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notiddygothgf · 4 months ago

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★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝Baby, you're a star. Fuck me all night. Show me who you are, Pornstar.❞

★ c.w.: me rushing through plotbuilding to get to the good stuff, aki being an asshole, tension.

★ a/n: hiiiii! im so excited for this lil short story. its just something i was inspired to write while finishing up shameless. i thought... wow i love writing simp aki. now what if he was mean.... hrnngfhghj.... anyway so this is the fruit of that! i hope you enjoy, i should have the next chapter up soon if my studies permit!!!!! enjoy and leave lots of comments (ill update quicker if u do tee hee)

★ w.c: .5.2k

pornstar ; chapter index

AKI HAYAKAWA WAS infuriating. As a Captain, he was capable. As a man? He was, single-handedly, without a doubt, the most insufferable individual you had ever had the displeasure of working with. He had this "I'm-better-than-everyone" sort of approach to life, was impossible to conversate with, and had no regard for leniency or any other sort of thing that required him to have basic human decency. He was a machine – all he cared about was work, work, devils, Miss Makima's orders, and work. You knew that any human who had gone through what he had gone through would be a little rough around the edges, but "rough" was an understatement. He was an asshole.

Still, he was undeniably attractive. Considerably handsome. He had the most striking blue eyes – an almost elvish face partially hidden behind his midnight black hair. You had never seen it out of its signature ponytail, but his bangs were fluffy enough for you to know that it was soft. Rosy pink lips that seemed to permanently rest in a scowl and a jawline that could cut steel topped it all off.

Additionally, he was a horror to work with.

Exhibit A:

One day, after a mission, you were trying (unceremoniously) to use your sword the way you had seen Captain Hayakawa do once before. It was something you hadn't seen before, a flick of the wrist, a movement of the arm, you weren't quite sure. Regardless, it had been smooth, and you needed to have something that looked cool in your itinerary.

So you spun the sword around the way he had. And, of course, the sword promptly flew out of your hand and landed on the floor five feet away with a resounding clatter – one that attracted the gazes of the rest of your team (including him).

"What the hell are you trying to do? Kill us?" He had asked.

Embarrassed, you tried to cover up for yourself, "I was trying to recreate this one move I saw you do earlier, but I think I need to work on my form."

He scowled then, perfect eyebrows drawn together, and grumbled, "You want my advice? Give up."

Exhibit B:

Your team was investigating an abandoned building on the outskirts of Tokyo. Captain Hayakawa was, as per usual, leading the pack. Following close behind him (because, admittedly, you were a little scared of the dark and he was holding the flashlight), you were at eye-level with his back, and he had... quite an intimidating physique, but that was a story for another time.

(Still, for the reference, the hard, muscled planes of his back practically obstructed your entire field of vision).

"We've been searching for hours now, Aki," Himeno sighed, crossing her arms after reaching into her pocket and fishing out a cigarette. Somewhere in the back of your head, you remembered your Public Safety trainer telling you that it was bad practice to introduce fire to uncertain situations. "Might be time to give it a break."

"Maybe we can split off into groups?" You suggested, "We might be able to cover more ground that way."

He paused, then, glancing over his shoulder – cobalt eyes partially hidden by the dim light, "Butt out."

Alright then.

Exhibit C:

Denji burst out laughing, nearly choking on his food. "Nah, nah—hold up, say that again! That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

You smirked, swirling your drink. "I'm just saying, Denji. If you actually tried using your brain once in a while, it might not be so bad for you."

Denji scoffed. "Like you're one to talk!"

Aki exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his chopsticks down with a quiet clack. His patience, already thin, finally snapped. He glanced between the two of you, his expression flat, voice edged with irritation.

"It's funny how you morons flock together, isn't it?"

Denji's grin faltered. You shifted in your seat, the weight of Aki's words settling over the table like a heavy fog.

No one said anything after that. The conversation was over.

So, yes, in short, he was impossible. His attitude and yours made for a deadly combo – namely, that the two of you were constantly butting heads. You weren't quite sure why everyone but you seemed to get along with him just fine – was he different towards you? Were you imagining it? Were you the problem?

Even Himeno was starstruck by the guy. Now, admittedly, he was handsome. Still, that wasn't an excuse to be an asshole.

Presently, you were on a mission, standing around in some damp, dimly lit alley with Himeno, Aki, Denji, and Power. The target—a devil you were supposed to be tracking—had yet to show itself, and the whole thing had devolved into a waiting game. A miserable, frustrating waiting game.

At least Himeno was good company. You leaned against the wall beside her, arms crossed, your breath fogging slightly in the cold night air.

"I swear, if we wait any longer, I'm gonna fuse with the concrete," you muttered.

Himeno laughed, nudging your shoulder with hers. "That'd make things interesting. Maybe we'd finally get some action."

Aki, stationed a few feet away, turned his head slightly at the sound of your conversation. "Shut up," he said, voice low and firm. "We're working."

You sighed, long and theatrical. "Bruh. We've been here for three hours, waiting for something to happen. If it hasn't by now, it's not gonna."

Denji, crouched a little ways off, perked up at that. "For real, man. I say we just bust in somewhere and start smashing shit until something shows up."

Power grinned, baring her teeth. "Yes! At last, a plan worth considering! Denji, you are a true genius."

Aki exhaled sharply, the kind of exhale that carried the weight of profound disappointment. "If the two of you move from that spot, I swear to god—"

"Relax," you interrupted, smirking. "No one's actually gonna do anything. We're just talking."

Aki's gaze snapped to you. "That's the problem. Talking gets in the way of listening."

You raised an eyebrow. "Listening to what? The sound of absolutely nothing happening?"

For a second, his jaw twitched—just a little, just enough for you to catch it—but he said nothing, just turned his attention back to the alley.

Himeno shot you a knowing look, grinning. You had a feeling she found the whole thing amusing. Maybe because she knew Aki well enough to see what you couldn't.

Denji stretched his arms above his head with a groan. "Man, I hope this devil shows up soon. I'm starving."

"You're always starving," Power said. "'Tis because you are a weak and pathetic man."

"At least I ain't lying about it," Denji shot back.

Himeno shook her head, laughing under her breath. You smiled too, despite yourself. Because honestly? As much as you hated standing around doing nothing, there were worse people to be stuck with.

After the investigation scene was cleared – a gruesome hour later – you and Himeno sat on a rock outside the building. A cigarette burned between her fingertips. You didn't smoke, but the smell didn't bother you – not nearly as much as it used to. So, instead of complaining, the two of you sat in companionable silence. She smoked and you... well, you told yourself you were relaxing, but that was a lie.

No, deep down, you knew you were staring right at the illustrious lieutenant captain Hayakawa, watching him take his smoke break a pointed ten yards away from the two of you – smoke practically pouring out of your ears.

Way to make it clear that you're not interested in conversing, you thought.

God, he's such a stuck-up prick.

You had a mission report to give him, a summary of damages and whatnot, something stupid like that, but you were dreading giving it. If Himeno wasn't taking her much deserved smoke break, you would have asked her to do it.

You supposed it was unavoidable.

"I gotta give the mission brief to stick-in-the-ass," You sighed, turning your head to the side to size her up.

She winced, then chuckled. "He's not so bad."

"Yeah, to you," You whined. "I swear, he has it out for me."

"I think you're right, actually," She hummed, tapping the end of her cigarette and spreading the ash on the ground. "I wonder what you did."

Exasperatedly, you threw your hands out, whisper-shouting, "Nothing!"

"Wanna ask him?" She teased, kicking you in the shin with her boot.

"Not a chance," You answered. Still, standing up and dusting off your knees, you added, "I'm gonna get it over with."

Himeno waved you off with a lazy flick of her wrist, taking another slow drag from her cigarette. "Good luck," she said, exhaling smoke through her nose. "Try not to pick a fight."

You scoffed. "I don't pick fights."

Himeno gave you a pointed look.

"...Not on purpose."

She laughed as you turned away, rubbing at the spot where she'd kicked your shin. With each step toward Aki, your reluctance grew heavier, settling in your stomach like a stone. He hadn't looked at you once—not even when you'd gotten up, not when your boots scraped against the pavement, not when you stopped just a few feet away.

You cleared your throat. "Mission report."

That finally got his attention. He flicked ash from his cigarette, eyes shifting toward you, dark and unreadable in the dim alley light. "Go ahead."

Right. Because heaven forbid he make things easy.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to keep your tone professional. "Minimal collateral damage. No casualties. Devil confirmed dead." You paused, watching for some kind of reaction. When none came, you added, "Oh, and Power punched a hole through the third-floor wall. Don't ask me why."

Aki's brow twitched—just a little, just enough for you to catch it. "I see."

Silence.

That was it? Not even a sigh, a comment, an ounce of acknowledgment? You gritted your teeth.

"That's it? You see?"

Aki took another slow drag, exhaling through his nose like he was already tired of this conversation. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know, maybe 'Thanks for telling me, oh esteemed and respected colleague,'" you deadpanned, shifting your weight onto one leg.

Aki exhaled sharply—right in your face. A deliberate stream of smoke curled into your eyes, stinging, making you cough.

You recoiled, waving a hand in front of your face. "Oh, screw you," you muttered, blinking against the burn.

Aki didn't react. Not a smirk, not a flicker of amusement—just that same blank stare as he took one last drag, then flicked the cigarette to the ground. The quiet scrape of his Converse sneaker grinding it into the pavement felt just as dismissive as the way he looked through you.

"Go get some rest," he said, tone clipped, final. Then he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, fists clenched, scowling after him.

God, he was impossible.

You spun on your heel and stormed back toward Himeno, already composing the exact rant you were about to unload on her.

