on the couch, his sweaty back sticking to the leather, and brought you down so you were chest to chest with him. You began to take control, and rode him. The new angle deliciously hitting your g-spot in a new way made you moan almost uncontrollably. You couldn’t imagine using a condom with him, you wanted to feel every vein and crevice of his cock inside of your pussy.

He matched his thrusts with the pace of you riding him, causing you cry out in pleasure. “Just like that!” You moaned, “Fuck- just like that!”

“Yeah?” He groaned in your ear, “You like that, babe?” His breathing was heavy, and his voice was low and rough as he tried to steady his breathing.

The sheer and immense pleasure was overwhelming, your walls clenched tightly around his cock, where you could feel a second climax brewing in your lower stomach. He leaned up slightly, to grasp your lips in a sloppy and heavy kiss, your tongues pressed against each others and he sucked on yours, trying to taste every part of your mouth. You could still taste your cum off his tongue from where he slipped it inside of you to soak up your cum. You both cursed under your breath and were panting messes, before immediately returning to the wet kisses the two of you were sharing. “I’m gonna cum!” You panted, your voice tired out from how loud and how much he was making you moan.

“Jesus, me too.” His voice was still shaky as he failed to level out his heavy breathing. He continued thrusting up into you, and moved to kiss your neck, sucking with his teeth, sharp against your neck, leaving his trace all over you.

“Cum inside me!” You begged. He pulled away and widened his eyes in shock, but before he could speak you interrupted him. “I’m on the pill.”

His devilish grin appeared yet again, and he looked like he gained a new found energy to fill you up with his cum. “Don’t have to ask me twice, babe.” He began thrusting even deeper inside of you, and you bounced up and down on his thick length. You temporarily just focused on the head of his cock, now clearly sensitive by the way he was a whimpering mess beneath you, and his cheeks flushed bright red. You sat up, no longer chest to chest with him so you could reach even closer to your climax, and he moved his hand to your clit and began to feverishly rub it. You gasped a harsh moan, your eyes feeling like they rolled to the back of your head.

“I’m cumming!”, you whined. “Fuck! Dante I’m cumming!” You bit down on your finger to attempt to quiet down, but his free hand brought it away.”

“Me too- Christ, lemme hear it.” His thrust began to speed up hitting your cervix in the best possible way, riding out your orgasm where you came on his cock, no longer holding back your moans. Soon enough, after your orgasm he finished, letting out a strangled moan as his cum filled up your tight pussy in a seemingly never ending stream. His hot fluid felt so good inside of you. He slowly stopped pumping your pussy, and pulled himself out of you. You whined at the loss of contact, but flopped down onto his chest again, softly kissing his neck as a ‘thank you for fucking me so good’.

He kissed your forehead and ran his fingers through your hair to seperate the strands. “God you’re so good,” his voice breathless and hoarse. “Your pussy is so perfect.” You just softly hummed in response, as he wrapped his arms around your back. “I thought you said you’d be tired after work, you seemed to have had a lot of energy just now.” He snickered. He seemed so full of energy after he finished, but you were utterly spent.

“I’m tired now.” You mumbled into his neck. Something actually dawned on you whilst you were in his arms, and you pulled away from his neck to look him in the face, propping yourself up with your arms. “You never payed for your drink.”

He grinned a toothy smile before cupping one of your breasts again, the sensation distracting you from any thought you had. “How about a round two?” He winked.

That bastard.

[notiddygothgf]

Pretty When You Bleed

A Devil May Cry (Netflix) one-shot

Pairing: Dante x Demon!Reader

Tags: Explicit, NSFW, Enemies to Lovers, blood, blood drinking, angst, traumatized reader, flashbacks, rough sex, restraint, flirting, biting, scratching, banter, supernatural, dark romance, violence, toxic, morally gray behavior, Dante being Dante, happy ending?kinda?

Disclaimer: I didn't play the games, I just watched the show and have a minimal understanding about its lore. Reader is a succubus/vampire hybrid.

Turning the key to your dingy apartment door, you tighten your hold on the grocery bag as you balance it on your hip. The pouring rain has seeped through your torn jeans and fishnets, causing your legs to shiver from the autumn cold outside.

Sighing, you try to regain your strength.

Man, are you hungry.

It's been months since you last fed. Properly fed. Not human food but... well, demon food.

You had a perfect chance today, too... just as you were heading back from the bodega, you saw the creep pushing up against some women on the subway. They kept leaving the cart in discomfort while he smirked at them.

You shake your head in frustration. You should have done it– It's not like anyone would have missed him.

You could’ve curled your finger and beckoned him closer. Made him think he was gonna get lucky before you sunk your fangs into his throat, or better, dragged him to an alleyway and fucked his brains out, draining him of his energy until you were full.

But you stopped yourself. You couldn't risk being seen.

Each time you fed, you left a trail and those damned uniforms at Darkom would find you right away and drag you back into their cells and labs.

So you resisted. You worked to be able to afford fruits, vegetables, and meat, all of which tasted like sandpaper to you. Small price to pay for safety, you suppose.

But it was begining to mess with your head, the hunger. Passing by humans made you dizzy. Their smell causing you to drool, your fangs to grow on instinct. You even wore glasses to hide the way your eyes would glow whenever you sensed blood.

And worse, thanks to your new diet, you were growing weak.

Stomach grumbling, you stumble into your one bedroom unit, oblivious to a pair of steps growing louder as someone made their way up the stairwell.

You throw your keys into the bowl and lower your grocery bag on your unstable kitchen table.

It happens in an instant. One moment you're turning around at the sound of something moving, and the next, youre being pulled down to the ground, trapped. You barely have time to recognize the familiar seal holding you in place when the overwhelming power knocks you unconcious.

When you come to, the wooden floor is cold against your knees. Hands chained, collar humming with anti-demonic tech around your throat, wrists raw from the cuffs. You don’t heal fast enough in this state. Now you really regret not eating the subway creep. You don’t feel fear. Not anymore. Just rage.

You kept your head down. You starved. You suffered.

No bodies. No evidence. No fuck-ups.

And still, they came for you.

What’s the point of playing nice when you’re always gonna be the monster in their stories?

The collar buzzes. You choke on your breath as your mind flashes — white light, cold metal against your bare skin, the sound of metal on metal. Needles and knives. Questions with wrong answers. A voice behind a screen, talking about you like youre a thing. Calling you a test subject.

You blink it away. Not now. You can't let yourself get captured.

Your door groans open, and the silhouette that fills it is tall. Broad.

His steps are slow. Confident.

Red leather. Silver hair. A smirk that’s audible before it’s visible.

Dante.

That damned traitor.

Your gaze lifts to him, trembling with anger. Though your vision is swimming, your head fuzzy from the effects of the seal. What's worse is you can smell his human blood, his essence. And its dangerously enticing.

You hold back a whine thretening to rip out.

"Hey there pretty demon." he looks down at you.

You meet his gaze with the kind of stare intended to burn. Who's he calling a demon? hypocrite.

You feel the weak glow of your eyes, subdued by the collar.

"Still with Darkom?" you mean to sneer, though the words come out slightly slurred.

His scent is so strong you could practically taste it. You sniff desperately, trying to get as much of it as you can.

"Aha." He nods. Taking in the ripped fishnets under your torn jeans, the dark top, whose silky material is clinging to your skin under your raincoat. "And you still dress like a goth stripper."

"As opposed to dressing like a regular stripper the way you do?"

His chuckle is low, amused. He steps closer, fingers dancing along the hilt of his blade. "Cute. Still got a mouth on you."

You roll your eyes.

He takes slow steps forward. Circles you like you’re a relic he's inspecting.

"Dante," your voice is low, almost broken. "You know I didn’t do anything."

You don’t beg. But there’s a thread of something desperate tangled in your words. Just once, you want someone to believe you.

"Not what I heard, little demon." He mutters. "Dispatcher said a demon — one that looks like a human girl but registered off-the-charts power down by 12th and 7th station. Sounded kinda familiar."

As far as you knew, there were few of your kind – demons that resembled humans (if you didnt count their fangs and glowing eyes. Some had tiny horns that could be easily hidden under hair).

So he knew it was you he was sent after. The hypocrisy was almost laughable. Here you were, berated by a member of your very own species.

"They warned me, ya know. Told me you were dangerous." he lowers to a squat in front of you, hands hanging lazily off his knees. "Personaly, I think you’re just lonely."

Something in you snaps.

Fed up and hungry, you lunge. You use all of your remaining strength to snap your chains and tackle him onto the floor. The collar stops humming. You feel your fangs grow back in.

Straddleing him, you try not to get distracted by the feeling of his lips under yours.

"Still look lonely?" you snarl, making a show of licking your sharp teeth and lowering them, aimed for his thriat.

He flips you effortlessly — your body slamming against the cold floor, his weight pinning you.

Your breaths mix. Your heart pounds. He looks down at you, eyes unreadable.

"Still a bitch aparently." He grins down at you. Despite his biting words, his grip on you isnt strong enough to hurt.

You swipe your claws at his shoulder — not deep enough to maim, but enough to scratch.

He doesn’t flinch. Just grins as the scratch marks pull themselves shut. In an instant, his skin is repaired. Like nothing ever happened to it.

"That all you got?"

His face is inches from yours.

His gaze drops to your lips. Yours to his.

Neither of you moves.

It's so potent, his smell. You begin to drool, tongue brushing against your extended canines. You can see the veins on his neck, pumping half human blood. He would taste so good...

"Go ahead, little demon. Bite me." His voice is taunting, but one look at his face shows that he isn't smiling, nor mocking. He looks serious.

You blink, taken aback.

"Go on." His fingers squeeze your wrist. "I know you need to."

Your borws furrow. Is he serious? Is he playing with you?

Either way, your body doesn't care.

You do as he says.

It starts rough.

You pull him down for a kiss. Teeth click. His hands are in your hair, yours tangled in his coat. The kiss is violent, desperate.

You should feel like you're betraying yourself.

Instead, you feel so good.

Your teeth scrape his bottom lip and he grins against your mouth.

Warm, delicious blood, spills from where your fang punctures his lip and you can't stop your whimper.

He groans like he's the one that wants to devour you. His hands are rough, needy — one tangled in your hair, the other pinning your hip so hard it hurts.

You pull back, breathless and whiny. The pleasure of his taste overwhelming. The metallic taste on both your lips.

He drags you onto his lap like you’re weightless, straddling him on the floor as your collar rattles with every grind of your hips. His mouth is on your throat, your collarbone, your breast.

He tears your top with a growl.

"For someone who hates me, you sure can't get me naked fast enough." You can't resit a taunt, even as the words spill out in a seires of gasps.

Your pants are yanked down and your thighs spread open with one strong hand while he frees himself — big, hot, thick.

You your teeth capture your lower lip. This time, you cant hold back the whines. You're excited. You don't remember the last time you felt this rush.

Oh yes please, please, please!

If only he could read your mind, he'd know your taunts weren't worth shit.

He strokes once, twice, before lining himself up against your entrance.

Your moans come out high, broken, breathy. God your neighbors are gonna kill you for not letting them sleep at night.

"You still talking, sweetheart?" Dante raises a brow up at you.

"Shut me up." you say, anticipating the coming.

You're met with a cocky grin. His eyes rake down your exoosed figure and the excitement is written all over his face.

"Say 'please'," He drawls.

You're beyond dignity at this point, pushing your hips to his, desperate to be filled. "Please!"

He slams into you in one deep, punishing thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.

Your mind goes blank. But you feel the effect everywhere else all over your body.

His hands grip your hips. The room fills with the sound of skin on skin, the floor creaking rhythmically with every savage thrust.

You rake your claws down his chest, drawing blood around the chain he wears around his throat. His body shudders — not from pain, but pleasure.

The wounds knit themselves together almost instantly, the blood drying hot against his skin.

Half-demon. Just like you.

He fucks like he fights — rough, relentless, smirking up at you through the blood and sweat.

And oh god, it's the first sense of fullness you've felt in months. His energy fills all your senses and you feel your body fill with power. Senses sharpen. Healing sped. Strength and speed are back.

You can’t help it. You moan his name.

"Dante—"

He grabs your chin. Forces your eyes on his. Their glow reflects in his own irises.

"Say it again."

"Dante!"

"Good girl."

The orgasm hits you like an explosive — your walls clenching, you convulsing around him. He follows, growling low as he spills inside you, gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You don’t kiss again.

You just breathe. Still straddling him. Still tangled.

He watches you from his place on the floor. In awe — almost. His thumb brushes your jaw. You lean into the touch.

Your body hums with magic.

You don’t stop him when he touches your hip. Or when he murmurs into your skin.

You sit on the cold floor beside him, still tangled in the aftermath.

Great, you think. First you let him fuck you. Now you're about to let him take you in.

You adjust your torn shirt, waiting for the inevitable.

You wait a while, but the handcuffs don't come.

Instead, he just lights a cigarette with blood still drying on his lips. "What'd you do to piss off Darkom this time? Hmm?"

"Nothing." you grit out. "Yesterday was the first time I've fed in months..."

There's a moment when his eyes flicker with something.

You cast your eyes down, not wanting to hold his gaze. That's when you spot something on him. Same place you have one. From the same lab, same experiment.

You notice it when he’s pulling his shirt on. Just below his chain — the brand. The number.

"Didn’t think they did that to their own," you whisper.

"They don’t," he mutters. "Not to their own."

You meet his gaze again. His intense eyes almost hold you hostage. Then, without saying more, he gets up and pulls on his leather coat.

You watch in confusion as he walks to the door.

"You’re letting me go?" you finally ask.

"Guess I am."

Your brows draw together. "Why?"

"Because I want to."

That shouldn’t be enough — but somehow, it is.

He stands. Looks down at you one last time.

"Get out of here, sweetheart. Before they send someone not so nice after you." Then he strolls out.

A few hours later, your things are packed, and you're on a one-way ticket out of town.

"You had her! And you let her go!" Darkom's director shouts over his desk. A single vein looks very close to popping on his temple.

"Yup." Dante smirks, tilts back in his chair. "Guess I was feeling generous."

The moan groans, dropping his face into his palms. "Oh my god– You’re out of line."

"You wanna fire me?" He kicks his boots onto the table. Lights another smoke. "Go ahead."

They don’t fire him. They can’t. He's their most successful experiment. Their best hunter. They need him.

So Dante walks away — coat swinging, smirk ever present.

Later, on a rooftop, he watches the skyline.

Somewhere out there, you’re still moving. His fingers brush the spot on his jaw where your teeth left a mark.

He smiles to himself.

"Pretty little demon," he murmurs. "I’ll see you again."

[notiddygothgf]

II

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★❝ I got you, Angel. ❞

★ c.w.: so much yearning, smut, nipple play (f!receiving), riding, nasty depraved car sex, unsafe sex lol, infidelity, angst, did i mention yearning? lmfao, obsessive!aki. god hes so nasty in this chap lol. not beta'd

★ a/n: okay so when i said i was back... apparently i lied lol. i started a summer chem course and its accelerated so when i tell you this shit has been whooping my asssssss! anyway! i wanted to finish this one before updating my other stories, but it wound up being so long that im going to have to add one third and final chapter after this anyway LMFAOAO! so!! i hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as i enjoyed watching it come to fruition. If this ff seems like its moving fast, thats cus it is. It's a short story (and also theyre obsessed w eachother lol). keep those comments coming -- i just might update sooner lollll.

★ w.c: 15.4k

for your love ; chapter index

AKI WAS GOING INSANE. Sitting across from you at the long banquet table, surrounded by the hum of forced laughter and clinking glasses, he could barely hear a thing over the sound of his own heartbeat.

You were breathtaking, as per usual, simply breathtaking. The dress accentuated you in ways that made it impossible for him to focus on anything else, and every time your eyes flicked up to meet his, fleeting and full of affection, it only made it worse. He felt like he was unraveling by the second.

God, you were driving him insane.

Your husband was standing nearby, glass in hand, laying on the charm for a cluster of higher-ups. Aki watched him talk, laugh, gesture – all too comfortably. The man was admittedly charismatic, and seemingly oblivious to the tension boiling between you and his superior.

Aki's fingers itched. He needed to do something. Anything. He was going to lose his fucking mind.

On the table sat a pen – a sleek, branded thing meant for guests to write down well-wishes or advice to new recruits on the little cards provided. Some cute Public Safety tradition he really couldn't give less of a shit about. He picked it up, eyes still locked on you, and dragged a cocktail napkin toward him.

His handwriting was sharp and quick.

I want to see you outside.

He folded the napkin once, casually, like it was nothing. But his hand trembled just slightly as he leaned forward and slid it toward you across the white tablecloth, the edge of the note stopping just near your fingertips.

You looked down. A beat passed.

Then your fingers closed over the napkin like you already knew exactly what it said. You unfolded the tiny paper square, pretty eyes drooping to scan the letters on its surface. He watched them widen before you slid the note beneath the table, cradling it to your lap so your husband wouldn't see it.

You scribbled something down, and Aki felt his heart race.

A moment later, checking to make sure your husband wasn't looking, you slid the napkin back to him. Your fingers brushed in the middle – a small, tiny movement, but it sent jolts of electricity up his arm. He fumbled the tiny thing, damn near dropping it before he was able to pry it open and read it.

Not here. Someone will notice.

His mind was already spiraling. It wasn't rejection. It was restraint. Fear. Desire wound tight and hidden beneath a composed exterior.

It's not a no.

His hand shook as he reached for the pen. It felt too small in his grip, his fingers too stiff.

He wrote fast, pressing the tip of the pen harder than necessary.

Then when?

The words looked desperate, he knew that. Not his usual stoic script. His hand hovered above the napkin for a moment afterward, as if he was thinking of adding more, but stopped himself. He folded it in half again, heart pounding, and pushed it back across the table. When no one else could see it.

It was risky – stupid as hell, he fucking knew that, but he couldn't help it.

Your eyes flicked down again, and this time you didn't wait. You opened it right there in front of your plate, using the edge of your hand to shield it from sight. You didn't look surprised. You just picked up the pen again and wrote, then slid the napkin back to him one final time.

I'll be at the 9 o'clock mass this Sunday while my husband is out.

The handwriting was delicate. Pretty, even. Fitting for someone like you.

Aki's throat tightened as he read it. He stared at the napkin for a few long seconds, barely breathing.

You wanted to see him.

And not in a hallway or behind some locked door at HQ. A church. Sunday. You were giving him time. 

Someone called his name. "Hayakawa!"

He blinked.

Laughter echoed down the table. He looked up, someone gesturing at him with a toast, waiting for a response.

He nodded, distracted, forcing something like a smile. Then, before he could second guess it, he grabbed the napkin, folded it with trembling fingers, and wiped the corner of his mouth with it. A single motion, casual. Inconspicuous.

Then he stuffed it into the bottom of his empty glass like it was just trash.

But his hands were still shaking. His jaw was tight.

And, fuck, his mind was already on Sunday.

As Aki sat in the driver's seat of his car, his heart was practically beating right out of his chest. Behind him, the jacket of his Public Safety uniform was draped over the backseat, leaving him in a button down that felt far too hot, no tie – he'd had to stop by HQ for some paperwork. In front of him, the church stood tall, its white walls reflecting the morning sunlight. It was a sanctuary, a promise of purity.

But there was nothing pure about what Aki had come here for.

Nervous was a vast understatement. He sat anxiously in the driver's seat, wringing his hands in his lap, bouncing his leg up and down, eyes darting over to the red double doors of the church's entrance. Outside, it was raining – not too much, but just enough for him to hear the pitter-patter as the droplets met his windshield. 

God, he thought, I could really use a cigarette. 

The little pack felt heavy in his pants pocket. His fingers itched for another, but then he would have blown through three cigarettes in one morning, which was ridiculous, even for him. 

Was this even the right church? He'd double-checked the address twice, triple-checked the time you'd given him. But now, sitting here, he wasn't so sure. What if you'd meant the nine o'clock evening mass? What if it wasn't today at all? What if you changed your mind and just didn't want to tell him? He certainly wouldn't have blamed you.

