#lifestyle newspaper meaning

[meownotgood]

under the influence / hayakawa aki

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

CHAPTER ONE — STRAWBERRY DAIQUIRI

pairing: hayakawa aki x fem!reader

word count: 34.0k

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

masterlist.

read on ao3

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

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

And yet you've never been so fucking bored. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. 

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

You have to find him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. "Thanks." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you mind if I smoke?" 

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

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

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

"You smoke Wild Raven Lights?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You? Desperate for Kishibe? 

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

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

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

"A drunkard." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aki squints his eyes. "Are you serious?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Here. Gimme." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You complete his sentence: "Stressed?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. "I can arrange that." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't have time." 

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm listening." 

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

"Special people?"

"Yeah. Like devil hunters." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hayakawa." 

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

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

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

Get it together, get it together… 

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

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

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

"You nervous?" 

"I'm not." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it?" 

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

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

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

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

"What do you think?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you wouldn't forget him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I like your earrings." 

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

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

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

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

"Mhmm." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A little." 

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

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

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

"It's… It's just…" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No. Higher." 

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

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

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

"Figure it out?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, "Your ponytail is cute, too." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I play with your hair?" 

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

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

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

God, he's pretty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah? What else do they ask for?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aki offers you a shallow, nervous nod in response. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I touch your arms?" 

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

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

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

"You're so strong."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aki sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's fine." 

"Do you like killing devils, Hayakawa?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, wait." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You weren't fine two seconds ago." 

"I'm fine now." 

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

"I'm sorry. It hurts, doesn't it?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I-" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You deserve love, you know that?" 

Love. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Better?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatcha thinking about?" 

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

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

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

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

"I… I don't know." 

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

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

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

Aki pauses. "What do you mean?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," Aki blurts out, "Don't." 

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

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

"You're-" 

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

"No, what is it?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"Am I?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until now. 

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

"You look so nervous, pretty boy." 

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

"I thought I told you to relax." 

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

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

"Then let me help you." 

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

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

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

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

"Really?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I… I am?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you nervous?" 

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

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

"Should I move?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah." 

"Even if… even if we-" 

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

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

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

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

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

"I want you to kiss me." 

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

"Where?" 

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

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

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

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

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

Aki nods. "Please." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"People are gonna stare at you." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"F-Fuck, stop for a second." 

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

"Are you okay?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You sure?" 

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

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

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

You smirk. "Anything?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aaaaaaaki." 

"Shut up…" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aki, touch me." 

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

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

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

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

"What's wrong?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, what's the sense in stopping now? 

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

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

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

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

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

"You look pretty." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aki…" 

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

"Do you wanna fuck me?" 

"Huh?" 

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

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

"Sorry, too forward?" 

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

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

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

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

Trailing off. Your eyes widen. "Really?" 

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

"You're scared? Too shy?" 

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

"What are you trying to say, then?" 

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

"Nevermind." 

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

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

Still looking away, "I can't." 

"I'm pretty sure you can." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's no reason for him to be so anxious. So troubled, so shy. It's just sex. Right? 

At that moment, without him ever saying a word, everything starts to click in your brain. His hesitance, his inexperience. What you probably should have realized from the very start. 

Yes, he does have a reason to be so scared and so clumsy with everything. There is a reason why a man as stern as him would suddenly start to act this damn unsure of himself. You've finally figured it out. 

Oh. He's a virgin. 

[doomsayersunited]

A Decade Of Doom!

I started this blog ten years ago to compile the growing evidence that our planet would not longer be able to sustain human life by 2050, thanks to our continued, capitalist-fueled efforts to destroy all the systems we rely upon to sustain life. The first thing I put up here was this essay, on February 20, 2014. Now, a decade later, I thought it might be "fun" to look at what's changed: 1) Earth Overshoot Day

In 2014, "Earth Overshoot Day" (the day that humanity collectively consumes more resources from nature than it can regenerate over a year) was August 19th. Now, in 2024, Earth Overshoot Day is August 1st, 2.5 weeks earlier. At this rate and assuming things don't accelerate (even though they are likely to), Earth Overshoot Day will be around June 17th by 2050. 2) Biocapacity Biocapacity is the amount of resources contained on the planet required available to sustain life, measured by area. In 2014, I calculated that the planet had a biocapacity of 1.7 hectares per person. By dividing the total available biocapacity today in 2024 with the current global population as I did then, it now appears that there are just 1.5 hectares of planetary resources left per person to extract all the materials needed to sustain life, as well as all the area available to dispose of waste. That's a 12% loss over ten years. At that rate, we can expect to lose another 30% of biocapacity by 2050, going down to just 1.05 hectares per person by then, and that's assuming that the rate of biocapacity loss does not accelerate further and that the global population suddenly stops increasing after a run of non-stop increases spanning five centuries. Oh, also a reminder that the average human requires 2.7 hectares of land to sustain its current consumption habits/levels. So. 3) Individual Conservation To illustrate the futility of individual conservation at this point in the apocalypse, let me give you an example: If you were: a fully-vegan localvore living in a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and using 100% renewably-generated electricity; who did not ever use motorized transportation of any kind or buy new clothing, furnishings, electronics, books, magazines, or newspapers and recycled all the waste you generated that was recyclable, you'd only require 1.4 hectares of biocapacity to sustain yourself. That is close to the kind of lifestyle extremism it would take to live sustainably. Deviate from that level of stoicism even slightly (say by living in a two-bedroom apartment with three other people instead of a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and taking a single, four-hour roundtrip flight, once a year) and you're now consuming 1.6 hectares of biocapacity, which means you're using more resources than the world has available for you if everything was divided evenly among everybody. Of course, biocapacity, like all resources, are not divvied up evenly among everybody, which is why there are currently 114 different armed conflicts happening worldwide - the highest number of armed conflicts since 1946. 2023 was the most violent year in the last three decades. 4) Other Signs Of The End Times In my 2014 essay, I referenced the work of geologist Dr. Evan Fraser, who studies civilization collapse. In his book Empires of Food, Dr. Fraser noted common signs of a civilization about to collapse, which began to appear about two decades before it all goes completely to hell. Those signs were: -a rapidly-increasing and rapidly-urbanizing population We've added 700 million people to the planet since I began this blog in 2014. And where is everyone moving to?

-farmers increasingly specializing in just a small number of crops " "As farm ecosystems have been simplified, so too are the organisms that populate the farm.  A farm that specializes in a limited number of crops in short rotations does not, for example, look for plant varieties that do well in more complex rotations with intercropping.  A beef feedlot operation wants breeds that gain weight quickly on grain diets and does not want cattle breeds that digest well pasture grasses and thrive in all year outdoor environments on the range." The result? Recent estimates put the loss of global food diversity over the last 100 years at 75%. Over the 300,000 species of edible plants that exist, humans only consume about 200 of them in notable quantities, with 90% of crop plants not being grown commercially. -endemic soil erosion Climate change and the need to raise more crops have combined to increase the rate of agricultural soil erosion globally. Back in 2014, when I started blogging about the end of everything, the UN had already determined that there was only enough fertile soil left to plant 60 more annual crops. So, by 2074, we won't be able to grow food, full stop. This of course comes at a time when the global population continues to increase, and with it the need to grow more food. If projections are accurate, we will need to increase food production by 50% over the next three decades to feed everyone. -a dramatic increase in the cost of food and raw materials When I started this blog in 2014, I noted that 2011-2013 had seen the highest food prices on record. So what's happened since then?