The aftermath of one particular mission had been messy. The kind of messy that left the street littered with rubble, the air thick with dust, and your muscles aching from overuse. The scent of blood and burning filled your lungs. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm was blaring, and you could hear Power cackling about something—probably the chaos she had personally contributed to—but your attention was locked onto the man standing in front of you.

Aki was rigid, shoulders squared, his coat hanging loose where the fabric had been torn. His hair was a little mussed—annoyingly attractive, even now—but it was his expression that held you in place.

Cold. Impassive. But beneath that, a restrained, simmering anger, the kind that barely clung to the edges of control.

And then, suddenly, he moved.

The way he turned toward you wasn't abrupt—it was slow, deliberate, every step measured. His presence alone was enough to make you tense, though you refused to show it. When he spoke, his voice was low and steady, but every syllable was razor-sharp.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

The words struck harder than you expected, sinking under your skin before you could throw up any defenses. You were still catching your breath, sweat cooling against your skin, adrenaline still singing in your veins, but you forced yourself to straighten, shaking off the weight of his scrutiny.

You lifted a hand, swiping away some of the blood smeared across your cheek— not yours, thankfully—and shrugged, keeping your voice as casual as possible.

"I was thinking that I got the job done."

Aki's expression didn't change, but something in his jaw ticked. He ran a hand through his midnight colored bangs, exhaling sharply through his nose. You could see the way his patience frayed, hanging by a thread, stretched taut and ready to snap.

"The job," he echoed flatly, like the word itself irritated him. "Right. And what about the building you nearly leveled?"

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "It wasn't that bad."

Aki's eyes darkened, his expression shifting into something heavier. "Three floors caved in," he said, tone low and measured, but beneath the restraint, you could hear the crack of irritation bleeding through.

He stepped closer, not enough to be aggressive, but enough that you felt it—the weight of his anger pressing into you, the sheer force of his presence making it harder to breathe.

"Do you even understand how reckless that was?"

Your fingers curled into fists. Of course, you understood. You understood that things had gotten messy, that your plan hadn't been the safest, but what pissed you off the most wasn't that he was right—it was that he always acted like he was the only one who was right. Like you were some reckless idiot who didn't think things through.

Your jaw tightened. "It wasn't like I had a choice," you shot back. "I did what I had to do."

It was different, this time. Aki took another step forward, and this time, you felt the air shift between you, thick with something you didn't want to name. His movements were precise, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes—were burning with something deeper.

"You don't get to decide that," he said, voice quieter now, but no less cutting. "You follow orders. You don't play hero."

You swallowed hard.

The way he was looking at you made heat crawl up your spine, frustration twisting into something else—something that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with how unfairly attractive he was when he was pissed off.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. "If I hadn't done what I did, people could've died."

Aki's jaw tightened. "If you keep pulling reckless shit like that, you're going to die."

His words hit harder than they should have, but you refused to let them sink in. Instead, you glared, chin tilting up defiantly even as your breath hitched.

"And I'm not cleaning up your mess when it happens," he muttered.

There was something in his tone—something unreadable, something you almost wanted to reach for, like he was trying to cover up the fact that he might have cared about you a little bit—but before you could, before you could shove back with another retort or demand what the hell he actually meant by that, he turned.

Without another word, he walked off, leaving you standing there, heart racing, thoughts in complete disarray.

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face.

God, you really needed therapy.

Or maybe I just need to get laid? You thought. Perhaps it was the involuntary celibacy getting to you.

You decided that you needed both.

Mission get laid was a lot easier said than done. In your line of work, people often didn't last long enough to fuck around. If they did, they were assholes (not pointing fingers at anyone in particular). A few weeks later, and you were aching for some action. Everything seemed to piss you off a little more than usual. In fact, someone seemed to piss you off more than usual.

Hayakawa the cockblock.

You didn't know when you started thinking of him like that, but the title fit. It wasn't just that Aki was always there—it was that he seemed to have a personal vendetta against anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way. If a guy even considered flirting with you, Aki had something to say about it. If a conversation lasted longer than a few words, Aki was there, lurking like a shadow, arms crossed, expression unreadable but just judgmental enough to kill the mood.

It was frustrating. More than frustrating. You were an adult. You could make your own decisions. You could handle yourself.

Which made this all the more annoying.

You had been talking to one of the newer guys, a hunter from another division, who, for once, wasn't a total weirdo or an asshole. He was tall, dark-haired, had one of those easy grins that made it clear he knew exactly how attractive he was—but not in an annoying way.

And he was into you. That much was obvious.

He had slid up beside you while you were taking a break, an easy smirk on his lips as he leaned against the railing beside you.

"You always look this intense?" he asked, tilting his head toward you.

You quirked a brow, unimpressed. "You always this nosy?"

He laughed, and okay—maybe it was kind of a nice laugh. He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Can't blame me for trying to get to know the prettiest hunter in the division."

You snorted, rolling your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitched upward. "Is that what you tell all the girls?"

"Only the ones who might actually kill me," he shot back, grinning.

Alright. Maybe this wasn't the worst conversation you'd had in weeks. He was easy to talk to, and more importantly, he wasn't running for the hills after five minutes of conversation.

"So, drinks after work?" he asked, cutting straight to the point. "I know a place."

And you were considering it. Actually considering it. What was the harm? A drink, some harmless flirting—

But before you could so much as open your mouth—

"Get back to work."

Your entire body tensed. That voice. Of course.

You turned your head just enough to see him. Aki stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression blank but so obviously irritated that you had to bite back a groan.

The guy beside you straightened a little, caught off guard by the interruption. "I was just—"

"You were slacking off," Aki cut in, voice sharp, authoritative. "We're not done here."

You huffed, shoulders dropping. "Oh, come on," you said, turning to him fully now. "Are you serious?"

Aki didn't even look at you. His gaze stayed fixed on the other hunter, cool and dismissive. "You have a job to do," he said simply. "So do we."

The guy beside you hesitated, glancing between you and Aki, clearly weighing whether this was a fight worth picking. After a beat, he let out a breath and muttered a quick, "See you around," before walking off, scratching the back of his neck.

You watched him go, feeling the frustration coil tight in your stomach before you rounded on Aki.

"What the hell was that?"

"Flirting on the job is unprofessional," he said flatly.

You scowled. "I wasn't. He was asking me out for drinks."

Aki didn't react, just stared at you, unblinking, unimpressed. "Don't get drinks with him."

You narrowed your eyes. "Oh? Why's that?"

"He's not trustworthy."

"Oh, please." You scoffed. "You don't even know him."

Aki's jaw tightened. "Doesn't matter."

You crossed your arms, staring at him hard. "Why?"

He didn't answer right away. He just looked at you. That cold, assessing look, the kind that made your skin prickle, like he was peeling back your layers, picking apart your intentions before you even had the chance to understand them yourself.

And then, finally—

"Just don't."

Something inside you twisted, irritation spiking high, sharp. You tilted your head, expression turning coy, teasing, because if he was going to be insufferable, you might as well make him suffer for it.

"What, you worried about me?"

Aki's expression didn't change. But his eyes darkened, just a fraction, and for a split second, you thought—maybe—that you saw something else flicker behind them.

But whatever it was, it was gone before you could name it.

"Get your head out of your ass," he muttered, and before you could fire back, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, fists clenched, frustration bubbling over into something you weren't quite ready to deal with.

You let out a slow breath, forcing your shoulders to relax.

The silence felt heavier now. The absence of the guy who had been flirting with you only made it worse—like the moment had been stolen right out from under you. You turned your head slightly, watching Aki's retreating figure, and something about the way he walked—stiff, tense—made you wonder.

Was it really about professionalism? Or was it something else entirely?

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face.

Hayakawa the cockblock strikes again.

You swore to God—one of these days, you were going to figure him out.

And when you did?

You weren't sure who would come out of it in one piece.

Late one evening, heart racing in your chest, you raised a hand to knock at Captain Hayakawa's door. You hadn't been sure whether or not he would have even been in so late, but you saw the telltale light shining through from beneath his door, and you knew he was working later than usual. So, gathering your wits and your courage (and smoothing your hands over your clothes to correct your appearance), you finally knocked.

It was answered with a faint, "Come in." Something only he could make sound scary, truly.

Be brave. Be brave, you told yourself. You had spent the entire way over here deliberating what you would say to him once you had him face-to-face – a lie you had rehearsed to explain your absence from work in a few days, something about your grandmother being sick, typical par for the course. You couldn't back down. Not now. Instead of running away like you really wanted to (because you knew that once you were inside, it would be just you and him, and you weren't entirely sure you were ready for that), you entered.

You poked your head in first. Swallowing the thickness that had settled in the depths of your throat, you called out to him, "Sorry to bother you so late, Captain."

He was sitting all alone inside, hair neatly done back – and, for a moment, you couldn't help the fleeting thought that he might have straightened out his appearance in the few seconds it had took him to respond to your knock. Papers were sprawled out over the length of his desk in neat stacks. The room was dimly lit, save for a lamp at his desk. He had a pen pinched between his index finger and his thumb, tip tapping mindlessly against the wooden surface.

Beneath the dim light, he looked a little older than you knew him to be. He was either 20 or 21, you couldn't quite remember. Either way, he was only a year or two older than yourself, but the experience gap was noticeable. You knew that could easily be attributed to the psychological horrors he had witnessed at a young and impressionable age, but that was a type of business you tried not to mind. The bags under his eyes were a little more pronounced than usual, blue eyes half-lidded and droopy, like he was trying not to pass out.

His eyes dropped to your shoes, then raked themselves up your tense form. You writhed beneath the heat of his gaze.

God, I can never tell what he's thinking.

"Is something the matter?" He asked, something so remarkably normal and not angry that you had to actually do a double-take. When you said nothing, he curled a brow at you, waiting for your response.