You're spiraling, he told himself. Breathe.

But the silence around him felt oppressive, like even the birds had the decency to quiet down for the awkwardness of the moment. His mind wouldn't stop running. Did he look too tense? Too eager? Should he have worn something else? His shirt felt too stiff, his palms too clammy. 

What the hell was he doing here?

And then, as if on cue, the doors opened, releasing a flood of churchgoers onto the sidewalk and street – all of them dressed in their Sunday best. Among them, nearly smothered by smiling faces, there you were, wearing a pretty white dress of your own. You had a flower pinned to your hair.

You stepped out.

A sundress, soft and summery, one that flowed out around your waist. Matching heels clicking softly against the pavement. Hair done, makeup subtle, like you hadn't tried too hard but still managed to look... stunning. 

Of fucking course you did.

His heart did something strange in his chest. His thoughts slowed for a second – not gone, just momentarily stunned into silence by your beauty.

You didn't hesitate. No wave, no smile. Just a glance, and then you crossed the lot and pulled open the passenger side door like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

You got in without saying a word.

And suddenly, the air in the car felt thick.

Aki cleared his throat, moving to break the silence, but you did it before he could. 

"Drive to the woods," You told him, gaze curtly avoiding his. "Near the outskirts of the city."

"Why the woods?" he asked.

"I don't want anyone seeing us together," you admitted, your voice low, like you weren't sure if you should've said it out loud.

He nodded, jaw clenched. His fingers twitched as he shifted the car into gear. He was trembling just slightly, just enough for him to feel it. He felt as if he had never been this close to you before, not for this long. Not in such a small space, not with so much left unsaid between you.

The drive took twenty minutes. It passed in complete silence.

He kept his eyes on the road, but he was writhing beneath the tension – beneath his hyper awareness of your every move. At every stoplight, his fingers would tighten against the steering wheel.

There was so much to say.

You didn't speak. Neither did he. The silence between you was heavy, but not empty.

When he finally pulled off the main road and into the clearing, trees crowding in on either side, he parked the car and killed the engine.

And then... nothing.

He didn't look at you. Just sat there, staring ahead, his hands still gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. 

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke up, "I'm so confused. I keep telling myself this is wrong– that I'm not supposed to feel like this. I made a vow, but..." She trailed off, breath catching. "Every time I see you, my chest gets tight, and I can't breathe, and– God, Aki– my heart feels like it's going to burst out of my chest."

I feel that way too.

"If I'm–" You turned your head to the side, but you didn't quite meet his eyes, "If I'm imagining this–"

"You're not imagining it," Was his rushed response. He whipped his head around to look at you – really look at you, your hair, your eyes as they turned to meet his gaze. Subconsciously, perhaps, his eyes dropped down to the pink, pretty arch of your lips. He wasn't a fan of how hoarse his voice sounded when he added, "I can't stop thinking about you either."

An admission. A guilty one. Truthfully, you had been the only thing on his mind in recent days – especially since you'd gone and kissed him in the bathroom at the party. Fuck, you were driving him up the wall.

And now, you sat before him, the picture of beauty. Your hands were neatly folded in your lap, fingernails freshly painted with a french tip. Your lips trembled ever-so-slightly. Your eyes peered up into his like you were searching for an answer he didn't have. 

"I think about you all the time," You admitted, glancing out the windshield, as if the words filled you with shame. Aki felt like the wind had been knocked right out of him. "At the store, when I'm with him... even when I don't want to, and I hate that I feel– I don't... I don't know what it means."

You exhaled, then. A shuddering, trembling breath that materialized in the cold air between the two of you. You were so close to him, eyes lined with a shade that flattered them, lips begging to be kissed. He could smell your perfume – hints of lavender, something floral mixed together with the smell of freshly fallen rain – and it was driving him insane.

Your eyes began to water. "Every time I'm in bed with him, I wish it was you."

The words hit him like a punch to the fucking ribs.

His breath stalled completely., heart stumbling over itself. His hands flexed uselessly against his thighs. He didn't move, didn't dare look directly at you—not when he felt like something inside him had just cracked open.

He'd imagined this. He'd fantasized about you saying something just like that, in a hundred different ways, on a hundred different sleepless nights, but hearing it, really hearing it with your voice so soft and raw and full of everything you'd been holding back wrecked him.

She thinks about me.

She thinks about being in bed with me.

She wants me, too.

Something wild and possessive surged in his chest, something he wasn't proud of. He tried to shove it down, tried to stay rational, but it was like trying to hold back a tide with bare hands.

God, I am not your strongest soldier.

Every time I'm in bed with him, I wish it was you.

"Don't say that," He exhaled sharply, turning his head to the side. He couldn't bear to look at you anymore, not when you were sitting there looking so perfect, so delectable that his fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and hold you, touch you.

"I wanna know what it's like to kiss you, how you feel," You breathed out, and the words came flowing like water, like you were trying to ruin him. You inched a little closer, and he turned around to face you head on. Closer, still, and he could feel your breath as it fanned across his chin. "I know it's wrong but I can't– I can't take it anymore. I want you, Aki."

I want you.

And he thought, Fuck, I want you too. So much that it hurts.

He could easily lie to himself. He could sit and say that he was an honorable man, that he had no intentions of pursuing a married woman, but he would be convincing no one – including himself. No, at the end of the day, he had come here to meet you with one intention in mind.

Instead, all that came out was a sigh, "You don't know what you're asking."

"I do– I..." You broke off, voice trembling. "I need you, Aki."

Fuck, say my name like that again.

His breath left him in a sharp exhale. Every nerve in his body lit up, blood rushing hot and fast to all of the wrong places.

He felt like an animal. Like something primal had been caged in his chest and was now clawing its way out.

You moved closer. Not much, just a few inches, but it was enough. Enough to make him lose whatever thread of composure he was holding onto. You were right there. Practically nose to nose.

He could see the shimmer of tears in your eyes. The slight part of your lips. Your breath mingled with his, warm, unsteady. You looked up at him, and he looked down at you, and for a moment neither of you moved.

But everything inside him did.

Your voice broke through the stillness, barely above a whisper. "Say something, please."

He let out a low, helpless sound – half laugh, half groan – and shook his head like he was scolding himself, like he couldn't believe what he was about to do.

Fuck it.

"You have no fucking idea what you do to me," he said, voice rough.

And then he was leaning down – finally, finally – and kissing you. Fuck, you tasted like heaven, melting on his tongue like a decadent chocolate. His arms wrapped around you without so much as a second thought, tugging at your shoulders, pulling you ever closer to him. He couldn't get enough.

There was nothing hesitant about it. No cautious testing of boundaries. No slow burn. Just heat. Immediate, consuming. Like striking a match to dry leaves.

Your lips were soft, warmer than he imagined, parting under his like they belonged there. He groaned low in his throat when you kissed him back, mouth opening, breath mingling with his as your tongues met – tentative at first, then deeper, hungrier.

Sweet and sharp, like whatever gloss you wore mixed with the ghost of coffee and something that was just you. It went straight to his head, dizzying. Addictive.

He tilted his head, kissing you harder. Lips pressing, dragging, catching slightly before sealing again, wetter now, messier. Your breath hitched against his mouth, and it nearly fucking undid him. 

Quickly, desperately, you climbed into his seat.

You were in his lap now, knees bracketing his thighs, your body warm and solid against his as you pressed closer. His hands found your hips, steadying you, pulling you against him with a desperation he couldn't hide.

Your hands were everywhere, gripping his shoulders, threading into his hair, tugging just hard enough to make his stomach twist, to make his ponytail come loose. He could feel the shape of your thighs around him, the press of your chest against his, the soft whimper you tried to swallow when he nipped at your lower lip. The way you arched up into him while your hands tangled into his hair.

"God," he muttered into your mouth, panting, "You're driving me insane."

You pulled him back in instead of answering, and he let you. Let himself get lost in it. 

He reached down and shoved the seat back with one hand, the click of the lever sharp in the quiet. The seat slid, giving you both just enough room, but not nearly enough distance.

Not that either of you wanted space.

He kissed you like he was starved for it. Like this was the only time he'd ever get to. His tongue slid against yours again, slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. He caught your lip between his teeth and you gasped, and it sent fire straight down his spine.

His hands were roaming now – your back, your waist, fingertips grazing under the hem of your dress like they couldn't help themselves. Fuck, like he couldn't help himself (he couldn't.)

Your lips were going to be the death of him. He didn't even care that the two of you were making out in the driver's seat of his car like a bunch of horny highschoolers. No, the only thing that mattered was you – your scent, your hands on his shoulder, in his hair, your lips sliding up against his like two puzzle pieces, finally joined together. All that mattered was the way you felt pressed right up against him – all soft curves where he had sharp angles, so warm between the thighs that he could hardly wrap his head around it.

Fuck, he would give the world just to have a taste of you.

I cannot believe I'm actually about to do this.

His kisses strayed from your lips – though he couldn't stand the thought of not being liplocked with you for even a moment – to trail down the valley of your jaw, your neck. He lavished the area with love – nipping, licking, sucking the skin there like brush strokes over a blank canvas. You whined, tossing your head back, hair falling out of your face, rolling your hips down into his lap, and, fuck, he was so hard, it was becoming difficult to think straight.

And then your hands were on him, pulling him closer, fiddling with the buttons of his white dress shirt. You undid the first while Aki's lips dropped lower, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone. 

"Marks–" You gasped once you were finished undoing the buttons, pushing his shirt open and revealing his chest, his toned stomach. "Don't leave marks."

Wouldn't dream of it. No, he knew exactly how hard to bite. Not enough to leave a trace, but just enough to have you arching up into his touch so prettily. He had always prided himself on being a quick learner, and this was no different. Your body was an open book, and he yearned to gloss his hands through the pages, lose himself in them. As his fingertip grazed over stretch marks and curves, he couldn't help but be starstruck by you.

Never in his life had he ever seen a woman so beautiful.

Your hands roamed over his chest like those of a sculptor, mapping out the planes of his pecs, revering his body like you were amazed. He wasn't proud of the shaky moan that left his lips when your fingers grazed his abs. 

What? He was pent up.

And, judging by the way his hands gravitated towards your breasts to respond in kind, he was lost beyond retrieval. The mounds were warm through the fabric, soft in his hands. He kneaded the tender flesh more gently than he'd ever held anything before. It was then that he realized something that made his slacks grow ever tighter.

You weren't wearing a fucking bra.

Good lord, He thought, pausing to collect himself before he creamed his pants like an idiot. You had gone to church without a bra on... for him? 

That's just downright sinful. 

The way you were grinding yourself down on him had him losing his grip on reality. 

Your fingers stayed tangled in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as you tugged and rolled your hips, just enough to draw a guttural sound from his throat. His mouth hung open beneath yours, breath ragged, hips twitching up to meet yours with a helplessness he couldn't hide.

He moved his hand. Slid it down from your chest with a kind of reverence, fingertips trailing over your ribs, the soft tremble of your stomach, until he reached your hip and gripped it like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

Your noses bumped. Foreheads pressed together. You didn't kiss him.

You just gasped into each other's mouths, barely touching, the heat of your breath mingling in the space where your lips should have met. Every sound he made rattled through you. Every exhale felt like it could tip you over.

Still, he didn't dare to move any further, out of fear of scaring you off. That is, of course, until you spoke up.

"Touch me," you whispered, like it was a prayer, "Please..."

The words set his heart ablaze.

His thumb brushed against your hip bone like he was memorizing the shape of you. Then, slowly – shakily – his hand dipped a little lower, gracing the hem of your pretty little sundress, slipping just below. The moment his hand made contact with the warm skin of your thigh, he couldn't resist the urge to squeeze the delicate flesh. He was gentle, of course. No, he didn't want to break you.

Though, honestly, he would if you asked him to with that pretty lilt in your voice. The one that drove him mad.

Suddenly feeling a whole lot less experienced than he actually was, his fingers grazed your inner thighs, moving up, up, until they met with the warm fabric between your legs. You made the prettiest little sound into his mouth, shifting your hips down a little harder, and that was all it fucking took to have him hooking a finger beneath the crotch of your panties, pulling it to the side.

He dipped a digit experimentally into the aching warmth between your plush thighs, and, fuck, you were dripping for him. Tracing up and down, up and down, he leaned forward and captured your lips again, reeling from how fucking wet you were.

He should have looked away. Should've closed his eyes, buried his face in your neck, done anything but watch you like this – hips grinding against his hand in slow, sinful circles, breath shaky, fingers tangled in his hair like you were holding him in place on purpose.

But, shit, you looked too good like this. Ruined and trying not to fall apart all over him.

His hand was still slick from touching you – he could feel it in the space between your skin and his, warm and wet, proof of how badly you wanted him. And he couldn't stop himself. He brought his hand up slowly, deliberately, and met your gaze like a challenge.

You didn't look away.

You watched him, wide-eyed, lips parted, as he dragged his tongue across his fingers, tasting the heat you'd left behind. His breath hitched at the way your expression shifted from disbelief to something far hungrier, but he never once dared to break eye contact.

His tongue moved with purpose, tasting you off his own hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was salty, sweet, just the slightest tang, and he groaned at the taste of you.

I'm gonna lose my mind.

He only wished the two of you had more time together. Maybe then, he would be able to lay you down in the backseat, feel you fall apart against his mouth.

Then, his fingers were exploring your pleasure again, inching towards your core, parting the wet folds and teasing you gently, slowly. With his index and middle finger, he traced a line down to your entrance, petting it gently. With his thumb, he searched for your puffy clit – and once he found it, he zeroed in on it, using the pad of his finger to rub tiny circles around it. 

"Aki..." You breathed out, breath fogging up the driver side window. You ground your wet pussy right into his hand, practically begging him to dip a finger inside. 

Who was he to deny you such a pleasure? Keeping your foreheads pressed together – and his thumb on your clit – he teased a finger over your hole, slipping it inside of you with no resistance. You felt even warmer on the inside, gummy walls clinging to his digit like you didn't want to let it go. Then, when you moaned his name again – and he decided that he would do anything just to hear you say it like that again – he added another, just because you took them so fucking well.

"I got you, pretty baby," He crooned softly, just faintly enough for you to hear.

You felt unreal, and the thought that you (potentially) wanted him and his dick anywhere near the oasis between your legs was enough to have him feeling dizzy. You hugged his fingers like they fucking belonged there. He couldn't help but do everything he could to stretch you open, to hear those pretty noises of yours. Scissoring them, curling them, using them to feel around until–

"Oh– Right there!" You gasped out rather suddenly, grip tightening around his hair.

Found it.

It felt only slightly different from the surrounding area. A little spongier, tucked just out of the way, a few knuckles deep. Once he'd succeeded at finding it, he began to press the tips of his fingers into it, massaging the area slowly, like he had all day.

He nuzzled your nose with the end of his, bringing your lips together for a chaste kiss. "Right there, Angel?"

"Mhm," You replied – so perfectly, like something straight out of a wet dream. 

You were so fucking wet. Practically dripping down his palm, his wrist. Even though his arm ached from the angle, he would be damned if he stopped now. He wanted– no, fuck, he needed to make you feel good.

His thumb worked a little harder on your clit, eagerly rolling over the needy bud in circles, side to side – more desperation than real finesse, but judging by the way you were rutting against his palm, he was doing just fine.

Back arched, hands running slow and lazy over your own body like you needed to feel something, anything – your fingers grazing your sides, slipping up to your chest, catching slightly on the fabric of your dress. Like something straight out of one of the damn porno magazines Denji had left on the kitchen table, you squeezed your chest through the dress, hands doing everything they could to get the edge off. 

Your breaths were shallow, uneven, lips parted as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes that shimmered with heat and something else he didn't want to name, all while groping yourself like you wanted him to do it instead.

It killed him.

You looked untouchable like this. Barely holding yourself together. And yet you were right there in front of him, moving like you belonged to him, like you wanted him to see every inch of you come undone.

He didn't mean to reach for you. Not really.

But his fingers lifted anyway – slow and trembling, like a fucking virgin – and he let them skim over the soft fabric of your dress, hovering at the low neckline. His breath hitched as he touched it. Not your skin. Not yet... just the barrier. 

Then, while continuing to fuck you open on his long fingers, he used his spare hand to slip the strap of your dress off of your shoulder, then the other. The moment you caught onto what he was trying to do, your eyes darkened. Then, slowly, agonizingly, you reached for the top of your dress and rolled it down.

Finally free of their confines, the mounds on your chest fell free, and, fuck, he felt like an animal. They were by far the prettiest he'd ever seen – though, honestly, anything that was attached to you could easily have achieved the same title – plump, plush, with pretty nipples hardened into stiff little peaks. 

He was practically drooling at the sight. 

His blue eyes – uncertain, but filled to the brim with adoration – drank in the sight of you like this. Hair messy (with that pretty little flower still clipped into it), lips glossy with spit, eyes blown wide with pleasure. It killed him to know that he was the reason for that.

Then you fucking smiled at him, breathless and debauched while you brought his free hand up to cup one of your tits. He felt unworthy. Still, that didn't stop him from wrapping his fingers around it and rolling the soft skin around in his palm, from crooking his fingers back up into that place deep inside of you that had you breathing out his name.

"Aki."

Fuck, he didn't think he would ever be able to get it out of his head. 

Peering up at you once more to make sure that you were okay for him to continue, he leaned forward, bringing his face up to the plush of your chest and practically burying it between your tits. He was overwhelmed with desire, with the need to kiss whatever skin he could touch. Your sternum, the inside of your breast. By the time his lips finally wrapped around your nipple, you were tangling your fingers into the back of his head, into his hair.

The skin was warm, slightly pebbled as he rolled his tongue over the bud in a few expert strokes. He rolled it between his teeth next – not enough to hurt, but enough to make you grip him a little harder. He sucked like he was on a mission to brand you with his tongue, his eager lips.

You gasped, turned, arched up into him. In all honesty, managing to fingerfuck you while keeping one of your tits in his mouth proved to be much easier said than done, but he could die happy like this. 

Slowly, your hand slid down between your body and his, glossing over his abs, his navel, until you were tugging at his belt. 

Fuck.

At first, he wasn't certain about continuing – maybe it was a mistake?

But, then, your hand dipped a little lower. It caressed his thigh, his crotch, then gripped him tightly through his slacks. He fucking gasped – his dick was throbbing so hard that he wouldn't have been surprised if he exploded.

Okay, definitely not a mistake.

You gripped him harder, tighter, and his words came out as a shuddering gasp against your lips. "I don't... have protection."

Fucking idiot.

You have one chance to spend time alone with the girl of your dreams, and you forget to bring a fucking condom?

Then again, he hadn't been bold enough to assume even for a minute that you would want him the way he wanted you.

Still, you shook your pretty little head, hair shifting from side to side as you did so, and answered, "Don't care, please... I'm clean, I just– I need you."

I don't want to take any chances, he thought. It was bad enough that he had even thought about fucking a married woman. The last thing he needed was for you to get knocked up.

But, fuck, he felt like he would die if he didn't get inside of you.

"That's too risky," He decided to do the right thing. He swallowed, the apple of his throat bobbing beneath the heady weight of your ravenous gaze – locked onto him like you already owned him. "What if we–"

"I'm on birth control," You grinned. 

He stared at you.

His heart lurched so hard it nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs.

Fuck.

It echoed in his head, loud and helpless. His control fractured. Every reason he had for holding back – duty, caution, fear – melted beneath the heat of your grin and the way your hand slid down his stomach, undid his belt buckle like you wanted him to break.

"It's okay, Aki," you said again, softer this time, like a promise. Or a dare.

He took a sharp breath, chest rising beneath you, and exhaled like it physically hurt to hold himself back. His hands gripped your hips tighter, fingertips digging into your skin like he needed something to tether himself to before he fucking melted into the seat.

You were going to be the death of him. 

Fuck me, he thought, not sure if it was a curse or a prayer. 

"Fuck, you're gonna be the death of me," he said aloud this time, his lips brushing against your jaw, his forehead pressing to yours like he needed to steady himself. But he was already gone.

