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meownotgood · 10 months

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under the influence / hayakawa aki

When Aki gets dragged to the most popular strip club in Tokyo in hopes it'll help him "de-stress", against all odds, you help him do just that. In return, he finally cures your itch for something more.

CHAPTER ONE — STRAWBERRY DAIQUIRI

pairing: hayakawa aki x fem!reader

word count: 34.0k

tags (for this chapter): 18+, aki is a virgin, reader is a stripper, drinking & smoking, strangers to lovers, lots and lots of plot, reader is shorter than aki, reader's had some bad experiences with men, pampering & comforting aki, body worship, dry humping, finger sucking, praise, the calm before the storm (the plot before the total filth)

masterlist.

read on ao3

this work contains explicit content intended for 18+ individuals. please read the tags and do not interact if you are a minor.

The club is awfully lively tonight. Colorful kaleidoscopes of light shine across the floor and the walls, they reflect off the sparkly clothing of the dancers on stage. There's guys drinking at the bar, smoking fat cigars, throwing wads of money, getting lap dances. Music pumps though the overhead speakers so loud you can feel the bass reverberate in your chest.

And yet you've never been so fucking bored.

You don't exactly hate your job. With how much money you make, you could never truly despise it; the privilege to both live well within your means and be able to buy whatever you want is all you could ask for out of a job like this one, really. This particular nightclub is located right in the center of the red light district, and it's known for being the most luxurious Tokyo has to offer, so the customers are plentiful and almost always loaded with cash.

Your manager is reasonable. He allows you to have frequent breaks, he gives you bonuses for every occasion. He never forces you to serve anyone you don't want to. Your coworkers are all kind, great people, and even though you aren't close, you know they'd all have no problem backing you up if you're ever in an uncomfortable situation.

It could be worse is what you always end up telling yourself. You say it in the morning when you're looking in the mirror and putting on your makeup, daydreaming about what it might be like to work in some cooped up office instead. You remind yourself that your day-to-day life could be so much worse than it's fortunate enough to be every time you read another article in the newspaper about the latest devil related slaughter in Tokyo. When you think of it that way, your stresses start to seem trivial in comparison.

There is one thing you can't stand about being a stripper, though, one thing you'll openly admit — and that's how goddamn uninteresting it is.

Dull would be a good way to put it. Lucrative, sure, but also incredibly, incredibly dull. Even on busy Saturdays like this, you find yourself completely worn out and bored to tears, already daydreaming of when you'll get to go home, even though the night has just begun.

Every day is the same story. Get dressed up, dance until your feet are cramping in your heels, deal with sleazy, drunk men all night, and then wake up to do it all over again. Your only reprieve is when you get to go home and count your money.

When you dropped out of school shortly after moving to Tokyo, this sort of experience was definitely not what you were expecting. You really should have stayed in your quiet little hometown, but you ended up listening to your heart instead of your head. You quickly had to shift your plans from living your dream city lifestyle to settling for whatever places happened to be hiring, which left you to choose between the Public Safety Commission or the stripclub.

Hey, this beats becoming a Devil Hunter, at least. You'd take a little boredom over having to risk your life every day just for a paycheck, or needing to make deals with slimy devils in order to get by.

Honestly, the more you've thought about it, the more you've realized that this job would simply be so much easier to deal with if the men weren't so damn insufferable. You've begun to learn rich doesn't exactly equal charitable, and that the men with the most funds to spare are usually the ones who tip the least, act the worst, and have no idea how to follow the rules.

The club is quite clear when it comes to its no-touch policy, but that doesn't seem to stop anyone from putting their hands on you. You're often grateful you're not one of the most popular performers, because although they tend to make the most money, they also have it the worst when it comes to the way they're treated. Nothing could ever be worth the things they have to deal with.

You've seen dancers have drinks thrown at them, you've watched them get stalked, you remember multiple instances where the night was cut short because the police were called. You've comforted several of your coworkers after they've run into the staff room crying because of something some asshole did to them.

And it's no secret a stupid amount of these men are coming here so they can get away from their girlfriends, their families, or even their wives. The thought alone is enough to make you sick to your stomach. How can those men have everything, the things most people in this shitty world don't get to have — happiness, love, wealth, a family — and yet they're still so unsatisfied?

"Hey, beautiful. Let me buy you a drink."

A sudden raspy, drunken voice coming from behind you rouses you from your thoughts.

You decide to ignore it for a second. And then two, and then three. Maybe they weren't talking to you; maybe whoever this guy is, he'll go away and leave you alone because clearly you're trying to enjoy your break by relaxing at the bar, and clearly you don't want to talk to him, so can he just —

"Hey," The man speaks again, louder, and closer to your ear this time. He's leaning over you, he's way too close for comfort. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, you can tell he's tipsy by the way his words start to slur and how they sound heavy on his tongue, "You've got ears, right? I'm trying to be nice here."

You give yourself a half a second longer to get composed before turning to him, sweetening up your tone and putting on your best fake smile.

"Sorry sir, I'm not supposed to talk to patrons when I'm on my break. The boss will get suuuuuuper mad at me if I do." You lift the drink you're holding, swirling the contents around in the glass. "Plus, I already have a drink, see?"

The man eyes you up and down, and for a moment you're worried he isn't going to leave you alone. But finally, thankfully, he stands up straight and walks away, muttering something to himself you don't hear all of because you've already stopped paying attention. "Ungrateful bitch," was the only thing you managed to catch before you started focusing on the peppy club music to drown him out.

If you didn't need this job, you'd have probably cussed that guy out. Hell, you would have started cussing out assholes like him months ago. You've been telling yourself this for ages but seriously, one of these days, your patience is going to wear thin, and whoever decides to go over the line that day is not going to like what they hear from you.

With a frustrated sigh, you roll your shoulders back, relieving some of the tension there, and you bring your glass to your lips, taking a small swig of your strawberry daiquiri. The chill from the ice hits your lips first; you taste the sweet strawberry syrup on your tongue, and when you swallow, the tart rum lingers satisfyingly in the back of your throat.

You usually don't drink at work as a personal preference but it's hard to avoid when you've been super on edge tonight. These days, you feel as if everything has your mind way more frazzled than usual. You were hoping a drink or two would help to settle your nerves. And while it does provide you a nice distraction from the chaos, the alcohol is yet to hit your system, so your swigs are doing little for your current situation.

You're in for a long night, aren't you?

Thankfully, you've still got a while left to relax and enjoy your break, but something tells you you're gonna have to savor your alone-time while you can.

You're working 'til close tonight, which means you won't finish your shift until around 2am, you won't get home until 3, and when you glance up at the neon clock on the wall — the one you always know the exact location of because you spend ages staring at it on every single shift you work — you can tell it's only a few minutes past 10pm.

You absently swirl the remaining contents of your drink around the glass. You'll get through the night, you always do. You don't have any doubts. It's just that the thought of how long you still have to be here is enough to totally kill your appetite.

Oh, whatever. If you want to see the end of this shift as soon as possible, you're gonna need something to take the edge off. So, reluctantly, you screw your eyes shut tight and tip your head back to down the rest of your drink. Luckily for you, you place the empty glass on the counter right as the bartender is walking over. You waste no time ordering yourself another one of the same.

While you're waiting for your drink, you drum your fingers against the surface of the bar and glance around the club. It's still just as busy as it was when you first sat down, unfortunately. It looks as though nearly every booth close to the stripper poles is filled, and most of the ones further away are busy as well. Some groups of men are crowded around the furthest seats to play cards and place bets. You observe the stages, the tables, the columns of neon light cast by a prominent, shiny disco ball. Everything seems to be as usual, but one sight catches your eye and keeps your attention.

It's your boss, who's currently standing at the front entrance, personally greeting two men who have just walked in. They both flash their IDs at the security guards, and once they've stepped all the way inside, your boss stops them and begins to speak to them.

You can hear a friendly, hearty sort of inflection in his voice, but what he's actually saying is difficult to pick up over the loud music. Surely he's starting by repeating the same script he always does: Welcome to Kon Kon Nightclub, the highest-rated club in all of Tokyo! Let us know how we can best please you tonight, boys!

These guys are a little different from the usual crowd, though. They're special, hence why your boss is lingering for longer than he has to. It's easy to tell who they are and why they're so important from the uniform they're wearing: a collared shirt, professional-looking slacks, and a crisp, neat suit and tie.

You've seen this uniform countless times before, whether it be on the news, in the streets, or during your own job — You've been told, "Hey, Public Safety guys. Look alive, and make sure to treat them real nicely," more times than you can count.

Everyone in Tokyo could recognize a pair of devil hunters from a mile away, but especially you and especially, especially your boss.

Simply put, your boss tends to give men from the Public Safety commission special treatment. They're the most consistent customers, usually showing up in order to de-stress from one mission, or to forget about the strife of another. The boss makes certain they're pampered to keep them coming back.

That, and they tend to pay handsomely. Yes, a devil hunter's salary is nothing to scoff at, but most of the time, the reason why they're so frivolous with their cash is because they tend to spend like it's the end of the world — and when you come face to face with the very real possibility of death on a day-to-day basis, for them, it very well could be.

It makes sense why they choose to come here, you suppose. Hunting devils for a living takes a massive strain on someone; you know this to be true from all the hunters you've seen and spoken to. A job like that is rough on your mentality, on your physical well-being. A lot of devil hunters don't form long lasting relationships because they're so busy, but you figure it's also because, to put it bluntly, people don't want to date someone who could be here one day and gone the next.

Not like you can really blame them. You wouldn't get involved with a devil hunter either.

Devil hunters show up so they can relax, so they can get their mind off things and pretend to be normal for a while. A sense of normalcy goes a long way for a job so rotten. You would know, you've dealt with your fair share of men from Public Safety, mostly because the days they have off usually align with the days you work. But to be honest, you don't mind them.

Although you've certainly met a good few devil hunters who are stuck-up and self-righteous, most of them are nothing more than troubled people. They're scared, they're lonely, they aren't used to talking to women. They want a pretty girl's love and attention, they just don't know how to ask for it.

Most of them are good men, albeit a bit misguided. Some of them are crazy. Though, with a job like that, who wouldn't be? Hell, at least when they act depraved, they have an excuse, unlike the rest of the guys who walk in here.

And since the vast majority of devil hunters who come here are regulars, you were able to recognize one of the men your boss is currently talking to the second you saw him.

Dyed blonde hair because he doesn't want anyone to see his grays, a messy scruff you'd hardly call a beard, and a scar on his face you could recognize anywhere; Kishibe comes here every single weekend, so if you didn't see him, then it would be a cause for concern. The only time he isn't here to drink beer from the tap and relentlessly flirt with all of the performers is when he's got devils to kill.

Surprisingly, you'd have to say he's one of the regulars you hate the least. He's kind of sleazy, a little off his rocker, but he's a good guy. He's never rude, and he doesn't tend to bring rude men along with him, either. There's performers he favors much more than you, though, so it's not often where you end up having to service him.

Either way, you're much more interested in the man who's accompanying Mister Kishibe tonight. You're certain he's someone you've never seen before; when it comes to your patrons of the devil hunter variety, you never forget a face — and you definitely wouldn't forget such a unique hairstyle.

The man has his dark hair tied up in a neat, pointy topknot, showing off the pair of distinct, black circle-shaped earrings that adorn his lobes. He's tall, nearly taller than Kishibe. He's clearly much younger though; your guess is early twenties, maybe twenty-two, twenty-four? And in your opinion, he has a handsome face, a sharp jawline with pretty features.

He's maintained a nice, straight posture, with his arms held uniformly around his back, and a blank, serious expression since you first started watching. But from the way he keeps nervously glancing around, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his shoulders tensed up: it's clear to tell he's getting increasingly uncomfortable.

Mister Kishibe says something to your boss you're unable to make out before slinging his arm over Mister Topknot, to which your boss bursts out laughing, and Topknot immediately has an absolutely mortified look forming on his face which he tries to hide by averting his eyes and awkwardly clearing his throat.

Yeah, there's no way this man has been here before. He arrived less than five minutes ago and he already looks like he wants to leave.

It must be his first time coming to a place like this, you assume. His reserved demeanor is enough to tell you all you need to know, but honestly, he just doesn't really look like the clubbing type. Kishibe looks the part, for sure. But this man, with his stiff posture and out-of-place attitude — he's like a fish out of water. He's the type who seems like he'd rather stay in on a Saturday night, not go out and party, and certainly not go and hit up a sweaty, busy strip club.

You've seen this same story countless times before. If you had to guess, this wasn't what he wanted to do, but he ended up getting talked into it, or perhaps even got dragged here against his will, all by his annoying, sleazy coworker. Now, he's got to deal with being uncomfortable for the rest of the night, all while pretending to act completely fine.

You can't help but find his plight a little bit cute.

Kishibe gives the man a firm pat on the back before walking away from the entrance and into the busy club, to which he's swarmed almost immediately by a group of three strippers; one grabs his arm and ushers him to sit down at the nearest booth, one takes his coat from his shoulders and holds it like a souvenir, and the other sits down next to him, crossing her legs and placing her hand on his thigh, leaning in to whisper something into his ear with a coy expression on her face.

As ridiculous as it is, you wouldn't consider their behavior to be at all out of place considering how popular Kishibe is among the women here. He's simple, easy to get along with. Or maybe it's just because of how generously he likes to tip. If you had more patience, and if the usual men who came in here were anywhere near as tolerable as Kishibe, you'd be spoiling them to high heaven too. But right now, you don't care about any of them.

You bring your attention back to where the newcomer guy is still standing awkwardly at the entryway. You're much more interested in what his next move is gonna be.

Your boss places his hand on Topknot's shoulder, giving him a curt nod before walking away. The man stands there for a second, you watch him shove his hands in his pockets and glance over to where Kishibe is currently knee-deep in women, as if he's considering catching up with him. In the end, his chest heaves like he's sighing, he looks towards the bar, and — Oh, he's coming over here.

You turn towards your drink as quickly as you can before he can catch you staring at him. He approaches the bar; you feel your heart leap into your throat when he chooses to stand right next to your stool, and wow, he's way taller up close. His shoulders are broad, his chest fills out his suit. When you manage to steal glances at him, silently praying he won't notice but daring to take the risk anyways, you conclude he's even more handsome than you thought, too.

His face is framed by long, straight bangs, his eyebrows are short and thick, his eyes are a deep, alluring shade of blue, like the sky after rain. The colorful lights from the nearby stages reflect in the shiny metal of his earrings. He reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet and his hands are large, his knuckles bruised, his palms calloused. A defined Adam's apple bobs in his throat when he calls over the bartender —

"Excuse me. What do you have on tap?"

And his voice is low, silky smooth; only a couple of words, and you feel like you could listen to him speak forever.

You're nosy when he pulls his ID from his wallet, placing it on the counter and sliding it over to the bartender with his index finger. With your eyes squinted, you're just barely able to catch the name printed on it before the bartender picks it up: Hayakawa Aki.

Aki is careful to slide his ID into his wallet exactly where it was when it's handed back to him, and then he quickly shoves his wallet back into his pocket. He leans his arms over the bar counter while he waits for his beer, resting his chin on the heel of his palm.

You notice how the buttons of his suit jacket are clasped neatly around his chest, and how his collar is folded exactly, neither side longer than the other. And how his tie is tight and straight and orderly, how it's tucked into his jacket nicely — It's a stark contrast to how Kishibe looked when he walked in, with his jacket already undone, his collar ruffled, and his tie loose, stuck haphazardly into his shirt pocket.

You wager Aki is a lot more professional than his buddy, a lot more uptight. A lot less crazy. That'll get you killed, you can hear Kishibe saying in your head, after he's gone on another one of his unprompted ramblings about devil hunting. Aki is a lot more cognizant of his reputation — and thus, a lot more ashamed than most to be coming to a place like this.

Aki's gaze wanders over the array of drinks in the back of the bar: the short bottles, long bottles, drinks with colorful labels and brands he doesn't recognize, but seem incredibly expensive. And then, he looks towards you.

Your eyes meet his own briefly, for no more than a half a second; you tear yourself away and turn back towards your drink like it was just a coincidence.

You have no idea whether or not he noticed you staring, but thankfully, the creeping sense of awkwardness you were starting to feel quickly fades away as the bartender arrives with a frothy glass of beer, remarking something about the tab before setting it down on the counter. Aki takes it by the handle, but as he's turning to leave, his shoulder accidentally bumps yours just slightly.

It isn't enough to spill your drink, or really enough to displace you at all, but it is enough for Aki to swiftly turn to you and apologize for his mistake.

"Oh," Aki meets your eyes for the second time tonight. There's an apologetic, sincere expression on his face, and he politely says with a nod of his head, "I'm sorry, excuse me."

By the time you've turned to reply to him, to say something like, Oh, it's alright, or It's okay, hey, you're new here, aren't you? he's already gone, disappearing into the crowd of patrons and the swirls of neon lights.

Shit.

You turn towards your drink once more, except this time, instead of patiently nursing it like you've been doing for the past few minutes, you tilt your head back and down the entire thing in a couple of gulps and a few seconds. You set the empty glass on the table, you shift off of your bar seat before the bartender can convince you to stay for another, you pull on the bottom of your outfit to adjust it once you're up and standing.

You have to find him.

The club is rather large, but you've long since memorized the layout, so you know the spots where people like to hang out. Based on what you've seen of Aki so far, if he's not with Kishibe, it's likely he'll be in one of the far corners, in a seat that's furthest from the stages, the performers, and the noise. In the spot least likely to get him into trouble.

So, you walk through the club, in search of the man with the signature topknot. You check Kishibe's usual seat first; he's kicked his feet up on the table in front of him, he's got a cocktail with a paper umbrella sticking out of it in hand and he's crowded by even more women than when he got here — but the person you're looking for is nowhere in sight.

You head towards the back of the club next. Your eyes scan the booths, the tables, even the sidelines where he could possibly be standing. At one point, a guy sitting on one of the front couches — a guy who's definitely not Aki — crooks his finger at you and whistles like he's asking you to come over. You ignore him completely, rushing past without even bothering to spare him a second glance.

God, you're not a fucking dog, and besides, you've got better things to do right now. Better men to talk to.

Finally, you reach the very last booth in the back of the club, and that's when you see him: Aki Hayakawa, sitting in the dimly lit corner by his lonesome, his long legs crossed over each other as he sips from his half-drank glass of beer. His foot is tapping the floor nervously, his eyes are looking everywhere but the stripper poles, and when you start to walk closer, when it's obvious you're deliberately heading in his direction, his gaze catches on you.

You see him do a literal double-take, and you can't decide if it's because he recognized you from earlier, or if it's because of the outfit you're wearing. When he scans you up and down, and when his face grows flushed, his eyes wide, his lips parted in surprise, you start to lean towards the answer being the latter.

You have on one of your usual dancing outfits: a strappy blue one-piece, with sheer black thigh highs and sparkly, blue high heels. Fancy, not unlike what the rest of the dancers are wearing, but certainly something special. The dress has windows on your hips and a window on your chest, it hugs your form tightly, accentuating your shape in all the right places.

It's your boss's favorite, what he'd affectionately refer to as your "big-money outfit", or what your patrons might call a showstopper — Aki probably couldn't see it well when you were sitting down at the dingy bar, but now, when you're standing directly in the bright, fluorescent lights meant to show off the sparkle of an outfit like this one, you're sure he can see everything.

When you reach Aki's booth, he promptly averts his eyes away from you. You almost expect him to tell you off, or to make some excuse to get you to leave. But if he was going to, you start speaking to him before he can get the chance: "Hey, can I sit next to you?"

That question gets his attention. He quickly glances up at you. He eyes you up, and then down, and then back up again, slower than when he scanned you before. His mouth opens for a second, but then immediately closes, like there's something he wanted to say but inevitably decided not to. Finally, with a defeated sigh and an unsure expression still lingering on his face, Aki nods his head and uncrosses his legs, scooching to the side to give you room to squeeze into the booth next to him.

You smile. "Thanks."

You fold your hands neatly in your lap, sitting a foot or so away from where he's positioned. Aki has his head turned in the complete opposite direction, looking at something or other in the distance and leaving you to stare at the back of his ponytail.

You've provided plenty of space between him and yourself so you won't make him too uncomfortable. But still, once you get settled in, Aki seems to stiffen a little: his legs fidget, and his knuckles tense when he grips the handle of his glass noticeably harder than before.

To reassure him, you continue, tone soft and lighthearted, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna do anything. I'm on my break. I just needed a place to sit."

Aki doesn't seem to acknowledge you, but from the way he slowly begins to relax again, leaning further into the plush booth, turning his head in order to look at you from the corner of his eye, it seems like your words were able to put him at ease, if only by a bit.

For a few moments, he looks down, staring idly into the contents of his drink. Then, he looks up, his gaze locked on something towards the front of the club. The sight makes his nose crinkle in displeasure, so he keeps staring for only a second longer before looking back down at the table again.

Whatever he was looking at, you would've been interested to know. Maybe it was one of the dancers who he disapproved of, or maybe a patron was acting unruly. It doesn't matter, though. Either way, you have no idea, because all the while, you've been unable to take your eyes away from him.

This dim section of the club casts his features in columns of shadow and pockets of light. You can see every little detail of his so much clearer. It's the closest you've been to him yet, and the proximity somehow makes him look even more handsome. You're close enough to smell the slight, but unmistakable scent of smoke clinging to him. You get the faintest hint of his cologne: pleasant and fancy and an absolute delight to all of your senses. He smells like salty ocean waves breaking against the shore, like the crisp fluttery pages of an unopened book.

You rest your elbow on the table and your face in your hand. Despite your obvious staring, Aki still seems to be paying you no mind; he closes his eyes and takes a long drink of beer from his glass. A tiny bit of white foam clings to the top of his lip and he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

"Is this your first time coming to a place like this?" You ask with an eyebrow raised, breaking the silence.

Aki glances towards you, his eyes wide, like he fully wasn't expecting you to speak. He's silent for a moment, either pondering how to answer the question, or deciding if you were even talking to him in the first place. The way you're expectantly staring at him tells him you probably were.

"Ah, uhm," He raises his fist to his mouth and clears his throat, he replies a little awkwardly, "Yes, it is. How could you tell?"

The nightclub's music is much quieter here. The sound is reduced to a dull hum where you can only make out the thump of the bass. The noise from people talking, cheering, or drunkenly shouting is a lot less loud from over here, too. It makes it a lot easier to hear his voice, to focus on him and only him.

"Hm, well you seemed awfully uncomfortable from the moment you walked in," You answer honestly with a slight tilt of your head, "And that usually means you're new."

For a second more, Aki stares at you curiously from the corner of his vision, but he doesn't reply — Instead, he breaks eye contact to calmly set down his glass of beer and reach into the pocket of his jacket. He's fishing around for something, and when he finds it, he's pulling out a familiar carton of cigarettes and gently tapping the bottom with his palm until one pops out.

The box is a distinct shade of sky-blue. You immediately recognize the brand: Wild Raven Lights. It isn't the most popular brand in Tokyo, nor is it what you see the guys who usually come here smoking; that would be cigars, or cigarettes with a hell of a lot more nicotine. But it is the kind you preferred. The brand you used to smoke before you started trying to wean yourself off of them.

You watch as a thin white cigarette is placed between his teeth, he shoves the packet of cigs back into his pocket and this time, pulls out a small silver zippo lighter. He flicks the top open, he shields the lighter with his palm. His thumb settles on the wheel, but before he strikes it, he freezes.

With the cigarette still held in his lips, Aki takes a quick glance towards you.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

You flash him a soft smile and reply, "Nope. Go ahead."

Aki brings his focus back to his cig. With one firm strike of the wheel, the lighter produces a steady flame over the end of the cigarette, flaring it to life. When it starts to burn, he flicks the lighter closed and returns it to his pocket; his eyes flutter shut and his fingers hold the cigarette carefully as he takes a nice, long drag in.

You can imagine how the smoke settles in his chest when he inhales, how the nicotine feels when it hits his veins, the sense of relief he gets when he tilts his head up and blows a thick puff of smoke up towards the ceiling — Just watching him makes you feel relaxed, as if you'd taken a hit yourself. Aki didn't really strike you as a smoker when you first saw him, but he handles his cigarette like a natural.

"You smoke Wild Raven Lights?"

Your question gets Aki's attention. He reaches over the table, he pinches the rim of the ashtray in the middle and tugs it closer. He leans his cigarette over it, and he taps the end to scatter the ashes.

"Yeah." He replies simply. Smoke wisps up from the end of the cig, and it flares with light when Aki takes another deep hit.

"I used to smoke those too." You drum your fingers against the table, and you look away from him for a while to glance around the busy club. "The lights are so much better than the regular ones. Those made me feel nauseous."

There's people all around, dancers and patrons alike. You spot your boss in the crowd for a half-second and briefly wonder if he's looking for you. Your break was supposed to be over soon, wasn't it? The bar seats have all filled up, almost every couch and chair is crowded. And yet, when you're here in this quiet little corner in the back of the club, it feels like you and Aki are the only people who exist.

You like that feeling. You like how it's just you and it's just him.

Aki gives a slight nod in agreement to what you said, puffing another cloud of smoke. More people are funneling in from the entrance. The music grows louder and the lights begin to dim as a few dancers take center stage.

"Hey."

He draws your focus back to him. Meeting your eyes as effortlessly as if it was natural, he gestures his cigarette held between two of his fingers towards you. "Do you want one?"

"Oh, no, no," You answer, raising your hands and shaking your head, "The boss doesn't let us smoke on the job. Plus I've been trying to quit. Thank you, though."

Aki shrugs. He brings his cigarette to his parted lips, his voice is quiet, genuine.

"Just tell me if the smoke starts to get to you."

You've known Aki Hayakawa for all but five minutes, and he's already treated you kinder than any man you've known before him.

Most customers don't have the time or the care for small talk, that's something you learned pretty early on; if they weren't shifting the conversation to something more appealing to them, they definitely would have badgered you for a lap dance by now.

They wouldn't be keeping their hands to themselves like this, they wouldn't be affording you respect. They wouldn't have asked you if it was okay to smoke, either. They wouldn't be tilting their head to the side to blow their smoke away from you like Aki's doing. No, they'd be puffing it right in your face without a second thought. Even the nicest of the men you've met were still completely oblivious.

If Aki Hayakawa was anyone else, if he was anything like the men you're used to meeting, the men you've always despised, perhaps you would have stood up and left a long time ago. No, you definitely would have. There's no amount of mysteriousness or intrigue or amount of your own unbearable boredom that would have made you willingly stay and accompany the usual kind of patron on your precious break time.

You followed him because you thought he was interesting, because you thought he was handsome, even. You're well aware of the dwindling minutes left in your break by this point. If he was like the others, you would have walked away and gone back to working and found someone else to service who's closer to the crowd so your coworkers can keep an eye on you.

But he's not. He isn't. He isn't rude, he isn't debauched. He's kind and quiet and dammit, it's refreshing to finally meet a man who doesn't look at you the way everyone else does — like an object to be won, like something to be devoured. Aki treats you like you're human.

You could leave. You're getting ahead of yourself right now, definitely. You can't help but trust him though; you have a good sense for these sorts of things, and Aki simply doesn't feel like a bad person, not in the slightest. Yeah, you hardly know him. And that's the problem, you want to know him.

You aren't getting up from this spot any time soon.

"You know," You start, your eyes flickering over him; you examine his professional, straight posture, you can see the slightest prickle of nervousness in his gaze. "You don't have to be so shy. I know this is a lot, this environment, I mean. It's probably overwhelming, maybe a little embarrassing, too. But there's nothing to be ashamed of. It's our job to take care of you. You can relax."

Aki snaps back an immediate response, his tone blunt, his words humorless: "I can't."

He's a man of few words, you've noticed. But that was still far from anything you expected him to say. He takes you a bit off guard, and you can't help but giggle at how serious he sounds.

You're speaking through a smile when you ask, "You can't relax? Why's that?"

"I can't relax when I have to watch…" The bridge of Aki's nose wrinkles up in disgust, his lips curl and his eyebrows furrow. Cigarette still held between his fingers, he points to a place in the distance — "That."

You sit up straight in your seat, you follow Aki's stare and the point of his finger. Honestly, you figured you knew what he'd be talking about before you looked, and sure enough, his gaze leads right to none other than his coworker, Kishibe. The sight is somehow even more ridiculous than the last time you saw it.

There's one girl tenderly massaging his shoulders, another sitting next to him with her fingers hooked in the loops of his belt, and another who's hand-feeding him horderves. The part that really gets you is these aren't the same girls you remember seeing earlier — It's a totally different group.

Kishibe looks like he's having the time of his life, but when you turn back to Aki, the irritated expression on his face says it all.

You chuckle, "Yeah, it's pretty absurd, isn't it? Kishibe is super popular with the girls here."

Aki turns to you in surprise. "You know him?"

"Of course. He's here super often, you know. Every weekend actually, either to fill up on alcohol or to flirt with girls. He's one of our regulars."

"Figures." Aki scoffs. His eyes narrow, and he absently fiddles with his half-smoked cigarette between his fingers. He brings it to his lips, and he finishes speaking before taking another drag. "I'm not surprised. At least he isn't making me pay his tab this time."

"He seems like the type, doesn't he?"

You pause while Aki steadily breathes out another puff of smoke. God, the scent is intoxicating. When his eyes flutter open again, meeting yours, you swallow, and you continue.

"He's a good guy, though. At least, compared to some of our other customers. I understand why most of the girls here are desperate for him."

Point-blank and curt, Aki asks, "Are you desperate for him?"

You? Desperate for Kishibe?

Now that response gives you a full-blown laugh. The way he said it didn't sound like jealousy, or like envy, or even like anger. More like utter confusion. As if he doesn't understand how anyone could act so obsessed, especially towards a man like Kishibe.

Or maybe he doesn't get how Kishibe could let those women obsess over and pamper him, especially women he hardly knows. He thinks it's suffocating, or stupid, or both, actually.

"Ah, no, not really," You clear your throat as your laughter starts to fade, and Aki stares at you with a neutral expression. You shrug, "He's alright, I guess. Not rude or anything like most guys are. I don't hate him. I just think he's kind of… I can't think of a nice way to put it."

"A drunkard."

"Hah, yes. A drunkard." You agree with a playful roll of your eyes, "But it's not like I haven't seen worse. That's why I can't totally despise him, you know? Seriously, you wouldn't believe the pigs we have to deal with on a regular basis. Kishibe's tame compared to those men."

"No, I believe it." Aki exhales one final cloud of smoke before stamping out the butt of his spent cigarette into the ashtray. He grinds it down, almost in an angry sort of manner. "They're all disgusting. The men from the third division are always coming here, and I can't stand any of them. The way they talk makes me sick."

There's a second of silence. Then another. You can feel each one in your heart. Aki looks towards you. He meets your eyes, his voice takes on a much softer, much gentler tone. "I'm sorry you have to deal with people like that. It's draining, I'm sure."

"Oh," You're caught by surprise for a moment, but you shake your head and offer him a reassuring smile. "It's alright. Don't apologize. I'm the one who chose to work here, after all."

Aki takes another swig of his beer without breaking eye contact with you.

"And besides," You continue, "It's not all bad. The pay is good. You get free food and drinks, can't complain about that. And…" You rest your head on your arms, you peer up at him through your lashes. "I suppose not all the men who come here are horrible."

"Yeah?" Aki crosses his arms over his chest, and he leans back, listening closely to you as you continue. Utterly clueless.

"Mhmm. A lot of them are irritating, sure, but most of them are just lonely. Some men come here because they're married or dating someone, and they've become unsatisfied in the relationship — Those guys are always the worst. And some of them come only 'cause they've got money to blow and want a pretty girl to throw it at."

You pause, considering, placing a finger to your chin in an exaggerated thinking pose. "I think… Kishibe is the third type. He's got no shortage of money to burn, that's for sure. And you're probably the first kind. The kind of guy who's just lonely."

Aki squints his eyes. "Are you serious?"

You snort, "Hey, I didn't mean it in a bad way. I think most devil hunters are lonely, that's why guys from Public Safety are always showing up here. But unlike those guys, you seem like you actually know how to treat a woman."

Aki stays quiet for a couple of long, drawn-out seconds. His expression is completely impossible to read. The silence allows you to hear the song that's playing on the speakers, and you recognize it as one you've heard at least a million times on your various shifts. In the corner of your eye, you can see the dancers drawing large crowds around the stages, the lights flickering in colorful hues.

You decide to break the silence. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to make a bunch of assumptions about you right away."

Finally, Aki sighs, and he answers, "Just don't get the wrong idea about me. I'm not someone who would come to a place like this, and I don't want to be associated with everyone who does. I didn't want to come here in the first place. Mister Kishibe dragged me."

"Oh, so it's like that, huh?" You smirk. You knew it, but you still force an air of confusion into your tone. "Why'd he take you here, then? Is it your birthday or something?"

"Pfft. No, it's not. He made me come with him tonight because he said it would help me relax since work's been stressful lately. But…"

Aki trails off. His expression changes, it morphs into something like exasperation. Where his arms are still crossed tightly around his chest, you can see his hand start to clench a little.

"But being here just makes me feel more stressed."

Your heart pangs. You lower your voice by a couple of volumes when you speak next.

"I see. I get it. This place isn't for everyone, that's for sure. It's mean to force you along. You'd much rather be relaxing by yourself at home, huh?"

Aki exhales a particularly heavy breath, but he doesn't respond. He just listens to you speak.

"You don't deserve any extra stress, I'm sure you go through so much already. I can't even imagine the kind of things you see on the job, it must take such a toll on you…" You shake your head. "I keep up with the news when I have time, and I've seen all the stuff about devil attacks that've been happening lately. They can try to hide it all they want but either way, it's always all anyone can talk about."

"Devils have been becoming more and more frequent and even more dangerous with no kind of warning." Aki's eyebrows furrow into a knot, he speaks sharply through gritted teeth. "So many people could die and… And no-one else is taking it seriously. The more the news puts out those programs, the more scared people become, and then, the worse the devils get."

He swallows thickly to combat the dryness in his throat. "There must be a reason for all of this. Impossibly strong devils don't just appear out of the blue. Something or someone is causing it, and before it's too late, we need to… I've got to…"

He doesn't manage to finish his sentence. Still, you're surprised. You weren't expecting him to be so talkative. Aki has a complicated, solemn sort of look on his face, his gaze dark and clouded.

I've got to. The way he says it is like if anything happens, if people die or if something goes awry, it'll be him who's responsible. Like this is all a heavy burden he alone has to carry, whether it's by choice or by circumstance.

He's acting like he can do it, he's pretending none of this bothers him and everything is fine even though it clearly isn't. He's scared. You know he's scared, because he's already fishing around in his pocket for another cigarette — in the same way you remember doing when you felt like your own stress would eat you alive. His knee is bouncing with anxiety, his hands are shaking so much it's making lining up his lighter with the end of the cig and striking it damn near impossible.

You could have been in his shoes. It could have been you who had to fight devils and put your life on the line. But instead, it's a man who's way too kindhearted for his own good.

"Here. Gimme."

Before Aki can protest, you're leaning over the table and snatching the lighter from his clenched hand. He lets go without a fight, he turns towards you, holds still like he's frozen. Cigarette between his teeth, his eyes scan your face, gaze unreadable. You lift the lighter, you strike the wheel and bring a steady flame to his cigarette in one fluid, practiced motion.