Now that you were actually standing there in his office, you were getting cold feet. No longer were you confident in the lie you had carefully conceived on the ride over. Truthfully, you had a date, but you knew you couldn't tell him that.

Was it that you knew or that you were ashamed?

Frighteningly enough, you weren't entirely sure. Either way, it felt like you were walking up to your father, about to tell him you had been hiding a boyfriend from him for the past year.

So, switching your weight from foot to foot, you answered shakily, "I have... uh..." You swallowed, "I wanted to tell you that I won't be coming into work on Thursday."

That got his attention. He set the pen down, leaning back in his work chair and giving you the kind of look that could wither a fucking plant. "It's your responsibility to tell me a week in advance. That's when I make the schedules."

You hesitated, the weight of his gaze almost suffocating. The silence in the room stretched longer than it should have, thick and heavy with the unspoken words hanging in the air. You had to say something—anything—to break it.

"I'm... I'm visiting my sick grandmother," you said, the words feeling foreign as they left your lips. It was a story you had fabricated on the way here, an easy excuse that anyone could buy. But even as you said it, you felt a pang of guilt, like you were betraying something, someone.

Aki's eyes flickered over you, narrowing slightly, as though evaluating the sincerity of your statement. You couldn't read him—he was too good at keeping his thoughts hidden. For a brief moment, you wondered if he knew you were lying. His expression didn't change, but the air in the room seemed to grow colder, more tense.

"Alright," he said with a sigh, the words laced with resignation, though you couldn't quite tell whether it was disappointment or just weariness. "I'll make an exception. But don't make a habit of this."

His voice was the same as always—calm, almost too calm—but the underlying exhaustion was palpable, like he was just tired of dealing with people's excuses. You couldn't blame him for that. You knew he had been through more than his fair share of hardships, and the last thing he probably wanted was to deal with your little white lie.

You stood there for a moment, not sure what to do next, before Aki leaned back in his chair, picking up his pen again, signaling the end of the conversation. His focus returned to the papers on his desk, his posture relaxed, but something about the way he avoided your gaze made your stomach twist.

Before you could make a quick exit, something unplanned slipped from your mouth, almost without your permission.

"Hey, um... Himeno and I are going out for drinks tomorrow with some of the others from different divisions. You should come with us," you blurted out, the words catching in your throat as you said them. "It'd be nice if you joined us. We could all hang out for once. You know... get out of the office for a bit."

The request came out of nowhere, and you couldn't quite understand why you had said it. You had never once thought to invite Aki to something like this before. It felt... strange. You knew he wasn't exactly the social type, and you weren't even sure why you wanted him there in the first place. Maybe it was the loneliness that crept up on you during the long, sleepless nights. Maybe it was the faint hope that his presence would fill the empty spaces that seemed to grow wider between you and the people you worked with.

His gaze shot up to meet yours, and for a moment, you almost regretted speaking. He looked at you like you had just said something completely absurd, like it didn't even make sense.

"You want me to come out with you?" Aki asked, his tone a mix of incredulity and something else—maybe amusement, maybe suspicion. It was hard to tell with him.

"And Himeno. Yeah," You answered back, rather stupidly.

Your heart raced, and you shifted awkwardly on your feet, the uncertainty gnawing at you. Why had you invited him? You didn't even know why you wanted him there, why you felt this strange, impulsive need to extend an invitation. The thought of spending time with him outside of work—outside of the walls where everything was so professional and detached—seemed impossible. But here you were, offering him an out-of-place invitation to something that was supposed to be casual, easy, and fun.

Everything he was not.

"I mean, it's not like a big deal or anything," you continued, your voice faltering slightly. "It's just drinks with everyone... Himeno and some of the other teams. You could join us. It'll be a good way to unwind. We don't do this often, but..." You trailed off, suddenly unsure of yourself. "I don't know. You don't have to if you don't want to."

What the hell am I doing?

For a moment, Aki didn't say anything. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable, as if he were processing your words in his mind. He was quiet for too long, and you felt yourself growing more self-conscious by the second, like you had made a huge mistake.

But then, just as you were about to apologize for being so forward, he let out a soft sigh, one that barely registered as a sound.

"Alright," he said, his voice as flat as ever. "I'll think about it."

And just like that, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate. The cold, businesslike atmosphere returned, and you realized he wasn't going to press you further on it. But you still didn't understand why you had invited him. Why him? Of all the people, why did you want Aki to be there?

"Alright, goodnight then," you said, your voice sounding louder in your own ears than you intended. You started to turn toward the door, almost relieved that the conversation was over.

"Goodnight," he replied, already turning his attention back to his papers, not sparing you another glance.

You left his office, the door clicking shut behind you, but the weight of the interaction lingered in your chest. The invitation you had made—so impulsive, so sudden—felt strange. You didn't understand why you had said it, or why it felt like there was something more to it, something you couldn't quite place.

Why is my heart racing a mile a minute?

As you walked down the dimly lit hallway, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the night than you were letting on. A part of you wanted to retreat, to pretend it hadn't happened, but another part of you couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he said yes.

Would it change things? Would it make you feel differently?

You didn't know the answers, but one thing was certain: something was different. Something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

No, you weren't going crazy. Something had shifted between the two of you.

a/n: okay so this is gonna be a lil short sum summm just to tide me over during these trying academic times. lmk what you thought! lmk if you enjoyed!!!!!!!! x

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

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

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wanna join the taglist? | pornstar ; chapter index

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #csm x reader #aki hayakawa #hayakawa aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #aki smut #aki fluff

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notiddygothgf · 3 months ago

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★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ Tell me something I don't know.❞

★ c.w.: sexual content (referenced), suggestive content (near the end), blood/stitches, BDSM mention

★ a/n: heyyyy lolll... how yall doinggggg..... okay so ik i said i was gonna stick to a regular schedule. but i literally was chewing my fingernails waiting for a week to pass so i figured, why not just update earlyyyy???? i was DYING for u all to enjoy this. a little more plotbuilding, as this is where the story is gonna pick up !!! please keep on commenting away, you guys are the whole reason i'm so motivated to get up and update this story! i love u bunches! x

★ w.c: 11.5k

pornstar ; chapter index

YOU HADN’T SLEPT a wink last night. You had spent the evening rolling around uselessly, brain overrun with thoughts about the grave sin you had just committed. You felt like a priest – some sort of holy figure who had just broken his vow of chastity. Yet, despite everything, you couldn’t help but think about him. He dominated your thoughts, images of his chiseled body, the face he made when he slipped inside, him, him, him.

“Touch me—” You gasped out, “Touch me, sir, please.”

You groaned, pressing the pillow deep into your face, hoping in vain that you might suffocate and be put out of your misery.

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

“Bet you get off on it, hm? Get off on pissing me off… being put in your place.”

You couldn’t get him out of your head. He was like a parasite, like an organism that had crawled into your brain and decided to set up camp there. Every single goddamn time you closed your eyes, there he was – his sharp angles, his ocean blue eyes, that damn smirk.

“Do you have… any clue…” He panted, eyes wild. “What you fucking do to me?

You were in over your head. To be completely frank, you had never thought you would get that far with your superior, to fuck him – let alone for three rounds. While it was undoubtedly the most enjoyable sexual escapade you’d ever had, you hadn’t exactly planned for the aftermath of it.

He hadn’t texted or called. You had been stupid to hope that he might – no, he never did. You can’t recall a single time you had ever used his phone number. Still, a naive part of you had wished that he would call you up after all was said and done, ask you if you got home safe, tell you he liked it, too… tell you something that would help you make sense of everything that had happened.

"It was the pollen," he said, as if that was some kind of excuse. "Don’t be hard on yourself. I think the devil wanted to distract us."

That was the thing. It wasn’t just the pollen. One more drunk mistake, and you would have tried to fuck him by now. Where there was once hatred for him and his stupid face, the only thing left now was a lingering sense of confusion. It was more than just a sexual excursion. You had been so close to him – been able to see his face when he fell apart beneath your touch, tasted him, felt him. And, now, the morning after, you felt cold – your bed exceptionally empty.

He gripped you by the hair, craning your gaze down to the junction between your bodies, to the place where he was disappearing in out of you. It was a vulgar sight, a messy one, too – he was coated in an obscene mixture of your wetness and his cum, a fluid that made a lewd ‘schlick’ sound every time his navel bumped up against your clit. Every movement, every thrust pushed his warm seed deeper and deeper into your needy pussy.

Aki groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “So fucking perfect,” he whispered. “Can’t get enough of you.”

Your gut churned with heat. He hadn’t been able to get enough of you.

The morning light filtered through the blinds in thin, golden slats, cutting across the room in soft, uneven lines. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, utterly drained. It wasn’t just exhaustion—it was something heavier, something pressing down on your chest and making it hard to breathe. You felt wrung out, sore in ways you hadn’t expected, every inch of your body still sensitive from last night.

You shifted under the blankets and winced. Your back ached, deep and insistent, and a dull soreness settled in your thighs. God. You pressed your fingers into your temples, as if that might somehow will away the memories threatening to resurface—the weight of his body against yours, the way his breath had shuddered against your skin, the sheer intensity in his ocean-blue eyes.

And now? Nothing. Silence. No calls. No texts. Not that you had expected any, but still, some stupid part of you had hoped.

You exhaled sharply and dragged a pillow over your face, muffling the frustrated groan that bubbled up from your throat. How the fuck am I supposed to face him?

You knew Aki. Knew how he operated. He would act like it never happened—because that was easier, because it kept things clean. Business as usual. That’s what he’d want. That’s what he’d expect.

But you couldn’t do it. Not yet.

You could still hear him, his voice rough with need. “Good girl.”