It's important to point out here that the current food price spike started in 2020, so if Dr. Fraser's calculations are correct, the food system will collapse sometime around 2034, taking civilization with it. I closed my debut essay on this blog with a quote from the (now deceased) climate scientist Dr. James Lovelock, who advised a Guardian journalist to "enjoy life while you can. Because if you're lucky it's going to be 20 years before it hits the fan." That interview was published in 2008. We have four years left to enjoy.

[icarustypicalfall]

Gloria

masterlist • ao3 • follow for more!

my Spanish knowledge is limited y'all just pretend this is correct, sorry for native folks i have absolutely no clue what im doing, plus i am not updating much because

★

It has been a few months since you tied the knot with Alejandro. He is an absolute gem, and his charm and dashing smile never cease to captivate you. Life with him is an absolute delight, as he pampers you from head to toe.

However, there is one minor hiccup - communicating with him can sometimes be a challenge, given that you don't speak Spanish and he tends to babble away in his native language most of the time. He playfully teases you about your lack of understanding, finding joy in seeing your puzzled expression as you try to follow his words.

But let me assure you, he never means any harm. It's simply his way of making you cling to him, eagerly seeking his translation when surrounded by native Spanish speakers. He takes pride in being the bridge that connects you to his culture and lifestyle, which you have gradually grown accustomed to.

"Hey Hermosa, have you seen mi abrigo?" he asks.

"...Your abricot?" you respond, causing him to burst into laughter, shaking his head as he quickly translates and pats your back.

"No, amor. I was looking for my coat," he says, still chuckling.

You long to understand him - his soft whispers, the lullabies he sings to you, the music he plays on late nights, and even the sweet nicknames he calls you. You yearn to grasp every aspect of his language. However, learning a new language with your busy schedule seemed impossible, until you mustered the courage to ask Alejandro for help.

One day, he was sitting in the garden, engrossed in a newspaper and gently rocking on the swing. His eyes lit up as he caught sight of you, beckoning you to join him. As you sat beside him, his warm, calloused hand found its way around your shoulders, tracing circles on your skin.

After a few moments, he spoke in his deep, gruff voice. "Is something on your mind, mi vida?"

You smiled and nodded, brushing his hair back and admiring his features. "Yes. I've been thinking about something for a while now..."

He hummed, encouraging you to continue as he held your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and planting a tender kiss on it.

"Ale, can you teach me Spanish, please?" you finally asked.

Raising an eyebrow, he smiled softly. "Hmm, may I know why, amor?"

You explained your frustrations over the language barrier and your eagerness to communicate with him in his mother tongue. Alejandro chuckled softly, touched by your words. "It would be my pleasure to be your teacher, nena," he replied, his gaze filled with devotion. "We'll start with the basics and then make it more challenging."

You nodded, and he beamed with pride.

"Let's start right now," he suggested. "You know, you missed saying 'I love you' in Spanish on our wedding day. Say it to me... in español."

You pondered for a moment, realizing that he always says it to you. It must be something simple to say and remember. "Te... te quiero," you replied nervously.

A smirk danced on his lips at your hesitant response. "Te quiero," he repeated, his voice a deep growl.

"But that's not what you should say. You should say 'te amo'," he corrected you, drawing back slightly to meet your eyes. He raised a hand to cup the side of your face. "Te quiero translates to 'I like you.' Te amo is 'I love you,' mi vida."

You persisted, insisting that there was no difference.

"Still, no difference," you huffed, feeling a bit frustrated.

"Si, there is a big difference between the two, mi amor, you say 'te quiero' to trlatives and friends. Bit you say to me, and only me mind you, ''te amo',"

he chuckled, the smirk on his lips widening at your flushed expression. "I'll let it slide for now."

[silentmoths]

At your beck and call

Its moth, crawling out of the covid cave to drop this and then going back to bed.

wont lie this idea has been on my mind for the better part of a week, but between work and then being smashed by the ol' rona I havent had the energy, plain and simple. but I'm starting to get that back.

sorry if it seems a little rushed, brain wanted it OUT.

Butler! Zhongli x CEO (Afab) Reader.

Nsfw, does this count as office AU? i think it does?, humiliation kink if you squint?, aftercare because even when he's mean zhongli is an aftercare king.

You had never entertained the thought of hiring a live-in personal butler until one of your friends had mentioned it. She’d gone on and on about how her much time having one had saved, and how it gave her the peace of mind to relax every once in a while, a luxury you can't remember the last time you afforded as the ceo of a major company, sure you had secretaries, but they only worked within the firm, and your life?

God you needed a secretary for life.

Even then. It took you a few more months to finally cave and look into it. The agency you find has raving reviews; there’s an interview process, which takes another few weeks for you to finally sit down and do. They ask you many questions about your lifestyle, and what you need out of their service, and then it’s left in their hands.

And so, a week later, you receive a knock at your door.

Tall, sharp features, immaculately dressed.

But his eyes.

Holy shit his eyes.

Molten gold, almost shimmering in the morning light as your new butler bows to you.  One gloved hand over his heart.

“Good morning Miss. My name is Zhongli.The agency has analysed your lifestyle and have thus extended your contract to me.” He explains.

Well damn, in the looks department alone you’d be leaving them a five-star review.

—

Your first proper morning with Zhongli working for you was…hectic.

Your morning alarm didn’t go off, thankfully your body-clock was pretty on point, but still, you’d slept in ten whole minutes, throwing off your schedule.

You barely even noticed that your clothes had already been laid out in the bathroom as you whirlwind through your bedroom to get ready, simply picking up the neatly folded pile as you went.

You resign yourself to a breakfast smoothie as you flurry into the kitchen, you simply didnt have any time to cook, and you’d have to clean the blender when you got home-

“Ah, good morning Miss. I trust you slept well?” Zhongli asks as he places down a plate of bacon and eggs at your usual spot in the breakfast nook. You stop, blinking at him with wide eyes.

“W-whats that?” you ask him, brain still not quite with it yet.

“Breakfast?” He counters with a tilt of his head. “Simply one of my duties.”

Right…

Right you had a secretary for your life now…

And fuck, he could cook.

You don't remember the last time you’d sat down, in your own house, eating a hot, home cooked meal for breakfast…usually it was toast, or if you didn’t have time to sit, the aforementioned smoothie that you really hated, but it was better than nothing, because when else would you have time to eat during the day?

But no, breakfast had been made for you, served with coffee and even the morning newspaper. Zhongli looks…immaculate as always, smile on his face as he cleans up and announces he will be awaiting you in the car.

That first day…no, the first week was such a learning curve… between him driving you everywhere, keeping you blessedly on time for your meetings, he also seemed to know exactly what you needed, sometimes before even you knew.

He sometimes appears with a small plate of cookies, and a mug of hot coffee, made just the way you like it,  just as your mood was beginning to wane, and immediately you feel better. 

As the weeks stretch on and deadlines draw closer, you find that he’s also an amazing sounding board, and your nights become a little less weary with someone else there to fill the silence, even as he silently goes about tidying your home, he’s never too far away.

—

Something around the latter half of the year just really made all your client’s extra demanding. 

Your staff were overworked.

You were overworked.

You find yourself staying up later and later into the night, going over plans and documents, trying to sort all of this…this mess into something cohesive for both yourself and your poor staff.

You rub at your temples with a ragged sigh. What time was it now? You don't think you want to know… 

A soft clink beside you draws your attention to a fresh cup of tea and you startle.

“Oh, Zhongli…I-I thought you’d be asleep by now..” you murmur softly, leaning back in your chair. Your butler simply smiles at you, even now at god-knows-what time passed midnight, he was still dressed in his usual work suit. “You should be too, Miss.” he tells you softly, but not condescendingly, like a worried friend.