Sparks flicker from the end once you've lit it. Smoke wafts up towards the ceiling, the smell of fire and ash once again come to tickle at your lungs. You set his lighter back on the table. Aki glances at you one more time before he takes it.

You've shifted a bit closer to him. As he's fumbling to shove his lighter back in his jacket pocket, he doesn't seem to notice — That is, until ever-so slightly, your knee touches his.

Clearly it wasn't a coincidence, because you aren't pulling away, you aren't moving. You meant to sit this close to him. You're barely even touching, really. But the little bit of contact, just the tiniest bit of closeness: it brings him back to reality, like a rippling pool of water finally becoming still.

Aki fiddles with the cigarette in his mouth. He gives up on taking a puff, snatching it from his lips and holding it between two fingers. He rests his elbows on the table, he exhales a long, wavering breath. Your knee touching his is enough to stop him from shaking.

"Hey." You speak quietly, calmly. You keep your hands folded in your lap and you lean a little bit closer to him so he can hear you better, so he'll be the only one to hear your voice. "Are you alright?"

Aki glances up towards you hurriedly; his expression softens, he gives you a shallow nod of his head.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me." He answers, and he rolls his shoulders back to relieve some of the tension. "I'm just… I'm…"

You complete his sentence: "Stressed?"

"Yes, stressed. Stressed and tired." Aki replies. He reaches for the ashtray, and he stamps his cigarette out without ever taking a single hit.

"It's hard on you, isn't it? You must be sick of this."

"I'm sick and tired of everything. Of watching people die and not- and just-"

It's then, with his voice quiet and frail and about to shatter, with the music loud and the lights shimmering in gradients of blue, purple, and white — It's then where you see him start to crack.

Aki sighs deeply, his arms shake and he puts his head in his hands. His body curls in on itself, like a turtle withdrawing into its shell. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here. Like he wants to disappear.

"Sorry, why am I telling you this?" His voice is muffled by his hands, "I've said too much."

You manage to huff a dry laugh. "It's okay. You've had a lot on your mind, huh? You gotta get that stuff out of your system somehow. Don't worry about it."

When he doesn't respond, just keeps on breathing deep and slow, you continue talking, your voice reassuring: "You have to deal with so many things, don't you? It's hard to keep all of your stress inside, it'll start to eat away at you. Sounds like you've needed to tell someone all of that for a long while."

After a few long moments leave you wondering if he even heard you or not, Aki finally pulls his face away from his hands. He sits up and leans back in exasperation, he rubs his pinched temple with his fingers.

"I guess so." He replies simply, plainly.

You hesitate. "Listen, this is kind of stupid, and I know you don't know me very well, but… I'm glad I could be here for you. I'm glad you felt like you could open up to me, I suppose. I don't really understand what it's like to be a devil hunter. But I can try to. You can talk to me about anything. Promise."

Aki drops his hands into his lap, he stares aimlessly at the ceiling. "I appreciate it, but I think I'd rather not talk about it anymore. I'll be fine."

You're not sure if he's telling the truth, or if he's only saying that in order to quell your concerns for him.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" You ask, tilting your head at him. "If you want to go home, you can, y'know. Kishibe will be just fine without you. I'll tell him you weren't feeling well. Or you can stand outside, we've got a whole area for smoking and stuff. It's not as loud over there."

"I'm sure. I'll leave later. I want to order another drink."

Right on queue, Aki grips the handle of his beer, and he swiftly chugs what's left in the glass. Then, he sets it back down on the table with a sigh.

You stay silent, thinking to yourself. You rest your head in your palm and tap your finger against your cheek.

All this talk of drinks and finding somewhere quieter has given you the perfect idea.

"Hey, sir, can I ask what your name is?"

Aki glances towards you, and his response comes much quicker than you expected: "Aki Hayakawa."

You can't help but feel a slight smile start to tug at the corners of your cheeks. He introduced himself to you so willingly, and with his full name, too. How cute.

"Hm," You feign thinking for a moment, pressing your finger to your chin, and Aki stares at you curiously with an eyebrow raised. Then, you shake your head, concluding, "Nope, I haven't heard that one before. It's nice to meet you, Mister Hayakawa."

There's another pause as Aki crosses his arms over his chest, his foot tapping idly against the floor, and as you tell him your name. Your real name.

That's a first for you; you've always used a stage name when it comes to guys from the club, all the dancers do. It's something about wanting to keep your anonymity, and not wanting your real life associated with your club work. None of your patrons know what your real name is, and you've often gone to great lengths to keep them from finding out.

And yet, you've just told Aki without even thinking twice. You can't say you regret it. You genuinely don't think he'd do anything malicious, and after what he's told you, after how honest he's been, it wouldn't feel right to lie to him. Even about something so small.

"So, Hayakawa," You start, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere, "If you want, we've got private rooms in the back, I can show you to one. You can get away from the crowd and the noise. I don't know about you, but I've been dying to go somewhere quieter."

A tight knot forms in your gut at the mention of the club's private rooms, just at the implication of inviting someone — a man — back there. You're quick to flash Aki an innocent smile and push that feeling away.

Aki cocks an eyebrow and immediately counters, "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"Maybe."

Aki's face goes completely deadpan. You try to keep yourself from grinning only to see his reaction, but you're unable to hold back a wide, playful smile.

"Come on, I'm kidding," You tease, rolling your eyes, "I told you I was on break, didn't I?"

Aki glances away from you, and he goes silent, as if he's considering your offer. His gaze is caught on something in the distance again, and when you follow his line of vision, you see he's looking at none other than Kishibe, and at all of the women flocking around him.

You can see the contemplation on Aki's face, how it turns to annoyance, and then into pure disgust, his eyebrows scrunching, his eyes narrowing. It's clear he's getting sick of watching them, of even being around them.

You're certain by now he'll accept your proposal. Your heart flutters with anticipation, and just for good measure, you lean in closer, and you coo one last thing into the devil hunter's ear: I'll make you some drinks?

Those words seem to do the trick, because finally, Aki is uncrossing his arms and sitting up, he's looking towards you and replying, "Yeah. That'd be nice. I'd like to get away from here for a bit."

You smile. "I can arrange that."

You're wasting no time sliding out of the booth, fixing your bunched up dress as you stand and moving aside to allow Aki to follow close behind. He steps out of the booth, he rises to his feet, he stands up straight in front of you and shit, he's tall. So tall your heart is instantly thumping a mile a minute in your chest.

You knew he'd be much larger than you from when he first approached the bar, and you could tell he'd most likely tower over you from when he was standing next to Mister Kishibe and your boss: two men who are already leagues above you in height. But now that he's standing right next to you, the difference in size between him and yourself is much more noticeable. It leaves Aki to look down at where you are, and leaves you to crane your neck in order to peer up at him.

Aki reaches up to adjust his tie, pulling on the diamond until it's straight, and you clear your throat a little awkwardly, trying to force down the butterflies in your stomach. He meets your eyes, and you exchange a wordless glance with him before tilting your head, signaling for him to follow you.

You start heading towards the other end of the club, occasionally glancing behind you to make sure he's still following. In no time, the crowd starts to get thicker. The music gets louder, the lights grow brighter. You're abruptly reminded of what you really hate about this club as everything gets so, so much more suffocating. You can't reach the private rooms without walking past the array of stages, so you're forced to get back into the thick of things. When you were in that quiet corner alone with Aki, you almost began to forget the level of chaos you have to deal with on a daily basis.

You find yourself shouldering through people, trying your best to avoid catching anyone's attention, all while Aki follows you at your heels — but when the crowd suddenly gets thicker than before, when he's worried he'll end up losing you, you hear his shoes scrape the tile as he shuffles closer, and his hand softly settles on your shoulder.

"Sorry." Aki says immediately, his voice a little muffled over the music and noise, but unmistakable nevertheless. He takes his hand away from you as if your skin was liquid hot fire and his palm just got burned.

But even so, it's like his touch is still there. It's like you can feel the ghost of where his gentle hand settled on your body.

He was touching your skin for barely more than a second, but it was enough to make your spine tingle, enough to give you a warm, melty feeling in the pit of your stomach — It felt comfortable, and that's something you've never felt before. Not since you started working here, and certainly not from the hands of a man like him. Until now.

You abruptly freeze in your tracks, and Aki stops not far behind you. Before he can say anything, you turn around and reach for his hand; you grab onto it tightly, firmly. When you glance up at him, you swear you can see his eyes widen in surprise, or maybe nervousness, or perhaps both, but he doesn't stop you, and you don't give him a chance to — You're quickly rushing ahead and returning to leading him along.

With his hand in yours, you find it difficult to focus, though. His palm is naturally cold, his skin is a bit rough; his thumb brushes against yours so softly your heart begins to ache. You find yourself accidentally walking too far and needing to turn around because you were so focused on the tender way he holds your hand that you ended up forgetting where you were going.

His fingers fold loosely over your knuckles; his hand is much, much larger than your own, it almost dwarfs yours entirely, and yours and his fit together in such a way that feels right, that makes you want for him to never let go.

And you know you're a little ridiculous for thinking so. You're getting too sappy, you're losing your mind. You know this man shouldn't be making your heart flutter so easily, with the faintest of touches and the simplest of words.

Yet, you can't help how you feel about him, you can't stop your cheeks from getting warm and your brain from stringing together thoughts of what's going to happen when the two of you are all alone again. Truly alone, with no-one else watching. You can't deny what Aki does to you, and you're sure he doesn't even know.

He has no idea how your heart is pounding in your chest as you reach the hallway and lead him down, or how your breath is coming out faster than it should be and you haven't even arrived at your destination yet. You're excited, giddy, your head spins with a high sort of sensation.

If you weren't slightly tipsy, and if you weren't in such a mood to make impulsive decisions right now, maybe you would be judging yourself more than this. You'd be thinking about something other than the feeling of Aki's hand, you wouldn't be smiling to yourself at the way he follows behind you so obediently.

Maybe you'd find what you're doing to be rather indecent. It's not like you're planning to take things any further with him — but when you know exactly where you're leading him to, you can't rule out the possibility.

Either way, whatever happens, you wager Aki doesn't know what he's getting into.

You glance behind you when you have a few seconds and you spot him looking around, observing the various rooms and entrances that litter the cramped hallway. Some of the rooms are open and spacious; they're more like lounge areas, really, with couches and tables sprawled across the space for many people to sit at. The couches are decorated with fluffy pillows, the tables are littered with finished-off drink glasses. He peers into one once you start to walk a little slower; a set of sheer curtains are drawn in front of the entryway, but it's still possible to see inside.

There's a man sitting comfortably in a leather loveseat, legs spread wide, and a dancer with long, flowing hair perched on his lap. His hands are tangled in her hair, her mouth is on his, and the last thing Aki sees before you tug him forwards and coax him along is the man's broad hands traveling down to cup the shape of the dancer's ass.

Oh.

The rooms get quieter the further you travel, more private, each one complete with colorful lighting and a large, luxurious bed. Most of them are empty, but when you pass the ones which have their doors closed, Aki swears he can hear what's going on inside.

The cooing tones of a dancer sweet-talking her patron, the tell-tale squeaks of the mattress. It makes his mouth go dry and his heart leap right inside his throat — Shit, shit, he thought this was something different, he didn't realize what a "private room" was supposed to be until now, and he feels ridiculously stupid for not realizing it sooner.

He's going to be alone, in a room just like those ones, with a bed, with just you.

Aki starts to walk a bit faster, closing some of the distance between you and him. You hear him right next to your ear, words quiet like a bitten whisper, laced with a sense of nervousness: "Hey, we're not, I mean, are you…"

His sudden voice makes you stop in place. You turn around to face him, staring at him curiously, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

Your eyes on him make him too nervous to piece together whatever he was actually meaning to say, so instead, he looks down at his shoes, he clears his throat, and he tries to come up with the next best thing.

"Isn't… Isn't this kind of thing illegal in Japan?"

"What is?"

Aki's practically sweating. The hallway is starting to feel a whole lot more cramped. "This. This whole… thing. You know what I mean."

His shyness is confirming what you previously figured to be true: that he's just now discovered what these private rooms are really for.

"Oh, prostitution?" You answer in realization, your tone completely lighthearted, like you aren't bothered in the slightest. "Yeah, but there's loopholes to get around it. Come on, this is the most popular club in the red-light district. Did you really think they wouldn't have it under control already?"

Aki's eyes flicker over your face. He stares at you, utterly dumbfounded.

"Listen, if someone wants to do… that sort of thing," You explain, "As long as they do it here, inside this club, they won't get in trouble for it. Besides, you devil hunters get special privileges anyway. If the police ever found out — Hell, even if they sat here and watched you do it, I doubt you'd get anything more than a slap on the wrist."

Aki squints. "So… it's still illegal."

"Well, duh. Are you planning to snitch to the cops or what?"

"I don't have time."

"Then less worrying, more walking." Your hand squeezes his; you signal with a tilt of your head for him to keep following you, but Aki keeps his feet planted firmly in place.

"Wait," He pipes up, his tone serious, "It's okay if we're back here, right? I don't want you to get in trouble."

You're silent for a little too long. "I mean, technically no."

If you could take a picture of the look on his face right in that moment, you would've. Aki's eyes go completely wide, his face washes a tone as white as his dress shirt and his lips fall open a little, just slightly ajar in confusion and astonishment and it's so damn cute that it's impossible for you to keep up the charade for any longer.

"Listen, listen, calm down," You squeeze his hand again, your smile is warm and the sight seems to start to put him at ease.

"I'm listening."

"The rooms back here are supposed to be for VIPs or private bookings only," You tell him, "But the boss frequently makes exceptions for special cases. For special people, I should say."

"Special people?"

"Yeah. Like devil hunters."

Aki's found his composure by now, mostly, at least; he meets your gaze with a blank expression and one eyebrow cocked. "Seems like devil hunters get away with a lot around here."

In response, you simply snort, playfully roll your eyes, and turn around to continue leading him further down the hallway. And this time, Aki swallows down his anxieties and follows behind without protest.

You drag him all the way to the end, to the furthest room at the very back, away from the noise and the people. It's similar to the rooms you've passed, Aki notices, but unlike them, this one has a door that features a shiny, gold plated label with the word, "VIP" carved into it, followed by a small logo of a fox. The doorknob is gold too, distinctly heart-shaped.

You stop, your hand finally tears away from his for what seems like the first time in ages — and you don't have time to dwell on how empty it feels because you're already closing your fingers into a fist and raising your knuckle to knock. You strike the door once, twice, to a chirpy rhythm. Nothing. You press your ear to it and listen, just in case.

When no-one replies, and when you hear nothing inside, you test the doorknob: unlocked. The door swings open with a quiet creak, and Aki follows you as you step inside.

The very first thing he notices is the plushness under his sneakers once he's stepped all the way in — He glances down, and the room's floor is adorned with fluffy, pink carpet, the fibers swallow up his shoes.

Then, when he looks up again, he sees the circular bed in the middle of the room, not unlike what he expected: neatly tucked in covers, a canopy over the top, and an array of poofy, luxurious-looking pillows spread out towards the headboard. It's noticeably fancier than the other beds he saw though, it has Aki wondering just how special this room is. Obviously it's meant for VIPs, and it doesn't take a genius to tell the whole room was decorated to fit… a very specific taste.

Not that he's got anything wrong with pink. There's just a lot of it, from the covers on the bed, to the walls painted a baby pink shade — The whole room is washed in shades of sunset and tulip, dimly lit and illuminated only by hot pink LED lights shining from the ceiling and under the bed, as well as by a warm, little lamp resting on a quaint bedside table.

It's quiet here, though. Quiet enough to hear his own heartbeat in his ears, and just as quiet as you said it'd be. Thank God. It feels nice to be able to think clearly for once.

A wooden mini bar is fit snugly into the right-hand corner, with empty wine and champagne glasses lined up on top, and bottles of various drinks stocked in the underside. Aki's shoulders slump, he sighs; That's right. You wanted to make him something to drink.

You hold the door open for him to step inside, and before you close it behind him, you snatch the "Do not disturb" sign from the inside doorknob, reaching around to hang it on the outside. When you shut the door, there's a very brief moment where you consider flicking the lock — but in the end, you decide to leave it alone.

The sign should be enough. And even if it isn't, does it matter if someone walks in? It doesn't, it shouldn't, because you're only having some drinks, right? You aren't going to be doing anything that you wouldn't want someone else to see. Right?

If you keep thinking about it for any longer, you might end up driving yourself insane.

So, figuring you've hovered at the entryway for long enough, you walk past Aki and make your way to the mini bar. You say as you pass him, "Feel free to make yourself comfortable."

He nods, and he's quick to follow your suggestion. His careful fingers pop each button on his suit jacket one by one, all the way until he's able to tug it from his arms, leaving him in his crisp white undershirt and tie. He hangs the jacket up neatly on a hook on the back of the door.

As you're bending down to look through what's stocked at the mini bar, he's sitting on the bed; you can see him out of the corner of your eye, his legs rested over one another, his arms crossed around his chest. You're bent over to the point where your outfit is riding up, it's revealing more of your ass and your thighs and Aki shouldn't be looking, but he swears he catches the smallest glimpse of what you're wearing underneath before he swiftly looks elsewhere and tries to forget about it, which thankfully, he does right as you're peering at him from over your shoulder.

You notice how his dress shirt is tucked neatly into his slacks, how a simple, leather belt is snugly clasped in the loops. He's perched on the very edge of the bed, as if he's too nervous to sit any further back, too shy to really let himself relax — At least, in the way the room's intended. The mattress dips slightly under his weight, and the martini glasses hung on the rack all clink together when you grab two of them: one for him, and one for you.

"So, Hayakawa," You start, giving him a second quick glance from over your shoulder. "What kind of drink would you like?"

"Oh," Aki grasps the diamond of his tie, pulling on it to work it loose while his gaze travels across the room. He examines the bar, the glittery curtains surrounding the bed, the small set of red, leather armchairs placed in the opposite corner. "Anything is fine. Surprise me."

You're digging around in the compact mini fridge sat next to the bar when you ask, "You like champagne, right?"

"Sure."

"Alright, good. You'll like this then."

Once you've found everything you need, you start to prepare the drinks. There's a small basket of fresh lemons and limes resting atop the bar counter, and you grab a lemon to slice into wedges.

Aki tilts his head, he tries to watch what you're doing, but the only thing he can manage to see is your back, and all he can do is listen to the sound of the champagne being poured. He decides he'll give the room another once-over while he waits.

He turns around, then, and he comes to notice the wall behind him for the first time. It's covered in hooks and racks, with an assortment of items hung up on them; most he doesn't recognize, but he can make out what looks like a leather, spiked dog collar. A matching black leash. A pair of metal handcuffs.

There's a long object that looks like some kind of whip, with a thick handle adorned by red, painted-on heart shaped marks. But when he's struggling to decide what the majority of these things are for, Aki starts to second guess himself on his initial assumption.

He immediately looks away, a familiar prickle of anxiety twists up his spine, the same sense of nervousness he felt earlier in the hallway — And that's when his eyes catch on the nightstand. Right below the lamp, right beside the dark ashtray littered with countless cigarette butts, there's a clear plastic container stocked up of what Aki first thought were wipes, or maybe mints.

Upon a closer look at the packaging, though, he realizes they couldn't be anything else but the one thing he didn't want them to be: unopened packets of condoms.

Fucking condoms. Of course. He really shouldn't have expected anything different.

"Hayakawa."

When you've turned back around, the finished drinks in hand, Aki is hastily trying to redo his tie with a flustered expression on his face, cheeks and the tips of his ears painted rosy pink. Your voice shakes him out of his daze. It causes him to look towards you, his eyes meeting yours.

"Are you okay?" You walk towards him, you reach to place the glasses on the nightstand. Right next to the condoms that you most definitely know are there but so clearly aren't at all affected by.

Maybe he's overthinking. No, he's definitely overthinking this, he's definitely getting way too worked up over something so stupid and obvious. There's no reason for him to be freaking out. He needs to get it together, so why can't he? Why is he so damn nervous whenever he's around you?

Get it together, get it together…

As he stays silent, you continue, "What happened? You look pale."

"Sorry… I'm sorry." Aki uncrosses his legs and looks away. "It's fine. It's nothing."

His clear awkwardness can't help but draw a quiet laugh from you.

"You nervous?"

"I'm not."

"I think you are." You tilt your head at him, smirking a little. Aki doesn't answer, he simply keeps fiddling with his tie, running the smooth fabric beneath his fingers, twirling it into loops before letting go of it again.

Oh, he knows what he's gotten himself into now. He probably knew it from the moment you led him down the hallway, but now that he's all alone with you, everything must be really starting to set in.

"You'll be alright. Just try to relax, yeah? Here-"

You suddenly lean in close to him, and Aki thinks his heart might have skipped a beat — Or two, or three. You grasp his tie and his arms fall at his sides once you start to tug it free from his collar, he forgets how to breathe when you undo it, tossing it on the bed nonchalantly and reaching next for the buttons on his dress shirt.

He thinks of stopping you. He wants to force a cold-sounding What are you doing? from his mouth but it's no use; he's already given in.

"Let's loosen some of these for you."

With gentle fingers, you pop the first button on his dress shirt, and then the second; your ministrations expose his pretty collarbones, defined and curved, as well as the smallest part of his chest, his skin slightly scarred, flushed rose to match the color of his face. Aki's gaze goes heavy, his eyelashes flutter.

You're close, you're so close. You're so close and he doesn't know how to get his heartbeat to slow down, he has no idea what the hell's gotten into him — You graciously give him a bit of reprieve by leaning back and letting go, allowing him just enough space to breathe freely again.

"Better?" You ask, before he can reply you're reaching down to unzip your knee-high boots and starting to take them off. "You can take off your shoes, too."

Aki pauses, but in the end, he decides to listen to your suggestion; he steps firmly on the heel of his sneakers until he's able to carelessly kick them off his feet.

Then, you grab the drinks on the nightstand, you hand him his cocktail and bring yours to your mouth.

Aki peers into the glass. The liquid is a pale shade of pink, not much different from the color of the bedsheets, and the rim is topped with a bright yellow lemon. Cubes of ice jingle inside the glass when he experimentally swirls it.

"I made this batch pretty good." You comment, half to him and half to yourself. Taking a small sip of your drink, you finish it off with a satisfied, Ahh.

"What is it?"

"Pink lemonade mimosa. It's my favorite. Maybe it's kind of… not really your style. But I thought you might end up liking it anyway."

Aki looks up at you for a moment, then back down at his drink. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, he closes his eyes, and he brings the glass up to his lips.

The taste is a sweet one. Lemonade and sugar are the main components, the champagne is more of an aftertaste. It's citrusy, the lemonade lessens the acidity of the champagne. He can see why you'd like this. It tastes like the warmth from the summer sun.

When Aki meets your eyes again, you're staring at him expectantly.

"What do you think?"

"It's good," He answers honestly, "Really good. I like it."

You flash him a warm smile. "Great. I'm glad."

For a while after you speak those words, the room grows oddly quiet. Aki continues to nurse his drink in silence, his expression unreadable, his cheeks flourished with warmth, and you occasionally take sips from yours while allowing your mind to wander.

Since the both of you first walked in this room, Aki's been acting strange.

When you met him, you thought you had him all figured out. He's honest to the point where you assumed he had nothing to hide. He comes off as determined, the serious type, not necessarily cold-hearted, but certainly grounded when it comes to how he presents himself. Even though you knew he was a bit shy about being here, he didn't seem like the type of person who'd get flustered this easily, nor the kind of man who'd stick around for this long. You fully expected him to turn you away the minute he figured out where you were taking him.

You wonder if he's just too polite to tell you no. You question if maybe, there's something occupying his mind, something he hasn't told you yet. You knew there were still a lot of things you didn't understand about him. Still so much you need to learn, so much you so desperately want to know — but you're running out of time.

Your thoughts flash to the busy club. Your boss is probably starting to look for you now, the guests you were talking to before you went on your break are probably beginning to wonder where you went. Once you've finished your drink, you'll have to go right back into the fray — and that realization immediately forces a heavy weight of worry upon your shoulders.

You have only a few more moments with the man you've come to know. Aki will leave, you'll leave. After tonight, you won't expect to be seeing him again. You'll go back to boredom and he'll go back to working himself half to death. And then, you'll be nothing but strangers once more.

It's possible Aki would forget you as quickly as he met you. You wouldn't bother to cross his mind, he might not even remember your name. And why would he have to? This experience would be nothing but a bad memory and a reminder to never again let himself get dragged to places he's already sure he doesn't want to go to.

But you wouldn't forget him.

There's something about Aki Hayakawa that would be impossible to forget. He's kind-hearted, he's softer than any other devil hunter you've come across. He consistently puts you before himself and fuck, he doesn't even know you. It's just the kind of person he is: selfless to a fault.

You're drawn to him, you've felt drawn to him from the start. You think you're good at reading people, you have a keen sense for whether or not someone is genuine. Your trust in Aki hasn't wavered. He isn't like any of the other men you've encountered while working here; honestly, it's almost unfair to compare the two. He's wildly different from anything and everything you've come to expect.

It's a bit of a new feeling for you. The pitter-pattering of your heart, the giddy twist and bloom in your chest. You haven't felt this way about anyone in ages, you haven't been enamored this strongly, this limitlessly in perhaps forever.

You want to show Aki a good time, you want to find a way to make this night truly worth his while. And it's not just because you feel bad about the unfortunate circumstances which brought him here, even though you're certain you'll be chewing out his coworker later. It isn't because devil hunters like him are known for having lined pockets, you could care less about his money. And it certainly isn't only because this is your job.

You want to help him relax because you've grown to care about him, because you want to be closer to him. Aki is more than he lets on; his soul is something tender, intricate. There's sides to him you haven't seen, pieces yet to fall into place. You want to open up his heart to uncover what he's kept hidden, what he wouldn't tell anyone else besides someone like you because in reality, it's easier to divulge your secrets to someone who rests between the realm of close and distant — to someone you hardly even know.

Giving him whatever he wants is the least you can do for him, because whenever you're close, you can practically feel the stress clinging to him like an anchor into hell. You couldn't help but notice the faint cross-hatchings of scars on his chest when you unbuttoned his shirt, or the rough calluses on his knuckles when you held his hand.

If there's one thing you're sure of, it's this: you aren't ready for this night to be over.

If you won't forget him, you'll make it so he won't ever forget you.

You've been enjoying your cocktail the whole time you were thinking, but you decide to give it one more sip; you savor the last delicious taste of lemonade and sparkling wine on your tongue. Then, you smile at him, and you promptly break the silence.

"I like your earrings."

You catch him off guard right away, and Aki's gaze flickers up to your own, his shoulders stiffening slightly. He politely covers his mouth with his palm, swallowing the rest of his drink and clearing his throat before speaking.

"Oh, uhm- Thank you." — His response is curt, his voice carries his familiar sense of professionalism but it still wavers with a hint of awkwardness, with a bit of disbelief, almost. He sounds shy, he closes his eyes and takes another idle sip of his drink. He obviously isn't used to being complimented.

With no hesitation, you boldly ask, "Can I touch them?"

"Ah-" Aki reaches up with his free hand, brushing his fingers over the circular piercing on his lobe like he's checking if they're still there. "My earrings?"

"Mhmm."

His eyes dart over you, up and down. "Uh, sure."

Tossing your head back, you top off the rest of your cocktail, reaching over and setting the empty glass on the nightstand once you're finished. You take a step towards him, close enough to make your knees bump into his. You bend down, and slowly, you reach out to pinch his lobes between your index finger and your thumb.

Aki's gaze stays trained on you, deep blue irises sparked with wonder, with adoration. His expression is blank, he's wordless, but the increases in his breathing and his pretty eyes — Those are a dead giveaway. The backs of his earrings are spikes of pointy metal, and the front are round, they're smooth and glossy to the touch. They reflect subtle glimmers of the room's pinkish light whenever you tilt them.

"They're so pretty." You peer at Aki through your lashes, you're almost certain you see his eyes widen. "Did they hurt? Where did you get them done?"

"Not really, they only hurt for a second," Aki answers earnestly, his voice resolute. "And it was some piercing shop in Kanagawa… It's been a while, so I don't remember the name. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. That's not too far from here, I could go. I'm sure I'll end up finding it."

Your fingertips brush Aki's bangs behind his ears softly, and he sighs, barely audible, gaze never tearing away from yours like he's mesmerized. He's busy swallowing the thick lump in his throat as you abruptly pull away from him.

You stand up straight, placing your hands on your hips. "I got some piercings done when I was on vacation, but I was thinking of getting my ears pierced too."

"You… You have piercings?" Aki glances to your ears; unlike his, your lobes are completely bare. When he squints, he can't even see a hole.

"Mhm, I do." You nod, and Aki finishes off the rest of his drink while you talk. "You sound surprised. Are you?"

"A little."

"I think they suit me. Sucks that they're hidden most of the time, though."

Aki's face pinches into an expressive concoction of disbelief and confusion. He looks so ridiculous; you manage to stifle a couple of your giggles, but it's not long before you're practically doubling over and bursting into laughter.

"What's so funny?" Aki doesn't get it.

"It's… It's just…"

The alcohol is starting to hit your system now, surely. You're giddy and your veins are buzzing, your head is as light as air. You certainly aren't drunk — you haven't had anywhere near enough drinks for that. But you're tipsy enough to start feeling the effects. You normally don't laugh so hard at something so stupid.

After clearing your throat, you regain your composure. "The way you were looking at me was really funny. Like you were trying to figure out where they are."

"Will you tell me where they are, then?" Aki asks bluntly while he reaches over to set his empty drink next to yours on the nightstand.

You press a finger to your chin. "Mmmm. How about this, I'll let you guess."

You weren't sure if he would agree to your game, but to your satisfaction, you watch as Aki takes you in, his arms crossing, eyes drawing a line from the bottom of your feet up to the top of your head. His short brows scrunch up a bit, his lips purse as he thinks.

Finally, with a straight face, he answers in complete confidence: "Your tongue."

Nope. You smirk and stick your tongue out at him, revealing absolutely nothing but a bit of a hot-pink tinge left by the food coloring in your drink.

"I'll give you a hint. It's lower."

"... Bellybutton?" Aki sounds a little more unsure of himself this time.

"No. Higher."

Aki's eyes narrow. "Higher, alright, so…"

It's as if you're literally watching him think: he stares at where your outfit hugs your stomach, and then his gaze trails, up, up, up until his eyes are going completely wide because he's sure he figured out the answer and it's making him picture something he really doesn't think he should be picturing.

He feels uncomfortable just sitting there staring at your chest like an idiot, so he clears his throat, he looks up to meet your eyes. He's trying to gauge whether his assumption is right or not by the expression on your face — You answer him with a satisfied, smug sort of grin.

"Figure it out?"

Aki doesn't reply, he can't reply. What the hell is he supposed to reply with? His mouth opens for a second like he wants to speak, but he instead opts to close it and gnaw on his bottom lip until the skin is coming off. He folds his hands delicately in his lap, he fiddles with his own thumbs awkwardly.

"Aw, come on." You tease, playful, "Do you not believe me? Would it help if you saw them?"

"Ah, no, no!" Aki raises his hands up defensively, his cheeks are heating into a pale shade of red. "There's no need for that, okay, I'm sorry, I believe you, so you don't..."

"Calm down," You interrupt when he starts to trail off, huffing a half-hearted chuckle, "You're so adorable. I know you believe me, I'm just messing with you."

Your words calm him down a bit, and Aki's body relaxes, his tense shoulders slumping, his expression softening. His voice comes out quiet and he's staring down at his hands when he says, "It… It didn't sound like you were messing around. Sorry."

"Don't apologize when you haven't done anything wrong. You do that way too much."

"Oh, I'm sor-" Aki cuts himself off before he does the exact thing you just told him not to do. "Right. Okay. Noted."

You give him a couple seconds to simmer; your arms come to cross loosely around your chest, Aki sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, a rosy-pink hue still dusted across his face.

Then, "Your ponytail is cute, too."

"Oh, that's- You think so?" He's instantly flustered. The warmth under his cheeks reignites, his hands feel clammy; he opens and closes them on his lap while averting his eyes. "I- I didn't really… I didn't notice. Or, uh, that sounds stupid, I mean I didn't plan for it to… Well, I wasn't trying to make it…"

Suddenly, he freezes — He lets his arms go limp and he exhales a heavy, defeated breath. "I can't even speak."

"You're okay," You chuckle, "I get what you're saying. Or trying to say, I guess."

By now, Aki's pretty much gone silent, fiddling with his fingers, crossing them over one another — but you capture his attention again when you step in close to him, leaning down until you're more level with his height. His shy gaze locks into yours, eyelids heavy, eyes hazy.

"Hey." You're speaking quietly, your smooth tone is barely enough to make him shiver. "Is it okay if I take your hair down?"

"If-" Aki's breath shakes, "If you want to."

"Mmm, as much as I like the topknot I think it'll be more comfortable with it down, no?" You hum, voice saccharine sweet, smile warm and inviting; Aki is so entranced he almost doesn't notice you're already reaching up to grasp his hair tie.

You tug on it slowly, all the way until his dark hair is free to fall loosely around his face, still kinked in the back from being held up for so long. Aki's breath hitches, his heart starts to thud harder in his chest. You slip his black hair tie around your wrist, and then you carefully brush the messier strands of hair from his eyes: the slightest touch, but it makes his whole body tingle with exhilaration.

"Can I play with your hair?"

Before he even gives himself the chance to think twice, Aki is nodding his head hesitantly, obediently. Like a puppy, following along to the pace you've set while he eagerly hangs onto your every word. He would love that.

You lean in a little bit further. You lift your knee and slot it into the space between his legs, resting it on the edge of the bed to keep yourself steadier.

Gently, your fingers begin to run through his soft hair, starting at the bottom near his neck and traveling up through his scalp, ruffling it as you go until a few strands stick up from the static. Electricity twists from Aki's head to his spine, he exhales a heavy, relaxed sort of sigh; his eyelashes flutter, his body melts.

God, he's pretty.

You knew he was, you've thought he looked like the prettiest man you've ever seen from the moment you met him. But when he looks like this, long hair let down to tickle the back of his neck, to fall in loose, choppy strands and to frame his handsome face oh-so perfectly — He's so damn pretty you couldn't possibly put it into words.

Yet still, you try to, you pull away for a second to tuck some locks behind his ear and quietly whisper, "Why do you keep your hair up, Hayakawa? You're so pretty like this."

"I…" Aki stutters a little, he looks away and takes a deep, shuddery breath in to try and maintain his cool. To pretend like your compliments aren't affecting him. He'll try and change the subject.

"I don't want it to get in my eyes. And I always let it grow out because… sometimes I cut it off. For devil contracts."

You're raising an eyebrow and staring at him in confusion while you separate three thick strands of hair near the front of his face. "What kind of devil would ask for something so weird? I assumed they'd only want stuff like blood and flesh, or bones, maybe. I didn't know a Hair Devil was a thing."

"It's not like that," Aki counters, "Some devils are friendlier with humans than others, so the contracts they offer have looser terms. I have a contract with the Fox Devil. When it gets bored of what I usually give to it, I chop off some of my hair to feed it as a treat."

The way his explanation is given with a flat tone and a totally straight face, as if everything he said was completely normal only adds more to your perplexity. You must know way less about devils than you thought.