Your stomach twisted.

Maybe he hadn’t meant it. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment, just something people said when they were caught up in it. You knew better than to read into things—you weren’t naive—but something about the way he had held you, the way he had looked at you…

You groaned again and pushed the blankets off. No use sitting here overthinking it. You had shit to do.

Your legs protested as you stood, a deep ache spreading through your muscles, making you wince. You rubbed at the knots in your lower back and shuffled to the bathroom, stripping out of your wrinkled clothes. The warm spray of the shower helped a little, easing the soreness in your limbs, but it did nothing for the thoughts racing through your head.

You leaned your forehead against the tile, inhaling deeply. If you closed your eyes, you could still feel him, still hear him—his ragged breaths, the quiet, almost desperate sounds he had made.

“Where’s that attitude?” he taunted, his voice a low purr. “Thought you hated me.”

Your fingers curled into fists. You didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to think about what any of this meant.

You finished your shower quickly, trying to ignore how tender your skin felt, how certain spots still burned with memory. When you stepped out, the apartment felt too quiet, too empty. You moved through your usual routine—toweling off, brushing your hair, slipping into fresh clothes—but everything took longer than it should have. Every little thing reminded you of him. The scent of your shampoo, because his fingers had been in your hair. Your lotion, because his lips had been everywhere.

Just stop thinking about it.

You pulled open your closet and grabbed the first thing that looked comfortable enough to wear, not caring if it matched. Tugging your sweater over your head, you glanced at the clock. You were already running late, but you found yourself hesitating, standing motionless in the middle of your room.

A part of you wanted to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over your head, and pretend none of it had happened. But that wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t change the fact that you would have to see him again. That you would have to pretend like your entire world hadn’t tilted overnight.

A deep sigh left your lips as you grabbed your phone. No messages. No missed calls. Of course not. You swallowed down the sting of disappointment and tossed the phone onto your bed, shoving your hands into your pockets as you rocked back on your heels. You had to go. You had plans with Himeno, and as much as you wanted to avoid human interaction, flaking on her wasn’t an option.

You sat on the edge of your bed to lace up your boots, and the moment you leaned forward, a sharp ache flared down your spine. Your breath hitched. Shit. You clenched your jaw and straightened up slowly, your hands gripping your knees. You hadn’t even considered the full extent of how sore you would be today, but now it was undeniable.

The worst part? Aki had been just as wrecked as you. His voice had gone hoarse by the end, his body had trembled against yours, and yet this morning, he was probably fine. Probably already dressed in his usual uniform, hair tied back neatly, acting like nothing happened.

The same thing you should have been able to do.

You sighed and stood, brushing your hands down your thighs before grabbing your bag. You needed air. You needed to leave before your thoughts spiraled any further.

Pulling your coat over your shoulders, you made your way to the door. Your fingers hovered over the handle for a second longer than necessary. Once you stepped outside, there was no more hiding from reality. No more pretending that the world hadn’t shifted under your feet.

With a deep breath, you pulled the door open and stepped into the cool morning air.

Shopping with Himeno had been the exact sort of distraction you needed. She had proven to be easy company. Things were never confusing when she was around – she was all giggles and laughter, something that made it a little easier for you to slip into the folds of her conversation. Before you knew it, you had nearly forgotten about the night before (nearly, because you were beginning to believe that you would never forget it).

Presently, the two of you sat across from one another at a restaurant, sushi neatly plated before the both of you, faces stuffed with rolls you couldn’t name if someone paid you to do so. And, as always, the drinks were flowing. It was perfect.

She dipped a sweet potato roll into the soy sauce, popping it into her mouth with a content little hum. “And that’s what I was getting at – devil hunters have needs, too.”

“Sure, but I don’t think our line of work leaves us with many opportunities,” You laughed, taking up a piece of your own sushi – something sweet with salmon and avocado.

She quirked a brow at you, “You been having trouble finding time to get down, too?”

You have no idea.

You waved it around in the air between the two of you, using it as an extension of your voice. “You could say that.”

“Ugh, I swear to God, if I don’t get laid soon, I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind,” Himeno groaned, clearly exasperated, throwing her head back before taking a long sip of her drink. “Frustrated is an understatement.”

You gave her a noncommittal hum, but her words barely registered in your mind. No, it had already begun to drift, to wander back to him, to last night – to the way he had felt pressed up against you, the way he broke, to every single detail, like you were reliving the moment all over again. Reliving the feeling of his hands, the breathy way he had said your name, the sheer intensity in those pretty eyes that had only ever looked down on you with scorn before.

And Himeno was none the wiser about it. She had no idea. No clue that you had fucked her partner… raw. That just last night, Aki Hayakawa had been buried so deep inside of you that you were unable to form a coherent thought. That he had pressed his forehead into the crook of your neck, trembling as he murmured words of praise against your skin.

You planned to keep it that way.

You reached for your cocktail, taking a slow sip, hoping the richness of it, the burn of the alcoholic contents would snap you out of your reverie. As expected, it did nothing of the sort.

“So,” Himeno said rather suddenly, turning towards you with that lazy smirk of hers, and you knew she was up to no good before the words even left her mouth, “What about you? Anything happen? Anyone?”

It’s almost like she knows, you thought, but there was no way. How could she know? It’s not like Aki would have told her, or anything like that. Hell, he hadn’t even spoken to you about it.

Still, you bristled, her words unsettling you.

Yes, you immediately thought, but you couldn’t exactly say that. Instead, you put on your best poker face, shrugging with a nonchalance that shocked even you. Still, you gripped your glass a little harder, a little tighter. You could lie about it all you want, but no amount of fibbing would change the fact that it had happened. That you had made a conscious effort to remember your daily birth control pill today. That he had felt so warm, so right, nestled deep inside of your walls the night before.

The thoughts had been haunting you all fucking day. No matter what you did, your mind kept on wandering right back to him – how his fingers had caressed the most sensitive part of you, how he had looked at you like he wanted to consume you whole. And now, to top it all off, his silence was killing you for a reason you couldn’t quite understand.

You needed help.

So, swallowing, then inhaling sharply, you gave in.

“Actually… there was something I wanted to ask you about,” You set your drink down, exhaling through your nose like it pained you to do so. “I need your advice. I saw this… guy, the other night…”

Himeno blinked slowly, lips curling into a grin. “Oho, finally!” She nudged you by the arm with a familiar playfulness, but it did nothing to settle the pit in your stomach. “It’s about damn time. What’s the issue?”

You thought of saying nevermind, of telling her to forget you had even asked… but, then, you would have no other input but your thoughts, and that was a horrible predicament to put yourself in.

With a sigh, you shifted in your seat, “I dunno. I figured it would be a one-time thing, you know? But, now… I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. About him.”

You hadn’t meant for the conversation to trickle into such forbidden territory – especially not with the partner of the man you were talking about – but you simply couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the crushing weight of your thoughts finally driving you up the wall.

“Is that a bad thing?” She lifted an eyebrow.

You hesitated before responding to her. “It’s unexpected, that’s for sure. I wasn’t planning on the whole thing messin’ with my head the way it is. I’ve had casual sex before, but, like, this feels… different. It’s like he’s stuck in my head,” You sighed. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

Himeno studied you for a moment too long, scrutinizing you like she knew something you didn’t. “Okay… first off– how was it?”

You gasped sharply as he shifted beneath you, the change in his movements subtle but powerful. His grip tightened around your hips, the pressure of his hands grounding you in a way that made your breath catch. Each motion of his was deliberate, calculated, as he pressed into you harder, deeper, until the world outside of this moment seemed to disappear. All you could feel was him—his warmth, his breath, the way his body moved against yours with an intensity that left you breathless, desperate for more.

"Aki," you whispered, your voice trembling as it fought to keep its composure, as if that one breath could shatter everything you were trying to hold onto.

His response was immediate, a quiet promise in the way he spoke your name. "I’m here," he murmured, his lips brushing against your shoulder in a soft kiss. "I got you."

With a breathy laugh, you shook the memory out of your head, “Fucking phenomenal.”

She let out a low, impressed whistle. “Damn. Good for you, girl,” She took another sip of her drink, then cast you the sort of look that only a good female friend could give you – one that told you ‘your secret’s safe with me’. “Sounds like someone might be catching feelings.”

It’s not that. Definitely not, you thought. No, just 48 hours ago, you still hated his fucking guts.

There’s no way.

Still, your stomach twisted, “It’s not that.”

She gave you a look that was equal parts pointed and unconvinced, “You sure?”

You hesitated a fraction too long, and that was all it took.

She was smirking all over again, and that was infuriating as it was. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. This was exactly the sort of thing you had been scared of – Himeno telling you what you didn’t want to hear. “It’s not that simple.”

“Does he feel the same way?”

He laughed, a low sound that made the back of your neck tingle. "God," he said, his grin widening. You had scarcely seen him smile before, "I think you might be the best lay I’ve ever had."

“I don’t know,” You admitted, “I haven’t exactly heard from him at all since it happened. No texts, no calls, nothing.”

You weren’t making a very good case for him. In all honesty, you weren’t entirely sure why you wanted to make a good case in the first place. If it were anyone else, you would have been able to tell her straight up how it was.

But he was fucking with your head.

She whistled again. “Cold.”

“It’s not like I expected him to!” You rushed out, waving your hands around. “That’s just how he is. He doesn’t… do attachments,” You continued, only digging your grave deeper. “And I shouldn’t care. I should just move on from it, but I don’t feel like I can.”

You were surprised she hadn’t caught on by now. You blamed it on the drinks. Wherever Himeno was, drinks were always involved.