“I cant yet.” you sigh, motioning to the armageddon of papers strewn across your desk “I need to get this sorted before the next review meeting but…augh I dunno…I just…I cant concentrate.”

“That would be because you are stressed, and tired.” Zhongli points out, chuckling softly at your side eye before he shifts, walking around your desk to come to a stop behind your chair. “Here… perhaps this will help…” he murmurs more to himself than to you, and suddenly his hands are on your shoulders, lithe, careful fingers pressing into your trapezius muscles. You grunt and wince a little, having been totally unaware of how tense your shoulders had been until now.

“Shh, just take a deep breath and relax.” Zhongli’s deep voice rumbles behind you as he slowly massages at the tension, his hands are gentle, but expert, and it takes you longer than it should to realise that he's not wearing his gloves for this. “Now…tell me what the matter is…”

With another set of eyes, and a clear explanation of what you need, by the time he’s worked all the tension from your shoulders, you’ve finally got a clear plan, and immediately set to work sorting and organising the moment his warm, surprisingly soft hands finally leave your shoulders.

Once all is said and done, you turn to your butler.

“Thank you, Zhongli…I…don't think I could have done that without you here.”

You’re met with a dashingly handsome, genuine smile, and a graceful bow of his head.

“It was my pleasure, Miss. I am here to aid your every whim.” 

—

Meeting after meeting after meeting.

If you had to speak to one more person demanding things of you and your company today, you were going to scream. The sight of your black sedan, waiting dutifully for you outside the sliding glass doors at the end of the day was almost enough to make you cry as you all but collapse into the back seats with a groan.

“How were the investors today, Maam?” Zhongli asks, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he watches you in the rear-view.

“They could invest in some chill.” you mutter, taking a few moments before forcing yourself to sit up, knowing full well Zhongli wouldn’t move this car an inch until you had your seatbelt on.

“I hazard to say you could also do with, as you say, some chill.” He adds as he easily merges into the busy afternoon traffic. “You’re working yourself to the bone.”

“It’s just another month.” you sigh “investors always get antsy this time of year…”

“You said that last month too, you know.”

“Did I?” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose “Hey…when we get home…could I have another one of those massages?”

You loathe to admit how…reliant you had become on Zhongli’s ability to get the tension out of your shoulders, ever since that first night when he’d helped sort out your work with you, you’d been asking every other day or so for one, it was just so nice to relax into his care while you vented the day’s frustrations away, or soundboarded with him.

“Oh I think I can manage that.”

“Where would I be without you…?” you mumble softly as you let your eyes shut for a moment, just a moment to rest your aching eyes.

As it stands, that moment ends when Zhongli’s gentle hand on your arm rouses you. “Wh-wassgoinon?” you mumble, looking around.

“We’re home, Miss….you looked like you needed the rest so I didn’t rouse you.” Zhongli murmurs softly, reaching past you to fetch your bag.

He smells of tea, and spices…warm…comforting. 

—

You groan softly as his fingers press insistently into your shoulders.

“You’re extra tense today…” Zhongli murmurs softly, leaning over to look you in the face “are you alright?”

“I-I…yeah…just…stressed I think.” you sigh, leaning your head to the side so he can get better access to your neck. You’d never admit it, but you were pretty sure at this point you were just craving his touch, you just…didn't have the time for skinship these days, how you’d managed to survive before hiring him? You had no idea.

Behind you, Zhongli hums.

“May I try…something different?” He asks quietly, rather unlike him, usually when he did something, he did it with confidence that you would be alright with it, and so far he’d never been wrong…why ask now? “I think your stress runs deeper than a simple shoulder massage can handle.” he adds when you look over your shoulder at him. 

“I mean…I trust your judgement Zhongli…whatever you think I need…” you mumble.

You expect a change in his technique, maybe working a little further down your spine perhaps?.

Not to suddenly be thrown forward, chest pressed against the dark mahogany of your desk by a single,strong hand against your spine to keep you there as you gasp in shock. 

“Z-Zhongli!?” you gasp, looking over your shoulder at your calm, gentle butler. 

Only to find a sharp, seductive smirk plastered to his lips. His golden eyes are dark, predatory, you should be afraid.

Keyword: Should.

You watch, dumbstruck as he licks his lips, ripping your jeans straight off your legs like they were nothing, his ungloved hand grazing up the back of your thigh, and that touch alone has your eyes rolling back and a half-bitten moan falling from your lips. Gods how long had it been?

“Hmm, needy little thing, aren’t we? Thrown against your desk by your own butler and you don't even have the decency to be afraid?” Zhongli chuckles darkly as he shoves two fingers into you; the mix of pleasure and pain is enough to have your spine arching “Looks like I was right…you do need more than a little massage hm?”

“G-god…please…” you whine, the humiliation of the situation only making you hotter as he roughly thrusts his fingers, occasionally scissoring them to stretch you open, his other hand shifting from your spine to wrap around the base of your neck, holding you still as he works you open. 

This new, rougher side to him…you didn’t know you wanted it...but god damn he was driving a hard bargain, plus it’s not like this wasn't something you may have thought about on a rare occasion or three… you’d just expected it to be…slower, gentler, but this? You could work with this. 

“Please…? Please what?” he purrs, leaning over to nip at your ear “what do you want from me? I am at your every beck and call.” His words are low, dangerous, but genuine, and you shudder.

“You-!” you choke “please g-god, Z-Zhongli I want you to fuck me-”

One moment there’s fingers, the next moment nothing, and you want to cry, the petulant whine only being held back by the sound of a belt buckle.

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I’m at your service.” 

And then he roughly bucks his hips and good gods. 

Considering he wore such fitted trousers, where the hell had he been keeping that??

That mix of pleasure-pain is back, but more intense this time; you definitely had not been wet enough, and yet? You wouldn't have wanted it any other way, the pain added it’s own flavour to your desire as Zhongli pins you against your desk, breathing ragged into your ear as he wastes no time, setting a brutal pace from the start that has papers and stationary clattering off your desk. 

“So tight” he hisses “how long has it been since you’ve had a good fucking?” 

Something about Zhongli swearing like that feels so wrong, but oh, so right in the moment.

For a moment, paperwork and meetings are the furthest thing from your mind as Zhongli shoves you even further onto your desk, free hand hiking your hips up so he can slam into you all the harder, the only sounds emanating within your study are the wet slapping of skin, and your cries of ecstasy. 

He’s not gentle, and deep, deep down, you’re glad for it.

You needed this, spending every damn day for the last five years telling everyone else what to do? You needed this…loss of control.

Much like everything else in the last six months, Zhongli knew exactly what you needed, when you needed it, and before you even realised you needed it. 

“Whats the matter? Nothing to say?” He grunts into your ear as he grinds himself so deep into you, you’re seeing stars. “You’re always so talkative…”

You can only moan pathetically in response, eyelids fluttering as he fucks you down into the table, his words are harsh, and humiliating, but all they do is draw your orgasm closer, barely even registering what he’s saying.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, one moment you’re seeing stars as your butler bullies his massive cock into you, the next minute your world turns white.

—

“Shh, try not to move…I wasn’t gentle with you.” Zhongli’s tone is back to being kind and gentle after…how many orgasms did he just force you through? You’d lost count…all you know was that it had still been light out when he’d first shoved you down…now as he passes by a window with you cradled gently in his arms, it was pitch black outside.

Gentle lips press to your temple as he perches on the edge of the bathtub, holding you on his lap with one arm while he reaches over to get the water started. Wetting a washcloth to clean away a good portion of the mess beforehand.