You cross each strand of his hair over one another, loosely but intricately. "Y'know, I've heard of many different kinds of contracts, I've seen a lot of devil hunters give up a lot of different things. But I've never heard of something like that."

Aki shrugs. "It's unlikely. Most devils aren't so lenient. I never complain about our contract because hair is the easiest thing any of them could ask of me."

"Yeah? What else do they ask for?"

"It's usually the sorts of things you said. Skin, flesh, blood, body parts. Some ask for years off your life."

You pause. "And you're okay with giving it to them?"

Aki answers quickly and concisely: "If I want to stand any kind of a chance against them, I have to make some sacrifices."

Sensing the strain lingering in his voice, you stay silent after that remark.

You pull away to admire your work: a small, loose braid is arranged behind his bangs but right in front of his ear, trailing down to just above his shoulder. You hold it in your hand, and you give it one last look before gently undoing it with your finger and your thumb.

Then, your hand trails down to hold his face, Aki shivers as you cup his jaw, brushing the pad of your thumb over his cheek. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, your fingertips trailing down, tracing his neck. Both of your palms come to rest finally in the middle of his broad shoulders.

You look up at him, meeting his eyes, searching for confirmation. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

Aki offers you a shallow, nervous nod in response.

You start by giving his shoulders a tentative squeeze, rolling the muscle between your fingers and your palm, feeling the stiff knots of tension that linger there. When Aki doesn't protest, letting out a soft grunt, his eyes closing, you start to massage him more thoroughly, more deliberately. You apply pressure to the edge of his shoulder blades, you rub firm circles into the space surrounding his spine.

In no time, you're watching his eyes practically roll into the back of his head. He's settling back more comfortably onto the bed the longer your hands stay on him, pressing his palms flat at his sides, leaning his weight onto his arms to keep himself steady.

"You're reeeeally tense," You coo, strands of Aki's hair tickling your knuckles as you work, "You must be so stressed, aren't you?"

Considering how much he's already begun to relax, you weren't really expecting a reply out of him, but Aki manages to answer with a simple nod and with his voice blissed out: "Yeah, super stressed. I can't catch a break. The whole division… it's been crazy."

It's a lot more detail than you expected him to divulge; maybe the relaxation is what coaxes him to be more talkative.

"Do they not treat you very good over there?" You ask.

There's a pause, as if for a few fleeting seconds, he's considering how much he should tell you, whether or not he should tell the truth about how he really feels. It'll mean speaking ill about Public Safety, something he really shouldn't do, especially to someone who works for a business so closely tied to their affairs. The commission wants companies to only hear good things, things like how strong and brave and commendable devil hunters are, how many benefits and funds Public Safety gives them.

In the end though, another press of your fingers right up against his pressure points causes him to cave.

"Not really," Aki shakes his head, he huffs a discontented sigh, "There's good benefits. Decent pay. Paid time off, too. But… it feels like I'm the one who gets stuck with all the difficult jobs these days."

You crook an eyebrow, giving his muscles a particularly firm squeeze. "Oh?"

Aki's eyelids flutter, his brows furrowing, and he continues, "My boss, she stuck me with these two… idiots. Normally it doesn't matter who I work with, but they've been getting on my last nerve. So loud and… unruly. I don't have any time alone anymore."

"A bunch of trouble-makers, huh? And you've gotta be responsible for them? That's not fair."

"Uh-huh… And ever since they joined, the division's been nothing but insanity. There's so many devils- Every mission is just more complicated and more stressful than the last."

"Awe," Your voice is soft, "Sounds like there's a lot you have to deal with, I'm sorry. Hah, so that's why Mister Kishibe said you needed to get somewhere to relax, huh?"

Your hands travel further backward, slipping underneath his shirt, palms rubbing the middle of his back. Aki hums, he nods his head, "Yeah…"

You give his back one more massage, his shoulders one last squeeze. You appreciate the look of total relaxation on his face: his eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Your hands move once more, this time carefully holding onto the very edge of each shoulder.

"Can I touch your arms?"

Aki's eyes flutter open. He meets your gaze, he's barely there, and he replies with a peaceful, hardly audible, Mhmm.

Glancing down, you let your hands slip over his smooth sleeves, to his biceps. You give them a little bit of a squeeze — Your touch is teasing and light, enough to make him sigh, and enough to allow you to feel the firm muscle beneath.

You stare into his eyes: his are nervous, misty. Yours are sparked with something he can't make sense of.

"You're so strong."

"I-" Aki trails off, warmth rises in his cheeks and he tries his best to keep his eyes locked onto you. "It's- it's mostly from training. I used to work out too, but now I… I don't have time anymore."

"Oh, really?" You rub his arms gently, in a comforting sort of motion. Up, slowly, and then down, even slower. "What kind of training? Like training to fight devils?"

"Yes. And sword fighting. Boxing, sometimes."

"Mmm, I bet you're a really good devil hunter, huh?"

Aki doesn't answer. He's warm all over, he feels his heart shake in his ribs. He lets your words toss around in his head, he simply watches with his lips pursed and his face flushed as you reach for the end of the sleeve on his dress shirt.

You start with the cuff, folding it up and over itself, and then you roll his sleeve all the way up to his elbow before doing the same to the other side. Aki observes each of your movements complacently, with heavy eyelids and an expectant gaze. His breath gets stuck in his throat the moment your fingers start to caress his bare forearms.

You trace his mismatch of scars beneath your fingertips, crosshatches of ridges carved into his skin. Some feel long, straight. Following the same direction in a way which makes them come across somewhat like claw marks.

Some are more jagged, deeper, shallower. Larger or smaller, more prominent than the others. Clearly caused by something stronger, or something weaker. Maybe a few of them have the possibility of fading away. But most of them feel deep enough to brand him forever.

You glance down, you hold his arms delicately in your hands, "So many scars."

Your voice is quiet, your tone puts him at ease. And you're touching him so softly, so gently, more tender than he's ever known — Aki shudders. He shudders and shudders and shudders, his heart shakes his ribcage and his emotions constrict his lungs, tight and crushing. You're touching him softer than he thinks he deserves.

"They're pretty." You say, utterly earnest.

Aki sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

"I can keep touching you here, right? It's not uncomfortable?"

"Yes." He answers shakily. "It's fine."

You have another question for him: "Are these all from devils?"

"Uh-huh," Aki's voice is low, a bit fragile, slightly trembling, "And devil contracts."

"Contracts too, huh?" You feel the length of one of the largest marks under your thumb, and Aki flinches. "There's so many. I was trying to count them but… they keep crossing over one another. I lost track."

Your hands glide downwards until you're reaching for his own, squeezing them tightly, turning them over and beginning to massage the muscles in his palms with your thumbs. Effortlessly, he's melting, focused fully on your touches — on your adoration.

"How long have you been in deals with devils? Or how long have you been hunting them?"

Aki answers with a huff of exhaustion. "My whole life."

"That's…" Your gaze goes soft, "It must be so hard, isn't it? And something tells me you never give yourself a chance to relax, 'cause you're always so busy getting worked to the bone."

"Mhmm." Aki nods. He feels weak. Like he could collapse, and it would be right into your arms.

"You really go through so much." You squeeze his hands again, more deliberately this time. "Hey, is it okay if I ask you something? Something sort of personal."

"That's fine."

"Do you like killing devils, Hayakawa?"

Your question takes him by surprise. Does he like killing devils? Aki isn't sure if he's ever thought about it. You're the first person who's ever asked him.

Sure, it's true some devil hunters get a thrill out of it — Kishibe comes to mind. But not him. Killing devils is just something Aki has to do, something he needs to do. It's a necessity in this world. It's his job to do so. It's what he's chosen to do with his life, and once he made his decision, there was no turning back.

And while it once made him proud to slay something tough, or happy to be able to save someone, or satisfied to find another chunk of the Gun Devil's flesh, it's been a long, long time since devil hunting has made him feel anything but empty. Empty and hurt when he watches another one of his colleagues die. Empty and lonesome when he spends another night alone on his balcony, wondering if he'll have the time to show up at their funeral. Anger once fueled him, but these days he isn't even given the satisfaction of feeling that much.

He hates when he has to search another devil's dead body and blood gets caked under his fingernails, it clings to the crevices in his palms and he knows no matter what he tries the marks of red aren't going to wash out. He hates constantly having to purchase new clothes for work because his suits and his shirts are always getting irreversibly stained. Even once he's home, even after he's spent ages in the shower scrubbing himself clean of every trace of them, there's still the marks they've left, there's still the thoughts in his head that won't leave.

He hates when he gets itchy scabs from peeling off his own skin for contracts, he hates when he has to skip meals because of urgent missions only to end up feeling sick the moment he tries to eat anything, he hates waking up in the middle of the night with his heart pounding and his body caked in sweat because of another stupid, frightening nightmare.

He hates devils, yes. Almost everyone who's a devil hunter does. It's why they do it. But sometimes he hates this vicious, maddeningly endless cycle even more.

So, Aki shakes his head, and he concludes, "I guess not. I don't find it enjoyable."

You stay silent for a moment before you ask, "Then why do it?"

"It's…" Aki hesitates, he averts his eyes, he feels you turn over his hands and brush his knuckles with your thumbs.

He glances down, and you're examining them like they're the most interesting thing in the world, staring with half-lidded eyes at the bruises on his battered knuckles, at the faint scars on his fingers. His nails are trimmed short, they're well manicured. His fingers are long, slender. His palms are fit with rough calluses in the shape of the hilt of his sword.

A deep sigh is expelled from his lungs, "I have to. Or, I don't have to, I'm not being forced, it's just difficult to explain. So I can't- I'm not sure if I…"

"It's alright." You reassure him. "You don't need to tell me if you don't want to."

He knows he doesn't need to. If you were anybody else, if there wasn't something about you that makes him trust you so goddamn much he probably would have answered by now with something like, It's because it's my job, or, It's because I hate devils. He's used those same excuses countless times before.

Aki doesn't have to open up to you, but he wants to, and more than anything he feels like he can.

"I…" Aki starts, he swallows thickly, he wills his voice not to shake and when you wrap your fingers around his hands and squeeze, he closes his thumbs, holds you back.

"I want to kill the Gun Devil. I'm sure that's something you've heard before. Plenty of devil hunters are after the same thing." Aki's lips purse. He shouldn't be telling you this, but, "In order to find it, the government has to track down its pieces, which involves enlisting devil hunters to kill devils who've ingested them. Then, as an individual, you need to have your record full of successful hunts on strong devils in order to qualify to fight the Gun, which means killing even more of them."

The room is infinitely more silent. The sound of his own voice in his eardrums seems so, so much louder.

He continues, "I know there's little chance of success. People tell me I've been wasting my time. And I know I am," His hands clench tighter, they squeeze yours harder, "I know it's all a waste, but I can't quit, there's nothing left for me if I do. I don't care what happens, I don't care if the Gun Devil kills me, I just-"

He pauses, inhales a deep breath. Exhales a long, trembling one.

"It took everything from me. I watched it take everything from me. I have to kill it, I don't have a choice. I have to."

You understand. There's no way you wouldn't, you understand exactly what he means, because truly, it is everything you've heard before.

You couldn't count the number of times you've seen a devil hunter who was after the same exact mission. Since you started working here, you've met a lot of Gun Devil chasers. They come because they're lonely, because they've lost their wives or their families to tragedy, and they desperately need something to fill the void.

Or, they visit the club because they're hunters who are so wrapped up in the pursuit of killing the thing they've driven themselves damn near insane. They work themselves nearly to death, they push everyone away in their pursuits for revenge and don't realize how badly they need the affection of another until it's far too late. Not the fake kind the club can bring them. Real, earnest affection.

Aki is that kind of devil hunter, it seems. Not one who got into it for the thrill, or for the paycheck, or for the attention. But just someone who's hurt. Someone who's been wronged by devils, by this world, and now seeks for any way to counteract that pain, even if it means inflicting more upon himself.

When it comes down to it, you can't help but feel for him, especially now that you've seen how kindhearted he can be, how utterly devoted he is to his job — despite the way he's treated and what he has to go through. Knowing what you know now, everything starts to make so much more sense.

You continue to stare down at his hands silently, thinking to yourself. You brush his knuckles with your thumbs tenderly, you flip his hands over and stroke the intricate future lines on his palms. Soft indents, marks of fate.

It takes you a couple of moments to realize he's started to shake.

His breath comes out uneven, short. The tremors travel from his hands to his arms to his shoulders, and his body tenses up from the pressure of trying to control them. He's rooted in place with his back hunched and his head held down, messy bangs hiding the solemn expression on his face.

Aki attempts to keep his composure, he focuses on steadying his breathing. It's difficult when his heart is working against him, when it's twisted and pulled and pinched in his chest. He exhales a nice, deep breath. In, and then out. In, out. Don't break.

But his bottom lip won't stop quivering, and he hates it; he can't help but draw it between his teeth and bite down hard enough to hurt. His horrible brain and your tenderness, your voice and your touch and every little thing to have to do with you amounts to more than he can take, so overwhelming.

This shouldn't happen. He utters weak little sounds that make the entirety of his frame shake with them. This is stupid, he doesn't even know why he's crying, God, he's so stupid — He's breaking down right in front of you, and he isn't strong enough to stop it.

"Hey, wait."

Your voice sounds muffled in his ears, as if you're speaking through layers of static. You give his hands a patient squeeze and he squeezes back hard, tightly, almost desperately. You ask, "Are you okay?"

Aki nods his head, but it isn't very convincing; he's silent, wet droplets of tears slip from his cheeks to plop onto his arms, your hands, his knees. They soak into your skin, they leave faded marks on the fabric of his slacks.

He tries to open his mouth and say something, anything, but his throat's gone dry, his jaw is clenched up tight. His lips can't seem to mouth the words. And he can't see a thing, his vision is blurry; colors meld together, your arms and his legs and the floor underneath him blend into one until it all becomes nothing more than a single, faded shape. Aki cries silently and weakly, sucking in sharp breaths through his teeth, gripping your hands — yours — as if they're a lifeline.

He squeezes his eyes shut, willing his tears to stop, and like you can sense it, your hand comes to carefully cup the shape of his jaw. Your palm is warm, your touch is the gentlest thing he thinks he's ever felt. You tilt his head up, coaxing his teary gaze to meet yours. Despite how difficult it is, Aki keeps it there. There's a tender look in your eyes, in your expression, something he can't tear away from.

He's pretty. He's so pretty, even like this.

You wipe the tears from his stained cheeks with your thumb. Your closeness makes his breath hitch, your touch starts to settle the gnawing ache in the pit of his stomach. Whether he realizes it or not, he relaxes, he leans into your palm. With soothing words and a quiet tone, you reassure him. Just breathe, it's okay, you're alright. It's okay.

He knows damn well this is stupid. He knows he's such a fool. He's an idiot for crying so much, for shaking and pitifully sobbing like he hasn't done since he was young, all while clutching the hands of someone he barely knows — and yet, those hands in his are the only thing keeping him from falling apart even worse than he already has. No, with every squeeze and brush of your careful fingers, the longer you spend holding his cheek, other hand still connected, you're putting him back together.

For the life of him, Aki can't figure out why.

If he was stronger, perhaps he'd be able to pick up the pieces himself. He wouldn't shift his burdens onto you. He'd wipe his own tears and get away with giving you some half-assed excuse to make you forget all about this, all about him.

That would be so much better, right? It would be, because your hands don't belong in his, soft and warm and perfect in rough and cold and battle-scarred. You're wasting your time, and Aki wonders if you know that already. Is this merely an obligation, has your kindness been nothing more than a job you need to do?

Even if it is, you should have left a long, long time ago. Yet for whatever reason, you haven't. You've stayed. And that's what confuses him more than anything. Why, why are you like this?

Aki keeps his wavering focus on your voice and your face. He's long since forgotten what this felt like, he can't remember the last time anyone cared to comfort him, since anyone held him, whispering such sweet words for his soul to latch onto. He didn't realize until now how much this could mean, how good it could feel to be kept, to finally be known.

It's a scary thought. It's scary to think you mean so much to him already. You're nothing more than strangers, yet the thought of you leaving, of everything ending right then and there hurts.

He starts to breathe deeply, he listens to the echo of your words and syncs up his breathing with the pattern of your own: in and then out, rhythmic and languid. Slowly but surely, everything begins to feel alright again. You wipe the rest of his tears away, and he steadies.

Your gentle thumb caresses his cheek one more time. "Are you alright? Can you talk to me? What's wrong?"

Aki sniffles. He reaches up to rub his eyes with the back of his hand, at the same time half-heartedly pushing yours away.

"Nothing," He answers, tone icy, but his voice still cracks around the edges in a way he can't manage to hide. "I'm fine."

"You weren't fine two seconds ago."

"I'm fine now."

You pause, your hand lingering in the space between him and yourself as you debate whether or not to reach out for him again. Your eyes flicker over his face, he continues to stare at the ground. You're sure he's going to stay silent. But that's okay.

"I'm sorry. It hurts, doesn't it?"

Your voice sounds so, so genuine. Aki's heart sinks down into his stomach.

"You didn't deserve for any of that to happen to you. God, you've been through so much. All of it, I just- I couldn't even imagine."

Aki swallows the lump in his throat, and he replies, "Don't apologize. It's okay."

"It's not okay," You retort sharply, "It isn't okay for you to have to deal with getting treated like crap, on top of all those difficult missions, and on top of the stress from trying to hunt down that damn devil. It just isn't."

"I'm used to it. I knew what I signed up for when I took this job."

Your expression pinches. "Yeah, and I'm saying you deserve better. Better than whatever it is you're used to. Do you not think so?"

"I-"

He starts to answer, but he trails off before he can get anywhere. His eyes go wide, he glances away.

No, no he doesn't think so, but he couldn't explain that to you, he wouldn't even know where to begin. Everything he's ever done, every sacrifice, each and every devil he's slaughtered — It's all been in service of some sort of debt he feels he needs to repay. It was him who lived, it was him who survived when the rest of his family had their lives ripped away from them. He's the one with weight to carry. He's the one who got his brother killed.

And it's him who's watched colleague after colleague, friend after friend die right in front of his eyes, while each time he's been powerless to stop it. When those people fought so hard only to end up in their graves, never able to take another breath, who the hell is he to want something more, something easier? When he's the one who failed to keep them safe, if he stopped fighting for even a moment, how would he be able to live with himself?

This is just the way his life is, the way it always will be. This is the only thing he's known ever since he can remember.

And fuck, he can't say that to you. God knows he's said enough already.

Aki purses his lips into a thin line, his eyes flash with a more than obvious spark of guilt. If his hands folded in his lap, clenched and trembling weren't enough, the look on his face surely tells you all you need to know.

You sigh, and you let your arms fall limp at your sides. "You're so ridiculous."

Aki stays silent for a couple of seconds like he hasn't realized, and then suddenly, his eyebrows furrow, his gaze flickers up to your own. "What?"

"You heard me. You're being ridiculous. And totally stupid."

"What the hell do you mean?" He pouts, "How?"

Oh, you're really gonna give it to him now.

"You know what? Listen," You're starting, standing up straight, "You're ridiculously stubborn. And you're ridiculously altruistic. You should care more about your own well-being. What's gonna happen when you go too far? When you've sacrificed yourself and destroyed your mind and your body so much you've essentially worked yourself to death? If you spend all your time trying to protect others, you don't leave any room to protect yourself."

With every word, Aki's expression softens, softens. He bites down on his own tongue and stays quiet.

"If you don't care about my opinion, it's fine," You continue, arms crossing over your chest, "You don't know me. You don't have to listen to anything I have to say. After tonight, you can leave and go do whatever you'd like with your life, and I won't be able to stop you. But I think you deserve better, and whether you agree or not, that's not gonna change. You shouldn't be treated so poorly, whether it's by yourself or by other people, or by this whole fucked up system. God-"

Your shoulders slump. The sigh you breathe is deep and weary.

"You deserve love, you know that?"

Love.

Aki's eyes are wide, his mouth parts but he can't say anything. Truthfully, he doesn't know what to make of that. All he knows is how your words get his stomach all fluttery, the way they make his chest twisted with an aching, unfamiliar heartsickness.

"I'm-" He stutters, voice shaky, "I… I appreciate you saying all of that. Really, I do. But-" He brings his fist up, clearing his throat. "But you don't need to- Where are you going?"

By the time he's looked up and noticed, you've already walked away. You kneel down, digging through the bar's mini fridge. Glasses clink together as you sift through its contents. Eventually, you find what you're looking for: a cold bottle of water, and you walk back over, holding it out to him.

"Here," You give the water bottle a shake, "Your voice is hoarse. You must be thirsty, right?"

"Uh," Aki reaches out to take the bottle from you. "I guess so."

Now that you've mentioned it, his throat is pretty scratchy. He cracks the lid of the bottle open with a satisfying noise, and he tilts his head back to graciously glug some down. The crisp cold water nulls the fuzziness in his head, it brings relief to his throat, sore from when he was crying. Once he's done, he screws the cap back on and reaches over to set the bottle on the nightstand.

"Better?"

Aki nods, and he sounds much clearer when he answers, "Yes. Thanks."

"Let's talk about something else." You start, "Tell me how you're feeling. Are you sad? Mad at me?"

"No, of course not. I'm not mad. I'm not sad either. I'm just… normal."

Normal, right. His heart certainly doesn't feel normal: it's pounding a mile a minute, and it has been pretty much since the moment you started talking. Or maybe it started the second he stepped into this room with you. No. His heart's been skipping from the moment he met you.

His head is spinning in circles, spinning and spinning and making him dizzy, and he can't think straight to save his life. The ghost of your touch lingers on his skin: of your hands in his, of your palm on his cheek. You left tingles in your wake, you dictated the rhythm of his pulse without even realizing. And now that you've gone and said all of those sweet declarations — You've made it so every little thought circles right back around to you, with no means of escape.

Love, is that what this is? He's been thinking too much already, way too much for his own good, so Aki doesn't bother to give himself the time to consider it.

Maybe he's just drunk. He doesn't feel drunk. He's by no means a lightweight who'd go and get wasted after only a handful of drinks. But maybe the alcohol is what's making him act so weepy and starstruck and stupid. He'll place the blame on that to make himself feel better.

He shakes his head, and he says offhandedly, mostly to himself, "I think I've had too much to drink."

"Oh? I was going to offer to make you something else, but maybe that's not the best idea." You reply. "Are you okay? Do… Do you want to go back now?"

"No, not yet," Aki answers quickly, "I'm fine. My head, it just- it hurts, is all. But all the noise out there, it would make it hurt even worse."

Briefly, Aki remembers how you told him you were on your break. Your break's probably over by now. He should remind you. But he won't.

The noise, yes, but more so, he doesn't want you to leave him just yet. Not for a little while longer.

"Alright. We can just keep relaxing, then."

"Is that okay with you?" Aki asks, a bit hesitant.

"Yeah, but if we're gonna stay here-"

To his surprise, your palm comes to press onto the center of his chest, centimeters away from his pounding heart. You push slightly. "Scooch. Let me sit. My legs are tired."

Aki eyes you with confusion. But when your hand applies a bit more force, he follows along, obediently shifting back on the bed to try and make room for you.

Before he can move to the side to allow you to sit next to him though, you're suddenly gripping his shoulders, you're squeezing them tight and slinging your legs on either side of his. You're straddling him and climbing on top of him, you're settling your full weight on his legs and you're sitting in his lap — and just like that, Aki's completely breathless.

You're in his lap. He's stuttering between words and gasps out of nervousness, he's leaning backwards as much as he can but at the same time, he's trying to get comfortable, letting his thighs spread on instinct to give you enough room.

"Ah, what're you-" His cheeks burn with fiery warmth, his heart starts to pound faster, faster. He keeps his arms at his sides, his palms are getting sweaty, and he closes and opens his hands in unrest, in awkwardness, unsure where or whether he should touch you. He shouldn't, and you shouldn't be so close — Fuck, are you trying to kill him?

"You…" Aki gulps, he struggles to keep his gaze on yours when you're staring at him so unwaveringly, "I was going to move some more so you could sit, but you didn't give me a chance to, so I… You really don't have to-"

You're already smiling, you interrupt him with a small laugh and a playful squeeze of his shoulders.

"It's fine. Don't overthink it, Hayakawa. Just relax."

You hold still, allowing his heart to settle and for him to get used to your weight on top of him. You fit into his lap snugly, closely. Like you were meant to be there. Perfectly, almost; the slot of two puzzle pieces. So close he can hear your soft breathing echoing alongside the pitter-patter of his heartbeat in his ears. His thighs allow you just the right amount of space to sit comfortably. His work slacks are nice and smooth against your bare legs.

Don't overthink it. Is that what he's been doing this whole time, overthinking? With the way his head keeps spinning and spinning, it sure seems like he's been.

Maybe he shouldn't. He could try not to. He'd feel better if he let go, if he focused on nothing but you, if he just trusted you and simply forgot about everything else. All of his worries, all of his troubles. All the hurt he's clung onto so tight. He could, just for as long as you're here with him.

Aki exhales a long, deep breath, he lets his hands unfurl and places them flat onto the mattress. His heart rate slows. He wants to let go, he swears he does. The problem is convincing his mind to shut up is no easy task.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

Aki peers up at you as your sweet voice tugs him from his thoughts. "Nothing."

You breathe a half-sigh, half-giggle, and you wrap your arms around his neck, clasping your hands together and leaning your elbows on his shoulders. "You're always worrying about something, aren't you?"

Aki hesitates for a single moment — your face is so close — before he interjects, "Not all the time."

"Oh yeah? How do I get you to stop, then?"

"I… I don't know."

Sure, he doesn't know, but you might just have an idea. An idea to get him to forget about all those things that've been bothering him, an idea to help take some weight off of his shoulders, if only for tonight. An idea that gets your heart thumping, your nerves buzzing, and your whole body tingling with anticipation.

You know how you can get him to relax, and if he thinks love isn't something he needs, you know how you can show him.

You cock your head, "Listen, how about this. Don't let anything trouble you right now, okay?"

Aki pauses. "What do you mean?"

You lean in a bit more, just a little more, enough to let Aki smell a hint of your perfume; something akin to fresh blossoms and vanilla, completely intoxicating yet perfectly, utterly you.

Your voice is sweet enough to make his heart flip: "I want you to try and let go of everything that's been bothering you, all those bad thoughts that won't leave your mind. I said you deserve to relax and enjoy yourself, remember? And you can't give yourself space to relax if you're always stuck in your own head, don't you think?"

Aki swallows so hard his eardrums crackle, he's stunned. Part of him still can't believe this is happening, that you're here, tangible and right on top of him. Your eyes are locked onto his, gaze warm and earnest. His eyelids grow heavy once your delicate fingers come to hold his jaw.

Quiet and coy, you whisper, "You're here with me, it's just us, and nothing else. It can be just us for the rest of the night, if you want it to be. We can pretend devils don't exist, alright?"

Honestly, Aki doubts himself, he isn't sure how well he'll be able to follow through. But when you're the one who's asking him, when it's for you, he wants to give it a shot. If he keeps his focus on you, on this moment, perhaps forgetting will become simpler than he imagined.

"Alright." Aki replies, "I'll try. Thank you."

"That's all I'm asking for." Your smile is warm. "Just try."

He nods, and it's ridiculous, but after a few drawn-out seconds, he begins to think you're going to do something more.

Your hand on his cheek tilts his head up slightly, holding him perfectly still. Aki's expression softens. He sees your gaze flicker down to rest on his lips, he can hear the subtle echo of your breathing. You're so close, your face is mere inches away from his. The tension between you and him draws out the seconds one by one, millisecond by millisecond, breath by breath.

The funny part is he wouldn't mind it. He wouldn't try to stop you. You've really got him wrapped around your finger, and Aki knows it. He's sure he's past the point of ever hoping to learn how to say no to you. Thankfully, he doesn't think he minds much if he ends up letting you do whatever you want with him.

If you kissed him right now, he might even find himself pulling you closer.

But you don't; instead, your hands start to travel over his shoulders, your warm fingers slip under the collar of his shirt to toy with his bare skin in places he hasn't felt before. The anticipation could kill him, but your touches might spell his demise before then.

You lean in close, your breath warm when it fans over the shell of his ear. "Are you comfortable?"

His eyelashes flutter, and he merely answers, "Mhmm."

"I can move, if you want to. If this is too much."

"No," Aki blurts out, "Don't."

Your fingertips graze over his pulse point before you tug them out of his collar, returning your hand to rest delicately on his jaw. Aki meets your eyes, his breathing starting to quicken; you can hear each sharp, shaky breath he takes in. Your touch is barely there, but it commands all of his attention; effortlessly tender, you make his body shiver, his skin spark with electricity.

You examine the details of his face: deep blue eyes like the depths of the ocean, faint bags set in under them from the stress. His nose is pointed, his brows are straight and short and a bit furrowed up in nervousness. He's pretty when he blushes, his face becomes painted in shades of ruby and pink all the way to the tips of his ears. He's just as handsome as you thought he was from the moment you saw him, even more when he's flustered, even more when it's all because of you.

"You're-"

Before he can finish the rest of what he was about to say, Aki suddenly stops, he shakes his head. He mutters, "Sorry, nevermind."

"No, what is it?"

Gnawing a little on his bottom lip, he anxiously taps his fingers against the surface of the bed. "I don't know. I forgot."

"Come onnnnn," You tease, and you playfully pinch his cheek; Aki grumbles, but you just make his face glow even redder than before.

"You're a horrible liar. You know what it is, so just tell me."

"I was going to say-" Aki trails off. Loudly, he sighs. His tone of voice is nonchalant, like it's no big deal, but the way he shyly averts his eyes away from you says otherwise. "I think you're really beautiful."

His words catch you a bit off guard — pleasantly, though. They get you smiling, your cheeks warm and your heart fluttering. "Thank you. For the record, I think you're beautiful too."

"Am I?"

Aki's eyes go glossy. He asks you that question like he's wanting you to say more, like he's begging for you to keep fawning over him because he can't get enough of it, of the way it feels to be adored.

"Uh-huh. You're so pretty, Hayakawa. I think you're gorgeous-" You brush your fingers down his jaw, your palm presses firm to his chest. It rises, falls, his heart beats beneath his shirt to a rapid rhythm, thumping, thumping. "Inside and out."

You think he's pretty. Aki's so dizzy he can't even think, it's like he's floating, as if he's high. Water beads at his lashes, he blinks the tears away. He lets his gaze flicker from your face, to where you're settled on top of his lap, to something in the distance.

His mind is moving a mile a minute, but no matter what, all those thoughts keep leading back to the same thing. He can't stop thinking about what you had said to him earlier.

Love has never been in the cards for him. Maybe it was something he understood once, but ever since he can remember, it hasn't been something he's had. He's never been adored. Never been put first. His parents loved him, but they spent all their time fussing over his brother. And then, they were gone.

It isn't something he's daydreamed of, isn't something he's at all desired. In this life, love isn't even anywhere close to a possibility. His existence revolves around his pursuits as a devil hunter, and nothing else. He can't have room for anything else. There's no-one. There's always been no-one.

Until now.

You make his heart into something it isn't used to, your touches give him a feeling so simple yet unlike anything he's ever understood: the beat of wings manifested between his ribcage. He's never been one to want, but he wants you, he wants whatever else you're willing to give to him, be it love, or something more. He wants to see what it is you think he deserves, because then, he might be able to understand.

"You look so nervous, pretty boy."

Your tone is teasing, it's tugging and pleading for him to let you in. Your finger comes to rest under his chin, and you tilt it up towards you carefully — just slightly, but enough to call his attention back to you.

"I thought I told you to relax."

"Easier said than done." Aki replies quickly, a little breathless.

You don't get how damn near impossible it is to stay calm when you're so sickeningly sweet. When you're pressed up this close to him, right in his lap.

"Then let me help you."

You brush some hair from his eyes, tuck it neatly behind his ears. You reach for him again, and this time, you're gently grasping his chin between your thumb and forefinger, you're keeping his head tilted up and his gaze locked on you.

"You don't- there's no need for that, you don't have to." Aki mumbles, he's frozen, and his lips quiver when your thumb brushes over them. "You've done enough for me already."

"But I want to. It isn't because I have to, I want to do this for you, Aki. Please."

Your sudden use of his first name causes his eyes to widen and his thudding heart to skip a beat. He knew he'd like the way you said his name, when you said his last he couldn't help but imagine how your voice would strum the syllables of his first. But now that he's heard it, the way his name sounds when you're the one to say it is perfect.

"Really?"

A small part of him is still doubting this. His worry-filled brain can't help but think the only reason you're still here is because this is your job, and he's nothing more than a patron. Perhaps he's too trusting, but if you're sitting here and you're telling him this is what you want, then —

"Yes, of course. Of course Aki, fuck, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want this with you." The meaning of this is left ambiguous, but you're still talking, and neither of you have a chance to ponder the implication.

"You can trust me," You're continuing, "Let me take care of you. I can help you relax, for once. I'll give you something else to think about. Something better."

Aki pauses. His breath is warm on the pad of your thumb, his voice is a challenge at barely more than a whisper: "And how are you going to do that?"

You know how, and it's something you've wanted to do for way, way too long.

You keep a firm grip on his chin, holding him still. Aki's Adam's apple bobs in his throat when he swallows thickly, his throat dry from the nervousness. His shoulders stiffen, his breath hitches and shakes as you start to slowly lean in, your head tilting, your hand working behind him to gently hold the back of his neck with each centimeter of distance you close.

When your lips brush over his — close enough to feel yours are plush, and his are chapped, but not quite enough to connect — Aki is letting his eyes shut. His breath is hot, it's quick. He focuses on the fluttery beat of his heart in his ears to keep the anticipation from eating him alive. Pounding fast, hard, and then slower, slower.

And once your lips press fully onto his own, he feels it start to soar.

His chest fills with an enveloping, tingling warmth, his cheeks and the tips of his ears burn red hot. After so long of feeling nothing he finally knows what it's like to feel everything — His breath nearly stops as you kiss him softly; tender enough to cause the entire room to whirl around him, hard enough to make the whole rest of the world fade away, as though it doesn't even exist.

There's just you, and just him, at the center of it all.

Still, it's a hesitant, chaste sort of kiss, Aki melts into your touch and allows you to do as you please, and you let the kiss last for only a second or two. You pull back slowly, reluctant to drag your lips away from his, you let his breath mix with yours for longer than you should. Finally, you draw all the way backward, and Aki's eyes flutter open to see you're already staring at him.

You kissed him. You kissed him, and the only thing running through Aki's mind is how much his heart — in the expanse of his chest, warm and all-encompassing, flooding his body with this prickly sense of longing — All he can think of is how badly he needs you to kiss him again.

"Aki-" You swallow, you say his name with an air of caution; perhaps you can't believe what you've just done, either. But you won't stop. Your face is still close to his, and your voice is kept quiet, "How was that? Another?"

Aki nearly stutters. "Yes." His low voice mimics the volume of yours, "Please."

You haven't forgotten the promise you made to yourself, when you swore you'd give him everything he wants from you. And when he asks you so nicely for more, you aren't about to forget.

A telling smile tugs at the corners of your cheeks. Of course.

You lean in once more, eyes closing, head tilting. His shoulders go slack the instant you've kissed him. Your lips connect with his a little easier than before, it's more familiar this time, but your kiss is a bit deeper, a bit harder.