She tapped her fingers against the table, drumming the rhythm to some tune you couldn’t name, considering the options. “Alright, well, the way I see it, you’ve got two options,” She held up two fingers. “Either you suck it up and move on with your life, or you man up and talk to him about it.”

Shit. “Yeah,” You exhaled, “That’s what I was afraid of.”

She grinned wickedly, “You don’t like either of those options?”

“Not one bit,” You smiled weakly, even though you knew she was right.

Still, you exhaled again, rubbing a hand over your face, massaging the oncoming headache away. “It’s kinda hard to move on because he’s, like…” You trailed off, desperately searching for the right words to convey what you were trying to say. “He’s just different,” You finally gritted out. “He… showed me things I’ve never experienced before.”

Himeno raised her brows, teasing smirk curling the edges of her lips, “Oh? Well, now I’m jealous. What sorts of things did this mystery man show you?”

Then, heat was creeping its way up the back of your neck as the memories came rushing back in, spreading out over your chest like it was in your veins. Images flashed behind your eyes – rough hands pinning you down, his voice dropping as he murmured complete and utter filth against your skin, him looking down at you, owning you in a way that made your stomach twist with something dangerously addictive.

After a brief moment of hesitation, you admitted, “I don’t know. He was just… in control,” You swallowed. “The way he spoke to me, the way he handled me – it wasn’t… like anything I’ve ever had before. He– he was rough, and I… I felt like, for the first time ever– I felt like I wasn’t in control. Like my head was empty.”

You hadn’t expected to come clean to her today, yet, here you were.

Himeno leaned back in her seat with a slow, knowing, shit-eating grin. “Ohhhh,” she teased. “I see what’s goin’ on here.”

You pouted, “What?”

She leaned in closely, as if the two of you were conspiring about someone nearby and not about a mystery man. “You ever heard of BDSM?” She whispered.

You tilted your head, confused by the acronym, “Uh… no…? Should I have?”

She snorted. “Yeah, I figured,” Setting her drink down, she gestured vaguely, “Bondage, dominance… uh… some other freaky shit like that.”

What a conversation starter.

Your eyes widened, damn near bulging out of your head at the crass admission, “What?”

She only laughed at the expression on your face. “It’s, like, a whole thing. Some people get off on being in control, others get off on giving it. From what you’re telling me, that’s probably what’s happening.”

Your stomach twisted. The second she uttered the word dominant, your mind immediately snapped back to him – his sharp blue eyes, the way he had pinned you down and made you take all of him, the way he commanded you like it was second nature to him. Your face was on fire.

That sounds about right.

Himeno’s grin only widened, “Oooh, look at that blush.”

You scowled at her. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious, though. Might be something worth looking into,” She whispered, completely ignoring your embarrassed expression. “There’s lots of people who want the same thing. You’re not crazy, girl.”

“I’m not looking into bondage, Himeno,” you hissed.

She shrugged, “What? You’ve never gotten curious?”

You shot your coworker an incredulous look, digits tightening their grasp around your cocktail, like it was tethering you to the present. “No,” You answered flatly, but even you could hear the hesitation in your voice.

Her grin stretched even wider, “Sure,” She took a slow, calculated sip of her beer, observing you over the rim of her glass. “You just told me about how much you loved being manhandled, degraded, put in your place–”

Your face burned even hotter, if that was even possible, “I did not say that.”

“Not in those words exactly,” She teased right back, “But, come on, don’t lie. You clearly liked it.”

You exhaled sharply, shifting in your seat. The truth of it gnawed at you. Of course, you had liked it—you had never experienced anything like it before. The way he had taken control, how effortlessly he had read your body, how he had given you no choice but to take him exactly how he wanted—God. Even just thinking about it made your skin prickle with heat.

Your silence must have been enough of an answer because Himeno just grinned, swirling the last of her drink around in her glass. “See?” she said smugly. “No harm in admitting it.”

You sighed, pressing a hand to your temple. “I wasn’t saying it was a bad thing.”

“Exactly!” Himeno said brightly, leaning back in her chair. “That’s what I’m saying. It’s just something you like.” She raised a brow. “So, why not explore it a little?”

You frowned, rubbing your thumb along the condensation on your glass. “Because it’s—” You stopped, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

Because it’s him.

You weren’t sure what was more overwhelming—the fact that you had just had the most intense sexual experience of your life or the fact that it had been with your fucking Captain.

And yet…

Your mind kept circling back to it, like an itch you couldn’t scratch. The way he had held you down, kissed you from head to toe, dragged those rough hands down your body like he was claiming you. He had taken you apart and put you back together in the span of a night, and now?

Now you were left picking up the pieces, completely out of your depth.

It hadn’t just been sex, had it?

It had been something else entirely—something you didn’t have the words for.

Himeno nudged you with her elbow again, breaking you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Hey, earth to kinky girl,” she teased.

You groaned, slumping forward onto the table. “I hate you.”

She snickered, patting your back. “I’m just saying,” she continued, her voice laced with amusement. “There’s a whole world out there. Lots of people are into the same shit. If you want more of it, there’s no reason to feel weird about it.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” you mumbled, your face buried in your arms.

“Liar.”

You groaned again.

Himeno’s voice softened just a little, like she knew it was deeper than sex, too. “Listen, if you’re really that confused about it, then maybe you should talk to him.”

Your stomach did an unpleasant flip.

Talking to Aki about it was the last thing you wanted to do. The thought alone made your skin prickle with nerves. What would you even say? Hey, so, that thing we did? The thing I can’t stop thinking about? Can we do it again?

Absolutely not.

No. The only thing you could do—the only thing—was forget it ever happened. Pretend like it was just a one-time thing, a moment of weakness fueled by whatever godforsaken heat had taken over the both of you. That’s what Aki would want, right?

Right?

Himeno must have caught the look on your face because she let out a dramatic sigh. “Or you could just pretend like it never happened and suffer in silence,” she said dryly.

She clocked me bad.

“That sounds like a great plan,” you muttered.

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re a mess.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, finally sitting up straight, “tell me something I don’t know.”

Himeno studied you for a moment, something thoughtful passing over her expression. “Alright, fine. No more interrogation—for now,” she added with a knowing smirk. “But, hey—” she pointed a finger at you— “When you inevitably go crawling back for more, I better be the first to know.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not happening.”

Himeno raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Uh-huh. Sure. And who’s this guy?”

You froze, your blood turning cold. You knew exactly where this was headed. You lifted your drink to your lips, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Himeno wasn’t backing down. “Come on,” she urged, smirking with that familiar, playful glint in her eyes. “You can’t be this evasive. I’ve got to know who’s got you all twisted up in knots.”

You felt a tightness in your chest, a wave of panic rushing over you. “I’m not telling you,” you said, the words coming out too quickly. “It was just… a thing. That’s it.”

Himeno stared at you, clearly not buying it. “Okay. Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She leaned back in her chair, eyes never leaving you. “Do I know him?”

You stayed silent, your fingers tight around the glass. You weren’t about to take the bait. Not today.

You were lying in bed, the soft weight of the blanket wrapped around your body like a comfort you didn’t know you needed. The room was dark except for the dim glow of your laptop screen, casting a pale light over your face. Your mind was still tangled up in the words Himeno had said to you earlier. Her teasing, that knowing smirk—it had all seemed so playful at first. But now, in the silence of your room, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something had shifted inside you.

You tapped the touchpad of your laptop, the glow intensifying as you opened a new tab. BDSM. The word alone felt foreign, almost too bold to look at. But curiosity gnawed at you, growing by the second. Before you even realized it, your fingers were typing out the search. You pressed enter, your breath catching slightly as the first results popped up on the screen.

Images flooded your vision—some explicit, some suggestive, others more abstract, but all sharp and deliberate. You quickly scrolled past a few, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to process what you were seeing. This wasn’t the kind of thing you’d ever really thought about before.

But now? Now, there was this pull, a strange curiosity that you couldn’t quite explain.

You stopped at one image, your finger hovering just above the screen. It was a black-and-white photo of a woman on her knees, head lowered, hands bound with intricate rope. The composition was beautiful in its starkness, the tension between submission and artistry pulling you in. You felt a flutter in your stomach, a sense of something stirring deep within you. There was an undeniable intensity in the way the image made you feel. It wasn’t just sexual—it was raw, it was emotional, it was all-consuming. You found yourself staring at the image, your mind wandering into thoughts you had never fully allowed yourself to entertain.

What is it about this?

You scrolled down, letting your thumb glide across the touchpad as your thoughts spun. You started reading through the articles—terms like dom, sub, aftercare, safe words, limits swirled in front of you, a jumble of ideas, concepts, and definitions that made your head spin. You kept reading, your mind trying to process each new word, each new phrase. The idea of domination and submission, of control and surrender, began to take on a form you didn’t realize could be so enticing. It was like a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve, each piece more confusing than the last but also more alluring.

You couldn’t help but imagine yourself in the center of it all.

What would it feel like?

The thought drifted into your mind before you could catch it, but now that it was there, it was impossible to shake. You pictured someone—no, him. Aki.

You saw him clearly in your mind’s eye, his posture so casual yet commanding, his dark eyes piercing through you as if he saw right into your soul. You imagined him in control, in charge, his hand on your shoulder, gentle yet firm. He didn’t have to say a word, but you felt it—he would never need to. There was an unspoken authority in the way he stood, the way he held himself, the way he always seemed to know exactly what you needed even when you didn’t know yourself.

The thought made your heart race.

You pictured him standing before you, watching as you kneeled in front of him. It was almost laughable—the idea of you, you of all people, giving in so easily. But in that moment, in the silence of your room, it didn’t seem so impossible. In fact, the idea of it felt… right. Your body stirred, the sensation unfamiliar but exciting.

Why Aki?