Your body aches, but in the best possible way. You feel…breathless and comfortable, fuzzy. 

You wince as he lowers you into the hot water, your muscles tensing at the sudden heat before relaxing again. Zhongli watches you with a soft look. Even coming off the back end of some amazing sex, he still somehow managed to look stupidly put together, if not even more alluring with his lack of suit jacket; it had been abandoned sometime during round… three you think? One moment it was on, the next moment, you’re being pressed onto your back, the jacket is gone, and he’s rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows and you’re at his mercy.

The lip of a water bottle presses to your lips, his other hand gently supporting the back of your head as you drink.

“How do you feel?” he asks once you’ve drunk your fill for now, like that switch that had turned him from the kind and courteous butler you had known to….whatever that zhongli was, had never flipped at all.

Despite this, you smile at him.

“I feel like…I need to ask you to do that again more often, Zhongli.” 

To his credit, your ever-so-handsome butler laughs. It’s a warm, hearty sound, one that fills you with no small amount of joy.

“I am here to serve your every beck and call, I’m sure I can work this into the schedule.”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @angel-of-requiem @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

[originalcharactersexyman]

Hiya! Howdy! Id love to toss my goofy silly mailman tf2 oc in the ring if there were slots left! His names Brodie :> Heres his toyhouse

Meet YOUR 10th Class Merc. The Courier. His name is Brodie 

From New York! Go Yankees!

Around 32-34

6"1

Lets take alook into the past: For a lot of his life he has committed ,,, so much fraud. So much. All of it. Mail fraud tax fraud voter fraud healthcare fraud identity fraud. Even credit card fraud when credit cards came out in 1966.  Frauding it up ever since he was a kid delivering newspapers and snooping in neighbor's mail. 

Eventually his fraudulent lifestyle catches up to him and lands him in prison when he suddenly became the inheritor of a minuscule fraction of Australium. And a certain group of individuals did not take too kindly to some rando getting his hands on the  insanely precious resource.  In order for the Australium to be ‘misplaced’, Brodie had to die. And die he did. Not long after being incarcerated, he was hanged for his many, many crimes. A bit of overkill, really, but it was apparently the only way. Plus a lot of the guards and inmates kept finding themselves in varying degrees of debt so two birds one stone. Miss Pauling herself attends the hanging to make sure Brodie does die and sure enough he is pronounced dead. As dead as it gets. 

Well. Mostly.

As his soul prepares for judgment in hell,  Brodie decides “I am absolutely not ready to be dead yet.” Soo he convinces Satan “hey you guys got the wrong guy. I’m blah blah blah, here’s my ID and credentials n whatnot. Here’s who you’re actually looking for” (a lie obviously) but Satan’s like “Oh shit. Um wow- this, like, never happens. Lemme…fix that real quick.” (This is intentionally left vague and about how much hell tell ya about it with changing details each time)

Back in his body, Brodie sits up, completely nakey, save for the body blanket, and startles Miss Pauling who instinctively has a gun to his face. Quickly thinking, Brodie strikes a deal; “Hey hey! Don't Shoot. Uh, listen.  Technically, I was pronounced dead.  Obviously you can keep whatever I was supposed to inherit, I won't even give it another thought but just lemme go - please?”  Sure enough, Miss P agrees, except now Brodie has to…start over again.  Which isn’t a big *deal*, but it’ll take him a minute to get back on his feet since his last identity is supposed to be cold turkey. 

Though, this gives Miss P an idea.  “Hey, do you want a job?”

So he’s back, babyyy. Brodie is a new man (who legally doesn't exist) and is recruited by Mann Co to be the teams smuggler mailman and a merc when violence is needed!!  Someones gotta deliver the mercs all their niche needs and all that, ya know? Someone who ain't afraid to get their hands dirty or have fingerprints or the same teeth they did before or leave any paper trail!  Someone who isn't afraid to break into the next city over's local zoo and get some baboon uteri and hearts for medic, or do a 24 hr trip to Australia for Saxton hale pain tonic for sniper (so they avoid import fees), wine for spy, copious amounts of Tom Jones merch for scout, crates upon very weighty crates of ammo for Heavy, etc etc. Even just snacks from each mercs country (that Courier def sneaks bites from but dont tell anyone shhhh). Or just the pizza the mercs ordered in town.

Need something delivered? Brodie is your Courier! (He has to as his contract states, lest he break it and is 'super killed'.  No its not explained what that means but Brodie don't intend to find out.)

--

He's a bit of a goofy guy.  Quick witted when it comes to fraud but would ask Alexa what 4 x 12 is. His undying passion is committing petty crimes and scams and changing people's legal last names to something like "Scrotum". He's very *very* nosy and will read the merc's mail before he even gets it to them. He's got gossip to share. He loves snacks and has an awful diet consisting of gas station foods. Caffeinated soda and donuts are go-to's, especially on the road. His fav mode of transportation is on his motorcycle.

WOOF thats a long one lol Thank you sm for ur consideration !

WELCOME ABOARD!

Seats Taken: 22/24 (TWO LEFT)

[liverwisteria]

LAUGHING JILL HEADCANONS

Because Wisteria talked about Laughing Jack, today Wisteria will talk about Laughing Jill :3

GENERAL HEADCANONS:

✰ Laughing Jill stands the same height as Laughing Jack, 7’4.

✰ Her age is unknown and unlike Laughing Jack she looks quite younger, with her physical appearance appearing as someone who’s in their late 20’s.

✰ Her birthday is December 24th, she doesn’t celebrate her birthday as the last time she spent it was with Mary. A day that’s supposed to be cheerfully celebrated is just a reminder that she’s lost someone important.

✰ She has a VERY STRONG Scottish accent as she was born in Scotland. Uses Scottish phrases sometimes and has to like minimize it when talking to the other proxies though…lol.

✰ Speakinggg about the other proxies, Jill is like an auntie! The kids absolutely adore her because she’s very sweet and welcoming. The kids gave her the name “Auntie Jill” :)

✰ She bakes all sorts of things! Breads, cookies, cakes, pies, everything and anything! She takes these treats and brings it over to the mansion when she visits. The bread and cookies she bakes are always in those fun shapes.

✰ Wisteria says “visits” because Laughing Jill does not live in the mansion. Instead she has her own little cute cottage out in the woods! Laughing Jill once walked into the mansion on a lovely afternoon— saw the chaos, teleported into Slendermans office and requested to stay out in the woods where it was calm. And her request got accepted! So there she stays. Out in her lovely cottage.

✰ It does get a bit lonely out there— and she misses mansion drama which she then has to be caught up on when she visits— but. Everything is okay, Laughing Jill prefers it this way anyhow. She’s not a fan of large gatherings, and she isn’t interested in drama so this lifestyle is perfect for her.

✰ Not to mention she has all sorts of hobbies, she never gets bored in her small cottage. Which can be shifted into her liking, she can add new rooms if she wishes, but as for now it’s just a small nicely decorated cottage. Outside, she has her own little garden where she grows vegetables, fruits, and flowers. With her fresh plants she’s able to cook her own delicious meals and come up with her own recipes!

✰ Laughing Jill is much more sweeter towards children. Espicslly the ones that reside in the mansion, she’s always brining them treats, crocheted items, and whatever she thinks that they’d like! As for the adults…ehhh…she brings baked goods! But, uh, that’s about it.

✰BUT! She brings more to those who she’s close with that being: Zero, Candy Pop, and Lulu! She has a much closer bond to these three, which means she brings gifts to them whenever she’s on those visits! Which happen…like. Two times a month… (she really does not like going to the mansion.)