The way he kisses you back is hesitant. Desperate but nervous all at once, like he doesn't want you to stop, like he's needed this. His lips quiver and his jaw locks up, his movements are unsure and clumsy; your lips don't quite meet with his when he leans in to kiss you again, his nose awkwardly bumps against yours. Aki kisses like he's never kissed anyone before — but honestly, with the way he's closed himself off, that might be true.

You kiss his lips again, again, you've been meaning to pull yourself away ages ago, you tell yourself just one more, but Aki leans in for another, and you can't resist. Each one is slow and tender, you only stop when you need an opportunity to breathe — and even then, you barely pull away from him, your lips still brush over his as you gasp for air and your warm breath melds with his own until the space between you is hot and humid. Aki's arms are shaking, he keeps his eyes screwed shut tight.

You reach up, and you carefully brush strands of hair away from his face to tuck behind his ears. You press a long, deep kiss to his mouth, you run your fingers up through his soft hair 'til it's ruffled and messy and his whole scalp is pleasantly tingling. His body relaxes, he's compliant, and he's starting to get the hang of this; he breathes a trembling sigh, his hands tightly clenching the sheets of the bed. He groans quietly, voice muffled by your lips on his.

God, he feels amazing. Nothing matters to him anymore besides your soft lips against his own. Each kiss melts him more than the last, all the way until he's putty in your hands, leaning into your touch as you hold his jaw and draw him in for more. Your other hand slips over his back, it runs along the length of his spine and coaxes him impossibly closer.

The pitter-pattery lilt in his heart refuses to quit. He kisses you eagerly, he utters soft, hushed gasps. Your body rocks into his in a desperate attempt to get closer, and Aki sighs in a mix of surprise and contentment, but he's letting it happen. In fact, he's encouraging you, he's following along to each of your movements, leaning into you once you start to press forwards.

Your lips are perfect, he's addicted — It's like he was made to kiss you. Made to meet you and destined to have you kiss all of his bitterness away, just like this.

He wouldn't mind if this singular moment lasted the rest of his life.

He's disappointed but doesn't protest when you abruptly decide to pull away, far back enough to meet his hazy eyes, and for long enough to allow him to catch most of his breath. His cheeks are burning red, his lips are puffy, pink and kiss-swollen. You're sure you aren't fairing much better; an unmistakable heat blemishes your face, it swells from under your skin and travels all the way down your shoulders and your chest.

You breathe in deep, and you try to calm your racing heart before you speak.

"You're doing good. Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

"I'm going to kiss you again," You're already leaning in but that's fine, he wasn't planning on stopping you in the first place, "Relax more this time, okay? Don't tense up. Just trust me."

Aki nods his head nervously, unsure but willing, and you place your hand on his cheek before tilting your head and diving in again; this time, your kiss is much deeper, it catches him off guard, and he instinctively tenses despite what you told him. You run your fingers through his hair until he's slack, you guide his lips to part when yours do — And when your tongue slips into his mouth, he starts to feel like he's high.

You taste exhilarating, sweet and sugar-ridden and like everything he's ever wanted. His arms continue to tremble, every limb freezes up and a budding ache blooms wild in his core. He's weightless, taken under frothy ocean waves, he tries his hardest to kiss you back but it's so much, his heart hammers in his chest: the bang and reverberation of steady gunfire.

You suck on his tongue gently, teasingly, and he tastes like honeyed liquor and his rich cigarettes — The same kind of cigarettes you always used to smoke. The sensation is dizzyingly familiar, so delicious it gives you a rush to the head, it makes the whole world tilt on its axis.

And it's there, with your lips pressed deft to his, that you realize perhaps you needed this just as much as he did. This softness, this closeness, this genuine adoration. You can't remember the last time you kissed someone like this, when the collision of lips and tongues came so easily, so safely, so naturally.

Aki makes everything easy, he's easy to kiss, easy to trust. Easy to love. Easy to want so, so much more from.

Your kisses get heavy and hot, messes of spit between twofold staggered gasps for breath. You're tired of him keeping his hands at his sides, you want him to touch you — So, as Aki mutters another pretty whimper into your mouth, tilting his head opposite to yours so he can kiss you even deeper, you're reaching down and grabbing his wrists.

You tug them to your waist, you coax his hands to hold you and squeeze tightly. He's trembling a little; his touch is more hesitant than forceful, but he follows your direction and grips you firm. He rubs circles into your skin with his thumbs, his palms radiate warmth. Your kisses lead you to press closer, your teeth bite gently on his bottom lip and he drags you in by your waist, enough to make your hips to rock rhythmically against his lap. Aki gasps, you pull away from him and he's panting hard.

His eyelids flutter open and he immediately meets your gaze, his pupils blown out wide and dark. In a weak voice, Aki starts, "I-I'm sorry, I'm not-"

But you shut him up with a quick kiss to his lips, he's stuttering again as you plant another to the corner of his mouth, then to his warm cheek, to the edge of his jaw. He lets out a heavy sigh as you place the softest kiss over the shell of his ear, his skin tingly when your hot breath tickles it.

"I'm not…" Aki gulps, still trying to talk despite his struggle. It grows more difficult when you're biting at his earlobe, his metal earring sturdy under your teeth, your lips delicate on his ear, "... I'm not good at this."

You huff a low laugh so close he can feel the echo. His whole body shivers, then promptly relaxes.

"It's okay," You coo, voice muffled, barely there. You're beginning to trail sloppy kisses down his neck, and he whimpers; each word is sending vibrations over where he's most sensitive, "You're doing soooooo good. You're a great kisser, Aki."

The thick, dreamy fog in his brain almost causes your words not to register. But when they do click, Aki's blushing a little harder, his mind is a blur, he's so caught up he fails to notice your hands reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

"I… I am?"

You mutter teasing mhmm's into his nape, you work the soft flesh of his neck between your teeth and suck hard. Your lips feel out the telling thrum of his pulse, kissing until it starts to pound faster. Your mouth is warm, tongue wet; you taste the prickle of salt on his skin like you could never hope to get enough.

Nipping at the side of his neck, you fumble to undo each button on his dress shirt, popping them free through messy kisses and bites. It's difficult to undo them blind, and so you struggle for a while, focus split between sucking a deep-set bruise into his skin and hastily getting him undressed.

And Aki knows what you're doing — He should probably stop you, push you away, anything, but he doesn't have it in himself to. This is indecent, he's letting you strip him. You've worked all of the buttons on his shirt down, and you press your warm palms to his bare chest, you drag them down and caress the mismatched ridges of scars. You feel out the subtle shapes of muscle, glide your hands over his smooth stomach and press your thumbs to where his hip bones start to jut out and define the rest of his figure.

If he was thinking clearer, or if he hadn't already agreed to take your advice, he might have put a stop to this by now. Instead, all he can do is utter faint gasps and moans, he grips your waist tighter and he tilts his head back to give you better access. Your kisses and licks and bites right on his most tender spot feel like the sweetest thing he's ever had the privilege to experience, like heaven.

He doesn't need to look to know for certain he's going to have a huge mark on his neck, right where everyone can see. He can try to cover it up with his collar, maybe. Skip work and say he's feeling sick to avoid the shame he'd get from all the stares. He'll figure it out later. It's truly unlike him, but in this present moment, he can't bring himself to care.

As you finally break away from him, planting one last kiss, you admire the mark you've left on his skin: tender and bruised in shades of purple and red, planted on the side of his neck, right above his shirt collar. You trail your hand up to the center of his chest, you measure each pound of his heart; it thrums to an eager, rapid rhythm under your palm.

Aki's gaze flickers over your face, expectant. You lean in some, your voice quiet: "Your heart is beating so fast."

Against his complexion, the mark you've given him stands out like a sore thumb, surely easy enough for anyone to notice even with his hair down. Warm red and purple and blue blossom freely on the side of his neck. He's so pretty, the bruise is so pretty you can't help but dream of giving him more. Enough to cover the whole expanse of his pretty fair skin, enough to last, enough to make him never forget you. And as you reach up and brush your thumb over the blemish, delighting in the way Aki shivers under your touch, his eyelids heavy, breath loud and eager, you can't help but wonder what people will think, what they'll end up saying to him.

If his colleagues at work will pester him about it, if the people on the train will stare when he stands next to them for too long. You wonder even more if when they ask, he would end up telling them the truth.

"Are you nervous?"

He gulps, he forces himself to meet your eyes and hold his gaze there.

"A little," Aki confesses breathlessly. His neck feels bare without your lips pressed to it. "Sorry."

"Should I move?"

"No, you-" His nervousness is evident even without his answer, he takes a deep breath in and attempts to grasp at the composure he'd been clinging to earlier. He swallows and forces his shaky voice to continue.

"We shouldn't be doing this," He says, his face is flushed crimson, his lips are puffy, he doesn't sound very convincing. "You know that, right?"

"Oh, yeah?" You snicker in response, "Why?"

Aki keeps nervously stammering on: "This is- I mean, it's- I know we won't get in trouble, but if you keep going, if we're not able to stop, then you'll… it'll- we'll end up-"

He abruptly freezes, trailing off before he can say anything more. Before he can answer the what ifs you've had spinning around in your brain since all of this began.

Right. You didn't expect him to be the one to say it, nor did you think he was even considering something like that, but he's right.

If this goes on, you'll end up doing something you shouldn't. You'll find yourselves in a tangled mess on the bed, you won't be able to go back once you've taken things too far, you'll strip him of the rest of his clothes and feel his large hands press deft to your bare skin, and once you've reached that point —

"I know." You purposefully interrupt your own train of thought, "And I don't want to stop."

Gaze steady on yours, you wonder how he hasn't managed to look away. "Really? You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Even if… even if we-"

"I'm positive." You interrupt. "Why? Did you want us to stop?"

Aki's chest rises up, and then down. "I didn't say that."

"What do you want, then?" Your fingers travel up from his neck to ghost over his jaw, his bangs form a mess around his face and you carefully push them aside while Aki takes a nice, deep breath. "Doesn't matter if you shouldn't. Tell me what you want."

What does he want? He already knows, and he's such a hypocrite, such a total idiot. Truth is, he hasn't cared about what you should or shouldn't be doing for a long time now.

There's one last chance to put a stop to this, and you've left the choice up to him.

"I want you to kiss me."

You smile. Falling further and further has been your fate from the very start. And now, he's sealed himself the same outcome as your own.

"Where?"

You lean down until your lips are brushing over his neck like butterfly wings, until he's letting his eyes flutter shut and allowing your sweet voice to consume what's left of him: "Do you want me to kiss you right here?"

"Yeah," Aki answers, his breath is hard and sharp when it's pushed from his lungs, "Yes, please."

So you do just that; you press a set of delicate kisses to his neck, he gasps, you place your hand under his chin to tilt his head up. You plant a messy kiss right under his jaw, then one onto his Adam's apple — Aki swallows, it bobs up and down in his throat, your lips are liquid fire — and finally, you press one over the pretty mark you've already left.

You peer up at him through your eyelashes, you gauge his reaction, and he gestures down to his neck with his eyes, where your lips sit inches away; he's still breathless, still nervous, but he sounds sure of himself when he asks, "Give me another one?"

"Another one of these?" You tap your finger against his neck, over his purpling bruise, skin tender to the touch.

Aki nods. "Please."

You're obliging before he can say another word. You dip your head down, you kiss onto another soft spot on his nape. Aki screws his eyes shut tight, and then, you work the flesh between your teeth, same as you did before. You suck gently, you hum into his skin when his hands grip your waist for reprieve. You kiss the newly formed bruise, watch it take: a mess of red and purple seeping deeper in. The warmth of your breath briefly disappears as you move your head over to the other side.

Aki tilts along with you. Delicate fingers push his hair out of the way, plush lips pepper his neck with kisses, he sighs in pleasure, reaching a hand up at the same time. He shakily presses his palm to the back of your head, and you work to give him another. Your tongue wet on his skin, you suck more harshly, hard enough to make him whine. You only pull away once you're sure this newest mark will set.

Drawing back, you lock eyes with him. You grab his chin, drag his head up, his gaze goes soft, heavy and obedient. He looks perfect, gorgeous when he's like this, pupils blown out, the fair skin on his pretty neck covered in your bruises and your love bites.

They're signs you were there. Pretty little mementos for him to admire in the mirror the next morning until they jog the memory of what you've done, of your plush lips and warm mouth on his neck. He'll tingle at the thought, he'll press his fingertips to each one and will himself to go back to the night you left them.

"Tsk," You scoff playfully, grinning, "You won't be able to go back to work like this."

The bridge of Aki's nose crinkles when his eyebrows start to furrow, "I can."

"People are gonna stare at you."

"I don't care." He snaps the words a bit too sharply than he realizes, but it's out of desperation, out of impatience, "Just kiss me again."

Finally. You're taken aback, but only briefly, in a good sort of way. This is what you wanted. At last, he's honest, he's desperate and he's no longer afraid to get what he wants — or really, what he's wanted all along. Finally, he's acting a little more selfishly.

Without giving him a chance to regret it, you lean again, giving him just what he needs from you.

Your lips connect with his, Aki grips your waist and in turn, you fist his shirt collar, tugging him in as close as you can get him. This kiss is messier than the others. It's needier, it's you melting into him when one of his hands slides up to hold the small of your back, his touch gentle, like he could never hurt you. He wouldn't, you know he wouldn't. And it's Aki dragging you in, tugging you closer on his lap, his head cloudy and fuzzy and only focused on the ever-so perfect press of your tongue to his own.

With each and every kiss, you're taking all the breath from his lungs — You adjust, your hips rock into him just as they did the first time he pulled you closer, and he nearly gasps, his whole body flares with tingling warmth. He wants you even closer, but your tongue in his mouth, his puffy lips messy and wet with your saliva is too much to handle. Aki kisses you back as best he can manage, he licks into your mouth nice and slow while your fingers tangle in his hair: tugging, pulling, gripping.

Amidst your kisses, somehow, you manage to find a window to murmur, "Do you like kissing me?"

You don't get to say anything more, though, because Aki is quick to close that shred of distance between you; he kisses you deeply again, he holds the back of your neck, and into your mouth, he mumbles a muffled, sweet-sounding mhmm.

Truthfully, he does, he loves this. His heart thumps, his eyelids are too heavy to open, drool drips messily from the corner of his mouth.

He's forgotten almost everything, everything but you; you're the perfect vice, just as addicting as his cigarettes, but you're so much sweeter — He can't stop. When you're kissing him like this, pressed up close to him and making everything dizzy and light and feel so good, how is he supposed to stop you? He can't, and more than anything, he wants to drown in more of your touch, in your lips, in all you have to give him.

Your fingers tug gently on his hair, you moan softly, your body presses into him once more, your hips grind down on his. But this time, it's different. It's much more deliberate.

You're testing the waters, getting restless. And he freezes up from the tension; when you pull away from his mouth, his eyes are glazed over, his pupils are blown out wide. You're both breathing hard and heavy, you mutter something and with the way his head is spinning and his ears are ringing, he can't tell if it's a sigh of pleasure or a whine of his name.

Then, your hips roll down on him again, hard, right into his lap, and Aki's eyelashes are fluttering, he's hissing and biting down on his bottom lip, his hands clenching at your sides. His pulse is thrumming, it's insistent and warm on his neck and between his legs, only getting warmer the closer you press.

Your heart is starting to race. Your nerves hum with a new kind of need, an exciting sort of need. You know what you're doing. You'd be a fool not to know. Aki runs his palm along your spine, trailing up, his touch gentle, and your whole body grows impossibly hot. Your head is still reeling from his kisses, you'll blame your impulsiveness on that.

Your lips long to be on his again — and you almost kiss him, you're about to kiss him even harder until he can't even breathe, but you stop as Aki's eyes scan your face, as he opens his mouth and tries to say something but can't. When you get impatient, gripping his shoulders and rolling down on him again, all he can do is gasp.

"Aki…" You murmur his name, leaning in close to his ear. And it's clearer this time, even sweeter than all the times he's heard it before.

"F-Fuck, stop for a second."

He sighs out the words, he squeezes your waist tightly as a signal to hold still, and you freeze in your tracks.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Aki answers quickly, voice shaky. He looks at you through half-closed eyelids, his face is flushed crimson and his collar's askew. His unbuttoned shirt is starting to carelessly fall from his shoulders, slipping down to expose his collarbones and most of his chest. As if on queue, he reaches for it, tugging the sleeves back in place, attempting to clumsily do up the buttons one-handed. He swallows the dryness in his throat and tries to make himself look presentable. Like it even matters.

"Fine, just-" Aki lets go once you help him, tossing his head back. You reach forward, you finish the rest of the buttons for him before adjusting the folds of his shirt collar until they're straight. "Just needed to catch my breath."

"I'll get off of you, if that's what you want." Your thumbs rub along the smooth fabric of his collar. "If it's too much."

"No," He's still a bit breathless, but now, he sounds much more resolute. Little by little, he regains his bearings. He tilts his head all the way backward and looks up towards the pale ceiling to avoid meeting your gaze. He spreads his legs and gets more comfortable, sighs at the extra friction from you adjusting on his lap. He takes a couple more deep breaths and waits for his pounding head and heart to return to normal.

He looks towards you again. Behind his eyes, he sparks with something dark. Something serious and something foreign — It's a look you've never seen from him before. A look filled with something desperate and incomprehensible, washed over with lust and love and whatever lies in between.

"Don't." Aki heaves a deep, steady sigh. "I don't want you to."

His breathing is slow, it's controlled, it contrasts with his heavy gaze and flushed out face. You let your arms wrap around his shoulders and he tries his hardest to stay calm.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," Aki stares into your eyes and imagines them swallowing him whole. "I promise, I'm sure."

The truth is, he's still nervous, he's fucking terrified, but if there's one thing he's grown tired of, it's hesitating when his heart knows he doesn't want to. From now on, he can't, he won't. No more hesitation.

"You can do anything you want, I trust you. I swear."

You smirk. "Anything?"

You're leaning in, you grasp his lobe and fiddle with the pointy back of his earring. You tilt your head and breathe warm wisps of air onto the shell of his ear, so close he's shuddering, his eyes screwing shut in anticipation. Aki's heart pounds, pounds, pounds.

And with a trembling sigh, he confirms it: "Anything."

"So this is alright, isn't it?"

You rock into him again, and he gasps, he takes in a long, unsteady breath. Aki shivers, he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down. Your question doesn't get answered at first, but his hold on your waist is a subtle form of encouragement, he drags you forwards in tune with the deep roll of your hips until you're pressing into him even harder and even closer than before. Right up against his lap, your arms around him and your chest on his.

"Yes," Aki finally manages; he can hardly speak, he's losing his fucking mind and you've barely even begun. Your palms glide down, fingers nudging past his sleeves, gently caressing his hands and the veins on his wrists. Your hands fold over his knuckles, you squeeze and guide him to hold you tighter. You nip at his nape and he's screwed, he's so fucking screwed. "Keep going, don't stop…"

His hands shake, arms tremble, you press your lips to his neck and leave wet, messy kisses onto every sensitive spot you managed to discover before. Everything's happening at once, Aki clumsily tugs you closer, still. His fingers flex like he's not sure whether he should keep holding on. In the end, when your lips kiss his cheek and you cradle his face in both palms, he opts to tear his hands away from you and place them flat at his sides to give himself more leverage.

His head twirls in dizzying circles. His body betrays whatever wishes for composure he was still clinging onto. It takes you another deep grind into his lap to register what's happening; beneath you, he's getting hot, getting stiff.

You can feel him, firm and thick in his slacks, warm when you roll down on him again; you've hardly done anything, and he's this hard already, from just some kissing and a little bit of friction. You've ignored it up 'til now, but truthfully, you've noticed for a lot longer than you were letting on. Aki's been hard ever since you first kissed him.

You don't blame him, really. He can't help himself, it's cute that he can't help himself. You pull him close and kiss his lips, he can't help if he gets hard just from a kiss, your body presses closer and shoves up against his — your sex against his stiffening cock — and Aki can't help when he sighs into your mouth. You pull back and keep kissing his neck, he groans, his throat vibrates under your lips with the noise and his Adam's apple bobs from the weight of it.

He's doomed. When it comes to you, he can't help himself, and that's the problem. You're rocking into him and even though he should say the opposite, all he can manage to mutter is, Keep going, keep going. Don't stop.

You place a delicate kiss onto his ear, you coo something sweet into it that his tangled mind can barely make out — You sound so pretty, so perfect when you beg — and it's all over.

This isn't like him, he isn't the kind of man who'd do something like this. He should have more self-control. He thought he did. And yet here he is, bucking his hips up into your own as you grind down on him, whining so loud it's embarrassing, his pretty noises turning into even softer grunts as your fingers knot in his hair. You grip close to his scalp, his messy bangs tickle his lashes.

He shouldn't be so needy. Or perhaps it'd be more accurate to say he didn't know he had it in him to be so needy. He wants you so badly he's gone lightheaded, he can't fathom anything but this; nothing else but the way your body clicks into place with his, close, close, right up against him. Enough to tease, enough to make him want you harder, faster, not enough to satiate his appetite.

Though he doesn't dare to take anything further than the pace you've set. You grip his waist with one hand to keep both of you steady, right between the end of his ribs and the beginning of his hips. Lips parted, gaze misty, Aki lets you take whatever you want, like it's all that matters.

And you will, because as much as you want to deny it, you certainly aren't faring much better; there's an ache set deep in your core, you're so desperate for him, to feel him. To have him closer, anywhere, anything, just more. Body to body, yours to his — Aki makes you want him without even trying, more than you think you've wanted anything else before.

The room is quiet, way too quiet. You want to say something to break this silence, you know he won't, but the way you're feeling consumes every thought before it can form. The shifting of the mattress, the rustle of clothing, and Aki's gasps, his fragile whines are the only thing to fill your ears. You rock into him deep enough and slow enough and close enough to make him sob, and he bites down on his bottom lip, shutting his eyes tight, trying to stifle his noise.

He doubts anyone would walk down the hallway and come close enough to this room to hear him or you. But the thought alone, the suspense of someone hearing how humiliating he sounds, of getting caught: it's enough to get him to shut himself up.

"Aki," Finally, you muster something, gasping the words between another firm grind into his groin, "Talk to me."

Despite his best efforts, he's struggling, and you've noticed. He finds it hard to stop himself from whining each time you grip him tight and grind down, even when he's trying to keep his mouth shut, even once he's covered it with his own palm, thinking that would make a difference.

"Aaaaaaaki."

"Shut up…"

Every slight spur presses his lap further into you, making his eyelids flutter and his breath hitch. Don't, you can't say his name that way, not like that, not so sweet.

Leaning in, you kiss his cheek, so soft his head goes hazy, you free your hand from his waist to push his bangs out of the way and kiss his forehead. You grip his wrist and gently, you drag it away from his mouth, he responds with an instant sharp intake of breath. You're straightening his hand and lining up his fingertips with yours, and he does you a favor before you make him wait any longer, intertwining his fingers with yours, gripping tight. He missed this.

"C'mon, don't be mean," You whisper in his ear, you nibble on his lobe, speak through the rolls of your hips into him, "I wanna hear your voice. Please?"

"Sorry," Aki snaps in response, you grip his hand nice and tight, use your free one to hold his face and brush your thumb over his lips. They're quivering, his pupils are wide. He tries. His words have zero bite (they never did to begin with, not from the start) and begin to sound more like pleas, less like demands.

"I-I can't, I can't take it, you can't stop." Aki stammers. You nearly take your hand away from his to grip his shoulder, but Aki holds it tight, squeezing, fingers shaking, "Don't, please, ah- shit…"

You can't fault him for trying, for listening, but his voice is fragile, it comes out in broken words and half-started sentences. You rock hard into him once more, you kiss his ear and start up a steady rhythm with your hips. His mouth falls open when he whines, his thighs wobble, his cock is aching from where it strains his slacks. Aching to be touched, and when it's pulsing between his legs so much it practically has a heartbeat of its own, he can't fucking think straight.

He certainly isn't thinking when your thumb presses to his lips, caressing them before somehow slipping past. Any aspect of reason doesn't exist when you're shoving your thumb into his mouth, onto his tongue — and to your surprise, Aki lets his tongue swirl around it, he takes in sharp breaths to the tune you've set by grinding against him. He chokes on a quiet, sweet, dirty sort of gag as you shove the digit in further.

It's filthy, he's filthy. His eyelids grow heavy, his lips close, and he sucks on your thumb gently, obediently. You grip his chin, you press it in even more, tears prick at his lashes and Aki's body lurches. His hips buck up into you along with the movement and he's gasping, nearly coughing when you abruptly pull your thumb out. You let it linger on his lips, smearing wet streaks of saliva all over them.

He's panting now, hot and quickened breaths; he lifts his pelvis and fucks himself back into you on instinct, without even thinking, sighing and closing his eyes as he does. You adjust, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your movements reach a fever pitch and with a dull thud and squeak from the mattress, you end up pushing him over.

Pushing him all the way until he flops onto the bed, on his back, with you right on top of him, pinning him into place. Body pressed to his own, face inches away from his. Aki huffs in surprise, but you capture his lips with yours before he can do anything more.

He swears you taste even sweeter this time. Honey and sugar, rich and enveloping but sparked with something ever-so exciting. Both of your hands cup his cheeks, and his arms fall upturned above him, he tilts his head opposite yours and kisses you tenderly, slowly — juxtaposed with how urgently he knows he needs you. His thighs shift and squirm as he parts them, trying to get comfortable and give you a better angle. Better access to the incessant throb between his legs.

Your plush lips on his, your tongue exploring his mouth, your kisses and your cunt rubbing right up against his cock — and it's still not enough. Not enough friction or warmth or touch, too many layers of fabric, too much space between your body and his own. He can't, Aki's starting to sweat. So needy and disgustingly desperate, he wants to slap himself until he gets a grip, wants to have you shake his shoulders until he's come to his senses.

He's hard and only getting harder, you grind deeper, and he really can't control himself, can't get a grip when he's already slick with arousal in his briefs and struggling to not finish right then and there.

If he isn't careful, he'll cum just like this. That'd be pathetic. Such a loser, hooking up with you in the back of a strip club and cumming in his pants before you've even really done anything.

He wishes that thought bothered him more than it did. He doesn't feel ashamed. He wishes it didn't make his stomach bloom with warmth and his head go all fuzzy as he imagines how you'd react, how you'd tease him in that sickeningly sweet voice of yours for getting so worked up and promise to make him feel even better. Awe, Aki, you're so cute. You want me to take care of you?

God, he's worse than all the other devil hunters who come here, all his coworkers and even his sorry excuse for a mentor. What the hell has gotten into him?

He has no idea, because the second you've pulled away from his lips, you give him no time to compose himself before you're breathlessly asking, "Does it feel good?"

"H-hah-" Aki gasps, he's slurring; you're a pretty sight above him, and he struggles to speak at first, he's bright red all the way to the tips of his ears, "Yeah, s'good- Don't stop, please don't stop, you can't, you can't..."

Of course it feels good, of fucking course it does. He's so worked up, and for the life of him he can't think of the last time he's been this way. Maybe never. Surely he's never felt this good all by himself before.

Hell, he's been so numb, so busy and so isolated, he's finding he can't even remember the last time he's gotten hard in the first place. He's so stiff, aching so much it practically hurts, he hasn't felt this way in so long — Yeah, never.

You must have noticed. You think he's easy, probably. He wouldn't really have a problem with that. But you're playing dumb, you've got to know how good he's feeling because you're the one who's doing this to him, and it isn't by accident.

You're grinding up and down on where his cock sits heavy in his slacks and you can definitely feel him, definitely know he's —

"So hard." Your voice rings out close to his ear as you grind down on him once again, to the same sort of rhythm, and the fabric of his pants rubs right into the needy, wet tip of his cock, "It must feel amazing."

Aki can't hold back a stuttery moan in pleasure. His hair is fanned out over the sheets in a mess, his thighs shake and squirm and his hands clench, fingernails dug into his palms as he rolls up into you, meeting your movements as best he can. Your weight pins him down, it's difficult to manage, but he needs to, has to. So hard, and it's all because of you; "Sorry, 'm sorry-"

His flustered apologies get a clear smile out of you. You drag your hands up his arms, feel the wrinkled fabric of his dress shirt's sleeves, you reach his palms and you press your thumbs to them, massaging.

"Aki, touch me."

He barely hears, your words are a fuzzy ringing in his eardrums that only register when you're tugging his hands up and placing them both around your waist. Aki cracks his fluttery eyes open. You press a hand to his chest for stability, you use the other to guide his own palm back, back. Shaking fingers travel over the curve of your ass, and Aki thinks he's going to choke on his heart in his throat.

He doesn't protest, doesn't move, doesn't try to fight it. You're cupping his face and stroking his cheeks with your thumbs and he keeps his hands right where you left them: one weakly holding your waist, the other trembling, trying to find stillness, resting right below your waist and barely on your behind, shy fingertips ghosting over the back of your thigh.

You're grinding against him feverishly now — Each time your core meets his, Aki pants harder, he's getting warmer and stiffer and more uncomfortable by the minute. Your rhythm is deep, your body is so terribly hot, the heat transfers from you to him and it makes his head all floaty and heavy. Sweat beads at his neck, beneath his collar and onto his chest.

Barely able to speak, he gasps shakily, he tries to steady his breathing but it isn't any use. He abruptly stutters, "It's… it's- oh, shit…"

"What's wrong?"

Aki wants to reply to you, he does, and he's trying to. But he just keeps gasping and stammering, stumbling over his own words with no idea where to start. You trail your fingers from his cheek to his forehead, you push some messy strands of hair away from his face until you can see it better. Pretty blue eyes, pink skin, the softest expression.

You're attempting to coax him to meet your gaze but he won't comply, he shuts his eyes tight, tosses his head back with a downright filthy groan as your clothed cunt rubs right along the fat length of his cock.

God, he can't take this, he's throbbing so hard and it won't stop, his work slacks are impossibly tight and confined around his dick but one less layer of fabric and he'd be a goner. Any more of this, and he's going to fall apart.

You lean in, tone sweeter than sugar, impossible to resist: "Tell me, sweet boy."

"A-Ah," Aki gasps harder and harder, pants heavier, his thrusts up into you get more feverish, sloppy rolls of his hips as his hand tightens on your waist. The friction feels so perfect, so fucking good, he's getting closer.

He can't breathe, his head is a mess, his stomach's in knots. "I'm… I can't, it's throbbing so bad, I'm gonna-" A sharp, loud gasp, you grind down on him just right, he's right on the edge, and then, "Please, please, I- stop stop stop stop-"

You listen to his words as soon as you hear them. Immediately freezing in your tracks, Aki is finally given a break. His chest heaves with force, he tears his hands away from you to toss his arms over his red face. Everything comes to a standstill. Very slowly, slowly but surely, your breathing begins to calm alongside his own.

He sounded close. He sounded amazing. You feel a little bad for him, almost. He clearly isn't used to this. You got him so damn riled up, only to leave him hanging when he needed you the most. A small part of you starts to regret stopping, starts to wonder what he'd sound like if you didn't.

What face he'd make, how he'd look at you with those pretty blue eyes, pupils dark and his face rosy red. How he'd whimper and sob as he makes a mess of his briefs, even louder and even more pathetic than he was before.

Maybe it's your own fault — it's definitely your own fault — but even as the seconds go by, turning into minutes as you watch the rhythm of his chest grow slower and slower, your mind and your heart won't seem to quit. You can't manage to calm down.

The remnants of his voice echo in your eardrums. So desperate, so unlike anything you've heard from him before. You'd begun to memorize the sound of his voice, the way his tone stays smooth and unwavering, each word spoken with intent, and in this short span of time, your expectations have all been completely shattered.

He seemed nervous, almost; and fuck, he is. Nervous because he's not used to this, yes. But really, he's losing his mind because he's never felt like that.

He's been pent up before, sure. When Aki had his place to himself, he remembers times where he needed to jerk himself off in the shower to let go of some steam. Or nights when he stayed up later than he should have palming himself through his briefs, too needy and lonely to sleep. But those times are few and far between.

He doesn't get like this. Ever since things started getting bad at work, he's hardly felt anything but numb. It's been months since he felt even a shred of what he's feeling now, so long he started to forget what it was like.

Any desires he's had have been nothing more than an afterthought or a stress reliever. He's never been so hard he could barely stand it, or so turned on he was seconds away from cumming in his pants like some kind of degenerate.

And as much as he hates how close he'd gotten, having to stop you when he was right on the edge has his head reeling. He can barely even think anymore. He really needs a cigarette. A cigarette and for someone to tell him to just get a damn grip already.

By now, you've managed to mostly regain your bearings. You keep still, ignoring any lingering ache you have for something more to ask, "You alright?"

Aki catches his breath for a few moments longer before he nods, answering, "Yeah, f-fuck, uh-huh."

His hips shift, he squirms beneath you slightly and it proves to be a mistake when he immediately huffs a frustrated puff of air. He's just shifting with unrest, not trying to get you off of him; the little bit of movement presses his lap back into you unintentionally, and with your head much more clear, you can distinctly feel the fat outline in his pants, the way he's warm and firm and sits heavy underneath.

Trying not to have every thought in your brain circle back to the image of his cock confined in his slacks proves to be almost impossible.

As for him, you've stopped moving — thank God — which gives some degree of relief. But you're still situated on top of him with no signs of moving, and the weight of your body in his lap is overwhelming as is. When you're pressed into him like this, even when you're still, there's no way he can will his mind, let alone his body to calm down, no matter how hard he tries to.

But he doesn't want you to move. Aki draws his arms away from his face and peers at you through droopy eyelids. Everything is so damn hot, the air is thick and stuffy and the room is sweltering. His bangs stick to his forehead from sweat, strands of stray hair cling to the corner of his mouth and he peels them away with his fingers. His chest is still heaving, his heart continues to beat like a festival drum and the sound rings loud in his own ears.

What he wants to do is reach out to you, to pull you into him and feel your body as close to his as possible, even closer than this, just as he's been longing for. But he won't. And he doesn't.

Even now, he isn't confident enough. He debates the idea in his own head for a second. He doesn't think he ever will be. He's got countless things he wants to say to you, but he waits for you to be the one to speak first.

You eye him up and down, he looks like such a mess. It's a huge contrast to how he looked when he first walked in, when you first laid eyes on him. Professional and well-kept, every aspect neat and orderly like it was planned to be that way. Tie done up sprucely, not a button on his jacket out of place. The space between his sleeve and the cuff of his undershirt is exactly two fingers wide, just as he prefers it.

He definitely didn't plan this, though. He would never plan for something like this, not in a million years. You're sure he wasn't counting on having his hair down and askew, a tangled mess where it's fanned out over the bright pink bedspread, nor did he think of his collar getting so uneven, or his shirt getting untucked from his pants, so wrinkled it'll take at least three trips to the ironing board to get rid of them all.

Somehow, he's lost all semblance of the way he was before, too. The way he was trying to be. His cool and collected attitude, his stern sort of facade. He's a completely different person, or perhaps, this is who he really was all along.

He's weaker than he aims to let on. You're the one who's drawn this out of him. You're the one who gets to see the disciplined, strict devil hunter reduced to nothing more than a gasping mess underneath you. The only one. This side to Aki Hayakawa is all yours.

He looks calmer now. Figuring you've given him enough of a breather, you start to slide from his thighs. Aki props himself up on one elbow and you don't think anything of it until he abruptly reaches out, grabbing your wrist before you can fully get off of him.

"Wait."