And you – smiling like you'd just undone him – simply finished undoing his belt. Then, once you were satisfied with that,you tugged at the waistband of his black slacks.

Instead of stopping you, instead of putting an end to this like he most definitely should have done, he helped you. He withdrew his fingers from your heat, using both hands to wiggle his slacks and boxers down to his thighs. Just enough to finally free his aching cock from its restraints. 

He felt nervous – more nervous than he had any reason to be. But, fucking hell, when your eyes dropped down to his lap, widening at the size of him, it was hard to not let it get to his head. 

You didn't take long to make up your mind, though, lowering yourself right down onto it and rocking your hips back.

And then you started to move.

A steady, languid rhythm, rocking your hips back and forth, sliding against him in a way that made it hard to breathe, let alone think. His hands hovered at your waist, unsure whether to grip you tighter or just let you have him however you fucking wanted. He watched you like he was dreaming – eyes dark and hungry, mouth slightly open, utterly helpless.

You were the picture of pornographic beauty.

Head thrown back, throat exposed, mouth parted on a soft, broken sigh as your body moved with instinct and intention. Your back arched so beautifully while the window cast fragments of sunlight onto your tits, like something out of a painting, the curve of your spine drawing his eyes down your body, and he swore he'd never forget the way you looked right now. Lit only by the low light and the haze of shared heat, riding the edge of your own desire right there in his goddamn lap.

You were using him to take the edge off, and it was driving him insane.

Because you weren't even looking at him – and still, you had him. Entirely. Mind, body, every last shred of restraint. You didn't need to try. Just the way you moved – like you knew you were being worshipped, like a serpent – was enough to ruin him.

"Fuck," he breathed out, "Use me, baby, just like that."

You moaned in response, rutting your hips down a little harder, a little faster. He could feel you – too much and not enough at the same time – warm, wet, tempting.

His eyes dragged up the line of your body again, and he felt his chest tighten. Not just with need, but something deeper. Something more dangerous. He was enamored by you, completely.

Slowly, not wanting to disrupt you (but needing to feel you a little deeper), he reached between your body and his. Then, he grabbed his dick and held it up, sliding it back and forth until it caught on your entrance and, fuck, you sank down like it was nothing.

Well, not nothing. Though your body practically sucked him in, your eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed with concentration. Your thighs were shaking, too, telltale signs that it hurt a little more than you wanted to let on.

"You got it, pretty," He breathed out words of encouragement. "Just like that."

Once the tip was in, Aki pressed a kiss to your chin – the only place he could reach. It seemed to spur you on, because only a moment later, you were pushing your hips the rest of the way down, down down.

His head dropped back against the seat with a dull thud, a sharp exhale tearing from his throat as your warmth took him in, inch by inch.

She takes me so well.

Then, he bottomed out inside of you. It was fucking perfect – so warm, so wet, hugging him just tight enough to make his head spin. You were perfect and, fuck, the two of you let out the most synchronized moan the moment your ass met his lap.

You started fucking him like your life depended on it, picking a slow riding pace while you grew accustomed to the feeling of him so deep inside of you, but it changed to a faster one rather quickly. 

Up. Down. Up. Down. You bounced on his lap, desperately chasing the promise of pleasure, and it was driving him fucking crazy. Subconsciously, his hands reached for your hips, guiding their motions while you undid him at the seams.

"Oh my God–" You gasped out. Your hand shot out to the side, grasping the window, then his chest for support. All of the heat was beginning to fog the windows up, so much so that he couldn't see a damn thing outside. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth gaped open, you cried again, "Oh my God–" 

The sound that tore from his throat wasn't planned, wasn't controlled – it was a choked-off moan that escaped before he could catch it. His eyes rolled back as your pussy dragged against up and down his shaft, body melting into his like it was second nature, like you were made to move like this on top of him.

"F-fuck," he gasped, his grip tightening on your waist, but it didn't stop you. If anything, you only rocked harder, back and forth, pressing down on him with a slow, teasing rhythm that made it impossible to breathe.

What? It had been a while for him.

You were fucking him with intent, like you wanted to see him fall apart one gasp at a time. 

And, God, it was working. 

He could feel every curve of your body rolling into his, the heat, the slick friction, the pretty noises you made every time your hips met.

His head fell back against the seat again, jaw slack, eyes fluttering shut as he moved with you, utterly helpless. It felt like he was fucking melting. Like you were dragging him under with nothing more than the way your body moved on top of his.

Your hands roamed up his chest like you were studying him, measuring his reactions, learning what made his breath catch and his muscles lock. You leaned in when he moaned. Smiled when he cursed. You were doing this on purpose – drawing him out, winding him up, making him lose his grip.

And suddenly he was looking at you again. Really looking.

Your hair had fallen into your face, strands clinging to sweat-damp skin, and he reached up – slow, gently – and tucked it gently behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, brushing the shell of it, soft and barely-there, and you fucking smiled at him.

God, you were breathtaking.

His gaze dropped down to his lap, to the junction between your body and his. He could feel your clit bumping his navel when you leaned forward, changing the angle. He could see the sweat dripping down your neck, down his abdomen. Above all else, he could see you– all of you.

"You– Ha," He gasped out, voice breaking on a whimper, "You feel so fuckin' good, Angel."

You were an angel. Ethereal, calm, kind, fucking perfect. (Not to mention that the pussy was out of this world).

You felt better than fucking nicotine – like he'd gone his whole life without taking a desperately needed hit and then, suddenly, you were there... invading his lungs, filling his chest and making him feel so warm.

"S'big," You groaned back in response, "So fucking big, fuck."

Your hand was back on the foggy window, gripping at nothing in particular, and he didn't even care about leaving fingerprints. You felt like heaven wrapped around him. It was insane, he thought, how quickly you had been able to tear him apart.

I'm not gonna last very long at this rate, he noted.

But, shit, one look at you, and he knew he wouldn't be the only one. You were practically starstruck – eyes glazed over with pleasure, lips full of praise, of cries of his name. 

"Aki," You breathed.

Aki. Aki. Aki. 

Fuck, he thought, Say it again.

You were beginning to lose momentum. Your hips began to falter, thighs tense and undoubtedly sore from holding yourself up. So, deciding that that was his cue to take the reins, he planted his feet firmly on the floor, hands gripping your hips like a vice. 

My turn, he thought.

Then, he lifted his his up off of the seat, thrusting into you from a new angle that had you nearly screaming for him. He could feel himself slide that much deeper, hit spots harder than you were able to hit by your own ministrations. Your pussy clenched down on him like it was your fucking job – every time his hips were flush up against your ass, you rocked your hips back and forth in tandem.

"Yes, Aki, fuck me!" The words were ripped out of your chest, and they only spurred him on. "Harder, fuck, just like that–"

God, it was perfect.

Eventually, he figured out what made you tick, which angles made you scream, which ones made you arch your back. He built up a rhythm, hips snapping up against your ass, sensitive tip of his dick hitting your walls every single goddamn time. Your body was a maze, and he was lost in its intricate twists and turns.

His grip tightened around your hips, calloused pads of his fingers sinking into your soft skin like he was trying to fucking brand himself there, to mark you – to make sure you felt him long after this was over.

The possessiveness washed over him in waves. He watched you from beneath dark lashes, half lidded eyes, shuddering groans practically torn from his chest – your wide-blown pupils, that damn pink flush across your face and body that drove him half mad. You were unraveling – Fuck, you were so pretty like this, and you didn't even know it. Your lips were parted. Your voice caught on the edge of every moan like a fucking prayer to him and him alone.

And he thought, with a heat so sharp it nearly burnt a whole through his damn chest – He doesn't deserve you.

No, he didn't. 

Not the man you wore that damn ring for. Not the one who sat across from you at the table every night and criticized your cooking like it was nothing. Aki would bet that he didn't even know what you sounded like when you fell apart like this, how you looked.

So he leaned up, breath ragged against your neck, and the words slipped out before he could even stop them, "You ever been fucked like this, Angel?"

His angel. He didn't care how delusional it sounded. No, right now, you were his.

Your response was instant, shattered, "No– never," You gasped out. "He could never fuck me like you."

Fuck.

Aki shuddered, eyes squeezed shut for a second while he tried to hold it together, tried to keep fucking up into you without falter, but he couldn't. He was already fucking gone. The words had already sunken their claws into his brain, looping around on repeat, echoing louder than the heavenly sounds you were making.

"Yeah?" He asked, voice rougher than he intended, cracking on the edge of a growl, "Say it again."

And your nails dug into his shoulders like you needed to cling to something, like you would fall apart if you didn't. Your head dropped down to his neck, letting him take over, lips brushing against hot skin while you licked a stripe up his neck.

"Only you."

Your teeth grazed his jaw, his neck – when you bit down on the skin like you wanted to mark him, he died a little inside.

"Haah–" His breath caught in his chest before he fucking broke.

He pounded up into you, sharp – more possessive than he had any right being, like he wanted to drive the point home, bury it deep enough that you never forgot it. You jolted against him, eyes flying wide, and he watched hungrily – watched as you trembled, watched as your pretty eyes rolled right back into your eyelids.

"Don't stop–" You cried out. "Oh, God, don't stop!"

Then you leaned back, and it was the prettiest fucking thing. Your dress slipped a little lower, pooling around your waist, exposing you before his ravenous gaze. The full swell of your breasts bounced every time the two of you met in the middle. From here, he could see where your cunt greedily sucked him in, and it was mesmerizing.

"I got you, Angel," He groaned, hand sneaking down between your body and his, finding your clit and pinching it gently between two digits. Then, he rolled it around in tiny circles. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to have you bouncing harder, pulling him deeper. He was babbling, and he didn't care, "M'g'nna take care of you. Promise."

He threw his head back against the headrest, trying to hold on, trying not to cum, but you felt like fucking paradise.Focus, dammit.

He couldn't. Not when you were making such debauched sounds while you met his thrusts in the middle, and certainly not when you reached down and grabbed him by the necklace, tugging until he was sitting up high enough for you to crash your lips against his. It was more desperate than anything, open mouthed and full of tongue. It was heated, it was filthy, but, fuck, he didn't give a damn.

Head thumping against the headrest, he let you brace your hands on his chest, pushing him down against it. Then, you brought your feet up onto the seat, and you fucked him even harder.

"Aki–i–" You whined, "I'm close–"

Aki's lashes fluttered shut, eyes threatening to roll all the way back. Oh my, God.

You rose and fell on his dick like you were chasing something, like you were on a mission, and he fucking let you. No, more than that – he met you in the middle, slamming up into you with such force that the car bounced.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," You pleaded with him.

Your nails scraped his chest until the skin turned pink beneath your fingertips, dragging across flushed skin that was slick with sweat. He moaned, head tipping back for a second while he savored the feeling of you – he could feel your walls pulsing, feel your pussy squeezing him. His hair clung to his forehead, damp and disheveled, and he slicked it back with one hand so he could see you better. So he could see what he was fucking doing to you.

No, he didn't even want to blink, lest he miss a moment of this – Your head tossed all the way back, flower tangled in your messy hair, face flushed with a pretty pink hue.

"Look at you," He growled, licking his bottom lip slowly – filthy, "You're fucking perfect– You like this, Angel? Like–" A gasp, "Like being fucked dumb?"

You cried out like he'd hit a nerve, head thrown back so far your throat arched for him, exposed and trembling. He watched a bead of sweat drip down the column, down your collarbones. The sight wrecked him – how open you were, how shameless, like you wanted him to see every inch of you come undone.

"I can feel you, pretty," he rasped, digging his fingers harder into your hips, rutting up into you. "You're fuckin' soaked. You always this wet, or am I just special?"

You whined, leaned forward like gravity didn't matter, like the only thing tethering you to this earth was him. Your mouth caught his in a hot, sloppy kiss, all tongue and moans and teeth, and you moaned into him, into his mouth like you were giving him that sound to keep.

He swallowed it down, groaning into your mouth. "That's it. That's it, baby. Give it to me. Let 'em hear you– You gonna cum?"

"Oh– God, I think I am," You gasped, "I've never– I don't–"

But, then, your body spoke for you, arching up into his touch. Every time your hips met his ass, he could hear that pussy making a mess out of him. His fingers kept on rubbing your puffy clit, bringing you that much closer to the edge.

He needed to see you fall apart.

Your pace stuttered, your thighs trembling, overwhelmed, wrecked – and his hands roamed your back, your ass, your ribs, grounding you in place as he met every grind with a sharp, punishing thrust.

"This pussy was made for me," he growled against your mouth. "Only me, right?"

You gasped, nodding frantically, lips brushing his as you breathed it out, breaking for him completely.

"I'm yours, Aki– fuck, I'm yours."

And then you shattered.

Your whole body tensed, spine arching like a bowstring pulled taut, and you cried out – his fucking name, over and over – into his mouth, into his skin, wherever your lips could land as the pleasure ripped through you, wave after fucking wave. He could feel you, feel your walls spasming wildly around his dick while you fell apart.

Your thighs shook around him, locking up, trying to hold onto something, anything, as your release crashed through you so violently it nearly stole the breath from your lungs.

He caught you when you came down, his arms around your waist, holding you firm, grounding you as you fell apart in his lap. His name spilled from your mouth like a prayer, like a confession, broken and reverent, and he watched you, eyes wild, jaw clenched, as you rode it out.

Holy fucking shit.

"That's it," he rasped, voice thick with awe and lust and something darker,. "Just like that. God, baby, look at you. So fuckin' perfect when you cum for me."

You trembled against him, still grinding, desperate and raw, not ready to stop, even when your body was. There was a puddle in his lap, undoubtedly some mixture of your juices and his that he knew he would have to clean up after this.

"I'm so fucking close," he groaned, licking his lips as his hands slid down your back, rough and greedy. "You meant that, didn't you?"

You barely had the strength to nod, still gasping for air.

He pulled you in, mouth brushing your ear, voice wrecked and low and so uncharacteristically possessive.

"You're mine, right?" he growled. "Say it again."

And even now, still pulsing from the aftershock, you gave him what he wanted – because it was the truth.

"I'm yours," you whispered, voice trembling like you fucking meant it. Then, your hands slid up to his jaw, craning his head towards you, making him look at you. "I need you to cum inside of me."

Perhaps a more reasonable, less debauched version of Aki would have put the breaks on this whole ordeal – would have pulled out and saved the risk. But the Aki that was currently buried balls deep in a warmth so wet it made the whole world spin couldn't hold on a moment longer, sitting up to bury his face in your neck, to kiss at the skin between your jaw and your chest.

"Cum for me, Aki," You begged, pressing a kiss to his forehead, cradling the back of his head. 

You were still trembling when he grabbed your hips tighter, the way a drowning man might cling to the last breath in his lungs. You didn't even need to move anymore – he took over, rutting up into you with sharp, desperate thrusts, like your words had broken the last thread of his control.

"Fuck," he panted, burying his face in your neck. "You feel me? Shit–"

You clenched around him, body still sensitive and twitching, and that's what did it. He groaned – loud, low, feral – and he stiffened beneath you, hips slamming up one last time as he came hard, breath torn from his lungs.

"Ah– fuck, Angel–" His voice cracked, jaw slack as he spilled into you, holding you down like he was scared you'd vanish if he let go. His whole body trembled through it, sweat dripping from his temple as he rode it out, buried deep, gasping like the air was too thick to fucking breathe.

You both went still, bodies pressed together, skin sticking with sweat and the heat of what you'd just done. Your heart thundered against your ribs like it wanted to break free.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

You stayed like that, chests rising and falling, his arms still wrapped around your waist, your fingers knotted in the mess of his hair.

Silence settled between you, broken only by the sound of your harsh, uneven breaths. Then... reality crept back in.

You lifted your head from his shoulder and looked at him. His hair was a mess, his face flushed, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. He looked as stunned as he felt.

Your eyes met. And it hit you both at the same time.

Suddenly, he didn't care about the ring. He was content to have you like this.

You buried your face in his chest, shuddering breath muffled against his skin, and he wrapped an arm around you again, still holding you close.

Fuck, he was so screwed.

Aki didn't say very much during the ride back to your house. Truthfully, he didn't trust his own voice – not when his hands still smelled like you, not when your thighs were pressed tight together like you were reliving the moment. Both of you remained still, as if the slightest movement would shatter the moment.

He'd rolled the windows down to clear up some of the fog. Your lipstick was still faintly smudged, even though you'd fixed it (and wiped the remnants off of his own lips), but not enough for it to be noticeable. No, in fact, if you weren't anxiously drinking in every molecule of your appearance (like Aki was), you wouldn't have noticed it at all.

And he felt the weight of what he'd just done at every fucking red light.

It wasn't regret – No, he would do it again if you asked, in fact. It was something far worse; affection.

His heart hadn't stopped racing since you climbed back into the seat – since he shifted the car back into drive and pulled out onto the main road like nothing had happened. And now, as he parked up the street from your house, it felt like it was about to beat straight out of his chest. 

It's safer this way, he thought. No one will see us.

Honestly, he didn't give a damn if anyone saw. Your lips were fucking branded onto his, like a memory he wouldn't ever be able to shake. No, he was already gone.

You didn't move to open the door right away. In fact, you didn't move to open it at all, and even though he was staring straight ahead, pretending like he was focused on the dashboard, he could feel the weight of your gaze on him.

Then, releasing a shuddering sigh, you broke the silence. Quietly, like you didn't want him to hear.

"I don't think we can see each other again after this."

The words cut a little deeper than he expected. Still, he'd anticipated them. He nodded slowly, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. He hadn't been dense enough to think – even for a second – that this could have been anything more than a one-time-thing.

Still, that didn't make it hurt any less.

Of course you'd say that. He swallowed hard.

You were still looking up at him – through eyes smudged with black at the corners – and it was killing him a little more with each passing second. That fucking expression on your face was going to drive him crazy. Regret, maybe, or something else entirely – something he could almost have mistaken for longing if he let himself be stupid about it.

The words, You don't want that, do you? Were on the tip of his tongue. He didn't say them.

No, he knew that you belonged to someone else.

So, instead, he watched you take his lack of an answer for acceptance, stepping out of the car. Watched as your fingers tightened around the door ever-so-slightly, watched as the wind caught in your hair. 

"Goodbye, Captain Hayakawa," You addressed him with a formality he absolutely despised.

Then, he watched you walk away without turning back. He waited, of course – like the stupid dog he was, like he would have waited an entire lifetime for you (and it felt like he had) – until the door to your place shut softly behind you.

He sat there, engine running, hands still on the wheel.

Waiting. Just in case.

A week of radio silence had Aki's head in the fucking gutter

The silence was deafening – it spread slowly, day by day, rooted itself into the deepest corners of his life and hollowed him out from the inside. Not a moment went by that you weren't on his mind. Aki wasn't the clingy type – at least, he thought he wasn't – but, apparently, one mistake was enough to change everything he thought he knew about himself.

The silence stretched, stayed, hardened, and he couldn't fucking stop thinking about you.

He kept telling himself that he should've expected this. Getting involved with a married woman was ballsy, even for him. Plus, you'd made it clear as day that you didn't want it to be anything more than what it already had been – "I don't think we can see each other again after this."

But, fuck – that didn't stop the replay.

It was constant. You, flushed and breathless, straddling him in the dark. The windows of his car steamed up, his hands dragging over bare skin, your voice breaking on a cry of his name. It haunted him in the shower, in his sleep, fucking everywhere.

He sat on the porch at night more often than he'd admit, staring at nothing in particular. He'd burned through a pack of cigarettes, already. That was bad, even for him. Himeno would have been pissed if she saw the mess he'd been reduced to in the span of a week. He was barely eating anymore, let alone sleeping.

Though you had never set foot in his house, each room felt haunted by the ghost of you. Somehow, he would imagine you there anyway – a dangerous train of thought, considering that you were married. He would imagine your purse on his chair, your heels kicked off at the door. The way you would practically purr when he pulled you into his lap, pressed kisses to your sensitive neck, hiked your dress up around your hips, touched you just the way you liked.