✰ She owns three…ostriches….because some medieval jester (not saying names) gifted her ostrich eggs. The kids named the Rosemarie, Annabelle, and Jellybean. Though it was confusing at first have ostriches at pets she’s come to love them! She spends most of her morning taking care of them, and she doesn’t mind at all. She feeds them, brushes them, spends time hanging out with them, and honestly! She’s thinking of getting more animals! She may have a farm out there soon guys…

✰ Honestly she practically does have a farm out there. Or at least, animals seem to adore Jill. She’s quiet, and her cottage is a perfect place for them to come together and just hangout. Jill feeds the animals! She has little feeding stations put around her cottage, there’s bird feeders put out her windows so she can watch the birdies :)

✰ I also imagine she has like a rocking chair somewhere near her front porch. She sits back, either knitting, looking at the newspaper, or reading. She has her reading glasses on and she occasionally looks up to watch the animals that walk by her cottage. She smiles and gestures for them to get closer so she can give them a treat. It’s perfect! Her like is perfect!

✰ Her personally is well…like a sweet old grandma. She treats everyone practically the same, showing them respect and kindness! I imagine she has those like hard candies that grannies give out…but seriously! She doesn’t have any problems with anyone in the mansion— except for…except for Laughing Jack…

…

✰ Jill absolutely hates that other clown. Every time he speaks her smile leaves her face and her eyes twitch. She has to stop herself from chasing him with her chainsaw…and it’s not like she’s wrong for hating him. He kills children! And EATS THEM…! She’s justified!

✰ But uhm, yeah. The clowns don’t get along at all. In fact if they were to be left alone in room for a few seconds they would be trying to kill each other.

✰ OH YEAHHH!!! Her weapon is a beautiful black and white chainsaw which she decorated herself! There’s stickers on it and silly charms. Shes able to spawn it at will and it’s sharper than anything. It’s heavy to anyone that isn’t Jill! Meaning only shes able wield it as it was made for her.

She’s literally the sweetest…Wisteria loves Laughing Jill so much…sniffles…Wisteria misses her guys…

That is all Wisteria has for this silly cute clown :)

[mizusnose]

Lay your hands on me

Part One

Mizu x Akemi

3.5k words

tags: Modern AU, Questioning Sexuality Akemi, Lesbian Mizu, Making Out, Smoking, Lesbian Porn, Sexual Tension, Mean Mizu, Hometown Trauma

Summary: Akemi experiences post-grad loneliness (and horniness) and starts questioning her sexuality. She goes to a local bar in her hometown to fix it. Mizu helps her out with her dilemma.

A/N: I just think it would be neat for Akemi to start questioning her sexuality while she’s back in her hometown. More specially her attraction towards hot butches 🥰

Post-grad life was treating Akemi pretty well. Granted, it had only been a week since she had graduated, the soft pane of her childhood window awash with snow and dirt from the wind. Her parents hadn’t turned her room into an office, workout room, or storage like most of her other friend’s parents had done. Instead, she got to look at all the k-pop posters she had hung up in her high school era. Splattered polaroids when that was a thing, marked by pink sparkly sharpie and stickers too cute and too childish for her now. The whisper of her childhood frozen and unfettered by time.

She’d fall asleep amongst the mountains of unpacked clothes and wake well into the day, drowsy and sticky from the space heater. Deciding to relax and rot only lasted a few days before her life started picking back up without her.

She had to get paperwork done for her job that would start at the tail end of January. Some local newspaper position that sounded exactly right on paper in every way. She didn’t want to talk about how long she took to accept her offer when it popped up in her email five whole days after graduation.

Her parents would scold her for taking showers daily, especially if she wasn’t going anywhere so she was left to rot in her pajamas bottoms since she got back home. The only real thing changing was her shirts and whether or not she decided to wear a bra that day—which was usually a no go.

She wondered if this is what post-grad life was really supposed to be. Late mornings and reheated coffee and pajama bottoms. Akemi didn’t want to think about how others her age were probably out with their friends, family, or significant others for the holiday break. All of her friends were still at university or had moved away. While her hometown friends were moms, engaged, or no longer in contact.

The glow-in-the-dark stars that shone a deep muted green for minutes after she turned off her light was her only company on cold nights. Her longtime business major boyfriend Taigen had broken up with her before he graduated in the spring six months ago. Something about moving to New York and making it big. Not like he was gonna be interning under his fathers company that already made millions.

Although, Akemi supposed she wasn’t too different from Taigen in that respect. Both her parents were realtors that ruled their hometown. It’s what paid Akemi’s way through undergrad. It’s what she was expecting to pay for her masters.

After all, she wasn’t staying here for long. The plan was always a gap year to start saving before going out into the world and conquering it, or whatever it was that was advertised most these days. This would be temporary.

But then again, a degree in English was never really a great option was it? Or at least, that’s what her parents would say when they thought she wasn’t around. To each other in the pantry that meets the lip of the kitchen. Or at their hosted neighborhood dinner parties, whispering and shaking their heads with other parents. It wasn’t a lifestyle choice they were proud of.

The fact that she had hauled all of her stuff from college back home was something that only proved their point further. Akemi felt like a child who wasn’t stopped when her imagination got too big, and now she was dealing with the consequences.

Feeling lonely and horny on top of it all felt like the icing on top. Her collection of dildos and vibrators tucked away at the bottom of her underwear drawer seemed crude and way too loud in her parents house. She would watch porn and work too long and too hard to orgasm. Taigen always used to marvel at how wet she would get. Now though, Akemi found herself reaching for lube every time she wanted to masturbate. It felt like an important part of her unraveling. A key turning point.

The first time that Akemi got off to lesbian porn, she felt guilt in a way. She’d watched it before back in the beginning parts of college when everyone was experimenting. Akemi herself had kissed a girl at her first house party at eighteen years old. However, this time felt different. She barely got halfway through the cringey teacher and student plot before Akemi had to shove her pajamas down and rub one off mean and messy. No lube required.

The second time it happened, Akemi used a dildo and was more prepared for the hunger that bloomed inside her gut. It was like a forest fire the way the desire burned into her. A kick to her gut and a shove to her clit and she was gone.

She didn’t understand. Taigen had always fucked her the way she wanted—slow and soft and with whispers and cuddles afterwards. It was fine. It was sex.

This was something entirely different. One that Akemi felt was important to note. She’d never fucked a girl. Never been fucked by one either. Her very limited experience of women started and ended with the porn she was starting to rely on to get off.

She texted her friends about it. Got a flurry of responses that ended up with Akemi self-reflecting and asking herself what she wanted.

It wasn’t an easy decision. She told her girlfriends as much. They suggested a night on the town, and Akemi figured why not? It had been ages since she had gone out. Been even longer since she had gone out in her hometown.

So that’s how she finds herself in a bar that doubles as a sports spot during the day. Billiard tables line the entryway and take up most of the place where groups of men and women alike play. It’s a Saturday night and a bit busy for a small town. The bartop is a long expanse of wood that juts out at a corner and extends to the other end of the room in an L shape. It’s a small place. One room with a connected outside patio with stringed lights.

The security guard has to double check her ID and even after that he eyes her closely as she enters. Akemi feels overdressed the second she gets in. Mostly everyone is wearing jeans. Akemi spots a tank top here and there, but flannels and long sleeves with a modest crop and cut are the majority. Every guy is a copy and paste of rough jackets and some snapbacks worse for wear.