"I'm not going anywhere," You reassure, reading his mind, glancing up to meet his eyes, "Just give me a second to stand up."

Although he stares at you hesitantly for a couple of seconds, he ultimately decides to let go and leans backward, allowing you to get yourself standing up straight.

"I'm just taking off my dress real quick, okay? It's too hot in this thing."

You take a step away from him, and you reach for the zipper on the back of your dress. You're grasping it and dragging it down and Aki's eyes go wide but he figures it's far too late to tell you to stop.

"Right." He replies matter-of-factly — Right, that's fine, he's prepared for this — and nothing else he could hope to say would carry any weight, because even as he speaks, you're already starting to slip the straps from your shoulders.

He finds himself unable to take his eyes off of you as you slide the dress all the way down your legs until you're able to step out of it and kick it aside. In turn, you find it impossible not to notice how he stares, his face blushed out up to his ears, flighty gaze scanning you up and down, lips pursed in a manner that tells you he wants to say something but he doesn't have the guts, like he always does. You look up, and he turns away the second you catch him staring.

And yeah, you are heating up like crazy, so you'd certainly be more comfortable with your dress off, but his eyes on you are a reminder of the reason you're doing this. The real reason. You've stripped down in front of customers before, you've done it on every one of the stages more times than you can count, but Aki is different. This moment is different.

It's nowhere near the same, because Aki doesn't look at you the way those men did. He takes all of you in, each curve and tiny detail, like you're something to be loved, like you're precious. He stares at you like he'd sooner get on his knees and worship you than ever dare to leave you hurt.

He didn't touch you like anyone else ever has, either. No, his touches were soft, they were hesitant. They carried a level of carefulness and piety you're sure you haven't experienced, they're so wholeheartedly Aki that you think you'd recognize his hands and his touch even if you didn't know it was him. You'd feel his unsure fingers and the warmth of his shaky breaths and know you'd be safe no matter what happens.

Nothing you've experienced tonight has been anywhere near what you're used to. He's always been special. That's why you're still here, why you never want to leave him.

And it isn't wrong for you to want more, right? Your head tells you it is, but your heart tells you it isn't, and you've always had a hard time listening to the former. It isn't when it's Aki, when he's already become more important to you than anyone. It isn't when you've been so starved for this without even realizing, and when Aki is the only man you want to give it to you.

Besides, you've already come this far. Fuck, you knew what you were getting into, and maybe, deep down, you wanted something more with him from the very start, whether it was his time, his touch, his affection. His love.

So, what's the sense in stopping now?

When you've tossed your outfit aside, you're left in only your thigh-highs and a dainty set of matching lingerie. A glittery bra, and lacy underwear that clings to your hips with thin, black ribbons.

Aki was right. He thought maybe his muddled up brain was just imagining things when your dress was riding up earlier. Or perhaps he was trying to convince himself he imagined it so he could avoid feeling embarrassed over what he accidentally saw. But no, he didn't. They are black, and this time, he can't manage to tear his gaze away.

You want him to stare, you think. You love when he's looking at you, when it's clear you've captured every last shred of his attention — and right now, it appears you definitely have. Aki swallows, he looks you up and down and then shyly rests his weary gaze on your own. You'd do anything in the world to always have those pretty blue eyes on you, on only you.

He remains reluctantly still, in a trance as you crawl back over him. You draw closer, the mattress shifts under the addition of your weight. Your outline starts to take up his vision, and your fingers, tracing his jaw at first, are then beginning to run through his hair — Tentatively, he allows a hand to slip behind you and hold the small of your back, nice and gently. Comfortably, as if it was meant to be there. You don't try and stop him.

He looks you up and down one more time. Breathes in, sighs out, purses his lips again, wants to speak but doesn't. His gaze locks with your own, and his expression goes the softest you've ever seen it. He finds some stability in your eyes, enough to finally admit something of what he's been thinking.

"You look pretty."

You twist a strand of his hair around your finger and chuckle, "Think so?"

Aki could answer that with just a yes. Yes, you are, I know so. But instead, he stalls. He freezes up because in reality, there's so much more he wants to say to you.

You look pretty, and you're beautiful, you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He really doesn't deserve you, your kindness or your sympathy or your beauty. Before, he was sure the prettiest sight he's ever laid eyes on was the sunset over the snowy mountains in Hokkaido, but you make him beg to reconsider.

And if he said it, as stupid and cheesy as it is, if he was somehow able to find words that don't exist to describe how perfect he thinks you are and how great of an imprint you've already left on him, it simply wouldn't be enough. It wouldn't be enough to deserve the softness of your heart even if he gave you everything he has.

He wants to kiss you again. He holds your face in his shaky palm and he almost does. Almost.

"Aki, I-" You start, he's pulling you in but he's suddenly stopping, your eyes flicker over his face and your voice trails into weakness towards the end, "I really want to keep going."

"You do?" The sweet lilt in your tone makes him answer quickly, before he's even really thought about it.

"Mhmm, is that something you want too?" Your palm is creeping up his chest and he hopes you can't feel the skip in his heartbeat.

"Ah, yeah, just- uh-" He steadies himself with a slow breath in before he speaks again, "What do you mean by… you know. Keep going?"

Now, you're the one leaning in. Aki inhales sharply, he half-expects you to kiss his lips like he was hoping for but instead, you leave his heart stuck up in his throat when you tilt your head and cup your hand around his ear; your voice is a crisp summer breeze as you sigh out his name.

"Aki…"

Heart sinking back down, it's warm and melty inside his chest. Your next words make it stutter.

"Do you wanna fuck me?"

"Huh?"

His response comes out of shock; you push yourself up, your eyes stay locked onto his and he's so caught up with trying to remember how to breathe he almost doesn't notice how you're sliding back and reaching for his belt. Your fingers grasp around the buckle, you aren't trying to undo it, just fiddling, making it jingle to prove a point. The sound gets him to come to his senses, your words hit him like a slap in the face and before you can make another move, he reaches to grab your wrist and stop you.

He's barely able to speak without stuttering: "Hold on, just… hold on."

"Sorry, too forward?"

"It's- you're- look, you-" He can't even talk, "You can't say it like that."

"Ah. You're right, I shouldn't have. We don't have to do anything. If that's what you want."

Clearly, you've got the wrong idea. He wants so goddamn much with you, he wouldn't even know where to start.

Aki shakes his head, he snaps and stammers quickly in response, "No, no, I- I want to, I do. But I..."

Trailing off. Your eyes widen. "Really?"

Gently squeezing your wrist, he sighs, and he continues, "Yes, I want to, it's just… I'm- Shit, how do I put this?"

"You're scared? Too shy?"

"Sure, yeah. But that's- it's not what I'm trying to say." Aki looks away from you, once again trailing off into silence until you have the mercy to break it for him.

"What are you trying to say, then?"

He's fucked. Gotten himself in way, way too deep. Messed everything up the moment he decided to open his stupid mouth. You make it impossible to lie. Why couldn't he have just not said anything?

"Nevermind."

"No, no nevermind," You take your hand away from his grip, his fingers go slack and he lets go without a fight. You hold his face and softly squish his cheeks 'til his lips are pursed even harder than before. "C'mon, you have to tell me now."

You don't understand. He could, and this shouldn't be so difficult. But honestly, telling you would feel like quite possibly the most humiliating thing he's ever done or ever will do. Normally he wouldn't care as much as he does, he knows he's being real stupid right now, real embarrassing in his own right, but when you're the one involved it becomes a completely different story. He cares about your impression of him more than he'd like to admit.

Still looking away, "I can't."

"I'm pretty sure you can."

"I- I don't know. Listen, I want this with you. I do. But, I mean I'm… I haven't-" Again and again, he tries to set himself up to say the words, only to fail each time. He sighs, "You wouldn't want to do this anymore if I told you."

"Not true," You huff, smiling, "It's not so easy to change my mind. I already said you can tell me anything, didn't I? Just say it."

Aki stays silent for a few long, drawn-out seconds. His voice comes out quieter this time, softer, more uncertain. "I… I haven't- I've never… you know…"

He takes a quick glance up at you before looking away, his cheeks are burning. Never what?

You're clueless at first. The last thing you want is to push him too much, so you keep quiet, patiently waiting for Aki to sort out his sentences. You caress the length of his jaw with your thumb, listen to the way his breath hitches and tilt his chin towards you a bit when he refuses to look at you.

Right when you thought you were getting close to cracking him, he shuts down again. You wonder if it's something you did, if it's the environment, if the pressure managed to overwhelm him at last. You're starting to realize you and him are so close and so far at the exact same time, and there's still so much you don't understand.

He seemed like the innocent type, the kind of person who keeps themselves out of trouble, but any other guy would have forgotten that whole charade by now. Aki is far from any other guy, sure, but even for someone like him — No, especially for someone as straightforward and composed as he is, he should have no problem pushing his nervousness aside and taking charge. On the surface it'd seem that way.

Is he always this nervous? Is he actually a nervous wreck constantly struggling to keep it together? Is he too focused on his goals as a devil hunter to talk to girls? Working yourself to death all the time doesn't leave much room for other pursuits. But he's handsome and polite and honest with a good personality, so there's no reason, nothing you can think of to explain why you wouldn't want to get closer to him.

There's no reason for him to be so anxious. So troubled, so shy. It's just sex. Right?

At that moment, without him ever saying a word, everything starts to click in your brain. His hesitance, his inexperience. What you probably should have realized from the very start.

Yes, he does have a reason to be so scared and so clumsy with everything. There is a reason why a man as stern as him would suddenly start to act this damn unsure of himself. You've finally figured it out.

Oh. He's a virgin.

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki x you #aki hayakawa smut #chainsaw man smut

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imababblekat · 1 year

Text

Vicarious Happiness

Anon Request, “Hi!! I love your work so much and I hope your doing wellI have a request if thats cool, it's fluffy raphael x reader(she/her) and it's like raph being all soft for once and letting his gard down and laughing and his brothers seeing this and they get all sappy”

~xXx~

It was the sounds of loud, hardy laughter that drew Leo from his once peaceful meditation. He knew that laugh and felt a familiar agitation itch at his mind, wondering what prank Raphael had pulled on Mikey this time. However, when he stepped out into the main living portion of the lair, he was quickly surprised to find the red banned turtle to not be cackling at his youngest brothers peril, but instead joyfully laughing along with you. While his laughter was louder and much deeper, no one could miss the cherry colored blush of your face as you laughed equally along. The leader of the four brothers made his way over to the kitchen, where he had spotted his two other siblings apparently watching the wholesome scene between Raph and the brothers close friend. “Donnie, you didn’t drop laughing gas again did you?”, Leo questioned with a raised brow and covering his snout. Hazel eyes glared behind self made classes. “I’ll have you know that was Casey’s fault! Also, no, I didn’t. Why do you ask?” Rolling his own eyes, Leo pointed a thumb over to where you and Raph sat close on the couch. “I ask because I’ve never seen Raph like that unless he did something. What’s up with him?” “Can’t you tell?”, Mikey jumped in with a swoon, batting non-existent lashes at Leo, “What’s up with Raph is (y,n)!” Leo scoffed, shoving Mikey out of his personal space as the other wiggled his brows. “Wait, are you guys serious? I know the two are close, but Raph like that? No way!” The two youngest brothers only smirked at each other, Donnie then stepping over to throw an arm around Leo. “Au contraire, my dear brother. Just take a look for yourself.” Leo did, and as he took a moment to really examine the scene before him, it wasn’t long till he caught on just like Mikey and Donnie had. It was the way Raphael looked at you, as you babbled on about something random but dear to yourself. His eyes held a fondness so rarely seen for someone such as him, a softness to his gaze rather than typical annoyance. It was as though he was deaf to your words, instead memorized and taking to memory the way you shined and glowed as you spoke so excitedly. However, Leo was also sure that for you, Raph was also making an effort to remember each and every single one of the words your spoke. Your voice and tone sounding like a melody to the terrapin no doubt. His body language was also a dead give away. Rather than taut or imposingly flexed, Raph sat comfortably with an air of, dare Leo even think it, vulnerability. There was not a sense of guardedness, no such thing as what he gave even around those he considered friends. With an arm slung over the couch and just an inch from being wrapped over your shoulders, an amorous smile and wholesome gaze still on your fast talking self, it was as though in that moment you were Raphael’s entire world. A cheeky grin found its way to Leo’s face. While he was already thinking of ways to tease the broad ninja turtle later, he at the same time couldn’t help but feel a sense of joyfulness for the other. The honorary leader had always been of a realistic mindset, had always been one hundred percent certain that they would never get to experience the pleasures of normal people. While a few years younger version of him would have been skeptical and jaded of this situation, the current more mature him felt nothing but elation. He’d always expected out of any of them for Mikey to somehow end up with a human partner if anything, but seeing Raphael of all people, soft and full of passion, it truly made him happy for the brother he’d so often fight with. Glancing over to Donnie and Mikey, the fondness they each shared while also watching the deepening bond shared between you and Raphael, he had a feeling they felt the same.

~xXx~

#bayverse raphael x reader #bayverse raph x reader #bayverse leo #bayverse leonardo #bayverse mikey #bayverse michelangelo #bayverse donnie #bayverse donatello #bayverse tmnt x reader #bayverse tmnt #female reader #aged up tmnt #fluff #anon request #imababblekat's writing

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legendofmorons · 1 year

Text

Meetings (Fierce)

Pairing: Fierce x reader

Rating: G

Summary: You don the mask only for it to be ripped away mid battle. The boys are able to save you but the mask is broken. Fierce tries to check on you to varying success rates.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, nothing too bad

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know

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Fierce has known about you since the first night you joined his host. He knows you see Time as family - but oh, Fierce thinks of you as an angel on earth. Perhaps a deity yourself.

You are unlike any of the boys. Unlike anyone he's ever met.

Your hands take his mask prison, gentle with new calloused forming. You're crying as you raise the mask to your face.

(Y/n)!" Time calls, "You don't have to-"

"I do." You say, pressing the mask to your face.

You scream - Fierce wishes it wasn't such a shock to gain his power. That it didn't hurt everyone who does this.

Hello, dear one. Let me help.

Your own thoughts greet him, 'Please just help. I need to protect them.'

I'll help you.

'Do you- really drive people mad?' You question, and it hurts him.

But he cannot lie to you.

When someone chooses unearned cruelty, I do.

And then you seem to relax. His power seeps into you, turning your eyes pure white and your hair turning to match.

He guides you, regretting every moment you might possibly be in danger.

He loses track of time.

The blood you shed under his helping hand is a sin.

One he will bear proudly as long as you make it out.

He hears your scream as something pulls his mask off of you against both your will and his.

It all goes black.

He is still attached to you, jist enough to feel you still fight. To hear someone call your name- his host.

He can feel from Time that you are safe. See out of Time's second open eye. Something is very wrong- but you and the others are safe...

Good.

.......

You are curled into the cloak Time set around your shoulders, the older man more than a little worried for you.

Warriors sits on your left, allowing you to lean against him as your body recovers.

"I'm so sorry. I should have -" You start an unneeded apology again.

"You did everything right. I've never had the mask ripped from me mid use- you protected us all. Long enough for us to heal and save you." Time says firmly.

"But I lost the-"

"We'll get it back. Right now, our concern is you." Time reassures, "Please. You need to rest."

You are too tired to really argue. Too far gone from the fight and the sudden ripping of the mask.

You feel a presence, tensing. It's strong, almost intimidating.

"Guys-"

The boys are already moving, swords drawn as they're push to their feet.

Warriors and Wild stand in front of and behind you, keeping your exhausted form safe.

From the tree line, a large Hylian figure holding what looks to be two halves of a mask emerges.

He's tall- insanely tall. Like, eight foot tall.

His hair is white.

His eyes - even from thirty feet away are unnaturally snow colored.

His face is covered in markings - the markings of f the mask you'd just used.

"Hello, young one." The man says, his voice like rolling thunder.

"You're free." Time says, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I am."

"Who-" you start, but you already know. This is the fierce deity.

"How?" Warriors asks, his own experience with the mask harrowing for him. More from the necessity than the deity himself.

"The mask broke. Where are they?"

"Where is who, Fierce?" Time asks, moving between the deity and the group.

"(Y/n). Never before has the mask been so suddenly ripped off during combat. Are-... Do you think I would harm you, Link?"

The deity sounds curious. Maybe just a little hurt. His gaze is stoney, but he dosen’t seem like he's itching for a fight either.

Time stares at him, "You're free for the first time in years. I don't know what you'll do."

"I would never hurt you. You are mine. My young hero."

"I'm not so young these days."

"No, I suppose not. You go by Time now, yes?"

"I do."

"Time, I do not wish to cause harm. "

Time seems weary, but he nods slowly as he takes one large side step so Fierce can survey the group.

Weapons are still clutched.

Wild and Warriors still flank you on either side, almost daring the deity to try to attack.

"(Y/n)." Fierce says, his eyes drawn to you, "are you hurt?"

"No... Hyrule helped me."

"Were you hurt then?"

"Some."

Fierce moves slowly, caution as he walks to you. Stopping a few inches away.

He reaches, gently, to touch your face. The back of his knuckles rest on your cheek as he stares at you.

"I truly apologize. For any harm I caused to you."

"I'd be worse off. Thanks for helping me."

"You, my dear one, I will always help."

Warriors blinks, confused, surprised, and a little disturbed.

You stare wide-eyed at the man before you, something about a war deity being so gentle is sweet. You're not sure you deserve it... but you appreciate it a lot.

"Thank you."

"They need to sleep still." Time says, "Ypu know what your mask does to people- did. What it did."

Fierce simply nods, "You had all better rest. I will keep watch as you sleep."

"I don't-" Warriors starts only for you to cut him off.

"Thank you. We do all need the rest." You say with a soft smile.

"Then you shoukd rest. I will keep you safe until you all are naturally rested."

#lu #linkeduniverse #misty writes #linked universe x reader #lu fierce deity #fierce deity x reader

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slithymomerath · 11 months

Text

Another post about TransTape

I decided to stop reblogging the same thread because it was getting really long and just make a new post. Here’s the original. (I should mention that I identify as a trans man now!)

I’ve been using TransTape for about 2.5 months now. Every time I apply it, I do it slightly better. I’ve understretched it (final result: hm, looks like tape on a breast), overstretched it (final result: it’s slowly tearing my skin open over a period of days, awesome (don’t worry, it wasn’t that bad, I’m mostly just being dramatic. Also while it was on there it looked awesome, super flat. Beauty is pain)), and every type of doing it wrong in between. I was reading this blog by a trans man and he mentioned that he used TransTape for years and continuously found better and better methods, and I think that’s going to end up true for me too. However, I’ve gotten good enough at the moment that this has become my primary binding method. This is how my application looks nowadays:

As compared to me in a sports bra and a binder, respectively:

Pretty good, right? And all the same benefits I’ve talked about before: extremely comfortable, no rib squeezing, can leave it on for multiple days, can sleep in it, having bare shoulders/back. It doesn’t really itch noticeably anymore. And the application in that pic isn’t overstretched, it’s perfectly comfortable. It’s my favorite application so far.

Some more notes I’ve ended up with:

- When you’re applying the tape, don’t think of it as “I’m using the tape to pull my chest into place”, think of it as “I’m using my hand to pull my chest into place and then using the tape to secure it”. Still stretch the tape while you’re using it to secure your chest, but take your tensionless anchor parts on both ends very seriously. Made a huge difference for me, way less overstretching and way better results.

- Recently I’ve stopped doing the alternate methods discussed in my previous post and gone back to the original way they show in the videos. I think pulling your chest to the side is more impactful than pulling it up in the overall look of it, and whatever you do first will have a greater impact. The biggest reason I didn’t want to go horizontal first was that my vertical piece would pull on my skin and make a wrinkle of it that folded over my horizontal piece and that was super uncomfortable, but turns out that’s just a symptom of overstretching/not taking the anchor part seriously enough and making sure it’s attached with no tension to both your skin and a small part of the previous tape.

- I tried the medium size instead of the large. I think if I was going for optimal results it (or even small size) would be best, because I can use three total pieces of tape and get another bite at the apple of pulling my chest to where I want it. However, I’m more going for comfort/not a giant hassle putting it on, so I prefer my two pieces of large tape at the moment.

Random thoughts:

- I love that I can take my shirt off if it’s hot or during sexy time and feel like a shirtless guy, not a person with a mildly uncomfortable article of clothing still on. This is enhanced by the fact that the nude color is a pretty good match for my skin.

- I have an appointment about HRT in Aug, so I’m really hoping it’ll cause my chest to deflate a bit and then my binding will be even more rad!

Feel free to message me with any questions about my experience :)

#trans man #trans masc #transman #transmasc #transmasculine #trans tape #transtape #tape binding #transtape binding #trans tape binding #chest binding #campost

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circuscountdowns · 4 months

Note

Hi! Wanted to start off by saying that I LOVE your cotl art its such a huge inspiration to me :D! I recently picked up drawing again and I've unfortunately been upset? envious?! of others' skills and just wanted to ask if you ever experienced this as a fellow artist and if so how do you not do that lol. Sorry for the weird question. I just thought some insight and advice from a fellow artist could helo. BUT I hope you still have a nice day and look forward to any more cotl art or anything you draw really :D!!! (also is okay if you don't answer it is a loaded question I just be in a silly goofy mood lately okay bye!)

oh wow being on the receiving end of a question like this is surreal, I’m honored my work inspires you! Thank u, you’re sweet, it’s not a loaded question at all! Here’s my long reply sorry

so unfortunately that comparing yourself to others thing doesn’t go away ever asdfgjkl. I suffer it every day, it sucks, feels bad. I’ve had industry people tell me they feel this way and they’ll have some of the most gorgeous visdev/boards/animation I’ve ever seen. Disheartening to hear, But! I’m a big believer that comparing your artworks with others is best used as a tool and not a punishment to yourself!

When looking at art you like, try to turn thoughts of, “Man I wish my stuff looked like that, my shit sucks,” to, “What is it that I like about this piece? The line art? The perspective?” Sometimes I’ll see work with thin line art and I’ll get an itch, and I’ll draw something with thin line art. It’s a conscious effort of keepin emotion out of that itch, keeping it as, “I saw art with thin lines, I want to do that. Yay I did that!” Compartmentalize it, the itch was simply to do thin line work, not to remake the piece you were inspired by. And you got a piece of art out of it, and a single piece is progress no matter how small!

If you want to compare, do it methodically! Why does my work look different (never use the words better or worse)! Oh, I see my piece doesn’t follow the rule of thirds, so the framing is different, I’ll be aware of that next time if it bothers me. Or, Oh I see they shade by hatching along with the form, I’ve just been going horizontally, I’ll try that other way!

it’s a learning curve of training yourself, like all corrective behavior.

like, I kinda have the warning feeling of dread when I’m about to compare my work with something, so before the self-deprecating thought can even start I have to think What do I Like about this?

I’m no expert at it, though. Actually getting myself to think this way is a struggle, but I find when I make Thoughtful Observations I level up. Not by a lot most times, but yknow.

and this part is just my personal experience:

Fanart and the internet can be the biggest Art skill killer sometimes. Get offline and cater to the audience that Really matters to your passion: You! I improved the most by spending 2-3 years doing doodles/comics/models for my dnd campaign ocs because I was that obsessed and I simply wanted to have it for me!

and after all that, then there’s the hardest skill of just accepting your work as is.

like, to me, my work is just scribbles. I see other artists’ stuff and go “Man they’re so good at comics and colors, man, why can’t I color?” But do I need to??? I don’t like coloring, do I need to be good at it? This isn’t a career, this is supposed to be fun! I scribble because I like it! I’m glad this persons good at coloring, I don’t need to be! Yay!

if I Want to be good at it, I’ll take the steps to get there! But if not, my scribbles are just fine :) I love black and white and values

I’ve been having that one on repeat for a while. It helps

(acceptance and denial go hand in hand btw lol they sound the same)

I wish there was a little off button for envy, but ah well! I hope that you take comfort in knowing we are all feeling it, and find joy in even the smallest little doodle you make! Have fun stay goofy!

#I wrote this in part so it might be a rambly mess.#I have a difficult relationship with art after 5 years of college for it. Cotl has been helping me find ways to love art again.#ty for liking my work!

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sednonamoris · 10 months

Text

vienna waits for you

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: After a one-off meeting with a young Lieutenant Price, you assume you'll never meet again. A mission in Vienna proves you wrong.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, description of knife wounds, lots of blood, strong language, excessive dog puns, pre-relationship, pre-slowburn

Word count: 3,027

A/N: A little prequel action for hellhound (cross-posted to AO3)!! Thank you thank you thank you to the people who love this series as much as I do - your enthusiasm and joy has written this series just as much as I have 🩷

—

Ever since Belfast they’ve called you Hound.

Ever since Price, really. Hellhound, he had said, but it got shortened quick enough. One less syllable to trip through as they tease you.

Dog’s dinner again, eh, Hound? in the mess hall.

Well sure, every dog has its day, when you make top marks in training.

Pretty as a speckled pup, you are, cooed mockingly on a rare night spent out of fatigues drinking with the lads just off base.

One of the newer recruits even tried whistling at you during a sparring match. He ended up in the med bay for that one, while you were reprimanded by Command yet again.

In the dog house, your squadmates titter as you march out of your captain’s office with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and anger itching beneath your skin.

The teasing is fine. You like it, even, making your fair share of awful puns just to get a laugh out of the boys. What you can’t shake is the feeling of discontent with your superior officers. You joined up with the Irish Armed Forces at eighteen to do something. When they sent you up the ranks to the ARW just a few years later it was supposed to matter more. Save the good guys when you could, take down the bad ones when you couldn’t. ACTION had been promised by every recruitment poster in big bold letters. And yet, it seems like every time you take some all they do is give out to you.

You’re not good for much more than taking orders and pulling triggers, you know, but still it feels like something’s missing. Like you could do more if they’d just let you.

—

Weeks later you get your chance: another team-up with the SAS. When it’s announced to the regiment you’re the first one geared up and ready to go.

For a silly, self-indulgent moment you let yourself wonder if Lieutenant Price will be there, too.

—

Between the SAS and ARW, a burgeoning terror cell has been tracked to Vienna. It’s being run by Wesley Martin, an English expat coming off a dishonourable discharge from MI6. Rather than fading quietly into obscurity, he’s taken the opportunity to sell out his country’s secrets and incite insurrection not just against them, but most of Europe as well. He staged an attack on Irish soil months ago, but the trail had gone cold - until now. England was the one to find him again, and Austria’s task force has offered its support, working out negotiations between the three nations as to who gets to make the arrest and on exactly what counts and which soil he will be tried. If the whispers up the chain of command are true, Ireland gets dibs on cuffing him.

But that’s all above your pay grade. You’d just like to nab the prick.

When your boots hit the tarmac you have a stretch and breathe deep. It was a cramped plane ride with your squadmates. Jacks had snored on your shoulder the whole way, and Murph wouldn’t shut up about his latest shag, who apparently gave him quite a memorable experience in a pub stall over leave. He’d spared no detail. Lieutenant Doyle, of course, was the one who kept egging him on; even a glare from Captain Guiney hadn’t been enough to stop him from asking what color her knickers were. He produced a rather spectacular lacy red thong from one of his pockets in answer.

Chatter cuts as you make your way over to where the SAS team stands in formation.

“Pint short as usual, Guinness,” Captain MacMillan’s thick brogue snarks. “You’re late.”

“They are early,” a less amused Austrian woman corrects. Anna Ebner, if it’s the same person who coordinated and shared all the intel reports.

“Only by Paddy standards, which is to say none at all.”

Ebner rolls her eyes.

“Je-sus,” Guiney says in greeting, “how’d I get stuck working with you cunts?” His wide grin and open arms counteract the words.

A series of warm handshakes are exchanged, but then it’s right to business.

Ebner informs the group that Austria has opted to sideline its men with the promise of support only if things go very, very wrong. They’ll be on comms for the whole operation. That leaves two mixed-company teams to infiltrate the safehouse apartment; one from the front and one from the back. Once the ground floor is secured, Alpha Team will head upstairs while Bravo covers the cellar and makes sure no one gets in or out of the building.

Team assignments are handed out with efficiency before everyone piles into the vans. Most of your squadron ends up with Alpha, headed by Guiney. You and Jacks are the only ARW soldiers on Bravo, which will be led by MacMillan and his lieutenant.

“Looks like we’re top dogs today, Hound,” Murph crows, elbowing you in the ribs before heading over to join the others with Alpha.

You grin and flip him off while Jacks tells the lot of them to go fuck themselves, and turn to find Lieutenant John Price looking right at you. Your eyes go wide and your spine snaps straight.

“Hound, is it?” Barely-there amusement curls at the edge of his mouth.

“It is, yeah.” There should probably be a sir attached to that, but you’re too caught up in the starstruck realization that he remembers you to care.

It’s a stroke of luck that he doesn’t seem to mind. Just hums at the back of his throat with a twinkle in his eye before nodding his head toward the van behind him. “With me.”

—

It’s tight quarters inside the vans, so many soldiers pressed knee to knee. Price is seated across from you. At your side, Jacks is shooting shit with the other Brits in your temporary squad. Already he’s insulted the Queen - your favourite pastime, usually - but you ignore him in favor of quietly observing Price, who in turn is quietly observing you.

He hasn’t changed much in the months since your last meeting.

His face is clean-shaven with an ever-present threat of stubble. The rest of his hair is tucked beneath a dark beanie that either hides a buzz cut or a seriously impressive cowlick - it’s hard to say which would suit him more. His broad frame fills his tactical suit, and the stars in your eyes make him seem that much broader. But it’s his eyes that strike you the most. Clear-cut, no-nonsense blue that sees straight to the heart of you.

What has he found there, you wonder?

In Price it feels like you’ve found the answer to a question that’s been difficult to put to words. He’s so sure. Sure of himself, of his team, of his mission. Every doubt you house is a certainty in him - it’s no wonder they’ve already named him a lieutenant while you can barely keep your rank as sergeant.

“They didn’t court marshal you, then,” he breaches the silence between you.

“Not for lack of trying.” Your smile is crooked and self-deprecating. “I’m fairly certain ‘loose cannon’ is at the top of my file in red ink.”

He huffs a laugh. “Better than ‘temper management issues’.”

“Oh, please,” you say. “Yours has got to be something like ‘hero’ or ‘patriot’. Maybe ‘golden boy’. I bet the recruitment campaigns can’t get enough of you.”

“They tried to get me to pose for a commercial,” he admits.

“Yeah?”

“Told them to sod off.”

You cackle. “Too right!”

The rest of the van ride is spent trading quips back and forth, bantering like you’ve known each other for ages and not just from a one-off meeting months ago. In the time that’s lapsed between then and now you’ve imagined working beside him plenty— more than you should have, being honest. It should be impossible for the man to live up to the myth you’ve manufactured in your mind.

Somehow he exceeds it.

Somehow you’re not surprised.

—

The muffled sound of Bravo team breaching the cellar door is the only thing that breaks the midnight silence of Vienna’s neighborhoods. Combat boots creak down wooden steps, guns at the ready and night vision gear engaged. Captain Macmillan leads the charge, sweeping the space with practiced authority.

“Clear,” he announces. His voice is too-loud and rough in the cramped space.

Though no targets are on this level, a wealth of information seems to be. There’s not an ounce of modern technology to be seen, but every inch of unfinished wall is covered in the paper trail three respective countries have been chasing in vain for months.

“Seems like your man is starting to lose the plot, eh?” Jacks says with his crooked smile, gesturing to documents pinned on corkboards and clipped across strings that hang from the low ceilings.

Your mouth snaps shut on your reply at MacMillan’s warning to keep quiet, but disagreement is plain across your features. Martin is paranoid, certainly, but you wouldn’t call him crazy. Though this organization system is beyond you, it makes sense in theory; Who better than a former MI6 operative can appreciate how insecure cyber storage is, even with encryptions in place?

Paper maps cover one of the walls wholly, marked up in unfamiliar code you’re sure some poor interns will have a field day with. Whatever his next moves are, they must be hidden there. Many of the hanging sheets read like weapons orders, others like mercenary pay stubs, all in a myriad of languages. Everything else is too much text to be anything but a manifesto. You snag one of the sheets for yourself and read a few cursory lines of down with the status quo and death to the Other - nothing that hasn’t been done before.

With a nod from his captain, Price starts barking orders. Everything must be taken down and packed away; this kind of evidence is every operation’s dream. You all set about the work as quietly as you can in case things still aren’t clear inside. MacMillan radios Guiney for a sitrep off to the side before he joins in.

In all of a second it isn’t necessary.

Shouting sounds from inside, then gunfire.

You hear the tinkling of broken glass and the impact of a body hitting the ground and the thunk, thunk of a flashbang falling down cellar stairs before it goes off. Harsh, blinding white overwhelms your senses and forces your eyes to close in a painful squeeze. There’s a ringing in your ears that feels like it’s coming from everywhere. Someone screams. You tear your night vision gear off in a blind panic and blink sightlessly at the chaos.

Fuck.

Fuck!

There’s a dark shape at the foot of the stairwell going up, and before you register what your body is doing you can feel yourself lurch after them. You’re not even sure if you have your gun.

You stagger outside to see Price giving chase to someone who can only be Wesley Martin - him or one of his close associates. Doesn’t matter now. You join in hot pursuit, the thick soles of your boots pounding across Vienna’s pavement. Your lungs burn and your vision is still blurred but you can’t afford to slow down. Price is still several metres ahead.

Without breaking stride he takes aim with his gun and nails Martin squarely in the back. The crack of the shot echoes sharp in the night and lays him flat out in the street. Price continues his sprint, only slowing a few steps out from the body.

Except it isn’t just a body; he’s still alive. You see him move - he must be wearing kevlar - but before you can shout a warning he whips his body around and takes Price out at the legs. Moonlight flashes off the wicked threat of his unsheathed knife. He shoves the blade up hard into Price’s ribs and slashes a wide arc through his belly. You swear it’s happening in slow motion, like those nightmares where you run and run and run but your legs won’t move.

“Get off him, you bastard!” you shout. Martin’s head turns to see you come barrelling at him. He smiles. The knife drips blood. Price gasps and stumbles backward where he’s shoved aside, fingers clutching desperately at the wound.

Your hands feel for the familiar weight of your gun only to find it gone. You must have lost it in the confusion. Martin could easily kill Price now - it’s what you would do, if the situation was reversed - but instead he takes your momentary distraction as a chance to take off again.

It’s his mistake.

You’re close enough and determined enough now that it takes only a few strides to overtake him, and while you don’t have your gun you sure as shit have a knife. The collision happens all at once and in fragments. Your body against his. Your knife in his neck. The scalding spray of blood as you pull it out. The sluice of flesh as you drive it back in. You’re not sure when you stop stabbing, but it’s long after he stops twitching.

His body is limp and strange beneath you. You roll off and stagger to your feet only to retch in the street beside it. Bile bites the back of your throat and you wipe at your mouth with a grimace. Your hands are shaking. Command is going to fucking kill you.

Sirens sound in the distance, now, but the only thing that breaks your thousand yard stare from the man you just killed is the sound of Price’s labored breathing a few metres away.

You blink and all of the sudden you’re knelt in front of him. It takes a moment for him to register that you’ve come back; his eyes stare unseeing, clouded with pain.

“You killed ‘im,” he slurs. “K-I-bloody-A.”