And, God, the sounds. It felt as if they'd been etched into a little record in his brain, spinning round and round on repeat.They crept in while he was in the shower, hand braced against the tile while he imagined how you'd feel from behind. When he was dressing for work, and his fingers burned like they'd just slipped beneath the hem of your dress. When he was in bed, and he imagined how you'd taste, fuck.

The scent of your perfume still clung to the shirt he'd worn on Sunday. It had been in the same spot since he came home, tossed haphazardly on his dresser so he could treat the stains (if there were any, he hadn't even checked yet). 

Experimentally, he held it up to his nose one day before work, just to see if it still smelled like you. It did. He should have thrown it in the wash.

He didn't.

He was down bad.

On missions, it was no better. He was quieter than usual – not that anyone noticed. He was always quiet. But now, he was distracted. Off-balance.

He'd catch himself turning toward shadows that didn't move, clearing corners too fast or too slow. He was still functional – he was always fucking functional, he had to be – but his edge was gone. That hard, clean instinct that had once kept him sharp was now dulled by distraction. By memories of pretty eyes and soft hands.

You, in the passenger seat, undoing your seatbelt with shaky hands. You, riding him. Your fingers in his hair, your mouth trailing down his throat. The way your voice caught when you moaned his name – like you needed him (and it had been quite a long time since he'd last felt needed).

It replayed constantly. Even when he didn't want it to.

Now he sat in the meeting room, back stiff, palms flat on the table. The overhead lights were bright and clinical, buzzing faintly above his head. The projector clicked through a slide deck slowly – maps, timelines, entry points. Strategic chatter filled the air. 

It was a typical Friday at Public Safety.

And standing at the front of the room, running the entire brief, was him.

Your fucking husband.

Aki's eyes were on the screen. On the lines and bullet points. He even nodded now and then, just to sell the illusion. But his mind?

Elsewhere. On you, pressed against the fogged-up window. The windshield dripping with condensation. His hands under your dress, dragging it up. The way you gasped – not in shock, but in relief. That low, shaking moan, the way you choked out his name when you rode out the apex of your pleasure all over him – it haunted him, every damn night. Worse than any nightmare.

And right now, while your husband droned on about terrain and extraction windows, Aki's memory had decided to rerun it in full-color detail – The way you clenched around him. How hot you'd felt, how tightly you held onto him, like you couldn't bear to let go.

"Oh, God, don't stop!"

"I got you, Angel."

He kept his gaze fixed on the map, jaw tight, but his mind was far from tactics and floor plans. You were flooding back again – the grip of your thighs, the scrape of your nails across his ribs. The sounds you made. That soft gasp when he first pushed inside, how you buried your face in his shoulder like you couldn't believe you'd gone through with it.

He shifted in his seat, jaw tight. This was ludicrous. He needed to pull himself the fuck together. He needed–

Your husband turned, mid-sentence, gesturing to the map – and his eyes landed squarely on Aki. They locked for a second too long. Something jolted in Aki's chest. A moment of pure, skin-prickling dread.

He kept his face flat, unreadable. He was good at that. Had years of practice. But his heart thudded like he'd just been caught doing something vile.

Does he know?

That look – it wasn't angry. Not suspicious. But something in it lingered, like the man was trying to see through him. Like he was reaching into Aki's head and pulling something out.

Or maybe he was just imagining it.

You fucked his wife.

You fucked his wife and now you're sitting here, listening to him talk like nothing ever happened.

It made his stomach twist.

"He could never fuck me like you."

"Do you think we should invade from the front or back entrance?" Your husband's voice cut through his thoughts.

Aki barely picked his head up when he answered, not quite meeting his eyes, "The back."

Though, truthfully, he had no idea what the fuck they were talking about.

Aki stood in the hallway after the meeting concluded with his back pressed up against the wall, phone receiver pressed to his ear. Idly, his thumb brushed the dial buttons on the wall. A few of the numbers were more worn out than others, obviously from repeated wear and tear.

Makima was talking on the other end of the line. He was only half-listening.

"Kyoto's undermanned. Three agents have been hospitalized," She sighed, voice as robotic as it always was. "Their division can't handle the incoming assignments on their own. I was thinking about sending someone from Tokyo HQ."

The mission would take a week. Maybe more.

Aki's eyes flicked towards the end of the hallway, towards nothing in particular, really, but his mind saw your husband again – that condescending smile he always wore, like he'd already won some bullshit game Aki wasn't a part of.

He was beginning to hate that man. Not for any respectable reason, and certainly not out loud. In his eyes, the man was an obstacle – he knew that was a horrible way to think about it, but you struck up a sort of possessiveness in him that he'd never felt before. Truthfully, he didn't know what to do with it. 

Maybe it was irrational. Maybe it was bitter, but Aki couldn't forget the last time he saw you. He'd been trapped in the memory ever since, actually – doomed to replay the image of you closing the door, of you telling him that you couldn't see him again – and it was all his fault.

Then, he thought of the party – of how shamelessly your husband handed you off to one of his superiors. The way you'd simply smiled, like you were used to being sold out. Like it was normal.

It made Aki feel like something was rotting inside of him.

No, that was the thing. You didn't look happy. Not miserable, either. Just... dulled. As if all of the warmth left in you had been tucked into some box deep inside, locked away.

The idea wasn't sudden. Not in the slightest. It was more like a steady drip. A week..

It wasn't much time, but it was something. Before he knew it, Aki was about to make the most selfish decision he'd ever made in his entire life.

"Why don't you send that rookie, Nakamura?" He said smoothly, hoping his ulterior motives didn't translate. "He's capable."

The briefest silence fell over the line, then Makima replied, as level as ever, "I'll make the arrangements."

A week without him.

The words echoed in his mind after he put the receiver back on its hook and pushed himself off the wall. As he trekked down the hallway, he took slow, measured footsteps. Inside his head, though, he was buzzing with thoughts about what a week without your husband would entail.

He could go see you.

Yeah, just once. Nothing crazy, nothing grand – he wasn't stupid enough to do that. He could just... check in. Stop by under the pretense of neighborly concern. Maybe you'd even smile when you saw him.

The thought sent a dull, stupid throb through his chest.

He pictured you opening the door, looking up at him through those pretty lashes. Maybe your hair would be messy, like it was the first time he met you. He'd say he was going for a walk. Maybe you would ask to join him.

Or, worse. Maybe, you'd invite him in. Offer tea. Maybe the two of you would talk.

Or maybe– just maybe – you could go out with him. Somewhere neutral, casual, just to get some fresh air. 

Again, he'd be content just to talk to you.

It was a fucking ridiculous thought. Somewhere deep in the back of his deluded mind, he knew that. You were married.That ring on your damn finger wasn't theoretical. Your life was structured around someone else – someone who treated you very poorly, admitted, but someone you were bound to.

He could tell himself he wasn't delusional, but it would be a lie.

Still, once the idea had been formed, it lodged itself right between his ribs. It wasn't that he expected anything from you. Admittedly, that would be easier to process, but no. All he wanted was to see you. 

The truth was a whole lot uglier than he wanted to admit. He missed you. 

Aki sighed, dragging his hand through his hair while he rounded the corner into the stairwell. He swore he wouldn't do anything stupid.

But maybe – again, just maybe – he would knock at your door, stupidity be damned.

The fluorescent lights in the supermarket buzzed faintly overhead as Aki reached for a bottle of shampoo, scanning the label with the practiced indifference of someone who had better things to be doing. Denji was somewhere behind him, loud and half-helpful as usual, and Power...

"This smells like strawberries," Power declared proudly from halfway down the aisle, uncapping a bottle of shampoo and bringing it straight to her mouth.

"Don't you dare," Aki snapped, not even turning to look. "It's not edible."

"Why not? It has strawberries right on the packaging." she called back indignantly.

Dear God, He exhaled sharply through his nose and rubbed at his temple.

Then he saw them, tucked between cheap bath bombs and seasonal clearance junk. 

A small stand of fresh bouquets, shoved in a plastic tub of water like an afterthought. Most of them were a little wilted, but one caught his eye – pink tulips. Simple. Elegant. Pretty in a quiet kind of way.

Just like you.

His hand hovered near the edge of the bouquet, not quite touching. Something in his chest pinched. It wouldn't have been the first time he bought you flowers (and certainly not the first time he'd thought about it, but now the idea felt stupid. He didn't even know if you'd want to see him after what he – after what the both of you – did.

"You like someone."

Aki glanced over his shoulder.

Denji was watching him with that all-knowing grin of his. For a moment, Aki weighed the pros and cons of knocking it right off his face in front of everyone.

"What?"

"You like someone," Denji repeated, grinning harder ow. "You've been staring at those flowers like they're gonna tell you your future. Someone has a crush."

"I don't–" Aki paused, groaned, and turned back toward the shelf. "Shut up."

"Oh my god," Denji said, delighted, following him. "It is true. I knew it. No wonder you've been pacing around the house like the side dude in a romance manga. Who is it? Wait– do I know her? Is it Miss Makima?"

Aki let out a long, tired sigh, the kind that came from knowing resistance was futile.

"It's not Makima, I'll tell you that," he finally admitted (though he wasn't entirely sure why), voice low. 

Denji cackled. "Damn. Never thought I'd see hardass Hayakawa wrapped around a girl's finger. No wonder you've been so quiet lately."

I hate that he's right?

"Shut up," Aki muttered again, dragging a hand through his hair. "I fucked up. I'm trying to make amends. That's all."

"Yeah? If you wanna win a girl over, forget the flowers," Denji said with a lazy shrug. "Just show up at her house. Girls love that shit."

Aki shot him a flat look. "And how would you know what girls like?"

Denji wasn't getting any action from anything other than his right hand any time soon.

"I'm telling you, man," Denji continued, completely unbothered. "I saw it in a soap opera once. Dude showed up at her place after they had a fight, and she practically tackled him into bed. Tore his clothes off. Total win."

Aki sighed, then glanced back at the bouquet. The color of those tulips reminded him of you, of the shade of your lips right after he kissed you. The soft look on your face just before you asked him – begged him – to push you a little further.

Aki dropped the bouquet into the cart like it had personally offended him. The flowers landed with a soft rustle, crushed a little against the metal. "No. I'm not doing that," he muttered, pushing the cart forward. "She told me not to come by. I'm not just going to show up like some creep."

Behind him, Denji trailed close, his grin still plastered on like it had been superglued there. "Don't be ridiculous," Aki added, glancing over. "That stuff doesn't happen in real life. You know soap operas are fake, right?"

Denji gave the aisle a quick glance, then leaned in like he was about to share state secrets. "So girls don't, like..." he whispered, "...orgasm?"

Aki stopped walking and smacked him upside the head, flat-palmed and hard enough to make a dull thwack. "Keep your voice down, dumbass."

Denji stumbled a step, rubbing his skull. 

"Real life's nothing like the pornos. Once you figure that out, maybe you'll actually get laid," He added.

Denji narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? And how would you know, topknot?"

Aki should've ignored him. Should've walked away, found a new aisle to disappear into.

But then, incriminatingly enough, his mind thought of you.

Thought of the way your lashes fluttered when you came undone atop him, the way your breath hitched when his canines grazed your neck, the way your fingers trembled when you reached for him after. His jaw clenched.

Denji's eyes lit up, like he could follow the entire trajectory of that thought. "No way," he gasped. "No way."

Aki blinked. "What."

"You're not a virgin?" Denji looked like he'd just discovered aliens.

Aki sighed. "I'm twenty-two."

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"We're not having the birds and the bees talk in the middle of the store," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "I need a fucking cigarette."

"How many?" Denji asked, as if he were polling for science.

"Probably a few," Aki replied dryly. "You're aging me prematurely. I think I'm getting gray hairs because of you."

"No, how many girls have you banged?" Denji pressed. Then, glancing around the aisle, he leaned closer, cupping his hand around his mouth so no one else could hear him. "And do you know how to make them–?"

"That's none of your fucking business," Aki snapped, shooting him a look sharp enough to silence him for exactly two seconds. Across the aisle, an old woman furrowed her brows. Aki shot her an apologetic expression.

"Go be useful. Help Power pick out a bar of soap or something. She needs it. Badly," He sighed.

Seemingly undeterred by Aki's command, Denji pressed his luck, grin widening, "You're deflecting."

Aki paused, narrowing his eyes at the little twat. "Where the fuck did you learn that word?"

"TV," Denji shrugged, like that should have been obvious.

"Oh my fucking God," Aki reached up to pinch his temple. There was a migraine coming, he was sure of it. He alwayshad one when Denji was around. "I knew I should have hidden that damn remote."

That was the problem. He let Denji have the TV for thirty minutes each night. Thirty fucking minutes while he stepped out for a smoke, and suddenly the kid was a licensed therapist.

"This girl you like..." Denji asked again, like he didn't give a damn who might have been listening. "Did you do her, too?"

Aki looked around, like you might have been lurking just around the corner. Then, he reached into the cart, rolling up the promotional flyer and promptly smacking Denji over the head with it.

"Do you want to get your ass kicked?" Aki returned the question. He was deflecting. He hated how right Denji was.

"You're not denying it!" Denji shouted out, shoving a finger in Aki's face like he'd cracked a fucking murder case. "Hayakawa, you dog!"

That's so rich coming from this little perv.

Power spoke up at the end of the aisle (as if this whole situation couldn't have gotten any worse). "He's not a dog, you moron. He's a human. Everyone knows that."

There is no God, Aki thought.

Denji ignored her. "Why is everyone but me getting laid?" He groaned with a dramatic toss of his hands up into the air. Then, as if struck by some source of fucking inspiration, he added, "Hey... does she have a younger sister?"

Aki stopped in his tracks at that. Then, he turned slowly, bearing a look on his face that could have withered a fucking plant.

Finally, Denji caved. "Okay. Geez. Nevermind," he muttered. "I hope you get gonorrhea. Bitch."

"Eat shit," Aki retorted flatly, pushing the cart again. "Maybe if you spent less time pissing me off and more time talking to real women, you wouldn't have anything to complain about."

"Why? So I can end up all stressed and broody over some chick, like you?" Denji laughed, clapping an unwelcome hand on Aki's back. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Beats dying a virgin," Aki taunted him, shrugging him off. He knew it was low hanging fruit. He didn't give a shit about being the bigger person, not anymore. 

And definitely not when Denji frowned.

Aki told himself he wouldn't bother you – that he couldn't see you again. You wanted to be good.

And, apparently, he didn't. There he was, standing outside of your church holding the bouquet of flowers he'd picked up the day before at the supermarket – only one day after your husband left for Kyoto. He knew it was deplorable, fuck, he knew he was out of line, but he felt like he would have died if he didn't at least try to make ammends with you.

He watched the doors like some shameful apparition, far too scared to actually go in, bouquet of tulips clenched in one hand. He'd meant to throw them out, he really did. He came close – three times, actually. But he couldn't.

So, he brought them. He wasn't entirely sure how this whole stupid idea of his would actually go. The fact that he was even here, waiting outside such a sacred place knowing he'd already tasted the forbidden fruit, was crazy.

He shouldn't have come.

In fact, he was about to turn and go right back to the car, but those damned doors creaked open, and he watched as the churchgoers came pouring out. Among them, you – sun reflecting off of the side of your face, making the curve of your cheek glow soft and gold. 

And, your eyes–

They fucking softened when they found him. Not in anger, no... in recognition. Like some part of you had wanted him to come.

You wandered over to where he was standing – fearlessly, too. Gently, you peered at the tulips in his hand and took them without hesitation. 

"They're beautiful," was the first thing you said to him.

The words were enough to kick his heartbeat up a few notches. He did his best to ignore the feeling he got as your fingers brushed his. He didn't trust himself to speak, but the words, "Do you have a minute?" were out before he could stop them.

He nodded towards his car, hoping that you didn't misinterpret what he was saying and assumed he wanted to repeat past mistakes (he did, just not today). You followed without question, heels tapping against concrete as you made your way to the passenger seat. He followed suit – but only after holding the door open for you.

Once the two of you were in the car again, Aki swallowed, clearing his throat. 

"I wanted to apologize," He finally began, voice hoarse. "For my actions last week. It was... unprofessional of me."

He paused after the words he'd rehearsed were out in the open. Every line of restraint, every intricately chosen phrase slipped right through his fucking fingers the moment he laid eyes on you.

"There's nothing to apologize for," You breathed out. Your voice was soft – too damn soft. "I don't regret what we did."

Aki's breath stilled entirely, like he would create a hairline fracture in the moment by releasing it. You weren't looking at him, not directly – your gaze was hovering somewhere past his shoulders, like you, too, felt as if eye contact would unravel you. You were sad – he could tell, and it killed him to think that he might have been the cause of that.

Is it because I sent her husband away? He thought.

"Why did you come here, Aki?" You asked, finally addressing him by name. It looked like you knew the answer and just didn't want to hear it. "What do you want?"

The words cut a whole lot deeper than he expected, but he figured it was the least he deserved for complicating your life. So, instead, he glanced away, jaw flexing.

"Do you want me to tell you what I wanted to tell you?" He asked you. "Or do you want the honest answer?"

It was raw – uncharacteristically so, even for him. He simply couldn't bear to beat around the bush any longer.

You blinked up at him, like you hadn't expected him to be so candid with you, but nodded anyway. "Be honest."

Here goes nothing, I guess.

Aki's shoulders sank, feeling the weight melt away from his shoulders. 

"I want you," He admitted quietly. "I want... I want us to stop pretending this didn't happen. I want us to stop ignoring each other. I want you to get out of my head – to stop haunting me every time I light up a fucking cigarette."

He swallowed, voice dropping another notch, like he was ashamed. "I... want to be with you."

That was it. The words were out, now, and he couldn't take them back. His heart felt like it was about to beat right out of his chest. Slowly, he turned to look at you, frightened by what you might say.

You didn't speak. You sat there, looking at nothing in particular, eyes shimmering with unfallen tears. You reached up to wipe them quickly, like you didn't want him to see it.

"I know you sent my husband away to Kyoto," You spoke up, tone unreadable in a way that had him overthinking it. "I'm glad you did, honestly. I haven't been able to look him in the eye since..."

You trailed off, sentence unfinished. "I don't know what to do, Aki. I'm so confused, I feel like my head's about to burst."

He sighed, quietly resigned to his own fate. "I know I... I know I shouldn't be here. I know it's not fair to ask you for anything else given that I've already put you in a horrible position."

His gaze fell over the street, like maybe the answer was out there instead of in the car with you. "But, I can't–"

He faltered.

"I feel like I'm losing my mind," He exhaled. "I swear, I'll forget about what happened between us, if that's what you need– if it means I can keep seeing you, even just like this."

But, the moment the words left his mouth, he knew he was full of shit. He could never forget you, even if he wanted to.He couldn't even pretend that your touch hadn't burned a hole straight through his skin, like kissing you hadn't scarred his memory. 

You started to cry, then, effectively cracking his heart open in his chest.

He wasn't being fair to you.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, reaching out to wipe a tear from your eye. "I shouldn't have said that."

"That's the thing," You answered back, eyes glassy as you looked into his. "I do– I do want to see you again. I wanna make the same mistake again. I want..." 

You trailed off again, and it made Aki want to rip his own hair out, before you went back on what you sai, "You shouldn't be here, Aki. Someone will see you."

"Let them see," He rushed out. He didn't care how desperate he seemed. No, he would have regretted it for the rest of his life, if he didn't tell you how he felt. "Are you happy?"

The words felt foreign, uncanny.

"What?" You asked.

"With your husband," He swallowed. "With your life. Are you happy? If you are, then tell me, and..." He damn near choked on his next words, "I won't bother you again. I'll go, I swear, I'll understand. I won't bother you anymore."

He meant it. He swore he did, even if the thought of never seeing you again felt like resigning himself to death.

You looked up. Opened your mouth, like you wanted to say yes, like you wanted to tell him your life had been perfect before he'd come along and homewrecked it. But nothing came out, and you sealed your lips a moment later.

Reaching into the pocket of your pants, you pulled out a small object – his lighter. You took your hand and pressed it into his palm, gently curling his fingers around it like a goodbye you couldn't even say out loud.