You wondered, a part of you questioning why it was him you were imagining. Why not someone else? It wasn’t like you’d ever thought about him in that way, not really—not before tonight, anyway. Before that night, he had been just… Aki. But now? Now, he was something else entirely.

You thought back to that night, to the way he had touched you, held you, as if the entire world had fallen away. You had never been so exposed, so vulnerable—and yet, it had felt so right. The way he had taken control without hesitation, how his hands had guided you, how he had spoken to you, his voice low and commanding, making you want to surrender. It wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, mental. It was a force that you hadn’t expected, one that seemed to break you down and rebuild you all at once.

You felt a heat flood your body, your mind unable to escape the image of him. You closed your eyes, imagining his touch again, the way he had made you feel as though you didn’t have to think, as though you could just let go and trust him to lead you.

What if you could have that again?

The thought crashed over you like a wave. You didn’t even know what it was you wanted exactly. But the idea of being so completely under someone’s control, the idea of Aki having that power over you, sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t just about the physical act of it, though. It was the way he had made you feel—like you were the center of his world, even if just for that moment.

You kept scrolling, letting the images blur together as you sought something more, something deeper. You clicked on a new link, your pulse quickening as you read about dominants. A dominant, according to the article, was someone who took control, who led in a relationship based on trust, communication, and respect. A lifestyle dominant—someone who took on that role in their everyday life, someone who would tell you what to do, what to wear, what to say. The more you read, the more fascinated you became.

This wasn’t just about an occasional fling or fantasy; this was a way of life. A relationship built on power, on control, on surrender.

Could that be what I want?

The thought made your stomach twist with a mixture of excitement and unease. It was a life where someone else made the decisions, told you what to do, what to feel, and in return, you gave yourself to them completely. You imagined it, the idea of Aki in that role, not just for a moment, but as a constant presence in your life. He would guide you, tell you what to do, and you would trust him, surrender to him in ways you hadn’t even begun to understand.

You read more, about the intricacies of being a dominant, how they set boundaries, how they communicated their desires. A true dominant didn’t just take what they wanted; they ensured that their partner was safe, comfortable, and willing. They would care for you, even as they commanded you. It was a delicate balance, one that seemed so foreign and yet so utterly appealing.

Your thoughts spun faster now, more consumed than before. You imagined Aki’s voice in your ear again, telling you what to do, taking control without hesitation. It was all too much, too fast, and yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. What if this is what I need?

In fact, you didn’t stop researching until a knock sounded at your front door – it was distant, but firm. Nearly jumping out of your skin, you slammed your laptop shut and made your way over to the front door. You didn’t recall ordering any deliveries, or anything of the sort, so it was surprising enough that you had received a visitor this late into the evening. It was even more surprising when you stood on your tip-toes to glance through the peephole and saw the silhouette of a man leaning against your doorframe, raven hair disheveled, blue eyes peering back into yours.

And your heart fucking plummetted.

What the hell is he doing here? You thought.

You totally freaked out, glaring at your messy apartment, at the dainty camisole and pajama shorts you were wearing. In all of your bare-legged glory, you would make for one hell of a sight. (Nevermind the fact that you and he had… well, nevermind.) On any other day, you would have pretended he hadn’t ever knocked in the first place, run around and cleaned the place before he noticed, but a second look at him let you know that he needed help. He had a pained expression on his pretty face, and he was clutching his arm to his side. The white sleeves of his dress shirt were soaked through with a carmine pigment.

Blood.

Immediately, you cast your insignificant worries aside, throwing the door open because, dammit, the man you had been fantasizing about forever was standing right in front of your door with a bleeding arm – and there he was. Standing six-foot-something over you, mouth open as if to apologize before the words caught in his throat. Then, his gaze dropped from your face to your outfit – rather skimpy for the occasion, you understood – and back up to your messy hair.

Is there a draft in here? You wondered, suddenly feeling rather cold.

You opened your mouth… closed it, opened it again, “What…” You swallowed – What are you doing here? “What happened?”

He peered down at you, eyes half-lidded, exhausted, “I was patrolling… alone, and… I got injured by this… this devil– I…” He swallowed, as if it physically wounded him to show up at your doorstep. “Can I come in?”

You knew it was no good. You knew that in here – in your home – you wouldn’t be able to resist him. Still, you would be damned if you turned him away, so you led him into the kitchen. He looked out of place among your things – all things pink and girly, and then there was him, head bumping the cupboards, stained with blood, wearing his Public Safety uniform (or what was left of it, anyway). He leaned against the kitchen counter, bracing his hand on the ledge of the sink for support.

The captain is in my fucking apartment.

He looked like he was in pain.

“Let me see it,” You sighed, gesturing to his shirt.

He looked away from you, as though flustered by the proximity, the intimacy of it all, yet began undoing his buttons nonetheless. Briefly, your mind flashed back to a certain instance two nights ago when he had done the same thing. Once the shirt was undone, he let it fall off his shoulders, revealing a deep, crimson gash in his left arm.

Holy shit.

“It’s a lot better than it looks,” He commented, like that makes the situation any better.

“Why the hell were you even patrolling alone?” You huffed, rolling his shirt into a ball and setting it to the side. You made your way over to the bathroom, flicked on the faucet, placed the drain stopper down, and then came back out to him just to put a hand on your hip. Like you had any right to be upset with him – like he owed you an explanation.

What the hell has gotten into me?

“I was supposed to patrol with Kusakabe. He was filling in for Himeno, but he… he called out last minute,” He explained. Meanwhile, you observed the wound – it spanned the length of his entire upper arm, and looked to be a few inches deep. There was dried blood, crusted around it, and you knew it would have to be cleaned.

You pressed your finger into the skin near the wound, unbothered by the gore, to see if it was still actively bleeding. It was, just not as much as it was before. A little bit of blood trickled out, staining the tip of your finger red.

“You should have called me,” You retorted, leading him to the bathroom. On any other day, the action would have been questionable at best, but you weren’t thinking about any of that, not now. You were thinking about helping him. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?”

He looked down at you with the faintest hint of shame behind his eyes, and that was all it took. You realized that the reason he hadn’t called you was the same reason you hadn’t called him.

Without a word, you pushed him into the bathroom. The tub was somewhere around halfway full with water.

“Wash up in here,” You sighed, rinsing your hand clean beneath the faucet. You turned to where he was standing, remarkably shirtless and muscular, and you couldn’t help the way your gaze lingered. “I can clean the wound, if you want. Call me if you need me.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would have said that the Captain looked a little flustered by the whole situation. Still, he nodded.

“Thank you,” He answered, voice gruff. No bite, no sarcastic remark, just a thank you, real and genuine.

You nodded back. The moment the bathroom door was shut, you slapped your palms over your face, dragging them down and groaning into your hands. Oh my god. He’s inside of my fucking bathroom. What the hell is going on?

The universe certainly had a cruel idea of a joke.

You stood outside the bathroom, feeling your nerves get the best of you. The door was cracked open just enough to let you hear the faint sounds of running water—an occasional splash followed by the low murmur of his voice. You had to force yourself to take steady breaths, pushing down the rising sense of panic that tightened in your chest, force yourself to step into your room and rummage through your drawers in search for some men’s clothes, something oversized, anything.

You found a pair of sweatpants an ex boyfriend had left some years ago, and decided that would have to do. You stood there in the room for what had to have been ten minutes, just mulling the situation over in your head.

When you had walked in earlier, you never expected this. Him, shirtless in your bathroom, a wound on his arm that you knew you’d have to clean, and yet somehow, the thought of doing it felt like stepping into uncharted territory. He wasn’t just some soldier you needed to patch up. He was Aki.

What the hell is going on?

You forced yourself to move toward the bathroom, your hands clutching the fresh clothes you'd brought for him. Your heart was thudding in your ears, louder than the sound of water sloshing in the tub, and your palms were suddenly clammy. You were crossing a line, you knew it, but somehow, it didn’t seem to matter. You stepped into the bathroom, your eyes still shut tight, trying to keep yourself from getting too tangled in your thoughts or—worse yet—your emotions.

“I brought you some clothes,” you said, the words spilling out in a rushed, almost anxious tone. You had to keep it together. You didn’t dare open your eyes, afraid of what you might see—afraid of how his presence would make you feel.

"Thanks," Aki responded, voice low, thick with a quiet tension.

You heard him shifting in the water, the sound of his wet skin against the tub. That alone was enough to send your pulse into overdrive, but you had to fight the urge to turn and leave. You had to act normal. It was just a wound, just a wound.

“Can you clean it?” he asked suddenly.

Your body froze. The question was simple, but it hit you like a bolt of lightning, cracking through your calm. You hadn’t expected him to ask you directly, hadn’t expected to feel this… exposed. The words stirred something deep in you, a tension that you couldn’t easily shake. Why the hell was this so hard?

You swallowed, your throat dry as you opened your eyes slowly, careful not to make eye contact just yet. When you glanced over at him, you saw his eyes focused on you, waiting. His expression was unreadable, but you could feel the unspoken weight in the room. He needed your help—you—and you could see how vulnerable he was now. This wasn’t the same guy you sparred with or the one who got under your skin with his sarcastic remarks. No, this was Aki. Just… Aki.

You quickly averted your gaze, swallowing hard. “Sure,” you said, trying to force your voice to sound steady, but it came out a little too breathy. “I’ll clean it.”

You could barely make yourself move. You’d done worse than this before, cleaned far worse injuries, but the thought of it with him made your heart beat faster, your body flush with heat. You didn’t know if you could trust your hands to do the job without betraying how rattled you felt.

You stepped closer to the tub, the sight of him sitting there—half-covered in water, his muscles visible as he leaned back slightly—nearly made you lose your nerve. His skin was still damp, his dark hair sticking to his forehead. You could feel the tension in the air between you both, thick, suffocating.