“That’s not important right now,” you snap. “Focus on staying alive. One breath at a time, yeah?” You move his hands from the wound to assess the situation and nearly retch again. Martin stabbed clean through the kevlar, and now his guts are threatening to spill into the street. “Did you radio anyone?”

He just blinks up at you, dumb with shock and bloodloss.

You curse.

With one hand you fish around for the meager med supplies you keep on you, and with the other you call in for help. The radio is sticky with blood. You’re not sure whose. Price has gone so pale. Blood leaks at the corner of his mouth. His teeth are stained red.

You’re only a block over from whatever remains of your squadron but it might as well be miles. They say they’re on the way, but there are so many wounded already. Looking at Price, you know it won’t be fast enough, anyway. You only have a disinfectant wipe, a needle, and surgical thread. Sutures have never been your strong suit, but if it’s not you and it’s not here and now then it’s lights out. You’ll just have to make do.

“No bloody dying,” you warn. “This is gonna hurt.”

You lay Price back carefully, carefully, and smear the alcohol wipe around the edge of the wound. It stings - it must - but he only sucks a sharp breath in without complain. Pinching the skin together, hands slick with blood that isn’t yours, you poise the needle over him.

“Ready?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him or yourself.

He stares up at you with the most lucidity he’s managed since being stabbed. Clear-cut. No-nonsense. So very blue. “Ready.”

—

Your stitch job is crooked and atrocious, but the hospital staff inform you later that it saves his life.

“Be a hell of a scar,” Price laughs from the sterile white of his hospital bed. The sound wheezes out of him. You can tell it hurts, but he seems in good spirits.

So good, in fact, that he’s managed once again to talk you out of a court marshal. He didn’t let up until he’d convinced Command that Wesley Martin had to be put down. That there was no salvaging the mission otherwise and that your actions saved not just his life, but the lives of many. Once those interns deciphered the rest of his plans they were quick to agree. Now you’re all done up in your service dress for an award ceremony later this afternoon. You wanted Price there, but the hospital staff wouldn’t release him from their clutches. A visit just before will have to suffice.

“Something to remember me by,” you say.

There’s something fond and familiar in his eyes that makes your throat hurt. “I would be hard-pressed to forget someone like you, Hound.”

“Running with the big dogs, now,” you grin. He rolls his eyes at the pun. “Next time I kill a target I’m not supposed to I bet they promote me.”

“I don’t doubt it. You do good work.”

“So do you, Lieutenant.”

There’s more you want to say, questions you want to ask him, but they all die in your throat the longer you look at him lying there. Even battered and beaten he’s still so sure. Certainty stinging in the creases of his eyes. Sunshine slatted past hospital window blinds. Dated rock music filtering grainy through the radio one of his lads must’ve brought in. Half-wilted flowers at his bedside. Sitting upright in an uncomfortable bed wrapped in starchy white sheets he is every inch the soldier you’ll never be.

“If you’re ever in England again…” he starts. Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised he’s offering, but you are. A delighted smile lights your face.

“I’m never in England if I can help it,” you say honestly. He laughs. “But give us a call if you hop the channel, yeah?”

“I will do,” he says.

It’s silly to think you’ll actually meet again. Truly, why would you? But it feels like he means it. Like you’re dogs of war, set on intersecting paths to hell.

Somehow, some way, the two of you are always going to find each other.

Somehow, some way, you don’t think you mind.

#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii x reader #hellhound #fran writes

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izumi-fanclub · 1 year

Text

A3! Translation: Chikage Utsuki SSR Card “Wizard of Death” [ The Western, Northern Wizards and the Ruler of Darkness ]

Citron and Itaru are up to something again and they pull in Chikage to join in their antics.

Part 1

Izumi Chikage-san, should I prepare dinner for you tonight? Chikage Sure, I’m headed out after this but I’ll be back by evening. I’ll be here for dinner. Itaru Then, that means you’ll be back pretty early today, huh… Citron It looks like everyone is here! Izumi Huh? Citron-kun, isn’t that the script for “The Wonderful Charlatan of Oz”? Citron That it is! Itaru “The Wonderful Charlatan of Oz” well, isn’t that just nostalgic. Chikage It hasn’t been that long since I last starred in a play. Izumi But, why do you have the script on you? Citron I have felt like reading up on our past scripts just now. Then I recalled how fun it was to play the role of the Wizard of the North in the play. So, I was itching to play the role again and convincing people to join me! Chikage That explains it. Itaru Can’t deny that it was pretty fun being a wizard. Citron Reading the script now, I think about how I could have moved differently during this line. Chikage I get it, I did what I could back then, but now that I got more experience, I’m sure I can execute it better. Izumi I also have stuff I wish I’ve done better, like the staging. Itaru Now that we’re talking about it, I kinda wanna play the Wizard of the West… Citron Oh! I have finally dragged someone to act with! Itaru, do an etude with me! Itaru No problemo. Citron Chikage as well!? Chikage Sorry to disappoint, I was just on my way out. Citron Oh, how unfortunate! Then, it will be Itaru and I against the world! Let us make haste! Chikage I’ll take that as my cue to leave too. Izumi Take care, everyone!

Itaru …Phew, that’s enough etudes outta me. Citron, let’s take a break. Citron Gotcha, a break it is! Itaru Still though, it’s fun playing the villain-like Wizard of the West. Citron I as well, I like the kind and worrywart Wizard of the North that believed in Oz. It is fun to play them! Kazunari Otsupiko! Itaroon, you got a sec~? Ronron, you’re here too! Itaru What’s up? Kazunari You good with helping me out with some art paper for uni? Citron Fart vapor! Kazunari So close! It is a paper☆ Itaru Art paper… That’s perfect, actually. Kazunari Perfect how? Citron You just gave us an idea! Itaru Exactly.

Part 2

Itaru Director-san, do we have any red pens or paint? Izumi Red coloring materials…? Probably in the storage room. But, doesn’t Kazunari-kun have any paints? Itaru Oh right, I’ll go ask him about it. By the way, can you give me the go to use some pens from the storage room? Izumi All good. Citron Also, please let us use the light and smoke machine as well. Izumi Huh, smoke machine? Sure, but what for? Citron It is a secret! Itaru If Citron says so, then it’s a secret. Citron Itaru, let us go to the storage room right away! Itaru Omw. Izumi (What in the world are those two up to?)

Chikage … (I’m already in front of our room, but I have a feeling that something bad is gonna happen if I open it.) (Now, what to do…) (For now, I’ll have dinner first. Director-san must be preparing it right now.) Citron Chikage, what is up? Chikage Nah, nothing much really. Citron Just now, you have tried to run away! Chikage No way, I would never. Citron My eyes do not deceive me! *Citron grabs Chikage, to his surprise* Citron Chikage, you have nowhere to run! I got you now! Chikage Wait… *Chikage gets dragged by Citron*

Chikage This is… (A magic circle and smoke machine…? …My hunch was pretty much right on the nose.) Itaru “‘O infamous one who eats away at nations, answer my call of resurrection and come forth before me.” Citron “Halt, Wizard of the West!” Itaru “I summon you… Grosser Zatan!” Citron Stand over here, Chikage. Chikage You mean on this magic circle…? Itaru “The summoning is a success! Now the land will bow before me.” Chikage (I feel Chigasaki’s line of sight on me…) (I see… I’ve been summoned by the Wizard of the West as the one to take over the nation.) (Looks like I’ll have to go along with this…)

Part 3

Citron “Aah… It is too late… The Wizard of the West has manifested upon us a being of undeniable evil.” Itaru “Grosser Zatan, from here on out, you will assist me in ruling this land for the taking.” Chikage No can do. Citron “Wizard of the West, and Grosser Zatan, you shall not torment this land and its people any longer!” Chikage (The illusion of free will. I got no choice.) (Guess I’ll just go with these two’s etude and get it over with.) Sigh… “That is correct. I am who they call Grosser Zatan. Who dares summon me?” Itaru “It is I, yes. Lend me your strength, and we shall be the rulers of this nation.” Citron “Not as long as I am around! Grosser Zatan, return to the magic circle!” Chikage “I decide what I am to do with my power. I will not let mere wizards dictate my actions.” “Wizard of the West, for my power, what do you offer me in return?” Itaru “Fuu… It appears that you won’t help out for free.” “How interesting, that’s the Great Lord of Darkness Grosser Zatan for you.” “Very well. In exchange for your power, I offer up my soul!” Citron “You’ll not only destroy the country, but yourself if you continue on with this!” Itaru “Would love nothing more.” Citron “Wizard of the West!” Chikage “Your soul, huh… not bad at all. I might consider this deal…” Itaru Ah… Chikage …? Citron Director!? Chikage Ahh, in the flesh. How long have you been here, Director-san? Izumi Umm, I’m sorry for interrupting! I thought you heard me knock. Itaru I didn’t notice at all… Chikage Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you came actually. Izumi Eh, how come? Chikage If Director-san hadn’t come, I probably would have stayed as a summoned entity for a while.

[ Option 1: Summoned…? ]

Izumi Summoned…? Chikage Yup, I’m talking about this over here. Director-san really is a savior, if it weren’t for you I would have destroyed the nation. Izumi I… I see…?

[ Option 2: I would have wanted to see more ]

Izumi I would’ve wanted to see more. Chikage In the middle of this full-blown etude? Izumi I’m kind of edged to see whether Grosser Zatan will destroy the land or not. Chikage … Director-san, since what point were you watching from? Izumi Hehe, it’s a secret. Chikage A secret… Sigh.

Izumi The etude looked like a lotta fun though! Citron It was a lot of fun! Izumi So this is what the red pens and smoke machine were for. Itaru Sets the mood, doesn’t it? Izumi The atmosphere is perfect! I was shocked when I opened the door. I thought I just opened a portal a magical world… Chikage You’re not that far off. Izumi You know, Chikage-san pulls off such villainous roles so well. I should try talking Tsuzuru-kun into getting you in a role like that next time. Itaru He doesn’t even need to act. Chikage In exchange for giving you power, shall I wipe your face off this land? Itaru I’ll pass. Citron Join in on us, Director! Itaru Come on, let’s do it Director-san. Izumi Huh, me too!? Chikage Wait a second, you came here for something, right, Director-san? Izumi Ah, that’s right! I finished preparing Chikage-san’s meal and I wondered what was up since you weren’t in sight. That’s why I came to check up on you. Chikage Oh yeah, I asked you to warm it up. I’ll go and have dinner then. Izumi But aren’t you in the middle of an etude? Chikage The food will get cold so that’s it for the etude for now. I can just have another etude with Chigasaki and Citron any other time, so it’ll be fine. Itaru Eh, weren’t we just getting started though? Citron Are we already finished with the etude!? It is too soon~!

Story Clear!

#a3 #a3!#a3 translation #a3! translation #chikage utsuki #utsuki chikage #itaru chigasaki #chigasaki itaru #citron

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eddiebabygirldiaz · 11 months

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Fuck it Friday

Tagged by @buddierights @bucks118 @wildlife4life @wikiangela @panbuckley @butchdiaz @honestlydarkprincess @prince-buck-diaz @heartbeatdiaz @sibylsleaves

Since I've just got the epilogue left of first son au, I'm not gonna be sharing anything else from it. So have two snippets of my favorite scenes from my fantasy au, red life might stream again, which is the fic that holds my heart

Snippet One:

“What will it be like?” The words fall from Buck's lips, heavy as stone. Eddie’s eyes flick over to him, dark and startled, and Buck hates himself for breaking Eddie out of the peaceful reverie he was in. “Battle,” Buck clarifies. “The only fight I’ve ever been in was the one where–” where Aruna died, he doesn’t say, but the words float in between them thick and ghastly, too heavy to force out. “So, what is it like?” A dark cloud passes over Eddie’s face, completely extinguishing the light and hardening each line. Buck wants to take the words back. He wants to wrap them in his hands and shove them down his throat and do whatever it takes to put light back in Eddie’s eyes. Eddie shifts until he is sitting upright. He leans over, placing his elbows on his knees and cradling the glass in between his hands. His eyes, which had been the same color as the whiskey only moments earlier as softness and the firelight danced in them, are now much darker, like the color of dark chocolate, just as beautiful, just as breathtaking, but now burdened. Eddie gazes into the glass of whiskey as he answers, never once looking at Buck. “It’s loud, crowded, hot, messy. The clashing of metal and the stomps of footfalls and the screaming and the tearing of flesh and bones breaking. It all blends together into this–roar. Each sound echoes in your ears and your chest, the vibrations of it hum in your blood. Even days later you can still feel it, this buzz and itch under your skin. And there’s no real predictability. Bodies just collide with one another creating a writhing mass that is suffocating. It rips the air out of your lungs. Not once in battle have I ever been able to take a deep breath. Which, maybe that’s a good thing, considering it would taste like blood and metal and dirt and fear. Something like that must stain your lungs as surely as the blood you spill stains your hands and your heart and your soul.” Eddie’s words clang through Buck like the ringing of an old, rusted bell. He can feel the weight of Eddie’s experience and memories falling onto his shoulders, heavy and incapacitating. The knowledge that Eddie has endured that, that he has survived all of that, not once but multiple times makes Buck want to rage and shake and break and cry. He wants to wrap Eddie in his arms and never let him go, never let the world hurt him again, never allow him to be forced to exist within such violence. Buck watches, helpless and frozen, as Eddie takes a large gulp of whiskey and laughs bitterly. “You know, it’s not even the actual battle, so much as it is the aftermath. When you’re fighting for your life, everything tends to fade into the background. You’re so focused on staying alive, on making the right moves and avoiding the wrong ones, that you can’t actually feel anything. But then, when it’s over, you’re left there, surrounded by dead bodies, blood seeping into your skin and you don’t know how much is yours and how much is a stranger’s. All of the sounds and fear and smells hit you all at once then, and it never really fades.” He tries to imagine it. He can sometimes still feel the weight of the daemon’s shadows wrapping around him, the pressure of their hits, the paralyzing fear as he laid on the ground watching as a sword aimed for him come down. It hits him like the memory of his leg getting crushed does, in quick flashes that take his breath and make him freeze until he manages to pull himself out. What Eddie is talking about sounds so much more–pervasive, like the shadows in his dreams that poured down his throat.

Snippet Two:

They kiss for what feels like hours, unhurried. Soft and slow kisses, hard and grasping kisses, wet, messy, filthy kisses that set Buck aflame while simultaneously calming him down. Eventually, Buck pulls away. He bites Eddie’s plush bottom lip as he does so, making Eddie gasp and tighten his thighs around Buck’s hips. Eddie rocks forward gently, helplessly as Buck releases the bruised lip, chasing after him. Buck can feel the muscles of Eddie’s thighs shifting against his side, and the soft rocking motion that Eddie keeps up drags their cocks together in a hot friction-filled slide. Buck inhales a sharp breath, awed at the sight of Eddie above him, flushed and panting, his brown eyes blown wide and dark with lust, his cock filling rapidly against Buck. Buck can’t stop the smug, filthy grin that spreads across his face. Eddie chuckles and rolls his eyes fondly. “Don’t go getting too smug, stud. I can feel you too, you know,” he says with a pointed swivel of his hips. “Yeah,” Buck says, voice low and heated. He moves his hands from Eddie’s hips and drags them slowly up his chest, appreciating the hard ridges of Eddie’s muscles through the soft material of his shirt. “You feel that?” he asks, wrapping one hand around Eddie, placing it in the middle of his back and forcing him down. A whimper falls from Eddie’s lips, and Buck swears it's the most delicious sound he has ever heard. Buck reaches up, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s. He rubs their noses together softly before moving to Eddie’s ear. “You feel how hard I am?” he whispers and then nips at his earlobe. Eddie shivers, bearing down on Buck’s lap harder and faster, desperation making his movements sloppy. Buck smiles against Eddie’s cheek, something sweet and bubbly bursting inside him as he feels the way Eddie’s cheek pulls up in a responding smile. “It’s for you. All for you. Only for you.” “Fuck, fuck, Buck–” Eddie slides a hand in Buck’s hair, pulling his head back. He tugs tightly and Buck gasps at the sensation, a sharp lick of fire making its way down from his scalp to his cock. His hips buck up into Eddie, and they both moan in unison. Eddie stills and raises an eyebrow. “You like that,” he says, voice deliciously deep and rough. It’s not a question. “Yeah,” Buck says breathlessly, needlessly.

Tagging: @spaceprincessem @elvensorceress @hippolotamus @shortsighted-owl @diazass @paranoidbean @bigfootsmom @anxieteandbiscuits @rewritetheending @shitouttabuck @roy-kents @devirnis @try-set-me-on-fire @fiona-fififi @bekkachaos @barbiediaz @transbuck @transboybuckley @thewolvesof1998 @heartshapedvows @monsterrae1 @spotsandsocks @housewifebuck @oliverstaark @911onabc and anyone else who wants to share something!

#buddie #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #fantasy au #fic: red life might stream again #ryan writes #fuck it friday

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pantpisser9000 · 7 months

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Combined Together, Chapter one: Professor, Engineer, Captain

Inkling was a simple sea-creature, he had lived there for who knows how long, (most sea creatures didn’t keep track of their age, especially later on, and Inkling was one of those creatures) and he had done many things. He actually had an English degree, (as well as one to teach and a decent amount of experience in some science-related fields–he was called “Professor” for a reason, after all) and had a plethora of knowledge both from his vast amount of books that some friends on land kept for him, the book his own ___ had given to him, and personal experience. He enjoyed teaching, going on expeditions with his students. But he was getting old, so now while he was frequently underwater, he went to the “above” as many called it less and less, usually just to teach a lesson or two or just study on his own. But, something had always bothered him. SO many creatures were in trouble under the water, and nobody above seemed to really care.

There had been countless times where Inkling had seen sea creatures die when it could’ve been easily prevented, or rockslides or volcanoes erupt where many of the slower creatures unfortunately met their end. And Inkling wasn’t exactly a hero. Maybe he’d help if he could, but he was old. And that gave him an idea, well, after a while. He came up with it slowly–what if they formed a team of creatures that could help those poor animals that couldn’t help themselves?

He knew he’d need a couple of things, but he figured the best things to find first were a Captain, (as mentioned before, he was quite old, and he definitely couldn’t lead any expeditions.) and he needed someone who was strong, leadership qualities, holding their breath underwater would be good as well. And, obviously, he’d need an engineer. If what he was planning to do was travel all across the ocean and help out sea creatures, they’d need a place to eat, sleep, ect ect in. Plus submarines of sorts since he doubted that there’d be any sea creatures on the ship besides himself, and not everyone can outswim a hungry shark or territorial eel. Of course, they’d need many more people, but those two were his main focus. Captain and Engineer.

Now he just needed to find them.

Tweak had always loved tinkering with mechanics and building and engineering things. She enjoyed it so much that she went to college for it and passed with flying colors. She was part bunny, but what was unusual about that was the fact she was mint-green, instead of brown or white or black or any other usual colors of a rabbit. Short hair that was often partially held back by a pinkish hued headband and gloves and heavy boots usually adorned on her hands and feet.

She had grown up in the Everglades of Florida, but came out with a southern accent so thick you’d think she was from Texas. And that was because she only really ever talked to her Pa, who was from Texas, and the people living in the Everglades, who she usually had short enough interactions with that it didn’t affect how she spoke at all. Whenever she let her large floppy ears sprout from her head, she had excellent hearing, and her Pa insisted she was the best creature-tracker in the whole world.

But, as much as she loved her Pa and the Everglades, she’d been itching for more for a while. Going to college in the city was about as long as she’d gone, and while she never had stopped building, she wanted a real experience. Sure, she had a quick repair job, but she only went in on some days and eventually, fixing things gets boring. She always had so many concepts and ideas for transportation devices to some brief ideas for submarines on the occasion. She just didn’t have the materials to make anything all that big.

Taking a walk through the swamp they called the Everglades, Tweak of course saw the people that lived there. An alligator hybrid or two laying in the sun, their babies curled up next to them. Tweak almost audibly went “aww”, but she hushed herself–even if they were people, she’d also prefer to not have alligator teeth lodged in her flesh. She shivered thinking about it, the blood trickling down – she stopped herself, shaking her head. Nope. She thought. Not ganna think about that. She decided, continuing her walk, jumping over logs and puddles and trekking through the mud. She’d prefer to be building, but she didn’t have enough scrap metal and she wasn’t called into work, but… maybe she could go in, say she could take over for whoever was working that day? She knew most of the employees were just there for the money or to get some stuff on their resume, while Tweak did it….Partially for the money, yes, it was nice (even if she never used it–she actually had quite a bit saved) but mainly for the fact that she wanted to have something to tinker with and improve her skills constantly. Even if it was just fixing busted up motorcycles and cars.

So, she hopped in the old jeep, (it was still functioning well because of her assistance, which her Pa was massively grateful for.) and drove. It was a decent drive to the city, but Tweak was fine with it. She was with her best friend; Machinery.

Eventually, after the drive, she had arrived. Parking the jeep in the lot of the place, she walked in, and she saw something unusual. She didn’t want to interrupt or eavesdrop, but it wasn’t her fault if she accidentally heard something. She did have wonderful hearing, after all. So, she listened in. It was an older man–complete with a pink-hued mustache and a bald head, a bowtie fastened around his neck and seated in a wheelchair. I think I could make him a better one, she thought to herself silently, but obviously didn’t say anything. The other person was her manager.

The manager, smoking a cigarette; “Listen, dude.. I don’t think you’re gonna find anyone here willing to develop their goddehm lives to yer… mermaid rescue?”

The older man, pursing his lips and motioning with his hands; “... Underwater creatures. And-”

The manager, annoyed, slamming his hand on the table; “ REALLY. Nobody’s willing to commit their life to yer passion project, old man.”

The older man bit the inside of his cheek, closed his eyes and nodded, before wheeling out. But Tweak was interested as she watched him roll out. Saving underwater creatures? While she wasn’t a medic or healer by any means, she was an engineer. And she doubted that he would’ve gone to a mechanics shop if he didn’t need someone to design machines and “gizmos” as her Pa would call them. She walked up behind him. “H—howdy there!” she said, stuttering. The older man blinked. “Hello?” he responded, confusion lacing his voice. Tweak intertwined her hands. “I’m- I’m an engineer there. I accidentally heard a bit of your conversation with my manager, and.. What I'm saying is, I’m very curious and also very very interested.” she finished. The man smiled. “Really?” he asked, and she nodded. “Well, I mean I’d like to know more details but.. This is something that seems quite interesting.” The man nodded, motioning her to follow him.

“Let’s chat at the local library,” he said, and she responded quickly, “Alright,”. She didn’t have work today, anyways. “I’m Professor Inkling,” he said as they walked/rolled, and she responded back. “My name’s Tweak.” Inkling nodded. “Jolly good to meet you, Tweak.” he said, and then they arrived at the local library. Tweak honestly didn’t know it was there, but she didn’t mention that to the Professor.

They sat down at a secluded corner of the Library, Tweak nervously playing with her fingers and Inkling had his own intertwined professionally. “I suppose I should tell you more about the job,” he said, and started to speak. “It’s an organization I’m working on–still workshopping the name, before you ask–and it aims to help creatures who need it below the surface. You see, I’m part squid, and I have lived underwater for many many years. And while there’s doctors and police and all of those things up here, there simply is not down there. I believe some creatures deserve more of a chance, deserve some healthcare of some sort and sometimes, they need saving. So, I’ve decided to start this project. My plan is to assemble a base team of myself, a captain, and an engineer, and then after a test run or two, we’ll get more of a team.” he said, and Tweak nodded. “So, as an engineer, what’d I be doing?” she asked, and Inkling beamed.

“Designing the main headquarters–almost like a huge submarine-house–and smaller submarines to go out on small missions on. As well as handy tools to help us throughout and all of that stuff.” he said, and Tweak was practically beaming. “That sounds terrific Prof! That’s… well, I’ve always loved building things, even as a little bun, and.. Well, let’s say I’ve come up with designs for submarines before. Not very complicated ones, but a start, yes.” she said, and the Professor grinned. “Wonderful! Are you free tomorrow as well?” he asked, and Tweak frowned. “Unfortunately, no. I’ve got work. But, they day afterwards I am!” she said, and Inkling clasped his hands together. “Alright. How about, the day after tomorrow, you bring some of those beta designs, we’ll look them over and.. You’ll decide if you wanna take part in this project and I’ll see if you’re top-notch.” he said, and Tweak smiled.

She didn’t say it, but she knew that it was unlikely he was gonna find an engineer as passionate as her. “Anything else ya wanna know today? I ain’t busy.” she said, and Inkling pursed his lips. “Hm. I’d just like to know some things about you. Childhood, if that’s alright.” he said, and Tweak grinned. “I can do that. Let’s see, I grew up in the Everglades with my Pa. I only really talked t’ him and he grew up in Texas, so that’s why my accents all like this. My Ma divorced my Pa a while ago, back when I was a lil bunny. Hardly remember ‘er. But, my green fur I got from my Pa. Uh, I’ve always liked tinkerin’ around, and I played ‘round with scrap metal a lot and made lil inventions. Went to engineering school, got that job ‘cus I was bored, and then I met you.” she finished, and Inkling put his hand to his chin. “Being passionate is always good, so I appreciate that. I knew that some of the people working at that place were… less passionate and more money oriented, but I’m glad I found someone like you.” he said, and Tweak nodded. She practically had this job in the bag. “I know I’m technically the one bein’ interviewed, but I’d like to know about you, Prof” she said, tilting her head. The professor chuckled.

“But of course. Well, I grew up on a sea mount–a wonderful place, really. Christmas was wonderful, we always decorated the golden corral. Hm, well, it wasn’t all that interesting. Basic sea life, honestly. Ate, slept, woke up, ate. For a while, I was fine with that. But, I wanted to know more about the world, and more importantly, about the ‘above’. So, I trained myself to turn myself more humanoid–it was quite hard to get past my legs and arms becoming tentacles, but I did it–and, while I had to use a wheelchair, I went to college for English studies. Became a professor. And, a while after that, I saw all of the creatures suffering, and I came up with this mission.” he finished, and Tweak was slightly surprised. She had no idea what life was like underwater.

The professor cocked his head to the side. “So, is there anything else I should be made aware of?” he asked, and Tweak shook her head. “I don’t think so. I ain’t all that interestin’.” she said, and the Professor nodded. “I’ll see you in two days, then, Tweak.” he said, wheeling out of there. Tweak was practically shining. She hopped in the jeep, drove back to the Everglades and therefore back to her Pa’s station, and hopped out. “PA!” she yelled, and her father swiveled his head. “Howdy there Tweak,” he said, and Tweak rushed up to him.

“Pa, it’s not official yet, but I’ve got great news!” she said, and her father cocked his head in anticipation. “There’s this like, underwater expedition thingy that this older man–his name is Professor Inklin’ – is setting up, to help out the creatures below, and I’m bein’ pretty heavily considered to be the head engineer! ” she exclaimed, and her Pa looked a little… sad? “So you’ll be leavin?”

Tweak blinked. She hadn’t thought about that. “Well.. I suppose, yeah.” she said. She bit the inside of her cheek. “Well, if it’s what ya wanna do, that’s dandy, I’ll just miss ya.” he said, and Tweak kept herself from tearing up a little. “I- Um.. didn’t think ‘bout that.” she said, gripping onto her wrist. Her Pa looked back up at her. “Hey, Tweak. It’s perfectly fine if ya wanna do that. Just… contact yer Pa every once in a while, yeah?” he requested, and Tweak nodded. She looked back at his old radio. Sure, it was old and decrepit, but it worked. She gave him a hug. “I’m not leavin’ just yet though.” she said, and her Pa patted her back.

The next day was bore-inducing. Tweak was phenomenal, as always, but she was bored. She was entertained by her thoughts of coming up with designs for submarines and other such things, she basically already had a few ideas in her head. Obviously, they’d need a variety–she was thinking of one based off of a angler fish. Light on the top to help them see in the dark incase if they ever went deep down into the trenches or if it was night. A small, slender, fast one would be good too. They’d obviously need one with a towline, in case any of the others got damaged. But, she decided she should start simpler. She had the idea for a very very simple ‘submarine’, it was really just so she could figure out the framework and then improve on it. She was thinking pedals.

And she continued to think about various submarines and everything all throughout her work day, and while it didn’t affect her work, she did get a little worried it was so she forced herself to stop thinking of all those ideas and focused. When she left that day, she was excited for the next. She was going to scribble down some of her design ideas when she got home. She was ecstatic about the whole thing and she had to force herself to get to sleep–she didn’t want to be tired when she met Inkling the next day. So, when she woke up, she hugged her dad, jumped in the jeep, and drove to the library directly instead of parking in her (hopefully soon, former) job’s workplace. She walked in, before realizing that she was an hour early. She slowly walked out, deciding to actually eat some breakfast and then she’d hopefully end up a tad early for the interview. Sauntering over to a nearby restaurant, she grabbed some tater tots and ate them with some carrots. Maybe not the healthiest, but she didn’t want to take too long. 27 minutes had passed. She paid, walked out, back into the library, and decided to touch up her designs.

33 more long minutes later, and Inkling came over. “Hello there, Tweak” he said, rolling over and situating himself across the table from her. “I’d love to see the designs,” he smiled. “I will say, I’m… not very knowledgeable on engineering.” Tweak nodded. She’d been expecting that bit, to say the least. Sliding the designs over to him, she began to talk. “So, that first one is just to help me get the framework down. It’s really just a small, circular submarine’s framing and I’m thinking about testing out both an engine and pedals. Once I manage to figure out how that would work, I can start to work on this one.” she slid over another blueprint. “It’s lightly based on an anglerfish, as I’m sure you can tell. Light at the top for night-time and deep cavernous missions, hatch at the bottom, dispenser as the mouth.” she finished, and Inkling looked to be in utter awe. “These are wonderful , Tweak. Did you have any ideas in mind for the headquarters?” he asked, and she nodded again. “Wasn’t sure exactly what ya wanted, but I came up with this. I call it The Octopod. ” she said. She was by far most pleased with this design. It was based on an octopus, 8 extended arms and a big circular head, hatch as the mouth. Inkling looked pleased at this one, too. “I adore this, but I think four arms would be better, just as… Well, first, I don’t think we’ll need nearly that amount of extra space, and two… they’re very close in proximity, and we obviously couldn’t make the arms very stiff, and I don’t want them to bang each other up. Tweak blinked. Of course. “Y-yeah, that- makes sense. But, besides that..?” she asked, and Inkling looked up at her.

“Well, you’re certainly hired, officially. And two, once you make those changes, I think.. Everything’s really quite perfect.” he said, and Tweak flushed a little. “I think that, once you get all of your notice stuff for your previous job settled… figure out exactly what you need, and tell me in about two weeks, Saturday. I’ll meet you here, same time. I’ll let you figure out everything you need, make some small model tests just to figure it all out, yes?” he said, and Tweak nodded. “Sounds wonderful, Prof.” she said, and the Professor waved goodbye. “Well, I suppose that’s goodbye for now then, new Head engineer” and he wheeled himself out. Tweak already had many ideas brimming in her brain. As she hopped in the jeep, many thoughts and ideas swarmed her mind. Though, she decided to talk to her manager first–better to file her two-weeks notice in as soon as she possibly could.

Walking in, the bell ringing, the manager looked up from the computer. (he, while he didn’t need to, also worked the front desk. He wanted more money, to put it simply) “Tweak?” he asked, obviously confused. She walked over, putting her elbow on the counter and smiling. “Where do I get the papers for my two-weeks notice?” she asked. The manager looked up at her in surprise. “You’re.. . leaving this place? Why the hell would ya do that?” he asked, a little pissed off. She shrugged. “Found a job that I prefer quite a bit more.” her manager grinded his teeth a little. “Oh, what, you got a little low-rank position at a damn startup or somethin?” she looked at him. “Nope” she said, popping the ‘p’, “head engineer” she said, and her manager slammed his fists on the table.

“DID YOU GO WITH THAT OLD GEEZER?” he asked, yelling. She pursed her lips. “So what if I did? He’s passionate and willing to give me all the materials I need.” she said, and she noticed her manager was practically glaring at her. “Yer the best engineer we have. Think this all back over. You’re ruinin’ yer life.” he finished. He was pissed, claws protruding from his nails and teeth sharp. Tweak would be lying if she said she wasn’t a tad scared. “To be honest… not really convincing me t’ stay.” she said. At this point, she just began to speak again, “I.. I think I’m just gonna quit. Right now.” she said, handing her resignation papers. She wasn’t stupid. She considered this possibility, and then she walked out, not particularly wanting to continue this conversation. Tweak realized what she’d just done. She could never go back to that job again. But really, would she ever want to go back?

Tweak was certain she already knew the answer to that. No.

Walking back to her jeep, she decided she’d work on her designs more at home. Perfect them. Make a few more. But first, she wanted to make that framework. It was simple, yes, but it would be fun. Plus, better to work with what she had to figure out how she’d make it with real materials.

Hopping in the jeep, a little bit of the leather on the seat tearing off, she drove back into her swampy home. She looked to her dad, who was surprised she was home so early. “Tweak?” he asked, and Tweak grinned. “Heya Pa. I’m gonna work here, instead.” he looked like he might cry. “Sounds great, Tweak.” he said, sitting up in his chair a little. He was ecstatic, but obviously he wouldn’t say that.

She pulled out the scrap metal she’d been saving, deconstructed a older project or two, and she thought she had just enough for the basic framework. A day or two of welding, her face practically melting off under the hot Florida sun, another few days of hitting in bolts and making the pedals work, and a last day doing touch ups.. She was done. Grinning, she was proud. Sure, it wasn’t the most glorious thing, but it was good for something she’d built with her own two hands with scrap material and rusty old tools. Now, she just had to test if it worked. Obviously, she couldn’t go deep, but she did test a little in shallow water–it worked. She had a feeling with more covering, the light she planned, and an engine? It’d be perfect. Wonderful, even. Her dad wasn’t 100% sure what was going on, in all honesty, but he thought it was good. “Better than i could ever dream o’ doin.” he had said, giving her a slap on the back. Tweak grinned.

And so, those few weeks went quicker than she was expecting. She and her Pa ended up spending time together, as well, which was really quite nice. And so, it was Saturday. Her Pa had bought an old trailer/wagon like thing to attach to the jeep ages ago, and now it was finally going to come in use. She loaded the frame into it, and drove to the library perfectly on time, and the Professor was waiting for her. She was a minute late, but he didn’t seem to mind as he waved towards her. “Tweak, hello!” he said, and Tweak went over and sat across from him.

“Hey Prof.” she said, hands laced together “I built a framework, or I suppose an idea of sorts for one of the submarine ideas. It’s not the best, but I was workin’ with scrap metal an’ some older tools,” she said. The professor blinked. “My, you’ve outdone yourself then!” he exclaimed, clasping his hands together. “Oh, an’, I worked on a lotta blueprints for some of the other submarines, too. Made a small model or two for them, as well.” she finished, and the professor seemed very pleased. “Wonderful, Tweak. If you could, do you have the lists of the materials you’d need?” she nodded. “I figured we’d probably only need the materials for the hq an’ one or two of the gups to start,” she said. The Professor nodded. “Can you meet up on Tuesday? I think I’d like to figure out where to get all of this.” Tweak nodded. “I’ll continue my work, then.” she said. The Professor nodded. “Oh, do you wanna see the framework, by the way? I’ve got it latched onta my jeep.” she said.