Then, before he could stop you, you were opening the car door and stepping out without a word. Gently closing the door. Walking down the street with the morning sun shining off of your silhouette.

His hand tightened around the little lighter like it might have kept the moment – might have kept you from slipping out of his grasp. Helplessly, his eyes trailed you as you continued right on down the road – down your back, down to the curve of your hips, the way they swayed as you walked away.

Even devastated, he still couldn't fucking help himself.

"Fuck," He muttered beneath his breath, covering his eyes with his hands and laying his head back against the seat. 

The rain was coming down heavily – it had been falling for hours, the kind of rain that soaked deep into the concrete, the wood of the porch, made everything smell like earth. Aki sat slouched on the steps, elbows braced up on his knees. A half-burnt cigarette was pinched between two fingers.

His skin was still tingling from how cold he'd let the water run during his shower only half an hour ago. It was a vain effort to get you out of his head, a last ditch attempt, and it obviously didn't work.

Tonight, there had been a celebration of his birthday. Nothing too big. A few of the division leaders had organized a little get together at a nearby izakaya in his honor. His chest was still warm, skin buzzing from the few beers in his system. It had been a pleasant distraction. Hayakawa's birthday. Another year older, another year spent above ground. 

He wasn't drunk anymore, though, and now his fingers were trembling as he lifted the cigarette butt to his lips. They hadn't done that in a long time – not since Himeno had passed. Not since those nights when he would sit out on the porch just like this, too drained to even stand, chain smoking in complete silence to quell the emptiness in his chest. The tip of the cigarette glowed orange as his hand shook. He pretended he didn't notice either.

Because he was a glutton for punishment, apparently, his eyes drifted across the street. The outline of your house was familiar, even in the rain. A light was on upstairs. 

Were you up there? Reading? Crying? Lying awake, staring at the ceiling, just as he had been doing?

Were you thinking about him?

God, he could only hope you were.

Aki let the warmth flow into his chest before he exhaled slowly, smoke curling around his jaw, bleeding into the rain. The water ran in rivulets from the porch roof, a steady dripping sound.

It was your birthday, too. You were probably spending it alone. Your husband was in Kyoto, after all. It was unfortunate timing, honestly (he knew he was selfish).

He closed his eyes. Inhaled again, and the smoke caught a little in his chest.

Suddenly, Aki remembered why he didn't do relationships. This was why.

It ran deeper than grief. It was hollow – it was loneliness, sharpened into a blade that cut him deep. He didn't want to go back inside of the house. It felt too damn empty. 

He dragged another inhale and looked over at your house. 

Are you thinking about me?

A part of him wanted to walk across the street and knock. See your face, even if only for a moment – even if you only told him to leave, even if you didn't say anything at all.

Fuck, he needed to hear your voice. To see you again. Anything was better than this fucking silence.

Outside of the porch, the rain kept on falling. He pulled another drag, slow and savory, craning his neck back to breathe it out. His eyes remained glued onto the light in your window like it might have given him an answer – remind him that he wasn't alone.

It didn't, of course, because he was alone.

He missed you.

He missed you like his body missed oxygen. Like he missed the feeling of that first smoke. Like thirst, like obsession.

You had her, and you let her go.

Shit, if he left right then, he could have been standing at your front door within a few minutes. Less, maybe. That's all it would take – just a few steps.

I feel lost without her.

The thought came hard and fast; Don't go over there.

You'll only make things worse.

A more reasonable version of Aki Hayakawa would have made peace with that fact already, but he wasn't himself. Instead, he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, watching the rain wash the world in silver.

His eyes found your porch again before he could stop them.

But what if she's thinking about me, too?

It was so fucking stupid. He knew that, but the ache wouldn't leave.

Stay, he thought. You would hate him if he showed up again. You had every right to.

Go, said the more depraved half of him.

Aki soothed a hand over his face, trying to talk himself down from the ledge. Be sensible. 

But you were in his mind again, like a fucking symbiotic organism that had crawled its way inside and sunken its teeth into his brain. 

Denji's words from the supermarket were a cruel, broken record.

"Just show up. Girls love that shit."

Aki squeezed his eyes shut. There's no way I'm about to take advice from shit-for-brains.

Oh, but he was.

"Fucking idiot," He sighed aloud – to Denji or himself, though, he wasn't entirely sure. His cigarette was down to the filter now, burning just a little too close to his fingertips. After a long moment – watching the burn climb higher and higher – he flicked it out into the street. The ember spun, hissed as it made contact with a puddle and went out.

Fuck this, he thought. Then, he stood, stomach turning the moment he did. 

Before he could stop himself, he was already stepping out into the rain, letting it drip down his damp hair, letting it seep through his sweater. He moved through anyway, driven by nothing more than pure, stupid obsession.

His sweatpants were damp by the time he reached the sidewalk. It reminded him that this was really happening – that he was really alive. As each step brought him closer and closer to your house, his heart wouldn't stop pounding in his chest. The porch was steeped in warm light. From here, he could hear the birds chirping outside of your place.

His hands stayed in his pocket the whole time, fingers curled tight. It was pathetic enough that he had come over in the first place, but to trudge through the rain like some lovesick asshole in a drama was low, even for him.

But something in his chest refused to give.

You'll regret it if you don't. You'll regret it for the rest of your fucking life.

He hadn't felt this nervous in years. He knew better, and he was doing it anyway.

Go home. Be a fucking adult for once in your life.

His feet met the base step of your porch. He hesitated. He was cold to the bone, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

Then, after a lengthy pause, he knocked three times. Then, he waited, heart in his throat, lungs tight in his chest, until the door opened.

You appeared, like something out of a dream, wrapped in light and the comfiest-looking nightgown he'd ever seen, brows furrowed in disbelief. He swore the oxygen left his lungs entirely.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The scent of dinner drifted out from behind you – you were cooking. Oddly enough, the smell was reminiscent of a childhood he'd nearly forgotten. Of a warm bowl of soup after school, of his mother's arms.

You smelled like home.

"You'll catch a cold out there," You breathed out softly, glancing behind him to make sure no one was watching before ushering him inside, "Come inside."

Aki nodded. Again, he didn't really trust his own voice to convey what he wanted to say – hell, what did he want to say? 

Either way, he kicked off his shoes when he stepped inside and reached back to shut the door behind him – and lock it, sealing his fate.

He hadn't meant to stay, of course, but the second that door was closed behind him, he knew he wasn't going anywhere.

a/n: i know. im getting so bad w the cliffhangers though, buttttt its so late over here rn so i wanted to drop a lil sum sum before going back to publishing my other two (the dante ff and pornstar, duh). im so behind. wish me luck as i catch up!!! x oh, and as always, yall better lmk what you thought in the comments ;)))

credits: I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa , @xxpr3ttyk173rxx

wanna join the taglist? | for your love ; chapter index

[notiddygothgf]

playing mario party w bae but whorver loses either has to take a shot or strip....

[notiddygothgf]

are we all menstruating right now?

[notiddygothgf]

thinking about choso who loves to suck on your tits whenever you jerk him off. he’ll lean his head against your chest as he attaches his tongue to your sensitive bud, gently moaning as you continue to fuck his cock with your fist. he can’t help but leave a few purple love marks on your skin, gently sucking with an occasional playful bite that has you quietly gasping.

your thumb rubs against his pink tip, spreading the leaking pre cum from his cock before tightening your grip that has him choking out a pretty whine, pumping up and down.

“don’t stop..”, he mutters, placing a chaste kiss on your skin before resting his forehead against your shoulder. he’s so close at this point, you can feel the throb of his cock against your palm as his moans grow whinier. he’s quick to put his hand over yours, forcing you to pump his needy cock quicker as his cum sporadically litters all over your hand.

and as he groans out, still catching his breath from his orgasm, he’s immediately attaching his lips back onto your chest, gently pushing you back on the bed to return the favour for making him cum.

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[notiddygothgf]

𝐒𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. aki hayakwa x gender neutral!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦. you take care of aki while he is drunk

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. drinking/alcohol/getting drunk, slight nsfw, kind of but not really proofread

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 1.5k

The soft drumming of rain against the windowpane was the first thing to register as you slowly woke from your sleep. A gentle warmth radiated behind you, and turning your head, you saw Aki's peaceful face nestled in the pillow. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and the quiet rhythm of his breathing filled the still morning air. A sense of calm settled over you as you watched him sleep, the gray light filtering through the curtains painting a soft glow on his skin.

Through your grogginess, you recalled the events of the night before. The evening was spent with drinks and laughter with Aki and the other members of Special Division 4. It was rare that the lot of you felt that kind of levity. Ignoring the horrors of the world, if only for a little while.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Himeno had gotten entirely too drunk, which wasn’t unusual for her. In a brazen move, she had challenged Aki to a drinking game. The rules of which felt like a blur to you now. Something about every time Power yells or shouts at someone, they had to take a shot. It was amusing to watch Aki’s normally hard exterior soften with each shot.

When the night had come to an end and the bar had closed, you were tasked with the responsibility of getting a very drunk Aki home safely. You trudged along the streets with his arm slung around you as he lamented about how much he drank. He was definitely going to regret it in the morning.

After finally getting him home, you managed to get him changed into some pajamas and nestled into bed. You made sure to set a glass of water on his nightstand before attempting to slip out the door so that you could go home yourself.

“Y/N?” you heard come from the lump under the comforter on the bed.

“Yeah? Do you need anything before I go?” you ask as you stand at the open door, ready to turn the light off. You knew that Aki would have the worst hangover in the morning.

“Don’t go…” he grumbled in his drunkenness. You almost didn’t hear him. But once the words registered in your head, you felt your cheeks heat up and your heart flutter in your chest. “Lay with me please.”

Time stood still for a moment while you watched him from the door, almost dazed in a way. You’ve never heard Aki talk like this. It was probably because he was drunk. It was definitely because he was drunk. But you didn’t want to leave him feeling betrayed.

So you rummaged through his dresser for a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt so you didn’t have to go to bed in your going out clothes. After changing quickly, you slipped into bed with Aki who was mumbling about how his stomach hurt. You almost couldn’t pay attention though because your heart was pounding in your chest and the sound echoed in your ears.

Aki slung an arm around you, pulling you close against his chest. You felt frozen, not knowing if you should push away from him. This had to be crossing some kind of professional boundary, you thought to yourself. You closed your eyes and tried to force yourself to go to sleep. Maybe all of this wouldn’t be so awkward in the morning.

Your eyes shot wide open when you heard Aki mumble, “So pretty…” his hand that was placed on your waist moved up to your face. The pad of his thumb brushed over your cheekbone.

“Aki, what are you—“ you tried to ask, but were abruptly cut off by his mouth on yours. The kiss was messy and wet. You could taste the alcohol on his tongue that he was haphazardly sliding into your mouth.

Aki moaned softly as he kissed you. His inhibitions completely faded. You were just so warm and so pretty lying next to him in his bed. Like how had he gotten so lucky? He didn’t know why he hadn’t done this sooner. God, your lips felt so nice against his.

All these thoughts were rushing through his head and straight down into his pants. He whimpered against your lips as he felt his cock twitch against the fabric of his pajama bottoms.

You wished you could live in the moment and enjoy this, but you remembered that Aki was wasted. There was no way he could consent. No way he would do this sober.

Prying yourself away from Aki’s hungry mouth, you gasped for air. “Stop. We have to stop.”

Aki let out a disappointed groan as he tried to pull you in for another kiss, but you dodged his attempts. “Y/N… Was it bad?” he asked, his lips turning into a pout. He couldn’t understand why you didn’t want him. “I wanted to do it for so long. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You shook your head and sighed. “Aki, you’re drunk. We can’t do this,” you said firmly. You wished you could throw caution to the wind, but you knew that wasn’t the right thing to do. “If you feel the same way when you’re sober, maybe I’ll feel differently about it.”

There were lots of things you wanted to talk to him about when he was sober. Like if this wasn’t induced by his drunken state, where did these feelings come from all of a sudden?

“Yeah, right… When I’m sober,” Aki grumbled as he settled back into his mattress and pulled you in close once more. His head felt like a rollercoaster. He couldn’t think straight. His mind was in circles from the alcohol and the scent of your shampoo. “G’night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Aki,” you yawned as you drifted off to sleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You wanted to get up and maybe make Aki a cup of coffee for the impending hangover he was going to have once he woke up. And then maybe you’d go home after that. But your plans were foiled when you felt Aki stirring, waking up from his sleep.

“Ugh…” you heard from Aki as you watched him rub his eyes. “I’m never drinking again,” he insisted. “I need a cigarette.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you mused as you rolled around to face him. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

Aki blinked, trying to recall the events that unfolded for himself. “Unfortunately, yeah.” He was embarrassed with the way he acted. He usually had more decorum than that.

You felt like you had been shot in the heart. What did he mean by unfortunately? Did he regret kissing you? These feelings for Aki surfaced very quickly, but if you had to smash them down, you would. Your life as a devil hunter had made you accustom to disappointment. “Oh… okay,” you whispered, knowing Aki was too drunk to actually mean it. To mean it when he said you were pretty. Or when he held onto you like he was going to lose you. Or when he kissed you like a man starving.

He was too drunk, right?

Aki noticed the shift in your demeanor. The disappointment hung thick in the air between the both of you. “Y/N, did I upset you?” he asked, trying to realize what he had done wrong. “Is this about the kiss?”

“Kind of. It’s okay though. You were drunk,” you quickly explained as you started to lift yourself off the mattress. You gasped when Aki’s arm snaked around your waist and held you down next to him. You were trapped under the strength of his arm. “What are you doing?”

“Y/N, I don’t regret kissing you, if that’s what you think. I regret getting so drunk and the way I acted,” he explained as he tried to soothe your worries. “I would hope my actions wouldn’t stop you from letting me kiss you properly. Soberly.”

You were stunned. You couldn’t believe it. You probably looked crazy in that moment. Eyes wide and lips parted in genuine shock. “You’re not joking?”

Aki shook his head ‘no’ while letting out a low chuckle. A gentle smile curled at the corners of his lips. What a beautiful and rare sight it was to see Aki smiling. “Not even a little bit. I promise.”

Despite his hungover state, Aki closed the small gap between the two of them and pressed his lips to yours. This kiss was different. More intentional. It wasn’t sloppy, but it wasn’t missing any of the passion from the one he gave you before. Your lips worked in tandem with his as your bodies curled into each other’s.

“Let’s get breakfast, yeah?” Aki asked as he pulled away from the kiss and rested his forehead against yours. The effects of his hangover were starting to really kick in and he needed something to curb the pressure building in his head.

“Yeah, breakfast,” you agreed with a wide smile.

You thought to yourself as you both got out of bed that perhaps there was some merit to the notion that drunk actions were sober thoughts.

𝘪 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴. 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘦.

[notiddygothgf]

ARRIVAL IN TOKYO. on ao3 its my absolute fave, its by meownotgood . akis so mean (but sooooo sexy idgaf)

there was this one aki x reader fic that took place in an alleyway. reader was part devil like denji and power and aki hated them. they basically ended up banging in the alley with aki being super aggressive. pls help!!

[notiddygothgf]

drabble: dante sparda x latina!reader prompt: hey guys! i wanted to write something short to make up for the delay on pretty (i promise, i ain't forget about y'all, i just got sick lol) hot take. i feel like dante would be one of those white boys who will ride for their latina gfs. idk, like he'd be into that crazy feisty toxica shit yfm? (im projecting) cw: cliche hispanic reader bc i fear i am the stereotype, toxica gf, dante is so in love with her lmfaooo, smutty content, reader is hispanic but anyone can/is welcome to read!! muah!

dante is a man of many talents. he can slay devils, he can dance like no one’s watching, and he can eat pussy like a starving dog. in fact, there is nothing that he thinks he can’t handle (with a little practice, of course). he loves a challenge, and you’re certainly no exception.

so, when he (literally) came crashing into your life one day, sent flying in through your living room window after a demon blew up right in his face, it was game over for him. strong women were his fucking weakness, and there you were, only half as tall as him, donning a bonnet and a fuzzy robe with some pink slippers, and... was that a pan in your hand?

before he could even think twice, you were swinging on him, bringing the cookware up into the air and smacking him straight across the face with it -- hard enough to make his head jolt to the side. if he weren't half demon, that probably would have been enough to knock him out. he was, though, so the pan took more damage than he probably did.

still, it hurt like a bitch.

"fucking ow," he hissed, rubbing his head where it had made contact with your pan.

surprised but not the slightest bit unmotivated, you tossed the bent weapon to the side and decided to use your whole body weight (which wasn't much) to shove him towards the door, shouting phrases at him in a language he didn't understand the whole time. he didn't even have a chance to explain himself before he was standing in the hallway outside of your apartment with the door slammed in his face.

confused was an understatement.

dante felt bad, honest. so, when he came back a week later (even though he definitely shouldn't have), he made sure to bring an olive branch (a metaphorical one. it was actually a bouquet of flowers). he made sure to tidy up his appearance before he knocked at your door.

you answered, much to his surprise, though you didn't look too happy to see him. (he couldn't imagine why you would have been).

truthfully, he didn't really know why he felt the need to come back. hell, he didn't even know if you spoke the same language at all, let alone enough for him to convey his apology.

still, he wanted to try.

"I wanted to say that I'm-- uh..." he trailed off, suddenly a whole lot less confident now that you were actually standing here. this time, you were wearing a pretty nightgown, one made of red satin, and it made his brain short circuit. when his eyes fell on your lips, your lashes, he realized something.

he was fucking nervous.

"I'm sorry about the window," He chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "I wasn't really sure if you spoke english 'cause you were yelling at me in spanish-- least, I think it was spanish-- god, I'm really screwing this up."

you looked at him expectantly, brow quirked, hand on your hip.

"for you. i'm sorry. i want to make it up to you." he cleared his throat, holding the bouquet out to you. "por... uh... tu."

you turned up your nose. "I speak english, dumbass."

you had the prettiest fucking accent, a twang to the words. he'd never heard someone speak the way you did, and he was entranced. snatching the flowers from his hands, you eyed them up precariously, like they might contain a bomb.

"flowers ain't enough to make up for the window you busted through," you added. "dickhead."

"i know, i know," he sighed. then, feeling bold (for some reason), he decided to push his luck. "maybe i can... make it up to you over dinner sometime?"

"tu 'ta loco," you huffed out a humorless laugh, leaning on the door with your hip. "you think i'm gonna go to dinner with you?"

dante glanced behind you. you'd fixed the window already.

"lucky guess?" he tried.

you bit back, "not a chance."

then, you were moving to shut the door on him -- again, only this time, he came prepared. throwing his arm out, he stopped it just in time, reaching for your arm.

"wait," he sighed.

you glanced back at him, but you didn't turn around. she's mad at me again.

he didn't know why he cared, but that was besides the point. he wanted to make things right (you were smoking hot).

so, he added, "i'll make it worth your while, promise. pretty thing like you deserves a meal."

he didn't know what was more shocking, the fact that he'd actually been ballsy enough to say it, or the fact that you actually thought about it, mulling the idea over in your head while you worried your lower lip.

you looked him up and down -- slowly. then, once you decided you were pleased by what you saw, you jerked your head up at him, "I get off work at six tomorrow. swing by at seven and i'll think about it."

then, you closed the door, and he was punching the air, victorious.

he was there at seven that night, then the night after that, and before he knew it, the two of you were going six months strong. the longest he'd ever been with a girl, honestly, but when you'd threatened to kill him if he cheated on you, he figured he liked it too much to even think about leaving.

he was head over heels -- fucking crazy about you. he loved everything about you. your shows, your music, the way you'd wake up extra early on sunday and blast music while you cleaned the apartment. he even loved your cooking, fuck, american food just didn't compare. half a year in, and he'd already met your entire family (including all of your cousins and your great-abuela, who'd insisted upon him kissing her on the cheek).

he was smitten.

you cared for him. deeply. more deeply than he'd ever thought anyone would. he loved it. even when you'd go so far as to blow his phone up with missed calls when he was late to call you -- even if he was in the middle of a mission, he'd make it a point to answer.

no, he knew better than to leave his princess waiting.