Don’t look at the water.

You forced your gaze downward, focusing on his arm—the wound still oozing a little blood as you moved in closer. Your fingers brushed against his skin, cool from the water. He flinched slightly, but didn’t pull away.

“Hold still,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice from cracking.

You could feel the warmth radiating off his body, the faint scent of soap and sweat clinging to the air. He was so close—too close—and you couldn’t help but notice how his chest rose and fell with each breath, the soft steam from the water making the whole room feel hazy.

You pressed the cloth gently against the wound, but your fingers lingered on his skin longer than they should have, as if the touch was… necessary. You cursed yourself for the way your pulse sped up, for how his closeness made your body ache in ways you couldn’t ignore. You’d cleaned injuries a hundred times, but with him? It felt different. You couldn’t focus. Couldn’t push past the fact that he was sitting there—vulnerable, exposed—and you were the one tasked with cleaning his wound.

“It’ll sting,” you warned, though you weren’t even sure he was listening. Your mind was too wrapped up in the way your body was reacting to being near him. His arm was so warm beneath your touch, his skin firm yet yielding in a way that felt too intimate for the moment.

“I’m fine,” he replied, his voice calm but with an edge of something else. Was it tension? You couldn’t tell, and it made your stomach twist.

You cleaned the wound, as gently as you could, though your fingers trembled with the effort. You could feel him watching you, could almost sense the way he was reading your every movement. Every breath you took. Every shift in your body. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it, but the air seemed to thicken around you both, charged with something unspoken, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold on to your control.

He’s showing a remarkable amount of self restraint, you thought. Last time you’d had a wound like this, you were practically howling the entire time.

Then, another thought – the man you were supposed to hate, the man you had just fucked, was sitting in your bathtub, allowing you to bathe his wounds with a tenderness that surprised you.

What the fuck even are we?

You couldn't stop the thoughts from swirling in your mind, a knot of confusion tightening in your chest. The whole situation felt wrong, yet... strangely right, too. He wasn’t just some soldier you had to patch up anymore. He wasn’t just the man you despised for the things he said or the things he did. He was here, vulnerable in your bathroom, and you were the one taking care of him. Your fingers, hesitant at first, were now moving with ease, pressing into his skin, and you realized you weren’t thinking about the situation, not really. You were just... doing. And yet, every movement felt like an invitation into something far more intimate than either of you had intended.

When you finished, you grabbed a towel from the counter and handed it to him without saying a word. His gaze lingered on your face for a moment, and you caught the faintest glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Dry yourself off,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything else, not when your heart was hammering in your chest and your breath was shallow.

He nodded, taking the towel from you. You turned quickly, stepping out of the bathroom to give him some privacy. You needed space. You needed air.

You stood just outside the door, your back against the cool wall, trying to breathe, trying to make sense of the chaotic rush of emotions you were feeling. You tried to focus on anything other than him—his warm skin, his quiet demeanor, the tension that had been building between you both for the past several hours.

But it didn’t help.

When the door opened, you weren’t prepared for what you saw.

Aki stepped out, wearing the pants you’d given him, but no shirt. The sight of him in the soft light of the bathroom was enough to make your breath catch in your throat. His torso was still damp from the water, the hard-earned muscles of his chest and abdomen visible beneath the sheen of moisture on his skin. The faintest hint of the scar on his side, the one you had never noticed before, caught your eye, but it was his eyes that had your full attention. Dark, intense, almost too intense.

Your mouth ran dry, your body frozen in place as you tried—and failed—to look away.

What the hell was wrong with you?

You weren’t supposed to feel this way about him. You weren’t supposed to look at him like this. But you couldn’t help it. The way his body filled out the pants, the way they hung low on his hips, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath—it was all too much, too real, too intimate.

"I think you’re going to need stitches. Is that… okay?" you managed to ask, your voice rougher than you wanted it to be.

Aki’s lips curled into a faint, almost amused smile. You decided that you liked his smile, however uncanny it may have been. “You know how to give stitches?” he replied, his voice low and smooth, like he was savoring the sound of his own words. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the way your gaze lingered on him, which only made the situation worse. He leaned against your kitchen counter like he belonged there.

You nodded stiffly, swallowing hard. “Did some first aid training before I joined your division.”

Of course, you knew how to give stitches. You’d trained for it. But the idea of doing it now, with him standing in your kitchen, that was… different. You were suddenly acutely aware of the space between your bodies, the way the room seemed to shrink with each passing second.

You quickly turned toward the cupboard above the sink. Your fingers brushed against the cool metal handle, but your hand was shaking. Not much, but enough for you to notice. You pushed it open with more force than necessary and reached up to grab the first aid kit. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare acknowledge that he was watching you so intently.

The plastic of the kit felt cold in your hands as you set it down on the counter. You fumbled with the latch, your fingers trembling slightly as you worked it open. Why was your heart racing? Why did something as simple as getting a first aid kit feel like you were about to perform surgery in front of an audience? It was just stitches. You’d done it before, a few times, actually.

But this—this was different. It was him. It was the way your pulse seemed to flutter erratically in your chest, the way you couldn’t quite keep your breath steady.

You told yourself to focus, to just do it.

He needs your help.

With a deep breath, you pulled out the supplies, setting everything down carefully in front of him: the needle, the thread, antiseptic, gauze, and gloves. You avoided looking at Aki, focusing instead on organizing the items, your hands moving almost mechanically, trying to give yourself something to do that didn’t involve thinking about how close he was, about how his presence filled the entire room.

As you set everything out, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t move. He simply waited, as if this was a normal part of his evening routine.

It wasn’t normal. None of this was.

You tried to steady your breath, your heart hammering as you finally turned to face him. You kept your eyes on his injury, avoiding his eyes as best as you could. “I’m not gonna lie. This is gonna hurt,” you muttered, not entirely sure if it was the wound or your nerves that you were referring to.

Aki didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

You put on the gloves, the latex cool against your skin, and then grabbed the antiseptic. The bottle felt heavier than it should as you uncapped it, the strong scent of alcohol hitting your nose. The sting it would cause him would be nothing compared to the one in your chest.

Then, well, you got to work. The wound was much more gruesome up close, skin torn wide open. It made your stomach churn.

Focus.

You opened the small, sterile needle, letting the curved hook be exposed to the air. Then, reaching for the forceps, you grabbed the needle and thread.

You took a deep breath. Then, with a wince, you poked the needle into his skin and fed it through to the other side. Aki hissed as you did so. You wound the thread around the forceps and tied the first stitch off, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Aki’s eyes never left you. He was watching intently, his gaze unwavering, as you positioned the needle above the wound. You tried to keep your hands steady, your breath even. With another deep breath, you poked the needle through his skin, feeding it through to the other side. He hissed sharply at the sensation, his body flinching just a little, but he didn’t pull away.

You tugged the needle back through, your grip on the forceps firm as you tied off the first stitch. It felt like an eternity before you finally exhaled, the tension in your chest loosening a fraction. He wasn’t making a sound beyond the brief hiss, but you could feel the discomfort in the way his muscles tensed beneath your hands.

“Good?” you asked, unable to stop yourself from checking.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice rough, the slightest trace of pain still lingering in his words. But there was no protest. No hesitation. Just a quiet, steady patience that made the weight of the situation feel even more intense.

You moved to the second stitch, carefully guiding the needle through his skin again. His eyes were glued to the wound, watching each movement you made with a calm, almost curious intensity. Every now and then, you could feel his gaze shift to your face, but you didn’t let it break your concentration.

With a gentle pull, you finished the second stitch, tying it off swiftly. Aki didn’t wince this time, not until you tugged the thread through the wound, and even then, the flinch was subtle, like he was trying to keep his composure. You could see the effort it took, but he didn’t falter.

“Pretty good at that,” Aki said suddenly, his voice quiet, almost approving.

You glanced up for a moment, surprised by the comment. You didn’t want to acknowledge how his voice sounded a little too smooth for comfort, how his presence seemed to fill the small kitchen.

“Thanks,” you replied, tying off the stitch before moving on to the next. The needle slid easily through his skin now, and the third stitch was in place before you could fully process the sensation.

Time seemed to stretch. The next few stitches came easier, almost mechanical, as you focused on the task at hand. The rhythmic motion of your hands, the way the needle went in and out, was strangely soothing. And yet, with every stitch, there was a weight building in the air—between the both of you.

Your movements slowed when you reached the final stitch, the last piece of thread to pull through. Aki’s silence was deafening now, his eyes still on you. There was a tension in the room that you could feel deep in your chest, and for the first time since starting, you let yourself glance up at him fully.

His hair was down, falling in messy strands around his face. His shirt was still nowhere to be seen, and in the dim bathroom light, his chest rose and fell with steady breaths, the muscles beneath his skin taut. He wasn’t saying anything now. Just watching you.

Your hand faltered slightly as you pulled the last stitch through, your focus shattered by the weight of his gaze. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but you refused to let it show.

Just finish it, you told yourself, trying to ignore the way his presence seemed to fill the entire room.

With a swift, controlled movement, you tied off the final stitch. The wound was closed, the skin now held together neatly with the thread, and you exhaled in relief, not realizing how long you’d been holding your breath.

The silence stretched between you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to move just yet. Aki didn’t say anything at first, and then—

“Why didn’t you go to med school?”

The question came out of nowhere, cutting through the tension. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation.

“What?” you managed, your mind still spinning from the task at hand.

“Why Public Safety?” Aki repeated, his tone soft but curious. “You could’ve gone to med school, or something better. You’re obviously good at this.”

