#thatme | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

riaki · 6 months

Text

> under warm kitchen lights and puffy silk sheets dad!aki hayakawa x reader hcs/drabbles

man... i finally finished this. oh my word wc: 3.2k :cry: cw: fem!reader (use of mother terms but no explicit description), brief mention of hospitals, kids omg so scary boy n girl not proofread!!

i always find myself writing waaayyyyyy too much for these 'short' drabbles/hcs/whatever they are. i think this one got even worse than the yoshida one. anyways its ok cus i live laugh love aki

also thank u @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for feeding me ideas with canon hayakawa family interactions :3

it's hard for him, to say the least.

while parenting is a new experience for the both of you, it's more than appropriate to say aki's the least bit familiar. putting up with denji and power (begrudgingly, he'll tell you-- although you never believe it) certainly has him battle-ready and prepared, albeit with a slight darkening of the circles under his velvety blue eyes and a minute downward tug on his chapped lips that need yours on them for rejuvenation when he thinks about the tiring journey lying ahead on a path of family that's only been slightly worn. but then you smile, squeezing his calloused hands that are bigger than yours and intertwining your fingers gently, and he forgets there's supposed to be blood between them as he presses a light kiss to your forehead and tells you in that smooth velvety voice that he's ready for whatever pandemonium your rascals will cause as long as you're there with him.

truth be told, there's nothing in this damned world that aki wants-- yearns for than a life of normality with you. he doesn't have a lust for a revenge that festers and infects, anymore; the only thing on his mind when his work gives the luxury of a time of rest is how wonderful it'd be to start a lively little family of your own as you smile at him or card your hands through his damp hair when you share a lukewarm bath surrounded by cold austere tiles in the darkest hours of the morning, having found him covered in a thin veneer of chilling sweat only moments ago, knuckles pale white as he clung to the duvet. more often than not you find a knot between his dark brows; a heavy weight on his shoulders that's perceivable but frustratingly intangible-- like an ugly patch of weeds in an old, worn garden that's not worth saving, but still has enough life within it to be marred by rot and degradation of soil. but when you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him flush to your chest, so close to your heart-- the place where he thinks he deserves to be furthest from-- when your lithe fingers work so gently it's almost painful to soothe the crease on his nose bridge and the tension between his bare shoulders, he's so bold as to dare to just hope for a life further than nights of hollow intimacy that, in vain, attempt to sew and patch up the gaping valley between the wants of his heart and of his mind. further than exhausted mornings littered with extinguished cigarette butts and framed with curling smoke, pale sunrises and slow, languid movement that reflect the growing shadows beneath his tired eyes; further than the bitter scent of the black coffee he always makes for himself because the pathetic attempt at at romantic in him insists that your sweet lips are the sugar and cream to his life enough. but in truth he can-- and thought he'd always be able to taste that overwhelming tang of something equitable to sourness on his tongue when he downs the bland caffeine, like the feeling that crashes and overwhelms him when he realizes that what you have right now? is just an illusion for his poorly-kept facade of something he wishes could be more. something with a shared bed and an extra room painted bright pastel, a bunk bed tucked into the corner and kids' toys scattered all over the place.

(and as much as you tell him otherwise, some small part of him that he's tucked into the darkest recesses of his mind will always, always believe that you deserve someone immensely better than him-- better than a cynical devil hunter with nothing to offer but years of bottled tears, unspoken words that die on his parched tongue, and withered feeling in his heavy limbs that come with the sensation of dragging himself through the pool of molasses that is the routine of life-threatening missions he throws himself into by a hollow ambition. but he's never, and if he's being honest, he doesn't want to have the heart to end things with you. and imagining you, holding hands with someone else, laughing that bubbly bright melody and smiling that cheery grin in any direction but his, makes his heart hurt uncomfortably and his cold blood boil.)

and so, when the fever dream that's your wedding day comes around, he wishes he had met you early enough to be addicted to the taste of your lips instead of the rough, paper end of a cigarette and the numbing thrill that settles in his diluted veins at the hit of nicotine clogging his lungs, before it's disillusioned and the despondent cycle repeats. you don't know the half of what he'd give for that. either way, he believes it a miracle that he even got the chance to see the starstruck look in your gorgeous eyes when he slid that silver band onto your ring finger; that he lived to see the day where the familiar touch of your tender hands coupled with the refreshing bite of cold metal on his skin, treating him like some elegant thing in your garden; a lily of the valley when in reality he's just some weed that should've been rid of. a flower who's bell shaped bunches of milky petals hang from the stalk like a condemned man on a court platform, yet still so bright and graceful you could forget the plant was poisonous. when aki had laid eyes on that pretty ring, tucked into a black box of deep velvet on a shaded patch of street one sunny afternoon, he immediately thought of how nicely the elegantly-cut gem would match your dazzling irises; he takes extensive care to make sure the luster suits as an addition to your appearance instead of a distractor-- after all, when he looks at his then future spouse, he wants to be drawn to your eyes, then the ring tying you two together like a red string on your pinky fingers. that, and the way your gaze will soften as it lands on him, in the way that could only happen when the purest angel from heaven chooses to spot the bastard straight from hell out of the crowd who dared to nose his way into your ethereal presence. it's truly befitting, he thinks; your touch is featherlight even when all he does is weigh you down like a ball and chain locked to your ankle, bound by softly-spoken vows and a promise amongst the white of veils and pretty cream flowers. and aki is a selfish man, so he's only glad he decided to weave your fates together, even if it meant the good and bad mingled to paint a splash of gray on love's canvas.