"what's up, babe?" he would ask into the receiver, firing off a few rounds at a demon and hoping they hit their target. "i'm kinda busy right now."

"kinda busy? i been waitin' for that ass to call me for three fuckin' hours and you're kinda busy?" you hissed back, the words rushed and quick, "maldito estúpido. llevo esperando toda la noche-- te voy a matar, entiendes?"

**translation: fucking stupid. i've been waiting all night. i'm going to kill you, do you understand me?

god, you sounded so fucking sexy.

"i'm in the middle--" he fired off another shot, narrowly avoiding an airborne object. this time, it hit its target. "i'm kinda fighting for my life right now."

"espera a que llegas a casa-- vas a tener que pelear conmigo! que loco!"

(loose) translation: just you wait until you get home, you're gonna fight me next. how crazy.

he didn't have a fucking clue what you were saying, but he sure as hell loved it when you spoke spanish to him.

"mmm, sounds great, baby," he hummed back. "you talkin' dirty to me?"

"something like that," you huffed back. "you better be home in ten minutes."

hell, he even loved fighting with you. he fuckin' loved your attitude. it would get him all hot and bothered when you'd raise your pretty voice at him, yelling at him for tracking blood on the floor or coming back late.

in fact, he'd be grinning ear to ear while you tore him to shreds. when you reached for your slipper and raised it at him, he didn't bother ducking. no, he knew you loved him.

again, positively smitten.

"hijo de puta!"

it wasn't until you raised your hand to (lightly) hit his chest that he snapped out of his (blah blah blah, place name proper name, backstory stuff) reverie, and caught you by the wrist.

"I have no idea what that means," he commented, eyes dropping down to yours, tongue licking over his lips. hell -- looking at you like this, flushed and fire-eyed, he couldn’t even remember why you two had been fighting in the first place. "but it sounds hot. i'm in."

"means son of a bitch, asshole," you rolled your eyes. "you fail spanish class or what?"

"must've missed that unit, loca" he grinned back. "now, c'mere."

call him corny, but it got you smiling, and that's what mattered.

you barely had time to gasp before he was lifting you up off the ground, like you weighed nothing.

“put me down, you fucking asshole!” you started, smacking at his shoulders, squirming in his arms, but it didn't do much to stop him from kissing you.

hard.

it shut you up immediately -- your fingers dug into him, your legs tightening around his hips without thinking. you melted into him before you could even fucking stop yourself.

"puñeta," you muttered against his lips.

as dante carried you toward the bedroom, still breathing against your mouth between kisses, he murmured low in your ear:

“I know how we can resolve this.”

and you didn’t argue. no, you let him lay you down on that beautiful queen sized bed of yours and get down on his knees, kissing down your chest, your stomach, and inching down south.

see, that was another thing dante loved about you. your taste.

he could eat you for hours (and he planned on it). licking up and down your core, getting his face all wet with your sweet juices. he would die for the pussy, without a doubt.

"papí" you'd call him. papito, if you wanted something. he fucking loved it. it made him feel like the man.

shit, he was addicted to it. he would eat for his pleasure, fingers digging into your hips, wiggling his head side to side, letting you tangle your hands in his hair and steer his head whichever way you pleased. he was your bitch, after all.

and, who knows, after he'd finish making you cum all over his face and his fingers, he might just try and fuck that attitude out of you -- just the way you liked. the way that would have you clawing at the sheets, at his back, screaming muffled words of praise into the pillow, making a mess on the sheets.

but, then again, he knew it would be back the next day.

that's what he loved most about you, after all.

a/n: yk i had to spoil my girls. #sorrynotsorry lmfao!!! i hope yall liked it! pretty part 2 coming soon (i swear this time!) xxx

I obviously do not own dmc or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa

wanna join the taglist?

[notiddygothgf]

Okay pause the show Leo.

This fucking guy.

“There’s no room for love in public safety”

What there IS room for is this ass whooping. He’s literally deluded. He’s not denying that he loves her, he admits that he cares, but circumnavigates it with that bullshit.

I don’t know if his curse devil contract is canon in your story, (I hope NOT), but even so, this guy is just excuse after excuse. One minute reader is his “favorite girl”, the next he can’t be bothered.

He’s so lucky he’s pretty. He’s so fucking lucky he’s pretty. (And fucks real good too)

Maybe I’m getting situationship PTSD, but good grief. Hot take, “I warned you I was like this.” ISN’T AN EXCUSE. Reader is better than me, I would’ve wrung his fucking neck.

And, you know what? I think he deserved to have to sit there and watch her cry about his bullshit. I feel like he’s avoiding the issue (sort of like he’s accusing her of doing, funny, no?) by playing this “out of sight out of mind” “the ball’s in your court” type of game. “Call me if you need me.” Why don’t YOU call ME? (Even though we ignored you for a little).

He makes it out to be so one sided, he says and does all this shit when they’re fucking, but as soon as push comes to shove, wants to fall back on “I said I was like this”, “I can’t give you what you deserve”, noncommittal bullshit.

He gets all the fun and none of the consequence reader is suffering with. All of the heartbreak and pain, while he just acts like shit is normal and sweet.

UGH.

Enough of my rant on his fucking behavior.

Top to bottom, the chapter was (incredibly fucking painful) great. Even though this shit stresses me out, I love this story, (and you Leo ‼️)

I literally cannot wait for the next chapter. I hear leaving your laptop on an open windowsill helps it run faster. Just saying ☺️

i have nothing to say to this except that you are absolutely, without a fraction of a doubt, 111100000% right. LMFAOAOAOOA god i cant stand him ( i want to kiss him lovingly ).

[notiddygothgf]

more songs that remind me of pornstar…

Back to friends - Sombr

Messy - Rosé

Hits different - Taylor Swift

Guilty as sin - Taylor Swift

Maroon - Taylor Swift

Cruel summer - Taylor Swift

Don’t smile - Sabrina Carpenter

Wish you were here - Avril Lavigne

When you’re gone - Abril Lavigne

Chappell Roan - Subway

these are all such good recommendations omg.... me and @mrshayakawaa actually started this little playlist for pornstar and i'll give these a listen!!! who knows maybe they'll end up on there ;)) x

[notiddygothgf]

My god, I literally love u sm 💔💔 ur so awesome and cool and I wanna eat u... BUT ur seriously my favorite writer on this fuckass app fr 🤭🤭

Been following u since your tokyo rev arc, don't ever stop writing!! 😛

STOP IT YOUUUUUUU awww shuckssss. you are so sweet ilysm. thank you for the support omg! you've been here a long ass time.... here's a cookie for your loyalty....

LOVE YOU BUNCHES! muah muah muah!!!

[notiddygothgf]

guys i just had to pop a plan b for the first time lollllllllll

[notiddygothgf]

OH MY FUCKING GOD. the way i woild be so gd honored (where do i send song suggestions lol). IM ALL FOR IT 🤭🤭🤭 i love u so gd much pookie

@notiddygothgf I have ideas, how do you feel about me making a playlist that I’d continuously update as ‘Pornstar’ updates. I’ve considered doing it multiple times, I’d make one for the reader’s POV and one for Aki’s.

Thoughts 👀

[notiddygothgf]

Girl you loud! - C.K.

Synopsis: When Choso, with his label of the geekiest anime nerd on campus, somehow becomes best friends with the loudest, hottest person on campus, everyone was confused—except them. Years of playful teasing, long stares, and late-night tension finally snap in a moment too charged to ignore. One touch turns into a kiss, a kiss into clothes on the floor, and suddenly, they’re not just breaking the rules.

Pairing: Choso Kamo x fem!reader

Content: fem!reader, friends to lovers, smut, first times, oral (female receiving), cúnnilingus, pet names, swearing, tummy bulges,

wc: 6.8k

Choso was the geekiest geek you’d ever met—and not in a cute, socially awkward “oh my god he likes Star Wars” kind of way. No, Choso Kamo was deep in it. He wore the same black hoodie like it was stitched to his soul, kept a Yujiro Hanma phone charm dangling from his cracked screen, and didn’t speak to anyone unless they spoke fluent anime references first.

You? You were loud. Loud in the way that filled hallways, group chats, and Friday night parties. People knew your laugh before they knew your name. You were the person who somehow sat at everyone’s lunch table, the one professors low-key tolerated because you were smart and had jokes. The kind of person who could walk into a room and make it warmer just by being there.

So when people saw you hanging around Choso—quiet, brooding, mysterious Choso—they blinked twice. Then three times. Then again when you waved to him in the quad and he actually waved back.

"What the hell is going on?" someone had whispered once in lecture, watching you pass Choso a candy bar like it was a love letter.

The answer wasn’t dramatic. You’d been paired for a group project in second-year psychology—something painfully dry about memory retention and dopamine levels. He’d mumbled maybe three words to you that first meeting, scribbled out most of the research in precise, blocky handwriting, and then disappeared when it was time to present. You’d carried the project on your back with your voice and charisma, he’d carried it with raw academic firepower. And somehow, it worked.

You didn’t stop talking after that.

Well—you talked. He mostly listened.

But he did start sitting closer to you in class. You noticed. And he did start replying to your memes. Not with full sentences, but with “LMAO” and sometimes even an emoji. And once? He sent you a Gintama reaction image and you nearly passed out.

At some point, it just became normal. You’d swing by his dorm with bubble tea and chips during cram season. He’d send you anime recs with time stamps and emotional warnings. You’d call him late at night to rant about people who couldn’t take a hint. He’d hum in response, or sometimes say something low and dry that made you laugh until you cried.

He was calm, steady, and weirdly good at remembering the small things. You were a wildfire. He never tried to put you out.

And maybe that’s why you never noticed when the tension started creeping in.

Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered when you sat cross-legged on his bed, flipping through a psych textbook and munching chips. Maybe it was how he never pulled away when your knees bumped, or how your teasing started getting more flirtatious—more like testing the waters than just messing around.

But there was a moment. A small one.

It was late—2 a.m., maybe. You were on his bed, scrolling through Instagram while he sat at his desk, sketching something. You’d kicked off your shoes, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, and you’d said, “You ever think about how weird it is that we’re friends?”

He didn’t look up.

“You say that like you’re slumming it,” he replied, pencil moving in slow, controlled strokes.

You rolled onto your stomach, chin in your hand. “Nah. Just saying it surprises people.”

“They think you’re too loud to be friends with someone like me.”

You paused. “You think I’m too loud?”

His pencil stopped.

He looked up, met your gaze, and said in that quiet, even voice: “I think you’re loud in a way that drowns everything else out. And sometimes… I like that.”

Something shifted in your chest. Something warm. Something dangerous.

But before you could say anything else, he looked back down at his sketchpad.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Or so you thought.

-

If anyone asked, you’d still say you and Choso were “just friends.”

It was easy to say. Easy to laugh off the looks when you shared your snacks with him during lectures or when he let you lean on his shoulder during anime marathons without flinching. You’d make a joke about adopting a local stray goth. He’d grunt and roll his eyes like he didn’t secretly enjoy the attention.

But under all the teasing, something heavier was forming—quiet and persistent, like fog creeping under a door.

You noticed it in the way he let you talk endlessly about dumb drama in your friend group, nodding along even when you knew he didn’t care who fucked who at last week’s party. Or the way he always had your favorite drink in the mini fridge, no matter how randomly your cravings changed.

You noticed it when you were at a house party, surrounded by music and bodies and energy, and your brain glitched when someone kissed your neck from behind—and it wasn’t him. You didn’t even want it to be him… right?

And you noticed it when you caught him watching you. Not in a creepy way. But in a focused way. Like he was cataloguing your habits, your smiles, the way your fingers curled when you were thinking.

One night, after a long day of back-to-back classes and even more back-to-back people, you showed up at his door, dropped onto his bed, and groaned into his pillow.

“I hate everyone,” you declared.

He looked up from his manga. “Everyone?”

“Everyone but you.” You peeked up. “I saved you from the purge.”

A pause. Then: “I’m honored.”

You rolled over, arms splayed wide. “Do you ever get tired of being the smart, mysterious loner?”

“No.”

“Do you ever get tired of being this hot?” you teased, shooting him a wink.

His eyes flicked to you over the edge of the page. “Do you?”

You froze. Just for a second. Then laughed it off, like always. But that warmth in your chest returned. Like it always did with him now. It wasn’t a crush. Not really. He wasn’t the type you normally went for. He didn’t chase. He didn’t flirt back the way others did.

But there was something about the way he looked at you—like he saw you and didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to make you smaller or quieter or easier to deal with.

Choso was quiet, but he wasn’t soft. He didn’t pretend to be clueless when you flirted. He just held it in that deep, unreadable expression, like he was deciding whether or not to answer a question on a test that wasn’t graded.

Still, nothing ever happened—not until one night, everything started unraveling.

It started normal. Netflix, takeout, some light roasting.

“Your taste in anime is garbage,” you said, pointing to Fire Force which was playing on his tv.

“And yet you watched every episode,” he deadpanned, biting into a spring roll.

“I was waiting for it to get good!”

“It never did,” he said. “That’s the point.”

You snorted, stretching out on his bed while he sat at the edge. Your foot nudged his thigh absentmindedly. He didn’t move.

“I’m bored,” you said, phone abandoned, eyes drifting up toward him. “Entertain me.”

“I’m not your jester.”

“Not with that attitude.”

You poked his side. He caught your wrist.

You both froze.

It was the first time he’d grabbed you. His fingers were loose around your skin, thumb brushing along the underside of your wrist without thinking. It wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t even firm.

But it made your whole arm light up.

Your breath hitched. “You’re touching me.”

“You touched me first.”

You didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

“I do that a lot,” you said, softer this time.

“I know.”

Silence stretched. Your pulse kicked up. You weren’t sure when you started looking at his mouth instead of his eyes, but it was happening. It was definitely happening.

And then he let go.

And it was over.

But not really. Not for you.

You didn’t say anything the rest of the night. You just sat closer than usual. Let your leg remained pressed to his. Laughed a little too hard at his dry jokes. You watched the way his fingers twitched, the way his jaw tightened when you touched his knee to “adjust your seating.”

And he didn’t stop you.

That night, in your own bed, you couldn’t sleep. Your skin still buzzed from that tiny point of contact. Your mind wouldn’t shut up. It felt like a circuit had closed. Like something electric was just waiting to spark.

You picked up your phone. Opened the text thread.

You: So are we flirting or am I just hot and delusional

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared.

Then again.

And again.

Then nothing.

You stared. Heart in your throat.

Then finally:

Choso: Not delusional.

You stared at the screen, lips parted.

No emoji. Just a single sentence that made your brain short-circuit.

You: Cool. Just checking. Goodnight emo boy.

Choso: Night princess.

You turned your phone over and screamed into your pillow.

-

It wasn’t that anything changed between you and Choso. It was just that… more of the world faded when it was the two of you.

Like tonight.

You were sitting on the floor of his dorm, your back against his bed, legs stretched out and socked toes brushing against his knee. He was slouched in his desk chair, head tilted to the side, reading over some article about cognitive bias for a psych elective neither of you actually liked.

The only sound in the room was the soft hum of his fan and the occasional crinkle of chip bag plastic between your fingers.

“Confirmation bias is fake,” you muttered. “I know I’m right because I’m always right.”

Choso didn’t even look up. “That’s exactly what it is.”

You tossed a chip at him. He dodged it with barely a tilt of his head.

“God, you’re annoying,” you grumbled, mostly for effect.

He flipped a page. “You came over.”

You scoffed. “Because you have snacks.”

“You brought the snacks.”

“…Details.”

Choso didn’t smile. Not really. But the corners of his mouth curved just enough to make you feel like you won something.

This was how it always went. You made noise, he absorbed it. You sprawled, he stayed still. Like opposite poles of a magnet — no push, no pull, just a kind of quiet equilibrium. You’d never really had that with anyone else.

The silence returned. But it was a good silence. A comfortable one.

You glanced up at him — hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs crossed loosely, glasses perched low on his nose. The warm lamplight made his skin look softer. He looked… peaceful.

“Do you ever get tired of me?” you asked suddenly.

Choso blinked. “What?”

“I’m loud. And all over the place. You’re, like, zen. Doesn’t that clash?”

He shrugged, still reading. “Not really.”

You blinked. “Why not?”

“Because you’re not just loud. You’re also consistent.”

You stared at him.

“...thanks.”

He shrugged again.

You nudged his leg lightly with your foot. “Be careful. You’re sounding dangerously close to affectionate.”

“I’ll survive.”

You didn’t push it. Just smiled a little and kept eating your chips.

Later, you ended up stretched across his bed, half on your stomach, phone dangling in one hand as you scrolled through a shared playlist of Deftones and Frank Ocean. Choso was at the foot of the bed now, typing something for his assignment.

“Do you want music or silence?” you asked.

“Whatever you want.”

“You hate that answer.”

He glanced back at you. “No. I hate it when people say it and don’t mean it.”

“…But you mean it?”

He nodded.

You stared at the back of his head for a second, then hit play on Sextape, which filled the room like soft rain.

It felt… nice.

“Did you ever think we’d be friends?” you asked out of nowhere.

“Not really.”

“Wow. Rude.”

“I didn’t think you noticed me.”

You sat up a bit. “Of course I did. You were the guy who read Parasyte under the bleachers during spirit rallies.”

“And you were the girl who led the spirit rallies.”

“Balance,” you said with a grin.

Choso gave a half-nod like he agreed.

You settled back into the bed, watching him type in silence. There was something satisfying about it — being with someone you didn’t have to perform around. You could exist as you were: messy, loud, unfiltered. And he never told you to tone it down. He just… let you be.

And sometimes, you let yourself wonder why that felt like such a relief.

You left around midnight. He walked you to the elevator like he always did.

As you stepped inside, you glanced back at him.

“Hey, Choso?”

“Yeah?”

You raised your eyebrows. “This sounds dumb, but… thanks for always letting me be weird in your space.”

He blinked, like he wasn’t sure how to answer that.

Then he nodded. “You’re never weird.”

The elevator doors closed before you could say anything back.

But you were smiling the whole way home.

-

You didn’t plan on seeing Choso every day. It just started happening.

A shared class here, a library session there. Then it was lunch. A late walk to campus. Then suddenly you were texting him just to say, “I’m eating a bagel and it reminded me of you because it’s kinda plain but reliable” and he’d reply with, “I hope the bagel chokes you.”

It was your love language.

You found yourself moving through campus differently, like your internal compass now tilted slightly in his direction. You didn’t even realize you were scanning the quad for his hoodie until the rare days he wasn’t there.

He never really sought you out, not first. But he never said no when you showed up either. Just slid his laptop over so you could squeeze into the booth beside him. Or held out his water bottle without being asked. Or saved the last rice cracker snack for you even though you’d made fun of it the week before.

One Thursday, you caught him waiting outside your lecture hall.

He didn’t say he was waiting for you. Just handed you an iced matcha and started walking beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t the drink that made your chest feel warm. It was the fact that he remembered you liked it “even though it tastes like grass.”

It wasn’t romantic. Not yet.

But you started to learn the shape of his silence.

Choso wasn’t quiet the way other people were. He wasn’t empty. His silences were full — like pages he hadn’t turned yet, thoughts he hadn’t shared. He spoke when it mattered, and when he didn’t, you filled the space with your noise.

It worked.

You talked about dumb anime tropes, weird professors, whether your resident advisor was a lizard person. He added one-liners here and there, deadpan but sharp. When he did laugh — really laugh — it was soft, almost like it surprised him.

You started collecting those laughs like rare cards.

You didn’t know when it started mattering this much. When the first thing you looked for in a crowded room became him. When the walk back to your own dorm after hanging out started feeling heavier.

You weren’t in love.

You weren’t.

You just liked the way his presence made you feel a little less scrambled. Like he grounded you — your chaos wrapped in his calm.

You hadn’t had that before.

One night, you showed up at his room after a crappy day. No warning, no reason. Just a hoodie, your keys, and a frown.

He opened the door, took one look at you, and stepped aside.