You stared at him, trying to make sense of what he was asking. He was still looking at you, his gaze intense, but now it was… different. Less patient and more searching. Like he was waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure he’d get.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound coming out breathier than you intended. You hadn’t realized just how absurd this entire moment was until the words left your mouth. A man who had just let you stitch him up, his shirtless form standing in front of you with barely a hint of discomfort, and now he was asking you why you chose this path? The path that, ultimately, led you here?

“I was never smart enough in the sciences,” you said, shaking your head lightly, your voice quieter now. “Couldn’t tell you what a molecular compound is to save my life.”

Truthfully, you had always wanted to be a doctor. When your parents passed away, you realized that the dream was totally unrealistic.

He smiled at you, expression softening, if only for a moment, “Bullshit. You’re too smart for this line of work.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you realized, almost belatedly, how strange all of this really was. The closeness, the tension, the rawness of the interaction.

“I thought I was a moron?” You asked.

“That’s only when you’re not listening to me,” He sighed. “I think your wits are the reason we butt heads so often.”

And then, just as you finished tying the final knot, you looked up at him. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch in your throat.

“You think I’m smart?” You grinned.

“Don’t push it.”

Aki was still staring at you, his hair falling in soft strands around his face, his eyes locked on yours. And for the first time since you started, you allowed yourself to fully acknowledge the way he made you feel—how your heart beat faster in his presence, how your pulse surged at the intensity of his gaze.

You reached for the gauze, wrapping his entire upper arm in it and then tying that off, too. You cleared your throat and quickly stepped back, suddenly self-conscious. You couldn’t look at him now. Not after all of that.

“I’ll pull the couch out for you,” You sighed, putting the needle back into its sleeve and tossing the kit in the trash. You closed up the first aid kit and set it back in its place, “You’re not walking back home in that condition.”

“I’m fine, really–” Aki grumbled.

You shushed him (and forgot, for a moment, that he was your superior). He didn’t seem too angry about it though. Then, you guided him over to the couch, letting him plop down and flicking the TV on. Some sitcom you didn’t know the name of was on, its grainy laugh track fading into the background as you peered down at him.

He looked so pretty, you thought.

You finished cleaning the bathroom, your hands scrubbing away the remnants of blood and grime, the lingering scent of antiseptic filling the air. The tiles beneath your feet were cool, the harsh fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow across the room. You scrubbed the sink one more time, eyes flicking back to the door every few seconds, but Aki hadn’t moved from the couch. His presence lingered even though he was silent, a weight pressing down on your chest, not entirely unpleasant but still… unsettling.

Once the bathroom was spotless, you stood up, wiping your hands on the edge of your shirt, feeling a quiet satisfaction in the cleanliness. You took a deep breath, a sense of relief sweeping through you. It was strange how mundane things could feel so grounding, as if the normality of it all could erase the madness that had just occurred.

Stepping out into the living room, you glanced at Aki. He was sitting on the couch, slouched back with his eyes fixed on the television. The soft glow of the screen highlighted the faint bruise on his cheekbone, the bandaged arm resting across his lap. Despite the injury, he looked… surprisingly relaxed. You hesitated before walking toward him, the sound of laughter from the sitcom drifting through the air, but neither of you were really watching.

“Hey,” you said, voice a little softer than usual. “How’s the wound?”

He glanced at you briefly, his expression neutral but his eyes betraying the slightest glimmer of awareness. “It’s fine,” he muttered, the words half-hearted, as if he knew you weren’t really asking about his arm.

You moved closer, kneeling down next to him to inspect the gauze. Gently, you pressed your fingertips against the bandage, checking for any sign of discomfort. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and the closeness made your pulse quicken. You had to force yourself to focus, trying to push away the thoughts that lingered from earlier, the heat, the tension, the moment you had shared.

Aki didn’t move as you adjusted the gauze, his gaze still trained on the TV, though his lips twitched slightly, as if he were aware of the change in the air. You finished securing the bandage, your fingers lingering on the fabric just a second longer than necessary, but neither of you spoke. It was one of those moments, quiet and charged, where nothing needed to be said.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you straightened up and moved toward the kitchen, the hum of the sitcom filling the space between you. You grabbed a glass of water, the cold clarity of it a sharp contrast to the chaotic thoughts swirling in your mind. You walked back over to him, the weight of the moment hanging between you, and offered him the glass.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice gruff but sincere. The way he said it, with that quiet edge, made something tighten in your chest. It felt like more than just gratitude for the water, more than just thanks for the stitches. There was something else buried in his words, something unspoken, and it unsettled you.

You nodded, your fingers brushing his as he took the glass. The brief contact sent a jolt through you, and for a second, you found yourself frozen, watching him sip from the glass as though nothing had changed. But everything had changed. You were acutely aware of the way your body reacted to him, the way your breath felt shallow, how your chest tightened at every little movement. You sat down next to him, against your better judgement.

Aki set the empty glass down on the table beside him, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment. It was as if everything was finally coming to a head, the silence pressing against the both of you, thick with unspoken words. Neither of you said anything, but the weight of it hung in the air like a storm about to break.

You wanted to ask him what he was thinking, what he really wanted, but the words never came. Instead, you found yourself just standing there, looking at him, unsure of what to do next. Aki didn’t break the silence, his gaze now focused somewhere just past your shoulder, his body language still casual, as though he were completely unaffected by the tension that was slowly building between you two.

“We shouldn’t…” You finally broke the silence, your voice quieter than you expected “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” He sighed, weakly. “I didn’t know where else to go. I was closer to your apartment than the hospital,” A beat longer, and he was moving to get up. “I can leave.”

“No–” You reached out, stopping him with a gentle hand. “It’s just… we can’t…” You looked at him, “We probably shouldn’t be alone together.”

Aki’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper, as he leaned in just a little closer. “Why not?”

The words felt heavy in the air, hanging between you like an unspoken challenge. You hesitated, your chest tightening, trying to gather your thoughts as his presence seemed to fill up all the space around you. “Because last time we were alone…” The words trailed off, your gaze flickering to his lips, and you found yourself utterly incapable of stopping the pull between you. The distance between your faces had closed, and every inch of him was so damn close. "We shouldn't be doing this. Not again."

Aki’s voice was a low murmur, barely a sound as he responded, “Probably not.” There was something in his tone, something in the way he looked at you. The way his lips curled up slightly in that faint, almost smug smile. It was clear he wasn’t pulling back. No, there was something magnetic between you both, something unspoken, something undeniable. He can’t stay away, either, you thought. He wasn’t even trying to. Neither of you were.

And then, in a shared, unspoken agreement, you both leaned in. The kiss started slow, tentative, as if you both knew it was the kind of thing that would explode the moment it started. His lips were warm, soft, but there was something raw about the way he kissed you, something that made your breath hitch in your throat. His hands—how had they gotten there?—were suddenly on your skin, fingertips burning as they grazed your sides. The kiss deepened, a kind of desperation creeping in on both sides, as though neither of you could get close enough, couldn’t have enough.

In a fleeting second, you pulled away just enough to catch your breath, your lips brushing against his, your chest rising and falling rapidly. We should talk about this, the thought crossed your mind, but it felt like a distant, useless thing to focus on now. What was the point of talking when the air between you was charged with something so much more powerful?

You broke away from him for just a second, but even as you spoke, you could feel your body leaning back in to his. “One thing will lead to another, and…” You gasped softly as his lips returned to yours, cutting off your words, but you couldn’t care less. Every kiss, every touch made it harder to think straight. Your body was already reacting, responding, melting into him.

“And your arm—you shouldn’t—” you tried to protest between kisses, but the words didn’t even make it out of your mouth properly. Every word was followed by another kiss, deeper, longer, and you found it harder to remember what you’d said just seconds before. Your hand slid to his chest, trying to push him back, but your fingers were trembling, betraying your resolve.

His voice, husky and full of need, broke through your thoughts. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” His words hit you like a punch to the gut. Aki wasn’t playing games. There was no mask now, just him—desiring, wanting, needing.

Before you had the chance to respond, his hands were on you, pulling you closer, pushing you down onto the couch. The world seemed to blur, the only thing in focus was him—his lips, his hands, the warmth of his skin against yours. You melted beneath him, your body surrendering, your mind racing. He hadn’t even needed to ask.

You had wanted this just as badly.

This is dangerous… this is bad for me.

For both of us.

You broke the kiss, your voice barely a whisper against his lips, a breathless plea. “I don’t want you opening your stitches.” You knew it wasn’t practical—hell, it was a terrible idea, but the words left you anyway, as though you could push him back.

But Aki wasn’t listening. Instead, his lips trailed down your neck, a soft, almost reverent touch as he kissed along the sensitive skin. His hands were steady, unwavering as the kisses moved lower, gripping your hips with a force that made you gasp. There was a quiet urgency to him, like he knew he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. His kisses felt like an unspoken promise, like this moment was all that mattered.

Then, he moved lower, kissing the soft, bare skin around your belly button, your navel, your thighs…

We should talk about this.

You couldn’t stop him. You didn’t want to stop him. Not as his kisses tore you apart at the seams, and certainly not when he pulled the loose fabric of your pajama shorts to the side, pressed a kiss to the top of your panties like he’d been longing for it.

You would make the same mistake twice if it meant you got to experience whatever this was one last time.

“Oh, God,” You sighed with bliss when he finally, finally kissed a little lower, right where you needed him.

Later, you thought. We’ll talk about it another time.

a/n: im gonna start calling myself the queen of blue balling honestly im sorry yall. LMFOAOAOAO BUT I PROMISE I HELD OFF FOR PLOT REASONSSSSS!!! we will start to see more of the p in pwp from here on out (but more spice too). im taking down kink requests, as this story will be taking a kinky approach!!! let me know what yall all thought, and i hope u have a lovelyyyy week!!! x

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

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

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