Inkling looked surprised. “Why yes of course!” he declared, and Tweak led him out to the jeep. He looked to be in awe. “This was made with scraps ?” he asked, and she nodded. “It ain’t pretty, but it works. Obviously, the real submarines will be nicer, but I figured this could… possibly serve as a backup, if needed.” she said. Inkling nodded. “Excellent planning ahead.” Tweak, hands on her hips, smirked. She was way better off doing this.

She and the Professor said their goodbyes fairly quickly. And now, she’d just have to wait. She had ended up tweaking (hah) the models a tad to make them a little better, and now it was Tuesday. Met up at the library again, same time once more. Inkling had a.. Hard to decipher look on his face. “So, Tweak. Some bad and good news. Good news is, majority of the materials I can get from here in Florida. Bad news is, there’s a few only available in… well, Britain being the closest.” Tweak blinked. “What materials?” she asked, and the professor slid the paper over. “Oh, that’s perfectly fine, I can get most of it done without those anyways! Faster than you can say buncha munchy crunchy carrots!” she said, laughing a little. She’d picked that expression up from her dad. “Sounds wonderful, then. I think I might search for a Captain there, as well. Given how I haven’t had much luck finding one here.” Tweak blinked. That made sense. She nodded.

And for once in a long time, Tweak was very really excited.

—

Captain Barnacles, leader of the… Barnacles put down his pen. He couldn’t expect to be a Captain of anything yet, could he? He’d worked on a few ships before, a cruise once. Never suited his interest. He ran his hand through his short hair–he’d cut it before venturing out of his snow-filled home. Maybe a tad too short, but he didn’t care all that much. He liked to think he looked relatively friendly, despite his sharp teeth from his polar-bear side. He practically never had claws or his ears or fur out, he was pretty calm most of the time. Whenever he exercised though, it tended to come out, usually just ears, sometimes a muzzle and his hands more into paws. He usually exercised more at home, well, not really ‘home’ but his apartment. Speaking of his apartment, that’s what he was currently in. It was small, he had pulled together just enough money to buy a small apartment from all of his temporary gigs. He had done some laboring and construction a few times, worked a variety of jobs on a variety of ships, and maybe worked some retail for a couple of months when he first moved to England. His sister, Bianca, was content on staying up in their icy home, but Barnacles wasn’t. He had known exactly what he wanted to do since he was a cub.

Sighing, he decided to close the journal he had started keeping since he had moved there, and walked out. It was a nice day. Well, it would be for normal people, but being part polar bear and all it would’ve led him to overheating, easily. But, he had been given a cold suit. It was pajamas, technically, but he always just layered other clothes with it and usually he was just a little warm instead of dying from heat exhaustion at all times.

He just had a temporary construction job at the moment, and he was only needed on weekdays, and today was thankfully Saturday. He decided to stop at a shop to get a meal. Ramen noodles. He was practically on a college budget with the cheap –and probably not exactly great for him– food he ate everyday, but he didn’t have much of a choice. This was his life until he could eventually and hopefully work on a real ship or just be in charge of something.

Grabbing the noodles, (all filled to the brim with non-meat protein, because in this world, it’d be much less moral) and checking out by himself, he walked back to his apartment, locking the door behind him. Everyone knew he was a goddamn polar bear, could probably crush their skulls if he wanted, ( he would never, though. He thinks he’d throw up if he tried.) so there wasn’t really a point, but he figured he might as well.

He grabbed a pot from a cabinet, filled it up with some water, placed the thing on the stove, turned the heat up, and waited. Glancing over at his weights, he decided it couldn’t hurt. Picking one up, about 30 pounds, and then the other, lifting and lowering them and doing so in a few different poses and in different ways, he heard the bubbling of the water. Placing the weights down, wiping the sweat off his brow and mustache and combing through his hair with his hands, he walked over. His ears were polar bearish at the moment, now, instead of regular human ears.

Opening a packet of ramen with ease, he turned down the heat, broke the ramen, and dropped it into the boiling water. He yoinked a spatula, breaking it apart in the water with some weirdly satisfying crunch es, and he grabbed the packet of flavoring. He tore it open with his teeth, before dumping it all into the pot and stirring. He broke it up a little more, stirred, waited, and repeated for a little while until he considered it done.

He grabbed a bowl, carefully poured in the substance over the sink, and grabbed a fork. Then, he took his dinner over to his computer. It definitely wasn’t the newest model, and the guy wasn’t super super tech savvy, but he made it work. He had an account or two on a few job listing sites, and he thought his profile looked nice. A picture of himself, from the shoulders up, as the profile picture. He was smiling in it, but not with his teeth. Of course, he had to state he was part polar-bear, but he put it as a strength, as it did help make him stronger.

Scrolling through the site, screen illuminating his features and scooping mouthfuls of ramen into his mouth, his eyes widened–the perfect job offering. It was posted with someone with no profile picture, which while a tad suspicious, not incriminating by any means. It read, plain and simple;

Looking for a Captain for a new expedition on the high seas.

Barnacles looked at the requirements for the Captain, and he hoped he met all the standards for it, this seemed like a huge possible opportunity!

(Physically) Strong

Well, he definitely had that covered. He didn’t particularly like to brag or anything like that, but he was much stronger than the average person. Again, like mentioned prior; he could crush anyone’s skull if he wanted to. He was strong. He looked at the rest of the qualities needed, then.

Leadership qualities (not shy, kind, direct, ect.)

While he wasn’t as confident about this one, he was also confident this lined up perfectly with him as well. He had always been first in line when he and the rest of the Polar scouts went out on their little expeditions. Always led, always in front, always directed everyone (politely, of course) and he liked to consider himself a leader. So, that one checked out as well. He scrolled onwards.

Quick thinker in stressful situations

Of course, he immediately remembered when he had been stuck in that hole when he was a child, and he hadn’t thought quickly then, but… if they were out in the open ocean, that wouldn’t be a problem, right? He thought back to his scout days again. He had saved Tracker quickly that one time, and he had always been able to move quickly multiple times before that on previous badge-earnings, so he believed he fit that requirement as well.

Kind, a people person. Able to resolve conflicts (most of the time) as well.

Barnacles, while some people feared him, did consider himself nice. He had gone out of his way to help people as much as reasonably possible, and he was nice to everyone. Usually he could start up a conversation easily, as long as the other person was even somewhat willing. Even though he didn’t get to talk to people besides the other scouts, (including his sister) and Professor Natquik, he considered himself good at communicating. He’d solved a conflict or two between the Polar scouts as a kid, so it didn’t seem impossible by any means that he qualified for this.

Can steer/has some experience steering a ship of any kind

He grinned at this. He definitely knew how to steer a ship. He’d taken over in an emergency situation once or twice, and had a steering wheel he could connect to his computer to practice–which he did only a little less than exercising.

Able to swim at least decently well

Again, this was no problem–he knew how to swim quite wonderfully. He and Bianca were part polar bear, after all. They had swam very very long distances before, and Barnacles had loved taking icy swims when he was younger! It was part of his very identity, so this was not nearly even a ‘maybe’, he fit perfectly with this bit.

There was a few more qualities, but Barnacles matched up very nicely with all of them–he was perfect for the job. So, he clicked the link at the end for the man who was hiring’s email address. He sent a simple email, talking about how he had all the qualities for the job perfectly and was very very willing to meet up in person to discuss further details on the matter.

He was sent a response only 33 minutes after. It was overwhelmingly professional, not a single mistake in its words. After a bit of emailing back and forth, they had eventually decided on a date, time, and place. A library nearby, and they were starting the interview that next day, at 3:00 PM. Barnacles could hardly wait.

The next day, he had woke up bright and early, at 7:00am. Sure, it was a long while until the interview, and he could barely keep in his excitement. Part of him wanted to gush and tell Bianca about it, but he figured he should wait if –or until– he actually got the job before raving about this to her. This could be a new part of his life! Finally, something he’d always wanted for years, a Captain aboard the… Well, he didn’t know the ship’s name, but he was still excited nonetheless!

He worked out a tad bit to cool off his excitement, for an hour or two until he was (kinda) tired out. He had practically unending stamina, so he was only sweating by the end of it.

Then, he came up with a plan. Eat breakfast, exercise again and then since he wanted to look nice and fresh for the interview which he was so desperately awaiting, he would take a nice, long shower. He decided on toast with that artificial meat on it.. It was pretty accurate tasting, or so Barnacles had heard, (he’d only ever eaten fish, never anything else) so he sandwiched it together. He didn’t bother putting down a plate, as he devoured the whole thing within mere seconds. Sure, not the most filling, but he usually had bigger lunches.

Hopping on the treadmill once again, he was on it for a shorter amount of time. Only 30 minutes. Wiping the beads of sweat gathering on his face, he headed into the bathroom. Stripping down quickly and twisting the knob, he stepped in and began his long as all hell shower.

Barnacles enjoyed taking long showers and baths–but unlike the majority, his were frigid and calming instead of hot and calming. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a bathtub in his apartment, (Something he was saddened by when he realized) so he had to resort to his less preferred option, showering. Still, he tried to make the best of it. He took about an hour-long shower, (the other people living in the complex certainly didn’t care how long he showered, given how he’d never take up any hot water. In fact, when he had first moved in, he had asked if that rule counted for cold showers, and the person running the complex looked at him funny and simply said ‘no’.) and by the time he had dried off it was 9:44am. Still a few more hours.

He pulled on his other pair of cold-suit-pajamas, then the layer on top was just a nice-enough looking dress shirt and jeans. He thought he looked nice in his outfit. He looked longingly at his computer and the steering wheel, and he figured it certainly couldn’t hurt.

About three hours later, he turned off his computer. Maybe he had played for a little long, but he wanted to be prepared! Who knew what kinda tests the interviewer would pit against him! …Or maybe because he was slightly bored. Who knows. Either way, it was now 12:45. Just a few more measly hours until the interview which he was so desperately awaiting.

He would probably eat lunch in around 45 minutes. Maybe he’d… go take a walk, or something. Honestly, he wasn’t really all that sure. But, maybe that’d do some good for him rather then just going on a treadmill. He’d be able to see the sights…or something like that. Not like the sights were all that amazing, but maybe he could kill an hour or two by doing it.

So, that’s exactly what he did for 45 minutes, walking along, his tall stature scaring one or two of the smaller hybrid people. Eventually, he had gotten hungry again, and even though he was usually one for something a little healthier… he had just eaten instant ramen for dinner yesterday. And at the very least, he exercised all the damn time, so he didn’t have to worry too much, or at least he hoped so. Either way, he stopped at a quick burger place, paid and got a burger, and devoured it. He was a tad hungry but.. That was fine. He’d eat a snack or something in a little.

He had gotten and eaten the thing in around 5 minutes. It was now 1:36. He could barely wait, and he came up with a short-term plan once again. Go back to his apartment, freshen up a little, grab a snack, and then just head to the library. Sure, he’d be VERY early but he honestly didn’t care much. They were doing the interview at a library, after all. He could just read. Maybe on captain-related things, or for tips on interviews. So, that’s exactly what he did. He arrived at the library at around 2:07, and picked up a few books.

Interviews for dummies

You’re a captain, now!

Ship maintenance & managing 101

And eventually, at 3 o'clock on the dot, a man came in. He was old, obviously, Barnacles could tell that much. Barnacles himself was only 29–this man looked to be around 70 or 80. Toned pink mustache, blue monocle, bowtie situated around his neck. He was in a wheelchair of sorts. He waved, “You must be Mr. PolarBear, yes?” and Barnacles nodded. “And you’re Professor Inkling?” he asked back, to which the professor nodded to as well.

“That I am.” he said, approaching a table. “Over here, the interview has begun.” Barnacles nodded, placing the books back where he found them swiftly and walking over to the man, and sitting on the chair adjacent to him. “So, Mr.PolarBear.. What’s your story?” he asked, elbows on the table and leaning in. “Just Barnacles, please, Professor. But I uh.. I’m from the arctic, with me being part polar bear and all. I was in this little organization called the Polar scouts.” he began, putting his hands in his lap as Professor Inkling listened. “That’s what made up most of my childhood, being a Polar scout. I got almost all the badges, besides one. The walrus help badge. They never accepted my help. But, either way, we went on many little adventures, even helped a scientist named Professor Natquik once or twice. We ventured into caves, swam across the icy sea, earned various badges.” he said, looking back up at the Professor.

“Interesting. So you have team building experience, swimming and helping?” he asked, to which Barnacles nodded. “Not to toot my own horn, but I saved some of the other members on the occasion. Once, a large ice piece almost fell onto my friend, Tracker, and I managed to lift it for enough time for him to crawl back out.” he said, and the Professor nodded again. “And I’ve swam my whole life. I’d say I’m at least decent at it. I always led the rest of the troop, too. We all helped each other at various times.” he continued, and the Professor nodded.

“That’s all very good. Do you have experience with ships and steering, or even Captaining?” he asked, and Barnacles nodded before speaking again. “I’ve worked on ships off and on for a while, and I.. Well, I have this fake steering wheel that connects to my computer, and I practice steering quite a bit. I did it for a few hours today.” he continued again, then, “I have worked on actual ships usually as a cabin boy or once a lieutenant.”

Inkling nodded again. “So far, out of all the ones I’ve interviewed for this position, you have by far the most experience.” he said, jotting a note on some paper Barnacles hadn’t even noticed he had brought. “While I will say, you have a very large chance of getting in, I have another interview or two that I’d like to conduct first. I’ll contact you if you’ve gotten the job.” Inkling said, and Barnacles was about to burst with excitement, but just nodded calmly. “Thank you so much for this opportunity.” Barnacles said, and the professor smiled, nodded, and silently wheeled off.

Barnacles when he got home immediately headed for the treadmill after stripping his nice clothes off. He needed some way to get out his energy, and this was how he was doing it. He was filled to the brim with happiness–he was the one who the professor was most likely going to select? That was wonderful! But of course, he tried his best to contain himself. There were still a few more interviewees. He had to calm down a little.

But, just a week later, when his hope was beginning to dwindle, he got a notification in his email. It was from Professor Inkling. He said that he’d gotten the job. Barnacles practically jumped for joy, but maintained his composure–this was a pretty serious job. He couldn’t be super excitable like he was at the moment, so he took a few deep breaths and just smiled, responding professionally and happily, expressing gratitude and that he would go wherever. After exchanging emails back and forth, Barnacles and Inkling had come to an agreement. That next Saturday, they’d go aboard a ship, (Inkling had already had a reserved spot for himself and another) and go to the US. Barnacles had technically been to the US multiple times before, (Alaska), but he had never gone to anywhere like Florida. Apparently, that’s where the Engineer was stationed, along with the prototype, or more so the first version? Of the ship, The Octopod.

Apparently, it still needed a paint job, but that wasn’t needed for a quick adventure. Just to see how it’s working before they got the rest of the crew, and the newly-crowned Captain was truly excited. A crew. His crew. Inkling said that they’d chat on the boat about what types of people they’d need, and the jobs and everything about this whole experience.

And Barnacles could hardly wait. He finished up the rest of his construction work for the week, and even if it was technically supposed to be a two weeks notice, the employee decided that one week was better then nothing. Barnacles already had everything packed up, figured some stuff out with his apartment. His photos, Polar scout badges and old uniform, old sock-puppet, a majority of his clothes– everything. He was prepared and he was damn ready to start this new venture in his life. And he was excited. And the week dragged on and on, and then finally after what felt like an eternity…

It was time. Barnacles slid on his backpack, packed up his suitcase. He had (sadly) sold his treadmill, but that was fine. At this point, he didn’t care about a treadmill–he had his dream job practically secured.

Rolling his suitcase out the door, wheels clacking against the concrete surface and keys given to the front desk of the apartment, he walked out, ready to start this now era of his life. Barnacles walked out onto the boardwalk. He saw the Professor in front of the ship, waving him over as they both walked on. “Barnacles, hello” he stated, motioning for Barnacles to follow him, which was done immediately. Inkling motioned to a room, and handed Barnacles a key. “This trip will take a few days, so.. And I would’ve chosen by air, but there unfortunately somehow wasn’t any to Florida at the moment, and I’m not exactly accustomed to trekking across the US.” he said, and Barnacles nodded. He wouldn’t admit it, but while he certainly wasn’t scared of going on a plane, he’d rather the Professor not see him act at least a little stupid on their first trip.

Barnacles unlocked the door, walking in. It was.. Small, but not small enough to trigger his claustrophobia by any means. It was taller than him, and the Hammock was low enough that he wouldn’t bump his head when he stood up, and there was enough room for his stuff. Of course, he’d prefer something bigger, (he was a tad afraid he would forget where he was in the middle of the night and then have his claustrophobic tendencies pop, because it was tiny enough to where that could happen.) but beggars can’t be choosers.

He sighed. He’d make it work. He’d hopefully learn a little more about the ship from Inkling, some of the crew plans, ect. Setting down his stuff, (but deciding not to unpack it–he’d only be on this ship for a couple days.) he walked back out. Inkling wasn’t in sight, at all. Barnacles decided to take a look around the ship. It wasn’t huge by any means, but it also wasn’t all that small. A medium sized ship, to summarize. He wandered aimlessly for a little, until he came across Inkling again, reading a book. Inkling looked up, and immediately waved to the new Captain. “Barnacles, hello.” he said, smiling and Barnacles sat down at the chair adjacent to him, and Inkling set down his book. “So, Barnacles. I suppose I should tell you a little more about the ship, yes?” he said, and Barnacles nodded. “I’d love that, yes.” he replied, smiling and Inkling pulled out a blueprint. “This is just the basic design, of course, but..” Barnacle looked in utter awe–it was wonderful.

It was clearly octopus based, with four arms that all had rooms. “It can hold about 7 people, with two people in two of the extended pods, and me in the library, the scientist in the lab, and Tweak, our engineer, in the launch bay.” he said, pushing it towards Barnacles. “That’s wonderful” he simply said, overtaken by the wonder of the thing.

“So far, we’ve got you, the Captain, Tweak, the engineer, and me. We’ll obviously need a medic, and a scientist or biologist of some sort. We’ll need someone to man the thing, so likely a person who has experience in IT work, and a lieutenant. Second in command, I should say. Plus, a photographer, so we’d need one of those people who can do both.” he finished, and Barnacles nodded. “I unfortunately don’t think I know anyone who’d be interested.. The only one I can think of seems content where he is, and he doesn’t exactly seem the type to travel across the ocean. He’s stationed in the Arctic.”

Inkling put a hand to his chin. “Hm. I can think of one person, but I think she’s pretty happy on land, as well. I suppose we’ll just have to figure it out some other way to get more crew members,” Inkling said, and Barnacles agreed.

Looked like they’d just have to figure that out later.

—

When the Captain and the Professor arrived, Tweak didn’t know exactly who or what she was expecting. She knew the Professor was part squid–the guy had mentioned it, after all. But, she found it interesting the Captain, (whose name she ended up learning to be Barnacles,) was part Polar Bear. She was.. Slightly curious what a polar bear had been doing in London of all places, but she decided to save that question for another time. For now, she was focused on first impressions. Reaching out her hand, she said, “Heya there, Cap.” she figured that maybe she should’ve been more professional, but he shook her hand. “Hello, Tweak, is it?” he asked. She doubted he’d lived in London for all that long but he certainly had a slight accent. Maybe that was just compared to her jarringly southern one, though. He was much taller than Inkling and Tweak, –at least more than 6’0, Tweak though– with dark brown skin, white buzzed hair and a more squarish mustache compared to the professor’s monopoly-man esc one(It didn’t help his case that the Professor also wore a monocle). Of course, the Octopod was … certainly not the most beautiful looking. Tweak had a feeling this would probably end up being the prototype, as if she were to remake it it’d likely be smoother, as the metal plates were more obvious and a tad jarring. It was also silver, and Tweak thought it’d be better as a different color. A yellow or orange, maybe. She’d thought about blue, but she didn’t want it to blend in–that wasn’t the intent.

“This is.. Wonderful-” Captain Barnacles said, in awe. Tweak was honestly quite proud of herself for how she’d constructed it in such a short amount of time. Along with the first two submarines, which she’d named ‘gups’. Tweak was thinking “-A” for the frame, but she settled on F instead. She was planning on making a lot of gups, and she didn’t want one of her actually good ones to end up with “F”. She figured she’d follow the alphabet normally besides that, though. The next one she’d name would be the Gup B, then C, and then so on.

“Now, I’ll need those materials ya got from Brit-land, and that’ll probably take another couple o’ days, a week or two tops.” she said, and both Inkling and the Captain bobbed their heads in agreement. She looked directly at the Captain, pointing, then. “Fer you, I have a simulator or two I’d like to run ya through. I’m sure yer experienced in all o’ that already, but..” she shrugged. “Better safe than sorry, yeah?” she said. The Captain, hands together behind his back, (Tweak thought he might be a slight bit overserious) nodded to that, and Tweak decided to show them to the small space Inkling had rented out over there for training related purposes.

She showed him how to work the computer, and he seemed like he was excited but didn’t want to show it? She decided to not say anything though, she could very well just be misinterpreting what he was talking about anywho, she had literally known him for less than a hour.

So, she gathered up the remaining materials and got to work quickly. Popping this into that and screwing one thing into the next and welding a thing or two, making a few final touches and finally, after a little less than a week… she was done. The Captain was an utter expert at the game, and Tweak knew Inkling had picked the right guy. She hadn’t managed to talk to him much, but when she did, he was very…

Well, he had qualities a captain should have. Respectful, sociable, (even if a little over-professional at times), generally a nice person, and Tweak already could tell he’d be a wonderful leader. Seemed like Inkling had a knack for picking out the right people. Not to brag, obviously, but Tweak considered her designs quite wonderful. Everyone else seemed to agree.

Tweak was excited the entire time, even if this ship was technically a prototype. Tweak had a feeling it’d have problems, but since she wouldn’t be able to see them until the thing was in action, she decided not to worry about it. She’d mention that, of course, to Inkling and the Captain, but it wasn’t something that would be a super big problem. She hoped.

It was only a few days later until it was ‘done’. Sure, it certainly wasn’t the final final product, (Inkling said he had enough materials to make three more if needed(even if Tweak thought they’d only need one more at the most)) with its uneven plating on the outside and silvery gleam, instead of the plain matte color that it would eventually don.

Even so, it was time to board. Tweak, the Captain, and Inkling all clamored on. They decided to leave most everything at the port–this was pretty much just a test run, if anything. The plan was to move the thing from Florida, (the current place they were at,) to Alaska, then back. The Captain wanted to visit his sister, who was pregnant. They were just planning on stopping there to say hi, spend a night or two, then go back. They all decided that it was best to not bring anything important, just some clothes and other supplies. So, they got on.

“Tweak, raise me up,” the Captain ordered, calm and collected. “You’ll be up there faster then I can finish sayin’ “buncha munchy crunchy c-' ''' and the Captain was up. It had been decided at that point that the Captain would mainly do steering in areas where the main IT worker couldn’t handle or couldn’t be as precise in. But, partially since they didn’t have that IT person at the moment and partially because the Captain wanted to practice, he’d be doing most of the steering. They’d have to stop around 4-6 times, because while the Octopod was faster than a regular ship, it wasn’t exactly supersonic.

The first day went smoothly, and Tweak checked out the area they were gonna land in in the Gup A before they landed, just so they wouldn’t crush any creatures. (That’d go directly against their cause, after all.) Tweak made a mental note that once they got back to Florida she’d add a tracking/heat signal sort of thing to the Octopod so they wouldn’t have to check every time they wanted to land in a separate Gup. She’d be making a lot of those mental notes.

Sleep was actually pretty good–The Captain was a bit concerned on how Inkling slept in the Library, or what would end up being the library, (Inkling had only brought a small amount of books, instead of filling up the entire thing like he would eventually) nevertheless though he always ended up seeming refreshed in the morning, so Barnacles let those worries fade away. Tweak thought about how she’d bring her gaming system down eventually. She had always played late into the night back at home, and she wanted to reflect that here, too.

Tweak also realized she needed coffee. Just another idea for her to implement, she thought to herself, sighing. When she brought that up, though, to the Captain; “I’m not sure coffee’s a good idea. Not exactly a wonderful thing to rely on..” he said, and Inkling piped up from behind him. “Yes, he’s correct. Not all that healthy, nor is it good for.. Most parts of everyone.” Tweak sighed. “Hot cocoa then, maybe?” she asked, one hand on her hip and squinting a little, a slightly displeased look on her face. She was partly joking, in all honesty. Inkling lit up. “Wonderful idea, Tweak!” he exclaimed, and the Captain followed suit soon after. “I do believe that’d be better” he said.

Tweak blinked in confusion, but she decided to not question it. Maybe she’d just.. Secretly add caffeine to her own. She shrugged. Good plan, Tweak! she thought to herself completely un-sarcastically. The next few days were relatively uneventful–say, besides a conversation or two. Actually, the Captain and Tweak had a somewhat interesting one about games;

“I know y’ said ya played some ship-steering simulator games, but.. Any other games?” Tweak asked one night, when the Octopod had landed for the day. Her elbow was on a table and had a questioning expression laid on her face. “No, not really. Never been the type, I suppose.” he replied, and Tweak was a little sour. “Maybe I should get you into a game or two. You seem like the Meowdew valley type.” she said. She could certainly imagine him playing that game. “What’s that?” he asked, and Tweak grinned. “It’s just a little farming game with some dungeon and monster-slaying stuff on the side. Fun little characters, too. I like Baru a lot–she’s fun.” Tweak said. “Maybe I’ll give it a try,” the Captain said, before putting his hand to his mouth, yawning. “I best get to sleep now, though.” he said. Tweak grinned. “Night, then.” she said, waving goodbye as he flung himself down the Octoshoot. Tweak went to bed after that, too. Even if it was quite early for her.

It seemed like the Captain enjoyed going to bed and waking up early, because Tweak felt the ship moving at around 6:00am. Inkling wasn’t good at the systems, but he could press the button to raise the Captain to the steering wheel just fine. Speaking of Inkling, he really appreciated something in particular Tweak had done–adding magnets in the floors of the Octopod, so he could sit on a specialized chair (also with magnets) that could easily move. Tweak had a better idea that he could control more easily, but this was just a temporary solution, as the chair had a button so that it could stay in place.

The days passed uneventfully, and a few more stops later, they had arrived at their destination–Alaska. Even if they were just staying there a day or two, Tweak was a little worried about the systems freezing while they were there, but it was summer, so hopefully that wouldn’t be a problem. “Cap, Inkling, hop in the GUP A,” Tweak said, motioning towards the thing. The Captain quickly clamored in, helping Inkling in as well. Tweak climbed in afterwards, and they cruised out of the Octopod, and then the light from the angler-fish inspired GUP surfaced in the cold Alaskan waters, and the Captain hopped out. Tweak and Inkling were bundled up, while the Captain was just wearing normal clothes. They didn’t have proper uniforms yet, so all of them were wearing their day-to-day clothes. The Captain’s face lit up as a woman approached, and he ran over. “Bianca! It’s so good to see you!” he exclaimed, and the woman, who Tweak assumed was Bianca, hugged Barnacles lightly. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” she said, and the Captain faced towards Inkling and Tweak. “Professor, Tweak, this is my twin sister–Bianca.” he introduced, and the two of them waved. “I’m sorry it’s such a short visit, but I haven’t seen you in so long” the Captain said, and Bianca laughed. “It’s quite alright. Here, why don’t I lead you to my home?” she asked, and they all nodded.

It was homey inside, and the Captain seemed excited to be there. “I will say, i’m excited to meet my niece and nephew,” Tweak overheard, remembering that his sister was pregnant. While she feared it would be a little boring, it was a nice change of style from the bleakness of the prototype Octopod. She’d make the real thing a lot nicer, more homey. She had a idea for that one pod they hadn’t really decided to do anything with–entertainment room. She decided ping-pong was a good idea.

The day and a half went by uneventfully–Tweak didn’t end up talking too much to Bianca. Not because she didn’t like her or anything, it’s just she didn’t really get the chance to. Bianca and the Captain had a lot of catching up to do though, apparently. The two of them left once to go on an icy swim, which made Tweak shiver just thinking about it. She was also not accustomed to the coldness, either, especially being from Florida and living there all of her life prior to all of this stuff.

She appreciated Bianca’s hospitality to no end, though. She made them food and provided them with things during their stay, and was just as nice when they hopped back inside the GUP A and headed back to the Octopod. It took a second to open up, but thankfully did. Luckily, nothing seemed to be frozen from first inspection, so Tweak thought they were in the clear. How wrong she’d been.

A little more than halfway back from their journey—Tweak, at this point, had really thought that the icy temperature wouldn’t affect the ship at all, and only seemed to cause a few minor issues–Tweak was up and about. Since they had already done this route before, Tweak actually had an auto-pilot mode on to go back, but suddenly, the Octopod tilted, and Tweak felt her whole body slammed against the side of the Octopod’s window, her cheek squished up against the glass. “Oh me oh my–” she muttered, as she saw the Octopod had somehow swerved off course, and was going to head straight into a wall. She backed up, and hit the Octo-alert, and the WOOP, WOOP, sound echoed through the Octopod, and she shouted, “Everybody, to th’ launch bay!” as she jumped into the Octoshoot herself. She knew they were going to crash, and there was nothing she could do about it. She knew exactly what was wrong, too. She had seen it, but had figured it’d be fine. Now, it was blatantly obvious it wasn’t. She made it to the bay, and she saw the Captain and Inkling come out right after her from different shoots. “Everyone, into the GUP A!” the Captain said, and while that was already Tweak’s plan, she appreciated him saying it.

He was a lot more commanding, and eventually they all got into it, and Tweak raced them out of there fast enough, and she turned the gup around as it crashed into the wall, dust stirring up. She felt tears in her eyes, but quickly wiped them away. “It was just a prototype, anywho..” she said. Sure, she knew this likely wasn’t going to be the last Octopod, but this was not the outcome she was expecting. Captain Barnacles was already looking at the map. “Tweak, do we have enough battery to get to Florida safely?” he asked, and Tweak pressed a few buttons. She grit her teeth. “It’d be cuttin’ it close. But we can make it.” she said, looking back at the Captain and Inkling. Captain Barnacles nodded. “Best not waste any time, then.” he ordered, and Tweak set course to Florida.

Those few days were.. Something. They all decided it’d be best for them to get there as soon as possible, so Tweak and Barnacles took turns sleeping and steering, and eventually, a little less then a week later, (the Gup A was obviously slower then the Octopod had been) they were back in Florida.

Inkling turned to Tweak. “Do you know what went wrong, particularly?” Tweak grimly nodded. “I know exactly what happened. I’m gonna make sure it won’t happen again.” she stated, and both the Captain and Inkling nodded. “Do you think the next version will have problems again?” he asked, and Tweak shook her head. “I know exactly what went wrong, exactly how to fix it, and how to fix some other minor issues. I don’t think there’ll need to be another Octopod after this next one.” she said. He looked to Barnacles, then back to Tweak. “So, we could possibly start looking for people in other positions? For example, the medic or IT person?” he asked, and Tweak nodded. “Maybe in a few months, when it’s a little further along. You’ll have to make another trip to Brit-land, Inkling. I have a feeling it might be easier to get some of the bigger materials I need there, too.” she said, and both Inkling and the Captain nodded. “I wouldn’t mind going as well,” he said, and Tweak nodded to that. “I’ll get together a list, we should meet at the library tomorrow.”

And that they would do, the next day all three met in the library and discussed the plans. The idea was the Professor and the Captain would go back to Britain to get the materials Tweak needed. Tweak could get a lot done while they were away, though. She also had a few people who were willing to work there to make it go by quicker and make it better–given that she'd worked on the prototype by herself. A lot of people had recently graduated from an engineering school, and most were looking for work, so this could help them out while they looked for more permanent jobs.

Tweak grinned. They had a plan, and soon, they’d have a full crew.

#octonauts barnacles #octonauts tweak #octonauts inkling #octonauts #octonauts fanart #fanfic #fanfiction #apologies this took so long!#this is also kinda old now #chapters re-releasing hopefully every day?#then it will be updated as i make em!#i hope i did the 'read more' right!

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sherifftillman · 2 years

Text

Masterlist:

x Reader:

Tutoring - fluff - You’re pretty well-known for your straight As, and your aptitude for helping others get there. So much so, that you attract the attention of the world’s most impossible client, Edward Munson. (gender neutral reader)

Getting Amped- fluff - It’s a big day for Eddie - the day he plans on finally asking you out. It’s still a little nerve-wracking, though, so he psyches himself up in the one way he would never let anyone know he does. (Eddie’s POV, no direct reader input)

Existing Together - fluff - Life is tough when you’re in middle school. A strange boy who lives in the same trailer park as you knows just how you feel, and just how to make it all feel better. (gender neutral reader)

Rained Off - fluff - You and your old best friend have a whole spring break of nostalgic adventure planned… But the weather has other ideas for you. (gender neutral reader)

Rejuvenation - smut - Giving up on your local music scene, you find a band in the next town over who has you coming back for more. (f!reader, rockstar au)

Feeling Understood - fluff - Life at school being you isn’t great, sure, but at least it’s consistent and it’s not hurting anyone. But maybe having someone to fight your corner would be nice. (gender neutral autistic!reader)

False Idols - smut - One revelation leads to another, and another… (f!reader)

The Buffer - fluff - Chrissy just wants to play wingwoman. If only the two people in question weren’t so clueless. (gender neutral reader)

I Want Your Video - smut - You had to make your ex pay for what he did, to you and his former fellow Hellfire party member. There’s only one person that can truly help you with that. (f!reader)

Your friend and co-lead’s in-character love confession feels a little too real - fluff (f!reader, theater kid au)

Eddie recruits you into Hellfire - fluff (f!reader)

Treating Eddie’s Upside Down scars - fluff (gender neutral reader)

Giving Eddie the birthday party he always wanted - fluff (gender neutral reader)

Eddie “helps” you prepare for a bake sale - fluff (gender neutral reader)

x Reader x Steve Harrington:

An Unambiguous Love (series) - fluff - Your favourite customers really make it easier returning to the town you never went to school in. If only your friends at work would stop trying to play matchmaker between you. (f!reader, not canon compliant) - complete

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10

Steve and Eddie notice you're calling fake sick and come to "check" on you - smut (f!reader)

x Jonathan Byers:

Wavelengths - fluff - Despite his constant flirting, Eddie just can't get Jonathan to understand his feelings towards him. Thankfully, his meddling friends have a plan. Inspired by the Wavelengths DLC from Life is Strange: True Colors

x Nancy Wheeler

I'm Yours Tonight - fluff - Newly single Nancy needs a prom date. So does eternally single Eddie Munson.

x Reader:

Fake It ‘Til You Make It- fluff - You didn’t mean to call THE Steve Harrington of your high school days, the pet name you always call your best friend. But after seeing Dustin’s reaction to it, how could you possibly pass up the opportunity to annoy your little brother even further? (gender neutral Henderson!reader)

Curiosity Is Killing Me - smut - When sleepovers with your best friend become a ruse for her sneaking her own boyfriends in, it’s not your fault that the only other distraction is her brother… (f!reader)

Sugar and Spice - smut - Your benefactor’s colleagues have been itching to get him to go to dinner with them, so you do what any good sugar baby would do and help him out, but not without making sure you get a little something, first. (f!reader)

What Are Friends For? - smut - A late night post-Truth or Dare chat with your best friend has you admitting your own lack of experience, sexually. Thankfully, he's more than happy to tutor you. (f!reader)

You can see right into your new neighbour’s apartment - fluff (gender neutral reader)

You unexpectedly faint on Steve - fluff (gender neutral reader)

Steve meets your younger brother - fluff (f!reader)

Steve visits your house, to feel at home with your family - fluff (gender neutral Henderson!reader, not affiliated with other work)

Ficmas: Tradition - After keeping an old Harrington tradition, you and Steve start your own - fluff (f!reader)

x Reader x Eddie Munson:

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10

Steve and Eddie notice you're calling fake sick and come to "check" on you - smut (f!reader)

x Chrissy Cunningham:

Stretch It Out - fluff - Steve doesn't realise the person who washed their laundry before him left a shirt in the machine until it was too late. Turns out, he's not the only one from Hawkins at this school.