“You’re not going to ask what’s wrong?” you said.

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

So you collapsed onto his bed, face first, groaning into his blanket.

He sat on the floor beside the bed, legs crossed, notebook balanced on his lap.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Eventually, you said, “I bombed my presentation. Like, full system meltdown. Word soup. Panic stammering. One girl visibly cringed. I think my soul left my body.”

Choso turned a page in his notebook. “She probably has no soul of her own. That’s why she needed yours.”

You laughed into the blanket. “Why are you like this?”

“It’s a coping mechanism.”

You rolled onto your side to face him. “You ever mess up like that?”

“Once. In middle school. My voice cracked in the middle of a debate round and I still think about it when I try to sleep.”

“Trauma twins.”

He gave you a small smile.

You watched him work in silence for a while. You liked his hands. Not in a weird way — just how precise they were. Thoughtful. You liked the way he held his pen like it was an extension of his fingers.

You thought about asking him to stay quiet with you for a little longer. But you didn’t have to.

He already was.

Things blurred after that. You stopped noticing what day it was when you were with him. The hours just slipped past.

Once, he caught you staring off into space during a movie and handed you a pillow without a word.

Another time, you fell asleep at his desk while he was studying. You woke up to a hoodie draped over your shoulders and a single post-it stuck to your forehead:

“Drool doesn’t count as a contribution to the group project.”

You kept the note in your phone case.

You still weren’t touching. Not really. A knee bump here, a hand brushed there. Nothing anyone else would notice. But you were keeping track.

And he was letting you stay longer. Later.

One night, walking back from the dining hall, you told him, “You’re my favorite place to be.”

He blinked, looked away, and said, “You’re weird.”

But you saw the way his ears turned red under the streetlight.

-

You’d sent Choso something dumb — a meme about anime hair physics and a “this is you” comment. Normally, he’d reply with a dry “Blocked.” Or a timestamped picture of the manga shelf at his favorite store. Or even just a dot.

But this time, nothing.

An hour passed. Then three. Then the whole day.

You didn’t spiral — you weren’t that kind of person — but you did open your chat with him a few times just to stare at the read receipt that wasn’t there.

You tried to brush it off. People got busy. Maybe he was in the zone. Maybe he’d dropped his phone in ramen broth or was saving a cat from a tree. But still — it felt off.

The next day, he showed up at your table in the library like nothing happened.

“Hey,” he said, dropping into the seat beside you like he hadn’t gone radio silent for 24 hours. “You print the notes?”

You blinked at him. “...Yeah.”

He looked at you, waiting.

You passed him the paper without a word.

He didn’t mention the silence, and you didn’t ask. But something sharp curled under your ribs.

It happened again a week later.

This time, it was at a party.

You hadn’t planned to go, but your friends dragged you out. You wore something fun, drank something pink and suspiciously sweet, and spent most of the night texting Choso memes from across the room while trying to avoid some guy who kept mispronouncing your name.

You didn’t expect Choso to show up — parties weren’t his thing — but when you looked up and saw him leaning against the wall in his usual all-black hoodie, your heart did something weird and uncalled for.

You lit up, waved. He nodded.

You made your way over.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, grinning.

“Didn’t want to come,” he replied.

“Then why did you?”

Choso looked over your shoulder. “My roommate said I never leave the dorm.”

You tilted your head. “So you’re here to prove a point?”

“No. I’m here because I thought I might find you.”

Something in your chest flickered.

But then someone called your name behind you — the mispronouncer. He was tipsy now, trying to shove a drink in your hand and make conversation you didn’t want.

You glanced back at Choso, but he was already turning away, heading outside.

You followed him a few minutes later, but he was gone.

The silence the next day wasn’t full. It was loud.

You texted him, simple: “You good?”

He replied hours later. “Yeah. Just tired.”

You stared at the screen.

You didn’t reply.

It was dumb. You knew it was dumb.

But it kept happening.

Small things. He’d stop replying halfway through conversations. Or show up late and not say why. You’d feel his eyes on you in class, but he’d leave without walking with you afterward. It wasn’t angry distance — just... murky.

You tried to tell yourself it was nothing. That you were imagining the shift.

But the thing was, you missed him. And he was still there, technically. Still in your orbit. Still showing up. But something about the way he held himself around you — tighter, quieter — started to feel like a door creaking shut.

It made you ache.

Not because he owed you anything.

But because this friendship had become your constant. Your soft place to land. And suddenly, it felt like the ground was tilting.

The conversation finally cracked open during one of your regular library sessions.

You were both half-distracted — you tapping your pen against your notebook, him staring blankly at his screen.

You glanced over. “You’ve been on that sentence for fifteen minutes.”

Choso didn’t look at you. “It’s not coming out right.”

You raised an eyebrow. “The paper or your brain?”

He didn’t answer.

You sighed, then said, carefully, “Did I do something?”

That got his attention.

He turned his head, eyes steady on yours. “What?”

“I just—” You hesitated. “You’ve been... off.”

A beat of silence.

Then: “I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He looked down at his hands.

You watched him.

Waited.

Finally, he said, “Sometimes it feels like I’m more important to you when nothing else is going on.”

That hit you square in the chest.

You sat back. “Is that really what you think?”

He shrugged, but it was stiff. “I don’t know what we are. Sometimes I think I do, and then we’re at a party and you’re flirting with some guy and I feel like I made it up.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” you said, too fast.

“I know,” he said. “That’s not the point.”

You didn’t say anything.

Because honestly? You weren’t sure what the point was anymore. Or where the line had gone between you two. Or if there ever even was one.

Choso ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t want to fight,” he muttered.

“We’re not fighting,” you said quietly. “We’re just... finally saying stuff out loud.”

He didn’t reply.

You closed your notebook.

“Maybe we need to figure out what this actually is.”

Choso glanced at you. Not defensive. Just tired.

“Maybe,” he said.

That night, you didn’t text him.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t text you either.

-

It took three days of silence before either of you caved.

You thought about texting him more times than you could count. You even drafted a message once — “Want to talk?” — but deleted it before you hit send. The pause between you wasn’t angry. Just uncertain. Like both of you were standing on either side of something fragile, waiting to see who would step first.

In the end, it was him.

He didn’t send a meme or an apology.

He sent one word.

“Here?”

And that was enough.

You didn’t speak at first when you opened the door.

Just stepped aside and let him in. He walked past you like he always did, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair loose around his face, backpack half-zipped. You watched the way he dropped his stuff on your desk, sat on your bed like it was muscle memory.

It was.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t know if you wanted space.”

“I didn’t want space,” you said quietly. “I just didn’t know what to say.”

He nodded once, like he understood.

Because of course he did.

That was the thing about Choso. He always got the parts of you that other people missed. The parts you didn’t have to explain.

You sat down next to him.

Close — not touching, but closer than before.

“I don’t know what this is either,” you admitted. “But I know I want it. Whatever it is.”

Choso looked at you. His eyes didn’t waver. “I don’t want to be just a background character in your life.”

“You’re not,” you said. And this time, it came out certain. “You’re not.”

You didn’t reach for him. You didn’t need to.

The space between you shifted anyway.

You talked for hours.

Not about “us” or “what now” — just life. Stupid things. Childhood memories. What you thought college would be like versus what it was. You told him you used to think you’d marry a K-pop idol. He told you he thought Naruto was going to teach him how to make friends.

At one point, you were both laughing so hard you had nearly forgot about the events of the past three days.

Then the laughter faded, and the quiet returned. But it was the good kind again. Warm. Safe.

You were lying on your side now, facing him. The room glowed soft with lamplight. His hair was tied up messily, and you could see the little crease on his cheek from your pillow. His hoodie sleeves were pushed past his wrists, fingers curling gently into the blanket.

It would’ve been so easy to lean in.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you asked, “What changed?”

He looked at you for a long moment.

Then he said, “I think I realized I’d started needing you more than I meant to.”

You swallowed.

“That scares you?”

He nodded.

“It scares me too,” you admitted.

But neither of you moved away.

You didn’t kiss that night.

You didn’t even touch.

But when he stayed — not because he was tired, but because it felt like where he belonged — you curled up facing each other and whispered whatever thoughts came next. Little things. The kind of thoughts you only share in low light, when no one’s pretending.

And when you fell asleep, it was with the quiet understanding that something had shifted.

Not in a way that needed naming.

Just in a way that felt real.

The next few days were different, but not dramatic.

He still rolled his eyes at your chaotic texts. You still stole his fries when he wasn’t looking. But the edges had softened. The moments between you stretched a little longer. The silences weren’t full of questions anymore — just waiting.

He started sitting closer.

You started letting your knees touch.

One afternoon in his dorm, you were reading on the floor while he played something on his Switch, and you leaned your head back against his leg without really thinking about it.

He didn’t say anything.

Just rested a hand gently on your hair and left it there.

Like it had always belonged.

And one night — not planned, not dramatic — you kissed him.

Not because you couldn’t hold back.

But because it felt right.

Because you’d spent months learning his silences, earning his trust, and choosing each other over and over without needing to say why.

You were both lying on your sides again, this time in your room. His hand was next to yours, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat.

You looked at him. He looked back.

And you asked, “Okay?”

He said, “Yeah.”

So you leaned in, soft and slow, and kissed him like he was something you already knew by heart.

He kissed you back like it surprised him. Like he hadn’t let himself hope.

When you pulled back, he was still looking at you, eyes half-lidded, dazed but steady.

“I thought we weren’t doing this,” he whispered.

“Maybe we are now.”

He nodded once.

And then he pulled you closer — arms warm, hands steady — and held you like a truth he didn’t have to be afraid of anymore.

-

The room felt heavier than usual — not with tension, but with gravity. Like every glance, every breath, every shared silence between you and Choso was suddenly full of meaning.

It was late. Music hummed faintly from your speaker, soft synth chords that had long since faded into ambiance. You were both on your bed, side by side, shoulders brushing now and then. But neither of you pulled away. You hadn’t for a while.

Choso’s eyes flicked toward you, lingering. You met them.

And this time, you didn’t look away.

“Can I ask you something?” you said quietly.

He nodded, lips parting like he’d been waiting for you to speak.

“Do you want this?” Your voice barely carried the words. “Not just tonight. I mean… us. Me.”

Choso’s answer came in layers. First, a nod. Then his hand sliding slowly over yours. Then finally, voice hoarse:

“I’ve wanted you. For a long time.”

Your breath caught. Not from surprise — you’d known. You’d both known.

But hearing it now, said aloud, undressed something inside you.

“I want you too,” you said.

His hand tightened slightly on yours, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I don’t want to do this unless you’re sure,” he said, brows slightly furrowed — not from doubt, but from the weight of how much he cared.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you whispered.

A quiet beat passed between you. Then Choso leaned forward, slowly, deliberately, until his forehead rested against yours.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t a feverish blur of mouths. It was steady, unshaken — like he wanted to remember it. Like he was pouring everything he hadn’t said into the way your lips met.

You deepened it, and he didn’t hesitate.

Your hands found his hoodie. He let you pull it up and off, breath catching as your fingers ghosted over bare skin. He watched you like you were unreal, gaze fixed and reverent.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, like he couldn’t help it.

You smiled, pulling your shirt over your head too. His breath hitched at the sight, eyes dragging down slowly.

You didn’t rush.

You touched — carefully at first, like memorizing each other by hand. Choso’s fingers were tender, exploring your sides, your back, the dip of your spine. Every time you exhaled, he matched your rhythm.

When you leaned back on your elbows, inviting him closer, he hovered just above you, his hair falling around your face like a curtain. You reached up and tucked some behind his ear.

“I’m right here,” you whispered.

“I know,” he breathed.

He kissed down your throat. Across your collarbone. Each movement was intentional — like he was trying to worship you, not consume you.

When your hands slid to the waistband of his sweats, he pressed his forehead to yours again.

“Still good?” he asked, voice shaking a little.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want you.”

He kissed you once more, deeper this time.

And then — you gave in to each other.

Not clumsy. Not frantic.

Just real.

Choso’s hands moved with hunger now, trembling but determined as they found the hem of your shirt. He gripped it tighter than he meant to — like if he didn’t hold on hard enough, it’d slip away. In one breathless motion, he pulled it over your head, and when your bra-clad chest was revealed to him, he stilled.

His eyes darkened.

He swallowed hard.

He needed you. Not in passing. Not for tonight. He needed you like gravity — like something inevitable.

Fumbling slightly, he fought with the clasp of your bra, brows furrowed in frustration until it finally gave way. The fabric slid down your arms, and when you tossed it aside, he stared like he was witnessing something sacred.

He ducked his head to your chest, mouth open, eyes blown wide with wonder. His lips latched eagerly to one of your nipples, licking and sucking in clumsy, tender rhythm. He was clearly inexperienced — no patterns, no practiced finesse — just the overwhelming need to taste, to explore, to learn you.

When you sat up and pulled his shirt off in return, he paused. The sudden exposure made his breath catch. His skin was pale, unmarked — years of hoodies and shyness shielding what now lay bare before you.

“hot.” you whispered.

But he was already lowering himself down your body, eyes flicking between your face and your waist. He gently tugged your sweats down, slow and reverent, only to be met with black lace.

His breath hitched.

Those were the ones he’d once caught a glimpse of through the laundry bag. The ones he’d tried not to picture. Tried and failed.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “You’re… you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

He looked to you again for permission — and when you gave it, soft and sure — he slid your panties down, the cool air brushing against heated skin.

Choso hesitated just a moment. Then he dipped his head.

He didn’t know what he was doing — but he wanted to know. He kissed you like a prayer, tongue tentative at first as he explored your folds. But as soon as he found the spot that made your hips twitch, your hand tangles in his hair — that was it.

He moaned softly into you, the sound vibrating against your core.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your skin, voice breathless. “I’ve got you…”

When you arched, whimpering his name, he groaned — the kind of sound that came from deep in his chest, primal and undone.

“Say it again,” he begged, voice low and shaking.

“Choso—” you gasped.

“Good girl.” His praise was rough, reverent.

Every flick of his tongue, every suck, every shift in pressure — it was messy, a little desperate, but full of feeling. And when his snakebites dragged cold and hard over your clit, it was over. Your back arched. Your moans turned ragged.

The room spun.

The pleasure was relentless.

You could barely form a thought, let alone a sentence. But you managed one:

“Want you. All of you. Now.”

He lifted his head, lips and chin shining, eyes dark and wild. There was something feral in the way he looked at you — but underneath it, something soft. Overwhelmed.

He leaned forward to kiss you, messy and breathless, tasting you on your own lips. You could feel his heart racing through his chest. He kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

Your fingers tugged downwards at the top hem of his boxers and sweats, pulling them just low enough to free his throbbing and twitching member.

Your hand slid down between your bodies, fingers curling around the length you’d only imagined — thick, flushed, and big. He twitched in your grasp, groaning against your lips.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Then: “Are you sure?”

You nodded, locking eyes with him. “Completely.”

He shed the last of his clothes with a quiet exhale, skin flushed and chest rising fast. His hand trembled just slightly as he lined himself up with your entrance, nerves and anticipation flooding every inch of him. He looked at you—really looked—and found only trust in your eyes.

With a deep breath, he eased forward, sinking his member into you inch by inch. Your warmth pulled him in, slow and steady, until he was fully seated inside you.

“Ah—nghh, Choso…” you gasped, voice catching as he filled you completely. The stretch, the weight, the depth of him—it was unlike anything else. You clenched around him instinctively, and his mouth fell open in stunned pleasure.

He paused, panting softly, hands braced at your hips as he looked down at your body—at everything he was finally allowed to see, to feel.

Then his gaze landed on your lower stomach… and there it was.

A small bulge, subtle but visible, rising with each shallow thrust of his hips.

“Look…” he whispered, awe-struck, one hand sliding up to rest gently against it. He pressed down, just enough to feel the resistance. His lips curled into a grin. “Look how deep I am.”

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering, the sight in front of you was one to behold, Choso, but he had hairs sticking to his,

He nodded, forehead pressing against yours briefly as he adjusted his grip—and then he moved.

Each thrust was deeper, harder, more confident than the last, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing between your moans. He gave you everything—every inch, every pulse, every ounce of emotion he’d buried for so long.

His thrusts were fast, a little uneven, but each one felt intentional—like he was thinking through every movement, trying to memorize what made you fall apart. You could see the focus in his expression, jaw tight, eyes locked on the way his cock disappeared inside you again and again, twitching with every clench of your walls.

“Feelin’ good, princess?” he asked, voice rough with a cocky little smirk.

As if he didn’t already know.

Maybe his rhythm wasn’t perfect yet—raw and unpracticed in some places—but he made up for it in every way that mattered. He was big, yes, but more than that… he was present. Watching every reaction. Learning you. Wanting to get it right.

And fuck, he was getting it right.

Within another minute, his pace had become frantic—desperate. Each thrust was rougher, deeper, like he was afraid if he let up, you’d vanish beneath him. His hips snapped forward with punishing rhythm, and his breath hitched in a ragged groan, loud and drawn-out, the kind that only came when he was teetering on the edge.

You grabbed his face, breathless and blissed out. “Inside, baby—cum with me,” you moaned.

And God, he listened.

The moment your walls tightened around him, fluttering at the base of his cock, he let go. A guttural, needy sound spilled from his lips as he buried himself deep, hips stuttering. Hot release flooded into you in thick pulses, his body trembling from the force of it, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he whined through the comedown.

The room fell into a hush, broken only by your ragged breaths and the faint thump of Choso’s heartbeat against your chest.

He stayed there for a moment—still inside you, forehead pressed to your shoulder, trying to catch his breath. His arms trembled slightly as they wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice hoarse, words barely brushing your ear.

You nodded, lips curved in a dazed smile. “Yeah. You?”

He let out a quiet laugh—more exhale than sound—and nuzzled into your neck. “Better than okay,” he murmured. “I feel like… I don’t even know. Floating?”

You ran your fingers through his hair, gently brushing the damp strands off his forehead. He leaned into your touch like a cat, eyes fluttering shut.

Eventually, he pulled out with a soft hiss, careful and slow. He glanced down, cheeks flushed at the mess, and then looked at you like you’d hung the moon.

“I’ll clean you up,” he said, already shifting to grab a warm cloth and help you get comfortable. His movements were delicate, almost reverent, as he wiped you down and pulled the blankets over both of you.

You watched him in the dim light—shirtless, quiet, focused—and felt your heart swell.

Once everything was settled, he crawled back beside you and tucked you into his chest, one arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

You could feel him still breathing a little fast, and when you looked up, he was already watching you.

“What?” you whispered, smiling.

He shook his head. “Just… can’t believe this is real.”

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart as it slowly calmed.

“It’s real,” you whispered. “We’re real.”

And in that warmth, in that quiet tangle of limbs and safety, Choso held you like he never wanted to be anywhere else again.

Later, when the room had settled into silence and your skin had cooled beneath the sheets, Choso pulled the blanket higher around you and brushed a soft kiss to your temple.

You turned to face him, your limbs still tangled with his, and gave him a quiet smile.

He smiled back — small, tired, but real. The kind of smile that didn’t need to prove anything.

After a long pause, you said it, barely above a whisper: “I think I’ve felt this for a while.”

Choso looked at you for a beat, then nodded. “Me too.”

There wasn’t some grand declaration, no dramatic pause — just truth exchanged in the dark.

And it was enough.

[notiddygothgf]

FANCY SEEING YOU HERE IV

- DANTE SPARDA (DMC)

18+ MDNI, only warning.

Wheww I believe this is the closing chapter to FSYH. It’s open ended, but, I don’t have any more plot devices planned as of now so I’m going to officially call it here for this one. I haven’t written this much in a long time, let alone mature content so take it with a grain of salt.

Happy reading!

Part one Part two Part three

The bright morning sun shines within your bedroom, you forgot to close the blinds in your rush to lay down. It’s annoying at most, but it’s not what wakes you. A disturbing buzz vibrates from atop your bedside table, blindly you fish around from it, far too comfortably to sacrifice rolling over onto your back.

Eventually you feel it, in your haste you yank it off charge, blindly accept the call and balance it on your ear.