She sets her jacket on a rack and wraps her arms around herself. The velvet of her shirt barely extends past her shoulders before it connects to lacy long sleeves that hide nothing. Her matching butterfly tattoos hover above her collarbones. The deep V-cut of the shirt leaves little to imagination, and the cropped cut accentuates her waist. The mini skirt and tights are just as out of place. Akemi feels herself turn hot and wonders if this is really the place she should’ve gone to.

But before she can second-guess herself, she swallows hard and marches to the bartop to order herself a drink. She’s already slightly tipsy from the wine she had with her dinner beforehand. Yet the liquid courage disperses once Akemi reaches the mess of bodies blocking the bartop. She squishes and politely tries to wiggle her way through but is met with less than friendly looks.

Just as she’s started to give up, a strong shoulder brushes up against her and nearly shoves her out of the way completely. Akemi feels the wine as she stumbles. Her face feels hot when she turns to see who it is, and feels it burn hotter when she realizes.

It’s a woman. Dressed in dark wash jeans and doc martens. She’s also wearing a long sleeve shirt. The waffle-knitted thermal pulls tight at her shoulders and back and neck. Her legs go on forever and Akemi watches allured as the woman moves with ease through the crowded bartop. Her profile is sharp and angular. The jut of her jaw, the peak of her cheekbones, the point of her chin. Her nose and soft curve of her forehead are the only distinguishing features that scream woman. Otherwise, the undercut and pulled back hair would’ve thrown Akemi off completely.

She watches as the woman gestures to order. Her two fingers long and pink from the cold drink in her hand. It’s half empty in her hold and Akemi wants.

It sits with her, then, how familiar the woman looks. It comes in flashes suddenly, the last couple of pornos she’s searched for and watched. Two women, bodies writhing, hot and panting. But beneath that, the difference between a taller, leaner and mean-looking woman and a smaller, bustier, whinier one. The crux of Akemi’s desire all along.

Akemi recalls the title of that first porn video she’d gotten off on. Hot Butch Professor Teaches Student A Lesson.

The woman waits for her drink and gets what she’s there for. As she leaves, Akemi feels that familiar punched-out feeling. The start of arousal. A spark catching.

She tracks the woman to the edge of the room. A billiard table observing the games going on. She’s as tall as the other men and her rounded tinted glasses reflect the low hanging lights. Akemi forces herself to look away. Her phone is dug out of her purse and she smashes a question into the group chat.

Guys, what’s a butch?

Her chat explodes instantly. Some gifs of eggplants, a picture of the blonde girl from atlantis, and one actual answer in a paragraph-length text.

She skims, looks at the woman, skims again, and nods, determined.

After managing to force herself through the crowd in a similar fashion to the woman, she gets a drink. Something fizzy and sweet. There’s a cherry floating on top.

Akemi wonders how this works. If there’s a method to flirting with other women. She shakes her head at that, there shouldn’t be. It’s attraction. Akemi knows attraction. Has been the center of it many times. So, with her resolve, she struts to the woman.

The height difference is apparent when Akemi meets the woman’s gaze. She’s wearing combat boots that have at least an inch on her usual height, yet she’s still looking up to grin at the woman.

“Hi.” Akemi says. She leans against the wall, tilting her head and showing off the stretch of skin on her neck.

“Hm.” The woman says. She regards Akemi carefully. Her eyes flicker to her matching butterfly tattoos. The action fizzles inside Akemi’s belly like the drink in her hand, “You are?” An eyebrow raises, and oh she’s mean, isn’t she?

“Akemi. And you are..?”

The woman meets her eyes again. This time over the tint of her glasses and Akemi is caught. Feels like a small creature fenced in by a predator. Like a fawn in a snare, bloody and vulnerable and raw.

“Mizu.” Her voice is deep and raspy. Akemi shudders at the sound. Mizu must notice because she takes a sip of her drink and works an ice cube into her mouth. It crushes against her canines. Akemi watches mesmerized, “You new to town?”

“Hah. No, back for the holidays.” Akemi lies. She figures it’s easier to have an escape, “That easy to tell?” Akemi jokes, getting closer and working with what Mizu seems to be giving.

“A bit.” Mizu drags her eyes down Akemi’s body as an answer. Akemi thinks she might combust.

“Yeah? How so?”

Mizu flicks her eyes around the bar and grins. She bends down to get to Akemi’s level. There’s a hand at her waist.

“Most girls wait until I’m tipsier to start flirting.” Akemi’s hip is gripped tightly by Mizu’s warm firm palm, “I can be mean.”

As quickly as Mizu is there she’s gone in the next instant. The lip of her cup against her mouth. Standing back up like nothing happened. Her hand is still on Akemi’s waist though. A warm firm heat.

“I’m eager.” Akemi replies. Makes her eyes wider and bites into her lip.

Mizu frowns then. Takes another sip of her drink and sets it on a nearby stool, “No. You’re confused.”

The hand disappears then. The cold shocks Akemi as she makes an aborted sound. A start to a sentence.

“But, I-“

“I don’t fuck straight girls.” Mizu states simply. She’s turned back to the room now, disinterested. No longer facing Akemi, the illusion of privacy is lost. The sounds of billiard games come back and Akemi startles.

“I’m not…not—“ not straight. Was that right? It didn’t feel completely right. Not completely wrong either. Akemi didn’t know exactly. Wasn’t meant to be thinking about it right now. She was here for an answer to a question, “I want to.” Akemi feels like it’s an okay response to her swirling thoughts.

Mizu doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at her. Rather, she chugs the rest of her drink and walks back to the bartop. Akemi feels the air brush by her and she stews in annoyance at the outcome. Doesn’t know why when she’s the one who is apparently walking around with a giant neon sign that says straight girl.

She finishes the rest of her fizzy sweet drink and eats the cherry. It tastes like her childhood and she chuckles at the irony. Wonders what young Akemi would think about her right now. Trying to get some in her hometown because she’s what? lonely? As if no one else in the existence of the world hadn’t been lonely.

She chats up some guys that buy her drinks for the rest of the night. It’s familiar and all the tricks work on them easily. There’s no fight about it. No pushing for more. No pulling for dominance. Cat and mouse be damned. Akemi convinces herself she likes it.

Mizu doesn’t linger inside long and soon enough she’s out of Akemi’s sight. Akemi tells herself she doesn’t care.

A couple drinks turn into more and suddenly Akemi’s drunk. It dawns on her that she’s had more than she thought when the guy she’s talking to grabs her waist as she stumbles. The touch is in the same place Mizu placed her hand earlier. It doesn’t feel nearly as intense.

Akemi promises she’s fine to walk when she leaves the bar with her purse and phone in hand. The December cold shocks some alcohol out of her, and makes her realize she’s left her coat inside.

“Urgh.” She’s turning around to head back inside when she notices a figure at the edge of the building. Plumes of smoke flow out of Mizu’s mouth and Akemi can smell the tabaco from where she stands.

Maybe it’s the alcohol or the cold realization that Mizu may have been right that Akemi stumbles over. A fight is what she wants, but what she gets is another pretty cocked eyebrow and lips that must taste like cigarette smoke.

“You smoke?”

Mizu seems surprised by her confidence but quickly recovers.

“Yes. Need a light?”

Akemi is upset for some reason. There’s been no success tonight and she’s determined to make it Mizu’s problem.

“I don’t smoke. Too bitter.”

“I have a vape too.” Mizu suggests, scooting over for Akemi to lean next to her, “‘ts sweeter.”

Akemi throws a glare at Mizu. She’s still beautiful under the combined glow of a nearby street lamp and the reflecting christmas lights that hang off the roof above them. The falling snow only makes Akemi’s heart thunder.