that's the story of your love on weighted scales that runs through his buzzing mind the night your sweet little kids ask their mama to recount the tale of your plunge into devotion together to them, far different than the telling words which seem to sweeten tenfold as they fall from your lips onto eager ears that soon turn deaf, sleeping soundly in your arms. for all the aloof, coldness and silence he's ever turned out into the harsh world your family lives and breathes in, aki's surprisingly loving as a father-- he can't help the gentle soft spot he has for your children when he remembers the big, teethy grins with little cinnamon pastry crumbs scattered around their curved lips and round cherry cheeks are a result of your combined efforts; the streak of tenderness you unearthed in him finds itself being yanked wide open by two pairs of small, grubby hands that are tiny enough to wrap around the length of his thumb, like a little pair of gloves that sponge the inpurity from his hands and make his eyes soften, crinkle around the edges in the way that you love. it's certainly not an unfamiliar feeling; the one invoked deep within his hardened chest buds and unfurls within his organs when your kids take their first breath of fresh air-- well, as fresh as clinical hospital air and stark white lights can get-- is the same one that hit him like a truck when his gaze inevitably finds its way back to you every moment you're near him. cupid's arrow has long burrowed into the cavity of his chest, and if he's honest, he doesn't mind at all. if you had the energy to, you would've snuck a quick picture, if not mental, and made a little sweet teasing fun of him for being so dumb-- no, starstruck; a fool absolutely enamored with two little reflections of you and him. the product of literal years in blood, sweat and tears; maybe some coffee, and definitely some love.

and while aki may involuntarily be an intrinsic liar to his very core by nature (you still love him either way, even when he tells you he tried to stop your baby boy from crawling onto the kitchen counter over the sink and clambering onto two shaky toddler legs to paw at the jar of peanut butter in your cabinet), you're not. so you'll enjoy the strawberry blush that seeps its way across the soft skin of his cheeks that you've mapped with fluttering kisses and trembling hands when you tell him just how much of a great father you think he is to your kids, on the nights when he gets home with sufficient energy to whip something up for the haven of cozy warmth he calls 'home'. you'll prep a warm stew together that makes your daughter's mouth water and eyes go round as saucers as she clings to aki koala-bear style, legs wrapped around his neck and fingers curling into his raven hair as she watches him stir the broth with one hand (the other resting firmly, yet gently on her ankle) to melt the icicles clinging to the awnings of your windows for frigid winters. or, maybe some cold soba for those humid summer nights to enjoy amongst the symphony of cicada buzzes and city sounds, watching lights flash by as you laugh and reach out to wipe the soup off of your son's cheeks when the noodle he was indulging on goes up a little too fast, missing the way your husband's eyes fall on you ever so affectionately. you'll enjoy a sweet, tender kiss in the golden hazy glow of your warm kitchen bubble, full of lively mirth as you carve out silly little smiley faces and stars out of potatoes and bits of cucumber and carrot. on the rare occasion you decide it's a good idea to let your kids contribute a little, the immediate and guilty regret you feel when you watch your daughter slip up and knick her little finger gets washed away by a familiar, blooming feeling of adoration, almost sickeningly sweet in its intensity as you pause to watch aki kiss away the beads of ruby red blood welling on the cut, rubbing her 'boo-boo' so tenderly it makes your heart hurt as you gently plaster a cute sunflower bandaid over the cut while your baby girl stares at your husband with such wonder you think he might be a knight-in-shining-armor in her wide round eyes. and it makes his bleeding heart skip a beat when you tell him you see him the same way, too. there's always guaranteed to be a fresh plate of intricate bunny-shaped apple slices as dessert after dinner, and on slow nights spent in the company of family, there'll be a quick and intense battle of rock paper scissor or sticks between the love of your life and your beloved children on who'll be the lucky winner to put their head in your lap tonight.

(although, aki rarely lets himself win, because he knows he'll be able to later that night if not in that fond moment, sure to become a treasured memory.)