Steve finds out Chrissy's a little touch-starved, and offers to help her - smut

Dethroned - fluff - A fresh new start, Chrissy Cunningham’s got everything wrapped around her finger. Her classes, her extra-curriculars… And the number one heartthrob on campus. If only he’ll just admit what he really wants.

History Repeats Itself - fluff/smut - Chrissy thought she was going to make it big. She was going to get away from everything terrible in her life. Although that didn’t end up working out in her favour, at least she also managed to cling onto her most reliable life preserver in the form of her best friend Steve.

A Discordant Romance - fluff - When Eddie Munson gathers all his streamer friends from all the walks of his life, sparks fly for two in particular.

Blinded By Feelings - fluff/smut - Robin and Eddie love their best friends more than anything. Robin and Eddie hate hearing about their best friends’ failed romances more than anything. They decide to intervene, not realising there’s more to setting up a blind date than meets the eye.

Lightning Never Strikes Twice - fluff - Robin wants a plus one for her ten-year high school reunion, in case it’s’ as terrible as she anticipates. However, it becomes very apparent very quickly that Steve, who didn’t even go to his own reunion, isn’t needed here, either.

36 Questions To Fall In Love - fluff - Psychologists claim that they have come up with 36 questions which can lead to two people who know little to nothing about each other beforehand, to fall in love. Curious about the study thanks to their own forlorn love lives, Steve Harrington and Chrissy Cunningham both separately sign up to

x Reader:

Heart Of A Lion - fluff - Making friends with someone to get closer to the not-so-secret admirer who’s been leaving notes in your locker yields far more interesting results. (gender neutral reader)

Ficmas: Mistletoe - You and Jonathan are responsible for decorating the Lenora Hills High Winter Ball - fluff (gn!reader)

x Eddie Munson:

x Reader:

Ficmas: Matching pyjamas - You and your colleagues choose to do Secret Santa over a holiday party - fluff (f!reader)

x Reader:

Busy Streets and Busy Lives (series) - fluff/angst/smut - A strange day at work gets even stranger when you meet a man who claims he’s from 1926. With no certainty as to when he can get back, you decide to take him in until that time arrives. (gn!afab!reader) - complete

• masterlist •

Reader dances with Ralph on his birthday - fluff (f!reader)

Ficmas: Baking - You and Ralph have to make Christmas cookies for your friends - fluff (bsbl!verse, gn!reader)

You, a singer, catch Ralph admiring your performance and invite him backstage - smut (f!reader)

x Reader:

Firsts - fluff/angst/smut - A boy you met in the playground has a far greater effect on your life than you could have imagined. (f!reader)

Cheers to the Weekend - smut - You and your boyfriend discuss what to do with your weekend off together. (f!reader)

Worth the Wait - smut - Your favourite customer has a confession to make, that he's very eager to. You wish you could believe him - if only he weren't drunk every time he saw you. (f!reader)

Some older!Tom thoughts

x Reader:

Kurt falls for a drive thru server - fluff + smut (f!reader)

#masterlist #pinned

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megamindsecretlair · 5 months

Text

Camp Wanderlust, Part 1

Pairing: Camp Counselor!Franklin Saint x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, one use of n-word, kissing, mentions of female and male anatomy. FLUFF.

Summary: Welcome to Camp Wanderlust! We're so glad you're here! Inner city kids have been granted the opportunity to spend their summer here, getting introduced to a new world. You and Franklin are camp counselors who can't seem to stop ogling each other.

Word Count: 6,966k

Part 2

A/N: I have no clue where this idea came from but I couldn't stop thinking about college Franklin and how adorable he is! I miss him! So enjoy this new mini-series. I'm also zooted so all mistakes are on me. Please, please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! I can't get better if I don't get feedback!

Taglist: @planetblaque @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @henneseyhoe @mybonafidefeelings @blackerthings @wide-nose-and-wonderful @halfofmysoulsblog @sevikasblackgf @slippinninque @nerdieforpedro @bratzmaraj @browngirldominion @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @kindofaintrovert @theunsweetenedtruth @theyscreamsannii

The cool cotton shirt was already starting to stick to your skin. You fanned yourself, wondering if you had enough time to make it back to the cabin before the bus got here. You couldn’t find your scrunchie and your braids were starting to itch as sweat threaded around the parts.

Girls stood to your left, guys stood to your right, all nervous and full of energy. Orientation started three days ago as everyone met each other, went over rules and regulations, and then had real fun later that night as flasks and mini bottles of booze were passed around.

The owners of the camp were a silly white couple who just loved to help inner city kids. They stood off to the side from the group of counselors looking like concerned citizens complaining about a large group of Black folk for no reason. They were nice and all, but funny how their compassion only extended to the kids. Every counselor here came from colleges all around Southern California. Not one street kid.

You had never been to camp though and you had to admit, this was a nice way to show inner city kids that there was more to life than weed and going to jail. You switched your weight to your other hip, looking behind you for the hundredth time.

“You lookin’ for your boyfriend?” Dana, your bunk mate, nudged you with her elbow. She was a really pretty, dark-skinned woman with good hair. Her afro was fluffed out and shining in the morning sun.

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

“Franklin,” she said, drawing his name out in a song.

You giggled and shook your head, nervously looking around to make sure no one heard her. Despite what she kept insisting, you were not going to throw yourself at Franklin Saint. Your eyes sought him out but if you looked any longer, it would be too obvious. You snatched your eyes away from your right side and looked at Dana.

“No,” you said. “Not happening.”

Once everyone found out that nearly everyone was single, the energy shifted in the room. People started eyeing each other in a new light. Now hookups were dancing through people’s eyes, eyes drooping below the chaste limit, seeking out the most pleasurable mate for your time at camp.

Where else were you going to find people who got you? Certainly not at your respective schools where it felt criminal to be seen consorting with your fellow Negro. If two gathered in a space, it was a warning. If three or more joined, suddenly you were a gang and there were board meetings and secret handshakes banning that sort of thing.

No, here, you were surrounded by woods and a lake. Here the predominant color was as brown as the earth and just as beautiful. Here, anything could happen. So people began pairing off and gossiping. Laying claim on the curve of a hip or soft shoulders to lay on, or perhaps the way a smile made your insides flutter.

Looking over the men, there were certainly some fine specimens. Some tall and broad, skinny and lanky, rounded and thick as molasses. But there was only one for you. He was so dreamy.

His dark skin soaked up the sun. Such a cute, kind of shy smile. But his eyes were low and mischievous. Like he had a secret in them about you. He had worn blue jeans and a striped green shirt, the collars popped open.

When your eyes landed on him, you were ready to drool and fall all over yourself. You had never felt that way about anyone. No one in your neighborhood, no one in your schools, and definitely no one at your college.

And it seemed like he saw all of this float through your brain as he locked his eyes on you and smiled, dipping his chin a bit. You gave him a small smile, in shaking fear that he could see the lust on you, and you turned away from him.

You were not the only one to notice him. Snippets of their conversation had floated to you about the cute boy on the left. No, the far left. Girl, the one who look like my next boyfriend!

You were not going to compete for no man. But your eyes floated to the other men, some who looked your way with genuine interest in your curvy body, and they just weren’t doing it for you. They didn’t set your palms sweating or chest heaving or pussy throbbing. Well, there were maybe one or two you wouldn’t mind entertaining the next four weeks. Let someone else have that man.

Except he had made his way to you. He had introduced himself, voice low and full of dark promises. He had made you laugh and roll your eyes, twist your hair, and find ways to touch him. You had talked all night, completely ignoring everyone else who pointed and gossiped and wondered about you two.

A bus horn honked twice and you flinched as your thoughts snapped back to reality. You did not need flashbacks of that night, finding out everything you could about each other. Bus after bus pulled into the turnabout to offload a flood of preteens. They brought a jittery nervous air to the balmy June day that were directly at odds.

Your eyes scanned the kids as they clutched their little sleeping bags, pillows, and backpacks too heavy for them. They weren’t quite that loud yet. The extroverts had already found each other, forming up groups and surpassing that line between the “popular kids” and the “weird” ones. You weren’t sure who was in your group yet, but you hoped they weren’t little shits.

The owners of the camp, Mr. and Mrs. Coleman but you can call us Doug and Anne, erupted into excited giggles and clapped their hands. Some of the counselors began hiding smirks and smiles and giving each other the Look.

“Welcome to Camp Wanderlust!” Anne yelled in the too quiet air. Nature hadn’t been encroached upon today and was taking its time waking up. The arrival of kids to run across the ground or play in its leaves were a new addition and nature needed a minute.

Anne rushed forward and waved. “We are so excited that you’re here. How excited are you?” Anne continued.

The popular kids cheered and threw their hands in the air while the shy ones stood there staring straight ahead like zombies. Maybe they just weren’t morning kids. Because you sure as shit wasn’t a morning person.

Anne began to list off some welcome bullshit about learning and having fun and going swimming, supervised of course. About making lifelong friends because you could keep in touch with letters. Building bonds and telling some good stories while you’re at it.

She talked about how the cabins were divided. For their safety, girls and boys are in completely separate cabins and lights out at 10pm sharp. No one was allowed outside at night without a chaperone. They were free to go to the bathroom but it was straight back to bed.

She told them the names of each cabin and the cabin badges were important to remember. Doug came forward with a clipboard and started to rabble off badges, cabin numbers, and their assigned counselors.

In unison, you all waved to the kids with bright smiles and held up mini signs you made yourself yesterday. It stated your name. Three guesses on who your partner was. Doug then rattled off names and numbers. Kids began to separate and walk toward you.

A line of girls formed in front of you, bright eyed and cute in their little pigtails and afros and braids. Some looked so painfully shy, you vowed to make sure they felt included and had fun. You thrived in college but you were a shy girl just like them. It cropped up from time to time, but you felt more yourself now than you ever did as a kid.

Doug finished and everyone had their group. The counselors began fanning out to gain some distance and introduce themselves without yelling over a nearby group. You stayed put, not wanting to walk unnecessarily in this heat.

You had been lined up in numerical order, so Franklin was on the opposite end from you. He faced you and you swore you saw him smile at you before turning to his group of Cabin 5 boys. You turned to your own Cabin 5 girls and gave them your name, making them say theirs and their favorite color.

You talked some more, trying to find areas of interest where they might all intersect. You doubted you could get total consensus, but it never truly hurt to be optimistic. You took your group of ten to the Raven badge house and let them decide how to pick beds. You weren’t going to help with that. You watched as they worked to decide which bed would be theirs. The assertive ones announced which ones they wanted and if no one objected, then that was fine. The shyer girls took their time trying to be polite and give up whichever one they wanted. The whole process was over pretty quickly and you were back outside, giving them a tour and dodging other groups.

Your eyes immediately found Franklin coming out of the cabin next door. He moved between shadow and sun as he left the cover of the cabin. He lit up, that sun hitting him all over his gorgeous body. He wore khaki shorts and a blue shirt with Camp Wanderlust written across the back. You wore a similar shirt and let yourself picture being snuggled up with him.

You shook your head and faced your group, leading them out and around Camp. You showed them the shower and bathrooms, mess hall, activity tunnel which was the bridge to the rest of the camp. You showed them the Traveler bridge which took them to the lake and boat house, and finally to Curiosity Hill which led to the woods. The hill was a long slope that led to the woods proper full of bugs and small animals.

You looked at your watch, making good time. You faced your group and started answering questions so they could get to know you. They called you pretty and asked which school you went to, your favorite color, and the like.

“I bet ya’ll hungry, huh?” You asked.

“Yeah!” They all said, loudly. You giggled and waved for them to follow you to the mess hall. Groups were following behind you, following the unspoken signal for lunch. You made them line up, grab a tray, and move down the line.

You told them where to sit and told them to get to know one another. You grabbed your tray and went to sit at the counselor’s table.

Dana was already there digging into her tray all neat and polite. She smiled when you sat down and you breathed a sigh of relief. You were out of the hot ass sun, finally had some water, and could eat. Why did you agree to this again?

“You know your boyfriend been checking you out all morning,” she said.

“Shut up with that,” you said and began eating.

“He has! Sharonda said he told Jason that you were fine as hell,” she said.

“And how did Sharonda hear that?” You asked.

“Supposedly, Keisha and Jason are a thing which is a little funny because Jamika said the same thing. But Keisha and Sharonda are bunk mates,” she said.

You shook your head. “Oh, you stay ear-hustling,” you said.

“I like information. I don’t care how I get it,” she said.

“Okay, so then who you got around here?” You asked.

“I’m still looking. They ain’t that fine compared to Mr. Saint,” Dana said.

“Ya’ll talkin’ about her boyfriend?” Jamika asked, coming up behind you. She dropped her tray onto the table and then scooted onto the bench. “I swear them girls already getting on my nerves. They gave me the bad little mu’fuckas,” she complained.

“Where are ya’ll getting this boyfriend from and why are ya’ll all in my business?” You asked.

“So there’s business to be had,” Jamika said and looked at Dana. “Told ya.”

Jamika sucked her teeth and sighed dramatically. She dug in her pocket and pulled out a dollar bill and handed it to Jamika.

“Ya’ll betting?” You demanded.

“I told her there was something between ya’ll. Ya’ll must’ve met before today or something because ya’ll literally can’t keep your eyes off of each other.”

“I said that ya’ll ain’t even had an opportunity to do anything or spend time together,” Dana said.

“Ya’ll are so foul!” You could only shake your head at the two girls who instantly clicked with you. Both were similar to each other, favoring each other’s tone and speaking in nearly the same mannerisms. They had never met and yet bonded like sisters. Somehow you got scooped up between them and you were so grateful.

“When he lookin’ that hard? There’s always something there,” Jamika said.

“What ya’ll betting on anyway?” You asked.

“We can’t tell you that. We can’t interfere,” Jamika said.

“Is everyone in on it?” You asked.

“Everybody but you,” Dana said, cackling loud and hi-fiving Jamika.

You shook your head, looking over to your cabin kids. They were actually talking which was a good sign but a few were still too quiet. Jamika sighed loudly as she did the same. There were two girls fussing at each other.

“Ain’t you gonna help?” Dana asked.

“Uh-uh, I wanna see who wins,” Jamika said, a little smirk on her lips.

On the opposite side of you, you felt a tug on your braid. You turned, ready to be mad when you saw Franklin’s wide grin and his pretty eyes. The heat died down in your chest as you sighed.

“Boy, you was finna get hurt,” you said.

“I ain’t scared of you,” he said. He scooted onto the bench with you, making you scoot over since you were on the end. Dana and Jamika threw knowing glances at each other.

“What are you doing, Franklin?” You asked.

“Came to see you. Ain’t had a chance all day,” he said.

You rolled your eyes, dabbing your lips with your napkin. Franklin straddled the bench, smiling at you. Just staring and smiling like he could do that all day long. It unnerved you when you looked at each other like this. But you watched him right back.

“Why are you really here?” You asked.

“We’re sitting next to each other at the bonfire right?” He asked.

“You pulled my hair just to ask me that?” You meant to sound playful and teasing, but your voice was quieter than that. Filled with some other emotion like expecting a different answer. As if hair-pulling was acceptable in a different context.

He seemed to see your thoughts and he smiled. “Just say I get to sit next to you,” he said. He leaned over and took one of your chips. You popped his hand and he yelped, rubbing his hand.

“I don’t play about my food,” you said. He laughed and shook his head, diving in for another one. You tried to pop his hand again but he kept moving it just before contact.

He gave you another panty-melting smile. “You are so pretty, did you know?” Franklin asked.

You rolled your eyes. He got on your nerves already and you had only known him four days. “I can’t control where you sit, but I wouldn’t mind it next to me,” you said.

Franklin knocked on the bench with a wide grin. He turned to Dana and Jamika. “Ladies,” he said.

He stood up and walked back to his table where the guys whooped and hollered from where they were sitting. You had a flashback to middle school, the same age as these kids, and you felt sick. You hated when so much attention was on you and now all of the counselors were gossiping about your so-called relationship with Franklin.

“Fuck, where do I get one of him?” Jamika asked.

“Right, like where his brother at?” Dana echoed. You all watched Franklin’s retreat and him talking to his buddies.

The rest of lunch was uneventful as you spoke about your groups and how you hoped the first activity went well. You cleaned up after yourselves and began to lead your groups out of the mess hall and across the land towards the activity side. There was an obstacle course set up with things to make these kids stretch their legs and build some friendships.

You walked alongside Franklin and he nudged you with his elbow. You nudged him back. You had family, you were no pushover. You lightly pushed each other all the way down to the course. You were not setting a good example for the kids.

At the course, Anne and Doug greeted everyone and told everyone about the course. She announced prizes at the end of each activity and at the month to the team with the highest scores. Anne and Doug would score the kids with input from their counselors. So it was all about playing fair and working with each other to win.

One of the counselors, Jason, showed how hard it was to get through the course alone. He was playacting for the kids. Jason was as tall as a tree with rich ebony skin and thick muscles. Basketball guy definitely. He was built for speed and agility but he struggled.

He returned to his group and Doug and Anne stated that they went in cabin order. Being last in line, you told the girls that they’d have a chance to search for weaknesses. They loved that idea and got a lot more interested in the rules. First, the cabin mates would introduce themselves to each other.

The girls turned completely shy, backing away from the boys. The boys returned in kind, eyeing each other with slightly nauseous faces.

“Come on guys, what do you say?” Franklin encouraged.

Reluctantly, a boy stepped forward and held out his hand. One of your girls did the same and they introduced themselves. You looked at Franklin. “Did you teach them that?” You asked.

“They were nervous about being here. I gave them some tips,” he said. He slanted his eyes towards you with a smirk.

You watched as the kids opened up and started talking. Anne and Doug got the course going with kids going through it and working off the food they ate. When everyone was done, prizes were handed out. That earned them a few hours to relax in the rec room. The counselors were free to rotate shifts and watch the kids.

It wasn’t your shift yet so you went to hang out with Dana and Jamika back in the cabins. The heat was killing you and you needed to cool off somewhere. You immediately searched for a scrunchie to get the fresh braids off of your neck.

“So we just not gon’ talk about Franklin asking our girl out?” Jamika asked.

You laughed with your friends up to the cabin while you dodged their questions about you and Franklin. Nerves bubbled in your gut thinking about the boy with the cute smile. You couldn’t describe this feeling between you but you knew that you wanted to explore it. If only you could do it in peace.

You stared up at the stars as you sat on your log. Anne and Doug were really going all out for the experience. These kids were in for a better treat than you ever got. You didn’t have fancy white people paying for your camp stay so they could pat themselves on the back. Selective performism wasn’t around when you were growing up.

The stars twinkled overhead, spattering the sky with little dots of light. There were more stars than you had ever seen in your life. Too much pollution where you lived and went to school.

You sat around the campfire with half of the larger group. Anne was with your group, asking the kids about what they thought of the camp so far. Some were excited and they went around in a circle saying what they liked about it.

You were among the first to get there. By the time Cabin 5 boys made it down, Cabin 2’s counselor was already sitting next to you.

“No!” Franklin said when he approached. “Aye, switch places with me,” he asked.

The girl, Michella, rolled her eyes and stood up with a smirk. She hi-fived her counterpart. He smirked at the two of you. Ugh. This was so fucking childish.

Anne missed all of it as she focused on getting her free feedback. Franklin was overwhelming. He wasn’t a big man, but he felt big. He felt larger than anyone else there. He leaned over with his elbows on his knees and listened to every kid speaking.

Every now and then, your knee would brush his. You didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose but it only made you ache and shiver. When he stretched, you couldn’t help ogling him. Those skinny but powerful arms. The groans he made when he went a little too far.

You licked your lips and hung your head. It wasn’t normal to be this attracted to someone, right? You wanted to snuggle into him and never leave. He could be annoying, but there were times where he seemed to be undressing you with his eyes.

While Anne was distracted, Franklin turned his eyes to you. “Meet me later?” He asked.

“Where? Lights out at 11 or didn’t you hear?” You asked.

“Break the rules with me, c’mon. They know we gon’ break ‘em,” he said.

You shook your head, fighting down little deranged bubbles of laughter. He wasn’t being intentionally funny, but you weren’t used to such persistence. You had your fair share of men interested in you. But it was hard trying to find worthy Black men among the sea of white people.

“I wanna see you, alone,” he said.

You tuned back into Anne who was giving some background on the camp and why it was named Camp Wanderlust.

“You know everyone is talkin’ about us and taking bets,” you said.

“So? I’m trynna bet on us too,” he said.

You shook your head. “I’ll think about it,” you said. You weren’t a goody-two-shoes but you were just as excited as the kids at being here at camp. Your mother never wanted you to go, hiding behind excuses like she thought you would be boy crazy after. Which was ridiculous. You were already married to Marcus Murray. You just knew he was going to be your husband forever. Until he moved away in second grade and you never heard from him again. You didn’t want anything to jeopardize you being here. Not even for the likes of Franklin Saint.

He smiled at you and turned to Anne.

“Of course, that’s nothing compared to…” Anne looked around her dramatically. “No, I can’t say his name. Anyone who says it gets taken in the night!”

You shared the Look with Michella and shook your head. You didn’t know who Anne thought she was fooling with this routine, but you supposed that it wouldn’t be a proper bonfire without scary stories.

You stood up with Franklin and went over to the cooler. You opened it, grabbing bags of marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers. Franklin helped you, somehow managing to reach across you for everything. His arm grazed your tummy and you sighed. You tilted your head at him.

“Will you stop?” You asked.

“What?” He asked, innocent as a button. You were not fooled. He smiled at you, tilting his head back in response.

“You keep…you know,” you said.

“Tell me,” he said and stepped closer to you.

“Oh, you get on my nerves,” you said. You smiled at him.

“Meet me at Traveler,” he said.

You shook your head as you brought back the supplies towards the group. You began passing the bags around, picking up sticks that you had collected earlier. Anne continued her tale of the leader of the lost kids.

You were pretty sure she was talking about an evil Peter Pan but the kids didn’t seem to mind. Some were really engrossed in the story, looking over their shoulders towards the pitch black night.

She spun the tale of kids who got lost wandering in the dark by themselves. Snatching up anyone who calls them by name. She wasn’t going to say it for their safety. They absolutely must not go looking for his name on the plank where people had been signing their names for years. One signature is not like the rest and they must never seek it out.

The kids promised but you already saw some sneaky faces. Faces that screamed trouble. You fought a smile.

You took turns, trying to keep up the legend of this mysterious leader. No one knew who it was, it could be anyone out there. They could be right over someone’s shoulder and you wouldn’t know.

A few girls squealed. The boys were trying to seem cool, but you saw their eyes darting around as well. You munched on smores as tales were told and laughs were shared. The entire time, you were in sync with Franklin. If he moved, you moved. If he shifted, you did so as well. It was maddening.

The kids were dismissed to their cabins to unwind for an hour before bed. You walked your cabin back, Franklin walking beside you. He asked you about what you were studying. You told him your favorite subject and your face practically lit up talking about it.

You asked him what he was into. He said business. “Business! Why?” You asked.

He shrugged. “I got a mind for numbers. I can do something with that,” he said.

You really needed to get control of your dirty mind. When he said that, your mind instantly went to his lips. The moon poked through the trees and you were able to see him glow faintly silver. You licked your own, wondering what his lips would taste like. What his hands would feel like on you.

You dragged your gaze ahead of you. The overhead camp lights shone a giant spotlight on you and your group. You walked to each respective bunk and bid farewell to the kids. You crossed paths with Franklin once more as you walked to the counselor cabin.

Franklin’s hand brushed against yours. Your fingers tingled. As if it could already feel his hands tangling with yours. “Tonight?” Franklin asked.

“I’ll think about it!” You said and shook your head.

“You’re breaking my heart,” he said.

“Shut up!” You giggled. You went to your cabin, flopping onto your bed with a soft sigh. You brought the pillow to your face and squealed, questioning the butterflies in your stomach. You weren’t a teenager but, fuck, you felt like you were back in high school. Possibly earlier. Back to middle school where you couldn’t stop thinking about Chris Johnson and how sweet he was.

“Ugh, ya’ll need to go on and make it official. I need to win some real money around here,” Dana said. She emerged from the closet on her side.

These cabins were much smaller, big enough for two people and set up like a dorm room. You didn’t have that much money for school, it all went to books and classes. You weren’t able to stay on campus and you took the bus to and from the bastard.

“Stop,” you groaned.

“I don’t know why you leavin’ that man hanging like that,” she said. She was already dressed in her pj’s: sweats and a tank top. Your pjs were similar but you still weren’t sure if you were going to meet Franklin later or not.

It made you delirious to think about it. Sneaking off in the night. Wings took flight in your stomach. You flipped onto your back and placed your hands against your tummy. You had to see what he wanted, right?

It wasn’t to talk. You knew that much. He could be a gentleman all he wanted, but you weren’t that oblivious. You saw the way he looked at you or the way he found little ways to bother you. It was so childish but it grew on you as you formed an instant connection.

“I’m not trying to,” you told Dana.

“Look, we only here for four weeks. May as well have some fun and have something to tell your future grandkids,” she said.

You laughed and leaned onto your elbow to face her. “Why would I tell my grandkids I had something with some random boy at camp?”

“Because grandmas are always talkin’ out the side of they neck. I wanna be like my Grandma Sadie. She told us all kinds of things when my parents weren’t around,” she said.

“That’s why you’re so wholesome now,” you told her.

You talked and joked while Dana spread the latest camp gossip. You weren’t the only subject of people’s comments. People were already finding themselves tangled up with each other. Try as you might, you couldn’t get Jamika to see what a fuck nigga Jason was. She lost her collective marbles with him.

As it got later, your nerves got the best of you. You were hovering outside of the door, peeking out to see the distant house where Anne and Doug went to bed. There were still lights on in the house. Across from the house, there were similar bunks with the camp staff. Kitchen, groundskeeper, the like. Other volunteers who agreed to help watch the kids.

Your foot tapped against the wooden floor, your Converse beating a steady rhythm. Dana had explicitly told you to go while she drifted off to sleep. You took a deep breath and left the cabin. Your curiosity was going to eat you alive.

You scurried across the open courtyard heading toward Traveler bridge. The bridge itself crossed a small creek on a curve. You stopped at the entrance, under the light. You waited there, the chilly night and insects chirping making the woods seem creepier. Like Jason was going to pop out at any moment and go on a murdering spree. You should have brought a jacket. You rubbed your bare arms, feet shifting back and forth as you looked around you for any sign of Franklin. He wouldn’t tell you to meet him and then just not show up right?

“Hey, it’s Franklin,” Franklin whispered, making enough noise to let you hear him approach. You turned to face him, smiling softly at him.

“I’m glad you came. Took forever for my bunk mate to fall asleep,” he said.

He held out his hand and you took it, going over the bridge with him. There was a stretch of woods here, the trees loomed over you. Gnarled branches twisted and arched overhead, blocking out bits of the artificial light.

You reached the edge of the woods, where the trees broke up and allowed for a wider entrance towards the lake and the water supplies and equipment. Franklin stopped you from heading towards the dock.

He paused while the moon hit you two perfectly. You saw his face and how nervous he seemed. Franklin? Nervous?

“You’re so beautiful,” he said.

“You’re pretty cute too,” you said with a smile. He moved his hands to your hips, fingers sliding down your sides to loop his fingers through your belt loops. He pushed you backwards until your back gently hit a tree wide enough to accommodate you.

Franklin stared into your eyes. “I ain’t the only one feeling this, am I?” He asked.

He threaded his hand through your left one, watching as the pale light played over your combined hands. You swore your hand was electric from touching him. Little zips of energy flowed between you. Your body was learning him. Learning how he moved and spoke, resonated with his energy to match.

“No. Is it crazy?” You asked.

“Absolutely crazy. I like talkin’ to you,” he said.

He leaned down but didn’t kiss you. His lips hovered just there, just out of reach. He was so tall and broad, your hands came around his shoulders. You couldn’t stop grasping him. Your body heated up from the inside out. Your mouth dried feeling him beneath your fingers.

He let you explore his body. You were too shy to go further, to truly explore him. His hands stayed respectfully on your hips.

“I want to know everything,” he said.

You giggled. “We’d be here all night,” you said.

“Shit, I can lose some sleep,” he said.

You shook your head. “Are we going down to the dock or not?” You had did this yesterday too. Sneaking out while everyone was supposed to be sleep. You were sure that other couples were doing the same thing. Finding hidden spots that no one would stumble across at this time of night.

“I just wanted to look at you,” he said. He smiled and you couldn’t help smiling back. He didn’t even have to say anything and he had your lips curling, your tongue sliding across your teeth, and your cheeks hurting from smiling so hard.

You were lost in the world of Franklin and you didn’t mind. You would gladly stay in his orbit if he kept looking at you like that. Like he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side, listening to you speak.

He finally moved away, allowing oxygen to flow to your brain once more. You shook off his subtle clean scent. He tugged you by the hand towards the dock. Your shoes clanged against the loose boards. It was a wonder the damn thing didn’t collapse by now.

Franklin let you sit down first. You took off your shoes and socks, dangling them over the dock. The water was a little out of reach. Only your toes graced the surface of the icy water. Franklin joined you, taking off his own shoes and socks. He sat back a little, his legs a bit longer than yours.

He sat close, close enough for you to feel every rise and fall of his chest. His shoulders grazed against yours and you had to sit on your hands to keep from reaching out and touching him like you owned him.

You spent an hour or so there, talking and learning about his aunt and uncle. His momma working for a piece of shit real estate agent. How he wanted to find a good paying job where his mom could retire and he could take care of her.

You didn’t bother asking about his dad. From the way he spoke about his mom, it was clear he wasn’t in the picture. You told him about your family, your schoolwork, and how hard it was to always be on stage while at school.

You bonded about how students and teachers alike didn’t know what to make of you. They didn’t know what kind of Negro you were. The loud type? The ignorant type? The quiet, good ones that they were comfortable reaching for your hair or asking intrusive questions? It felt good to bond with someone over these things.

Franklin was able to stay on campus but he hardly spent time in his rooms. He could be found in the library somewhere, doing his work like a true little nerd.

“You won’t hold it against me, will you?” He asked.

He sounded so adorable when he asked you that you shook your head. You leaned back, resting on your hands, as you looked at the stars above you. They were breathtaking. The air was clearer. You wished you could afford this much land. That you could have a place to yourself where no one else was allowed.

A private lake where you could do anything you wanted. You could swim naked for all you wanted and no one would be around to stop you. Perhaps not such a big land though. You wouldn’t know what to do if a psycho killer came crashing out of the woods.

“Nah, you good,” you said. He matched your stance, looking skyward. He then turned his head. You turned to look at him as well, not realizing just how close you were. His eyes dipped towards your lips.

You licked them absently and his eyes tracked the movement. You found yourself leaning forward, closing the distance towards those lips of his. They looked so big and juicy and were probably warm.

He rested his head against yours, smiling against your lips. “Let me kiss you,” he said.

It wasn’t a question but you smiled and nodded. He crossed that final distance, that tiny gap keeping you apart, He sighed against your lips. His big, warm hand reached up to cup your neck.

His fingers feathered across your pulse points. You felt your heartbeat there, beating wildly against his fingers. His lips were even more heavenly. His other hand cupped the other side of your neck. His long fingers slid through your braids.

You were lightheaded. Dizzy with pleasure as your lips tingled against his. Shivers ran down your spine. Your hands rested on his forearms, holding onto each other as you gave in to this thing between you. This all consuming thing that made you push forward, press against him, trying to get closer than what you already were.

Your harsh breaths seemed to echo in the still night. The sounds of the woods were muted here, lending itself to a type of quiet that you never experienced. There was always a plane or helicopter overhead. Some type of siren or dog barking.

It was hard as hell to go to sleep in a place so quiet. It was eerie. You kept expecting to hear a gunshot disguised as a firework. Here, there were just your loud and racing thoughts picturing this exact moment.

Franklin’s tongue danced with yours. Sweeping across your lips and diving back into your mouth to taste more of you. His breath was faintly minty. Even after dinner and the smores.

Your pussy throbbed. Beating in time with your wild heartbeat. You felt him everywhere. All over your skin. Every kiss had an answering call in your tummy. Every squeeze around your neck you felt down to your toes.

You reluctantly drew away at the same time, panting and turning drunk eyes on each other. “I’ve been dreamin’ about that,” he said. His head rested against your once more. You huffed, breathing each other in.

“Same here. I felt like that should've helped dull this,” you said.

After your taste, you wanted more. You wanted to keep going. You wanted him to lay you down and unzip your shorts. Or makeout with you while his hands explored under your shirt. To rub your aching nipples that were straining beneath your bra for any type of stimulation.

“Ain’t gon’ happen,” he said. He pecked your lips. But a quick peck turned into two and then three until you were moving into his lap. You straddled him and kissed under the stars. It was just you and him.

Him gripping your thighs and squeezing them for dear life. You running your hands around his back. Your lips crashing against each other over and over, like waves crashing against a shore. You felt weightless in his arms. He hadn’t looked all that sturdy under that skinny frame, but he handled you with ease.

He squeezed your ass and you groaned, couldn’t help yourself from grinding on his crotch. He was thick, warm, and solid under you. He was pressing against your core but there wasn’t enough friction.

You found a natural break again, opening your eyes to look at him and smile. It still was nowhere near enough but it would have to be. You had already been out too late. You were going to be so tired in the morning.

“We should get back,” he whispered.

You licked your swollen lips and nodded. Fuck, you wanted to keep going. Wanted to know how far he would push you.

“Will you meet me tomorrow too?” He asked.

You bit your lip but nodded. “I’ll meet you tomorrow, too,” you said. The other counselors be damned. It wasn’t like they weren’t around, confessing their own feelings. Or already hooking up. Clothes flying in the heat of the moment.

“Let me walk you to your cabin,” he said.

His hands slowly slid from your hips to your sides to help you maneuver off of him. You stood and he stood up after, taking your hand and walking with you back to your cabin. His cabin was further down and you thanked him for the sweet gesture.

He tapped his cheek for a kiss. Your cheeks hurt from trying to hide another smile. He got on your damn nerves. You pecked his cheek, your lips lingering for a fraction too long. “Good night, Franklin,” you said.

“Good night,” he said. Your name fell from his lips softly, sacredly.

You gave a small wave and went inside, closing the door and resting your back against it. You were still so lightheaded. Drunk on his kisses and needing more. Dana was still fast asleep so you changed and slipped into bed as quiet as you could.

You didn’t know how you were going to sleep tonight but you hoped that Franklin would dream of you too.

There's always more Franklin to explore: The Secret Franklin Saint Files | Part 2

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