“Don’t do that either.” Akemi mumbles, pouts despite being the one who denied it, “My ex used to be addicted. I hate the smell.”

“Huh.” Mizu says inhaling another pull before exhaling away from Akemi. It’s gentle, the way she holds concern for Akemi, “Ex-boyfriend?”

“Ugh not this again.”

Mizu casts her a glance. A faraway knowing look that makes Akemi feel so young. Almost like she’s a kid again. Not like she’s just graduated. She pouts harder.

“I’m interested. I want to…I want to try it.” Akemi says. She’s shy now after all her big emotions have worn themselves out with the stretch of silence on Mizu’s end, “And you’re hot.”

Mizu chuckles, takes another drag and then flicks her cigarette into the snow. Turns towards Akemi and pushes into her space. There’s the touch on Akemi’s waist again. It feels colder than before. Akemi groans.

“You don’t know what you want.” Mizu says. Her voice has dropped and become deeper. She’s frowning down at Akemi. A wolf under the full moon. Akemi is trapped and her breath hitches. Her thighs squeeze together, “Don’t even know the first thing about being with a woman.”

“I-I..I do!” Akemi stutters. Determined to win this game she’s started.

“Oh yeah?” Mizu asks, pushing pushing pushing.

“Yeah..” Akemi didn’t notice earlier that Mizu had freckles. A smattering of them on the bridge of her nose and beauty marks on her chin, her cheekbone, the edge of her lips, “We make out first.”

Mizu smirks, gives Akemi room to wrap her arms around Mizu’s neck.

“Okay.”

It’s a clear go ahead and Akemi is pressing her lips to Mizu’s. There’s no finesse. Two lips touching. Akemi pulls away and is flushed from her own actions. She avoids Mizu’s eyes and looks at the expanse of forest that engulfs their tiny town instead.

Mizu is still close, her nose brushing Akemi’s own. Her breath is hot on Akemi’s face. She smells like cigarettes and suddenly Akemi doesn’t mind it at all.

“Cute. Now let me show you how. Properly.”

Mizu tilts Akemi’s chin up. They’re looking at one another now. The tinted glasses now gone from Mizu’s face. Akemi wants.

“Understood?” Mizu asks. Her hand has slipped to the back of Akemi’s back, brushing her tattooed collarbone with the movement. Her other hand has clamped down on the jut of exposed skin and Akemi whimpers.

“U-understood.”

And then Mizu is kissing her. It’s nothing like Akemi’s gentle kiss. This kiss is wet and hot. A pressing smear of heat against Akemi’s mouth. Her mouth is open and suddenly Mizu’s tongue is there licking and exploring. Mizu’s hand presses into Akemi’s hip and slips under the velvet and Akemi shakes despite herself. Pulls away to gasp at the cold press of Mizu’s palm against her ribs.

Mizu laughs, kissing her jaw and ear and chin as Akemi huffs out little whines.

“Pathetic. Can’t keep up at all.” Mizu growls. She grips the back of Akemi’s neck. Hard, “Not done. Take it.”

Mizu kisses her like they’re going to fuck.

Akemi realizes this when Mizu’s hand leaves the sensitive skin of her ribs and drifts under her skirt. Up the tights on her thigh and underneath the line of her ass. Her fingertips find her underwear and the wet of her cunt. It’s brief and gone before it’s even fully there, but Akemi whimpers and accidentally bites down on Mizu’s lip at the feeling.

“Hah.” Akemi’s lips feel puffy and swollen when they part. The sound alone makes Akemi wetter, pushing her thighs together tighter for friction, “Please..” She reaches up for more, and Mizu stands up fully then. The distance too great for Akemi to close by herself.

“No.” Mizu says. Her pupils are blown and the blue that Akemi was mesmerized with is now harder to make out.

Akemi shivers at Mizu’s blatant staring and is surprised to find Mizu’s own breathing is staggered. Clearly affected after all.

“You’re cold.” Mizu steps away then, hands coming undone around her. Akemi feels like a puppet with its strings cut, boneless against the wall. She shivers hard, proving Mizu’s point, “Here.”

Akemi’s bundled up in Mizu’s sweater when Mizu invites her over. It’s a clear indication of more and Akemi’s chest hammers with the implication. She nods shyly, shoving her hands into Mizu’s jacket pockets. Is surprised to be met with gum wrappers, coffee straws, and sticky notes.

“No sex tonight. You’re drunk. I have roommates.” Mizu explains just as Akemi is trying to discretely update the group chat with the recent events, “There aren’t any buses running now and I live nearby so..”

“But! you kissed me!” Akemi whines. Ah, she can hear the way the alcohol has made her voice more pitchy. She nearly misses the down step of the curb but Mizu catches her, hand strong around her waist, “Okay, fine. But, can we make out some more?”

Mizu nods sagely. She leads Akemi towards the sidewalk. The falling snow lands on her head and shoulders and Akemi wants to leave marks there if she’s allowed. Akemi distantly thinks that Mizu would be into that, being in charge.

I’ll find out tomorrow morning.. Akemi thinks, delighted at the loophole she’s found. She presses into Mizu’s side as they walk back together.

[common-dace]

ep. 113 spoilers

i am so ill about the reveal that price is captain rose’s son. the implications of this are fucking wild.

(tbh i’m not sure if rose is price’s biological dad or his stepdad, but for the purposes of this post, i’m assuming that rose was at least the most significant dad in price’s life.)

it seems that price lived with his mom for most of his childhood, then sometime around/after the hole in the sea, ran away on his own and eventually met chip. and just… holy shit. he was raised by his mom, with his dad basically completely out of the picture because he’s off doing pirate shit. maybe price knew who his father was, maybe he didn’t (i.e., that his mom kept it from him like ollie’s mom did from him). but if he knew, just imagine the resentment. your own dad choosing adventure over you, and constantly being forced to hear about all his excursions in newspapers and through word-of-mouth from travelers. rose was off becoming a literal legend, while price and his mom were left behind. and like, yeah, i’m sure rose visited. he did care for his family, and obviously his wife had to get pregnant again somehow. but each time he came back, it was never for good. he always left again and again and again, because legacy was more important than they were.

and then finally! the day comes in which rose is finally going to retire and settle down with his family. i mean, price and rose’s wife were never enough to convince rose to settle down and it took another child to do it, but hey, at least he’s coming back. until… he’s not. until rose gets swallowed by a hole in the sea - killed by the life he chose over them, killed by the life that they feared would take him, killed by the lifestyle he valued more than them. and it’s not just a tragedy and a loss for them to grieve, either - it becomes a legend, one that keeps getting rubbed in their faces day after day, year after year after year. price cannot escape the fact that his father chose piracy over him, that he was apparently not worth enough to be loved. that shit would fucking fester, enough for price to completely leave behind his life and rid himself of his father’s name.

so price runs away, ditches the last name, and starts a new life - one where he gets to call all the shots instead of being left in the dark. he’s finally in control of who he is. and then, out of nowhere, enters chip. chip, a scrawny orphan who was aboard the black rose, who will not shut up all the adventures, who got to spend more time with his dad than he ever did, who got to live the life he was never allowed to. rose was never chip’s primary caretaker but he was a father figure to him, and it must have stung like hell to meet the kid who was more of a son to your dad than you ever were. chip must have seemed like the physical manifestation of everything price should’ve had but didn’t, because he just wasn’t worth enough.