aki sees himself as a good father; he's strict when he needs to be, and he always tries to make time for his kids. he's even stopped smoking in front of them; in the house, as a whole. he had to pepper you with a few sweet, slow and intentional kisses and light-hearted apologetic words when you demanded to know why your requests for him to stop slowly killing himself with each drag fell to deaf ears, but suddenly you got a little more intimate and out popped a few kids-- and he'd stopped. of course, those were enough to pacify you; he made your resolve weak, like the sweet wobbly jello you indulged your daughter to as you watched your husband work out a crossword puzzle with your son. sometimes, you have to remind him sternly not to curse in front of his kids. but when he reminds you of the vehement stream of swears that always left you when you had to change less-than-pleasant diapers in your earlier parenting years, he’ll chuckle at the flush on your face, because you seem to elicit a lot of those from him. he’ll smile, because he’s finally found something worth the effort. and he'll run a hand through your hair and press a kiss to your forehead because you've made him capable of caring (and he knows how to distract you). sometimes, though, he thinks he's a little too soft on their pleading looks and puppy eyes on the nights when lightning streaks across the sky in frightening arcs, claps of thunder rumbling across the dark clouds when the streets of tokyo are enveloped in curtains of rain showers, when one (or both) of your beloved kids peeks their head from the doorway, a little 'can i sleep with you guys?' escaping as a timid peep. he watches in a sleepy sort of amusement as you nod, one hand lazily curling around your waist to keep you close to his side as he rests his chin on your shoulder. and it's your turn to stifle your amusement when a small, quiet mumble of protest leaves his mouth as your kid sidles into the covers between the two of you, effectively splitting you from your husband. if he was impatient, you know he'd have half the mind to pick them up and plop them at the edge of the bed to have you all to himself, but on most nights he'll just observe in quiet affection when you scoop up your son or daughter in your arms, cradling them to your chest and playing with that head of soft hair, humming gently in a way that makes his heart melt at the edges

sometimes, when 'uncle' denji and 'auntie' power are over, they'll poke fun at him in their usual, disrespectful and chaotic manner, because it doesn't take a pair of keen eyes to see the way he looks at you like you've hung the very constellations in the sky; like the stellar designs in the firmament were all carefully crafted by your hand. he's no overdone zodiac freak, but he dares to say the stars aligned the night he was finally able to call you his and only his. denji and power get along incredibly well with his kids; it almost makes him jealous. like you, his resolve is incredibly easy to weaken with the right expression and the right words; your kids must've picked up a few tricks from your book, because they know exactly how to play him into the palm of their tiny little hands. denji and power spoil them to no end; the wonder duo indulge the kids through games of tag and roughhousing, treating them to a wide array of candy and sweets that guarantee a doctor's visit the following week. he swears the pinch between his eyes you worked so hard to eliminate returns little by little when he watches them run around the place he used to call his safe haven, leaving a trail of absolute destruction and havoc in the form of torn magazines, splintered puzzle pieces, apple sauce sludge, tiny lego blocks (that leave a lifetime of pain), and pairs of his socks. it only gets worse when they learn how to negotiate; he makes a mental note to blame denji and power, because there's no way in hell your children figured out how to bargain from you or him. whines of "aww, but uncle denji lets me take the toys outside, dad!" and "buy me that neko charm, or else i'll tell mom you knocked over her plant pot yesterday!" (which, for the record, isn't true. that was 'auntie' power.) that being said, it's a given family outings are narrowly avoided disasters; as the kids grow, aki swears he'll have to start keeping them on a leash, or they might end up accidentally shoplifting your local 7/11's supply of sour gummy cubes, or have fed daffodil seeds to each stray cat on your condo's street under one blink of a weary eye. at the end of the day, he always caves with an exasperated sigh and an irritated 'fine. but don't tell your mom, okay?'. after all, he's always been a sucker for you; who's to say he's not the same with your kids?

unserious hcs... :3

def the type of dad to mutter 'no she didn't' or 'they probably deserved it' under his breath when ur daughter's school principal calls u both in to tell u she stuck her chewed melon gum in three different girls' hair that day

unreasonably competitive w his children. god knows why

yells at ur kids a lot and starts pouting like the grown ass man he is when u scold him for it ("sorry, love. i got used to it. power and denji were a hell of a handful.")

tucks them both in n denies it with everything in him when u ask if he likes making them beg for goodnight smooches

tells them to fuck off (in childrenspeak) when its ur marriage anni / date night

when they were rlly young, u guys used to all do family showers and or baths together but then water would get everywhere and the rubber duck would be fought over n bathbombs would overflow and the kids would get mad at each other so u dont do that anymore...

an absolute goof and doesnt know what the hell hes doing at first... one time ur son was choking on a cherry pit and he didnt know what to do so he just. shook him. by some miracle it worked (if it was denji or power he wouldve js smacked their back unnecessarily aggressively)

unrolls his cigarettes and makes origami shapes out of them; once ur daughter got her ears pierced he made a pair of crane earrings for her from the paper (clean ofc. i hope)

thoroughly enjoys forcing himself into mother daughter nights and he grumbles but secretly loves when ur daughter practices makeup on him or braids his hair

hopes and prays like an idiot that his kids see him as a cool epic devil hunter awesome sauce dad and not a silly pathetic failwife househusband (that's only for u to think)

stitches up any clothing, pillow cases or stuffed animals that r falling apart, also makes sure that no color bleeds when washing clothes and that nothing shrinks cus he does all the laundry for evryone

helps u make a family photo scrapbook and tape polaroids to ur fridge. lets the kids cut out patterns and shapes (his fav r the nutrition facts for some weird reason) from their juiceboxes and kids' magazines to put in the scrapbook

whenvr ur napping he always tells them to shut up. or he just forces them to nap too so he can be lazy and crawl into bed w u

a very good dad !!