“Hello?” You greet groggily, eyes still closed and hair askew over your pillow.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Your friend replies, her giggle is taunting.

With your other hand, from under your pillow you pull your hair out of your mouth, “How are you so cheery?” You groan, “You drank just as much as me last night,”

“Yeah, but did you chug any water when you got home?” Fair point, you didn’t.

“You’re a freak,” you grumble, sinking back into your pillow with a huff.

It’s silent for a thoughtful second, “Anything interesting happen on the way home? You should have told me you were getting picked up by your knight in shining armour,”

You snort, Dante would love that one, cocky as he is, “No,” you lie, not ready to unpack that conversation, “Just a walk home,”

“You’re a fucking liar,” your friend laughs, “You were all over him, and he lapped up every moment of it. I won’t be surprised if I hear an engagement announcement soon, are there wedding bells in the distance?”

You stuff your face into pillow in avoidance, regret washes over you. You were never one for public displays of affection, but clearly you went overboard last night.

“I didn’t even know he was going to show up,” you mumble into your pillow.

“Huh? Can’t hear you hun,” she chimes.

You sigh, shifting your face onto its side again, “Didn’t think he would show, he was meant to be on a miss—out of town,” you settle on.

“What? Oh my god,” her giggle turns into full on laughter. “This just gets better and better, you’re telling me he left his out of town meeting to find you?”

Well, you hadn’t actually put that part into perspective yet. You hadn’t put anything into perspective, it was way too early. With a sigh, you roll over onto your back to stare up at the ceiling.

You rake your fingers through your hair, “I guess? I don’t know,”

“That’s dedication,” she comments, “I guess he passes the test, for now.”

You chat a little while longer, mortified at the blanks she fills in on your behaviour last night. This is why you don’t drink, you make a promise to never drink that much again. Your friend doesn’t believe a word of it, and you hang up after a promise to catch up again sometime soon.

You stare at your ceiling for a little while longer. Dante had been on a mission last time you spoke to him on the phone. Not only was it far away, but it was meant to be at least another week long. From what you remember it was a hunting mission, some hoard hiding deep in the mountains and smuggling others through a portal.

How had he made it back so early? Had he expedited the mission somehow? And for what? You shake your head, an opportunity must have lined up, there’s no way he rushed in blindly just to meet you.

You rise up abruptly in your bed, the sheets pool around your lap. You search the sheets frantically for your phone which you just put down. Once founded, you scroll through your call log until you find the number.

It rings a couple times before it picks up, “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you for at least a couple more hours,”

You bring your knees up to your chest, “How did you finish the mission so early?”

There’s a momentary pause and shift, you imagine Dante leaning back in his chair as he tries to think of an excuse, “There was an opening?” He tries.

“Bullshit! You rushed in there! It makes so much sense, how odd you were acting, and telling me to keep my phone on me. It was so you could find me later on once you finished the mission!” You exclaim.

“Woah, woah, woah, calm down. It wasn’t like that,” he placates, “Yeah maybe I…cut out a few steps of the original plan, but it was still under control,”

You drag your free hand down your face, shaking your head in disbelief, “I can’t believe you Dante, rushing in like that for something so stupid!”

“It’s not stupid—” he interjects.

“—Yes it is! It’s the definition of stupid!”

A deep sigh rumbles through the speaker, “There you go again, questioning my abilities, If I were a lesser man I’d be offended, darling,”

“You are so fucking cocky, one day it’s gonna bite you in the ass Dante,” you lean back until you’re propped up against your headboard.

“Where’s the girl from last night? She was much more fun,” he muses, “Couldn’t keep her hands off me either,”

You clench your teeth and look to the window of your room. You can feel your face flaming, and it’s not because of the sunlight pouring in.

“Fuck you,” you mutter, “That’s unfair to bring up,”

The smirk is apparent in Dante’s tone, “I like to play dirty,”

“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly remember you complaining,” you snap.

“Oh, is that what you think?” He asks sincerely, “I’m far from complaining, I was one step away from waking up in bed with you this morning,”

His tone is matter of fact. So self assured of his feelings, that it’s almost overwhelming to hear. When speaking to Dante, your mind just runs on autopilot, there’s no thinking or deliberating.

“What stopped you?”

The hiss you hear in response is satisfying. Like a crack in the armour, “Because I am a gentleman, sweetheart. Although, you make it hard to keep it that way,”

Before you can reply with a witty remark, he cuts through, “Listen,” there’s rummaging in the background, “I have to go to meet a client, this conversation is to be continued in person. You alright with that, doll?”

The condescension sets your jaw in place, “Sure, whatever you want, Dante,”

There’s a pause in his step, “Don’t overthink this,”

“Overthink what?”

“This— Us,” he sighs, “I really have to go, and I don’t want to rush this, don’t think until I see you next,” he demands.

“Don’t think?” You muse questioning.

“Don’t think,” he confirms, “I’ll see you in the office later.”

You barely exchange goodbye’s by the line hangs up.

The day went about as normal, you weren’t expected in the office until the afternoon so it was a slow start around your apartment. Despite Dante’s demand to not think, you were thinking.

Your friends painted a real cozy picture of the two of you last night. And as much as you cringe over your own behaviour, it makes you feel some kind of warmth. As stupid as Dante was for cutting corners on a mission, he did do it for you, right? It would be equally as stupid to dismiss that.

Maybe you weren’t ready for this conversation, what if you had different ideas?

Your phone pings on the kitchen bench.

[Image]

Just in case you needed photo evidence of how into you he is.

You open the photo from your friend and smile. It’s slightly blurry, but it’s a shot of the two of you outside from the bar window. Dante’s arm is wrapped around your waist as an anchor, and he’s leant down to hear you better as you talk animatedly mid step.

You shake your head and save the photo before putting it down. You move on about your day and push everything else back before it derails your day.

It’s about two pm when you unlock the door to your office. Everything is as you left it, with no messages on the machine you go about the admin work for the day. A few hunters drop in for their contracts, but other than that, it’s uneventful. It’s gives your mind lots of time to wander against your will. Dante hadn’t checked in once, which is unusual on most days, but maybe he’s just trying to keep his word to talk in person.

Minutes tick by and you’re getting bored, all your work is done but the day isn’t over. As if sensing your boredom, the office phone rings. You reach over with laziness to take it off the hook.

“Devil may cry,” you greet.

“Y/N,” Enzo replies, “How goes everything?”

“Slow,” you complain, “Barely any hunters have come by, or even called, it’s dead over here,”

There’s a knowing hum, “Probably because Dante is sweeping up all the contracts,”

You frown, “How? He hasn’t even come past here recently,”

“He’s got his own contacts, most of our high profile clients have his direct line, they only come to us when he’s on long missions,” he explains.

You tilt your head in confusion, “Wait, so he doesn’t even need us?” You inquire, “Then why does he come past so often?”

“Wait,” Enzo pauses, “He’s been visiting you? When?”

“At least once a week?” You say questioningly, “More sometimes, actually,”

“Interesting…” Enzo teases, “Keep an eye on for me, will you?”

“Sure.” You reply hesitantly.

A weird feeling follows you after the call. Enzo had been vague at best—like he always is— you justify. You’ve noticed how he keeps Dante a bit more guarded than the rest of the hunters. There’s a tie there that you don’t know enough about, but you can tell he cares a lot about him.

You keep your mind busy with mindless work that you’ve been putting off until now. The sun slowly starts to set and your eyes are getting tired, you lean back in your chair and rub your face under your glasses. The door starts to creek open, you peek your eye open. A familiar red jacket slips through, you lean forward in your seat ready to greet him but your smile drops.

There’s red drops dripping from somewhere onto the floorboards of your office. You stand up quickly as Dante closes the door behind him.

“You’re bleeding,”

“Huh?”

“You’re bleeding,” you state, point at the red drops on the floorboards.

Dante looks down at the floor where the blood is dripping, curiously he examines his left arm to see a deep cut on the outside. Must of missed that one.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he assures, “It’ll heal,”

You’re not listening as you open one of the overhead cupboards to grab your first aid kit. You usher him to sit down, and he complains— really it’s not necessary— just as you grab the antibacterial wipes you can see the cut slowly knit itself back together like nothing happened.

Reading about Dante’s regeneration ability is one thing, but seeing it in person astounds you. You sit back on the corner of the desk in front of him, wipe still in hand.

“I…” you trail off, shaking your head, “Didn’t expect that,”

“Told you,” he states.

You sigh and reach for his arm anyway to wipe off the dried blood.

“Successful mission then?” You ask, wiping over the skin that just previously was sliced open. You feel complete disbelief, there’s not even a scar.

“Very successful,” he smiles, “Fat paycheque too,” he adds on.

A charged silence washes over the two of you. You try not to think—ironic—about anything than the crusted blood you’ve now finished scrubbing off. As you turn to drop the wipe in the bin beside your desk, you hear the chair scrape backwards. When you look back, Dante is standing over you.

“You’re quiet,” he notes, finger hooking under your chin. You smile in amusement as he tilts your head side to side in inspection, “Getting shy on me?”

“Never,” you reply. “Just thinking,”

He looks down at you suspiciously, his other hand gets comfortable on your thigh, “About what?”

“Enzo told me something interesting,”

Dante back tracks, confusion stopping his hand in place, “Like…?”

You arch your brow, “Apparently clients have a direct line to you when you’re in town,” you wrap your hand around his raised arm, stroking up and down, “So there’s no need for me to liaise between you and them,”

Dante smiles knowingly, “Caught on have you? Should have known Enzo would open his big, fat mouth,” he sighs dramatically, looking down at your lap. Both his hands are now resting on your thighs, you can feel the warmth of his hands through your stockings as he rubs up and down.

“Anything else you want to add?” You ask.

He tilts his head and leans in closer, invading your space, “Need me to spell it out for you?” You can feel his breath fan across your face as he comes closer, “I’m obsessed with you, have been since you kicked me out of your office,” he admits.

You laugh lightly, “That do it for you?”

He mulls it over with a nod, “The tights helped.”

You squeeze your thighs together subconsciously at the thought. Your knees are the only thing forcing space between the two of you, but Dante doesn’t let that stop him as he uses your thighs as something to grip onto. The warmth emanating from him is making your own body begin to flush.

“I think that’s enough conversation,” you breathe.

“Thank god.”

The first kiss is rushed, you’re forced to lean back from Dante’s eagerness. Your hands come up to hold onto his shoulders, then neck, for anchorage as his hands slip further up your skirt. He’s not as reserved as he was last night, his hands are all over your body trying to map it out. When his hands migrate to your covered chest, he hums and breaks away for a breath.

“You have no idea how hard it was to leave you alone last night.” he admits, hands shamelessly squeezing your chest.

You exhale sharply, his gaze is fixated on your body. Without say, you reach for the hem of your sweater and lift it up. Dante remains quiet as you do so, watching as inch my inch your skin comes on display. You’re just left in your bra as the sweater is flung behind you on your desk chair. You lean your hands behind on your desk, letting Dante stare at your exposed chest. His hands hover your naked waist, but doesn’t touch almost out of reverence.

“Did you think about me?” You tease.

This seems to snap him out of his reverie, he looks into your eyes, “It would be shameful for me to even say what I was thinking about.”

His hands settle on your thighs, forcing them open so he can step through. He watches your expression as his hands slowly migrate up your waist, his thumbs dig under your ribs causing a steep exhale. Settled there, he arches your back as he drags you closer for another kiss. You keep your hands on the desk for anchorage as his hands continue to glide up your ribs. Without the sweater in the way, you can feel the warmth of his hands encompass your breasts through the lace.

He’s shameless as he squeezes them, you moan against his lips, hand holding onto his outstretched arm tightly. You pant softly as he pulls away, leading kisses down your neck. You almost miss the warmth as his hands pull away from your chest, one settles on your waist while the other is placed on your thigh.

He pauses as his fingers dip into your inner thigh, “How attached are you to these?” He asks, fingers pinching and snapping the tights material against your leg.

“Huh?” You breathe out, “Not much?”

The snap and tear of the material makes your eyes widen, you try to close your legs out of habit but can’t with him standing in the middle of them.

He sighs in contentment, staring at the massive hole he’s ripped from your crotch to inner thighs, “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,”

You shake your head in disbelief, “You’re a fucking animal,” you chastise.

He smirks wolfishly, “Oh yeah?” His fingers glide over your exposed sensitive skin, inching close to your panties, “What does that make you then?”

Your breathing turns shallow as his thumb brushes over your covered clit. Your hand shoots down to grip his wrist as he keeps rubbing, just barely. The fine sensations are setting you on edge. You want to get even, to wipe that godforsaken smirk off his face.

You reach for his pants but he leans back grabbing your hand with his free one before you can touch, “Nuh uh,” he teases, still circling his thumb, “Not yet,”

You frown incredulously, “What? Why?”

“Ladies first.” He responds, slowly dropping to his knees.

Your legs are pushed open further to accomodate his broad shoulders, your hands grip the edge of the desk as you look down at him. Your skirt is still covering most, but you can see as one hand settles on your inner thigh and the other reaches forward. Deft fingers hook onto the edge of your panties and pull them to the side. The cool air makes you clench, but Dante doesn’t wait as he leans forward.

The feel of his tongue circling your clit makes you moan instantly, nails dig into the edge of the desk as your arch forward against the sensation. You cuss breathlessly and look up at the ceiling with your eyes clenched shut.

“Fuck, should have said something sooner,” you look down at Dante, jaw involuntarily slack as you pant, “Didn’t realise you were so good at this,”

You can see him start to pull away—for some witty remark, of course— but you grip his hair firmly, “Don’t,” you demand, “I don’t need the comment right now, Dante.”

Dante loves a girl that can use her words. Following your command he leans forward and sucks around your clit, the sensation is rough, as sensitive pins spike. Your fingers curl tightly in his hair as you clench your thighs closer around his head.

Dante groans beneath you. You apologise softly and force your legs to relax, but his hands grip the outside of your thighs and push them closer. When your thighs tense, he rewards you with a soft tap.

Good girl.

Noted. You keep your thighs squeezed around his head, and one hand clenched around his silvery strands as he continues to eat you out. One hand sneaks away from your thighs and inches closer to his mouth, without warning his middle finger starts to rub up and down your slit. It’s dripping with your own juices alongside Dante’s saliva.

“Wait,” you gasp, “Wait—”

He slides his finger in with ease. You shiver and curl forward, your hand is pushing down on Dante’s head causing him to lean deeper and it’s all just too much sensation. Your thighs twitch, as his finger slides in and out in timed thrusts, when his index finger aims to join you shake your head and push your palm against his forehead forcing him to dislodge.

His fingers are still moving but he’s breathing with panting breaths as he looks up at you. The light of your office highlights the glistening mixture of fluids of his chin and neck. It’s hard to catch your breath when his fingers curl inside you. Your hand migrates from his hair to his shoulder.

“Dante,” you pant, “You need to—stop,” you gasp.

His free hand grips your thigh for leverage as he stands, towering over you once again.

“Can’t handle it?” He teases, “I don’t know what to tell you doll, I can’t stop until you’re ready. So you’re just going to have to take it.”

The finality of it makes you clench your teeth. Now that he’s standing you can see the clear outline of his cock tenting his pants. You reach forward with haste to unbuckle his pants, this time he allows it as he slips a third finger in. The stretch makes you grapple at his arms for leverage. For a moment he just stands there with his pants undone as you catch your breath. He loves the affect his fingers and mouth are having on you, already imagining future ways he could be better.

With one last deep breath you straighten up again, widening your legs a bit more as you pull him forward by ends of his pants. With unrestricted access, you slide your hand across his boxers, feeling along the covered length. Dante huffs, his hand gripping your thigh at the sensation.

His movements stutter when your fingers pinch softly around the former wet patch on his underwear. The off guard hiss, drives you forward with confidence. You slip your hand underneath and form a tight grip around his cock. His hips twitch forward, fingers withdrawing altogether from your hole to grip your thigh. You can feel the wetness of his fingers through your stockings, as you start to stroke your hand up and down.

Dante mutters words of praise at just about anything you do, every twist, squeeze, and pinch is met with a resounding yes, keep going. As long as your hands are on him, he’s coming undone. He’s near desperate when your fingers circle tightly around the head of his cock, milking every bit of pre-cum he’s capable of without blowing his load altogether.

When you pull his cock out, he hisses as the cool air brushes against sensitive skin. All you can think about is how wet your fingers are starting to get.

“Feel okay, sweetheart?” You whisper with faux concern, the mischievous smile on your face gives your facade up instantly, this is about revenge.

Dante groans, feeling a tad bit helpless—dream scenario to him—under your touch. His hand goes towards your skirt but you slap his hand away before he can retreat under, “Nuh-uh,” you tease, “Not yet,”

He huffs and places it back on your thigh, to accomodate his weight he leans his forehead against yours. Both of you are now watching as you stroke his cock leisurely.

“I will fucking cum like this,” he admits shamelessly.

You smile, “And disappoint me? I thought you were better than that,”

He sighs, cock twitching at the tight upstroke of your hand, “I’m only a man, darling, when are you going to learn that?”

His hands grip harder and drag your legs around his waist. Both of his hands and your free one are resting on the desk behind you for balance. He kisses you hastily, catching you off guard. It’s needy, and desperate, and deep. His tongue dominates your mouth in a sweep causing your hand to pause its movements. With clumsy eagerness you tug him forward until you can feel the head of his cock slide through the slick of your inner thighs, next to your entrance.

Dante bows his head his desperation, his hands grip your hips and tug you forward until you can both feel him slide up and down the wetness.

“Fuck,” you gasp as your clit is rubbed against. You can’t help but wriggle your hips, the sensation is numbing.

“Stop,” he pants, forcing your hips to still with a bruising grip, “Stop moving.”

You twitch impatiently but Dante’s not letting you go anywhere. After a moment of recollection, he shuffles back and removes your hand to replace it with his own. You watch, entranced, as he glides forward. His hands push your skirt up to your hips so he has an unobstructed view as he sinks in.

It’s maddening, how full you feel. The office is quiet save for the panting as you both catch your breath. Dante leads a trail of kisses across your chest as you settle.

“Okay?” He asks gently.

You exhale raggedly, “You’re fucking massive,”

Dante quirks an eyebrow, a satisfied smile on his face. You slap his chest, “Don’t look so happy about it,”

“Is my massive cock an issue?” He asks.

You shake your head incredulously, “Just move,”

“Yes ma’am.”

The first thrust is uncomfortable as you clench tightly around him, but he takes such care as he opens you up nice and slow. The shallow thrusts start to become not enough, more, you demand, and well, Dante is nothing but a follower for you.

He notes what you like most and by the end of it he has you. Fingers are curled in his hair, teeth marks against his bare shoulder from the just right, timing of his thrusts, and your legs trembling around his waist. When you think this is it, the tense curl of your lower stomach is about to snap, his fingers reach to rub against your clit.

“Fuck!” You cry, just hanging on at this point, your fingers tighten against his hair and shoulder as you press closer against his chest, “Too much,”

Dante hums, fraying at the edges himself but just a little more intact than you to keep it together, “Nah, you can take it my love, can’t you?”

He hasn’t called you that since the mission you went on together and it makes you sob, “Fuck, Dante, please,”

Who is he to say no to his girl?

He thrusts in deep, just as you like, and circles your clit faster until you’re clenching and trembling around him. He would give up a lot to see your face right now, but he settles on next time, as he pulls out to cum on your thigh.

He’s satisfied at the mess he’s made on your stockings, a deep fulfilment flooding his chest as he rubs it in with his thumb. You can only look down from his shoulder dazed and mildly disgusted at the mess he’s making.

“You fucking creep,” you mutter.

He tilts your head back, admiring your flushed face and tear stricken cheeks. Your lips twist as he rubs his dirty thumb against your bottom lip, forcing it in your mouth.

“Shh,” he coos pressing his thumb against your thumb to silence your annoyed protest, “Stop acting like you don’t love it.”

You thought it impossible for your face to get anymore red but Dante chuckles. He had so much in store for you.