(i wonder about price’s habit of calling chip his little brother - was that just because of their time spent together or was there a deeper meaning? perhaps price found kinship in chip - another child abandoned by his father putting legacy above all else.)

price spent his entire life in the shadow of his father, feeling like he was never enough, and now that he’s finally escaped it, he finds he never really escaped it at all and he’s face-to-face with yet another scathing reminder. the resentment must have been on another fucking level. what’s interesting, though, is that price does not turn away from chip - instead, he takes him in. rather than run away from this reminder, price sees it as an opportunity - an opportunity to take part of his dad’s precious legacy and mold it into his own. price takes chip and pushes him towards violence, towards gang activity, towards murder, towards all the things rose never stood for. he tried to take a product of rose’s legacy and twist it into something rose would never be proud of. all the while, price, along with chip, is building a legacy of his own - one of power, riches, respect; one constructed without his father; one to rival the great captain rose’s.

until one day, it comes crashing down. betrayed by his pet project, who he spent years rebuilding out of the ashes of rose’s legacy; by his little brother, who he trusted and felt kinship to after both were abandoned by rose; by the reminder of his father, who still bears rose’s influence like a fucking plague. price thought he had moved past his childhood - that he was finally freed of his father’s shadow - only to find himself abandoned once again by somebody who chose a lifestyle over him. stabbed in the back by yet another pirate.

but price is no longer a child. he does not run, he is not helpless, he will not wallow in pity. instead, he lets the betrayal fester and seethe and bubble into anger. he channels it into constructing his own life and legacy - this time, truly on his own. he turns it into an oath for revenge - on chip, on his father, on pirates. he rebuilds in a new place with a new purpose, fighting tooth and nail for whatever footholds he can get, moving into darkport like a parasite, feeding off power from the people around him. he rises in the ranks as a bounty hunter, finally finding a legacy that’s all his own - one that directly fights against those goddamn pirates. they took everything from him, and he’s going to take it back.

then chip shows up in all-port again. despite how the last time went, price cannot help but see another opportunity - an opportunity for revenge, to get back at chip for his betrayal; for power, to crush his insubordination and have him under his thumb again; for legacy, to have one of the black rose pirates bow before him, quake in fear, beg for forgiveness, and recognize him as stronger than his father. the allure was too saccharine. so of course, what does price ask chip to do? to steal from roofus - to betray the black rose pirates and obey him. another shot at rose’s legacy, and another way to show how much better and more powerful he is.

except… that doesn’t happen. price finds himself, yet again, betrayed by chip. his world comes crumbing down around him, and he is forced to watch. in his eyes, chip has taken everything from him - his father, his life, his power, his legacy. he has to watch as chip continues to grow his own legacy, as chip thrives without him, as chip scorns their past and becomes the one thing price resents more than anything. and price finds himself back at the beginning - nothing but a worthless little boy, abandoned and left behind. all the while, one thought races through his head, laced with resentment and anger and pain:

that should have been me.

[wool-f]

I'M QUITTING MY 9 - 5 TO FOLLOW MY DREAMS

Hello my beautiful internet friends,

Tagging onto my sentiment from last week regarding following your dreams with complete reckless abandon and vigour, I thought I would follow on with the obvious next step (for me anyway).

I am quitting my job without a real concrete plan or a backup option to follow my dreams.

If you enjoy your job and it's the dream career pathway for you, this blog post is not meant for you. By all means keep reading of course, but I'm reaching out to my fellow dreamers who have fallen into careers that are not their callings - the people who are dreaming of something else entirely.

If I'm being completely honest I don't hate my job. But I don't love it either. It's most certainly not what I thought I would be doing at 30, and truly not the career stepping stone I imaged it would be when I was first offered the role two and a half years ago.

I'm a local news reporter in Melbourne, working for one of (if not the most popular) newspaper in the city. Day to day is very mundane, there isn't all that much jazz with local news.

While I dreamt of being a writer and Melbourne's answer to Carrie Bradshaw or Andie Anderson, my current job couldn't be further from that (I do feel Andie's pain when she wants to write something that matters and her editor is so limiting!!!!)

So last week after writing my post about committing to yourself, I was journalling and came to a realisation. In order to commit to myself, I need to fully commit to my dreams and aspirations, and to do that, I really need to quit my job.

Now thinking pragmatically because let me be one hundred percent honest, we are in a cost of living crisis and I'm not going to cold quit my job without a little bit of savings and backing to myself - I won't be leaving immediately. I think we can all agree that kind of rash decision making is for rich people who have no stress factors in their lives apart from happiness.

What I plan to do is a little but more strategic than that.

I've given myself three months to build up as thick of a foundation as possible, to get all my figurative ducks in a row and to make myself a plan for the following time frame that will constitute me following my dreams and actually succeeding. I'm trying to put my best foot forward to achieve exactly what I want and not need to take a step back into something that I'm not passionate about.

Sometimes I think people really hesitate to do the things they really want to do, whether it be because of the stories we tell ourselves in our minds, the stories society tell us about success and what it means to be fulfilled, or just because we think our dreams are out of touch from reality.

I don't want to be that person anymore. I don't want to be held back by these invisible, non-existent barriers that only stop me from reaching my full potential in life and happiness.

I have been working very hard to change the stories I tell myself in my mind, and after an incident at my current workplace (not with me, but with my colleague and management), I understood that my time at the company is coming to a close and I need to move on to something bigger and better; on to something that just in general, is a better fit for me.

I know that being self-employed is not a lifestyle everyone can achieve or that everyone wants - but I think it is the lifestyle change I want for myself, at least for now.

I obviously will keep writing this blog as a way to track how I'm going and to continue the development of my own writing.

But for now - I'm going to quit my job and follow my dreams. I definitely think it's something everyone should consider doing at least once in their lives (obviously make sure you're not going to send yourself into homelessness please, this message is not for every single person in this moment of time, prepare yourself!!).

Let's be the generation of people who don't take no for an answer - the generation of people who make things happen for ourselves and find the joy that we desire from doing the things we love and turning them into a profitable way to live!

These are my thoughts for the week, I know I'll be back next week with something just as crazy I'm sure, but for now, all the love in the world to whoever has made it this far down.

Love always,

G xx

p.s please support my journey to self employment - follow me on my other platforms (they're all free) and engage with me <3

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kweenofthieves TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@kweenofthieves?lang=en YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@kweenofthieves

[loki-zen]

just pinged to this from the subject of "the history of black people in the UK did not begin at Windrush".

i worked on a kids local history project once and got particularly attached to a guy called James Jarvis Wiggins

his was just one of several documented black families living in the small town in northwest england that the project was about in the 1800s (and there were more 'coloured' people whose names and specific ethnicities are not recorded)

but he seems to have been quite a Character; I mean the photo oughta get it across - he seems to have had That Exact personality; funny, larger than life, and been loved by everyone in town for it.

he came over from Virginia in a timeframe that suggests he might've been born into slavery

he pitched himself as 'The Great American Herbalist' when he wrote a book

he became a pillar of the community who ran a successful apothecary and had a comfortably middle-class lifestyle, including employing an assistant from another local 'coloured' family who went on to marry his daughter

the wedding received glowing coverage in the local newspaper - which (having read the 1800s newspaper article myself) did regard the skin colour of the happy couple as a novelty worthy of note, but with zero negative implicature whatsoever - paraphrased, it's saying "Daughter of successful businessman and local legend gets married to his apprentice. This will be the first wedding in our little town where both bride and groom are black, isn't that interesting? Now back to gushing about how lovely the wedding was."

[vintagelasvegas]

Sahara, January 1, 1969

Facing north; Sahara's two hotel towers out of frame to the right.

Story from McClain Bybee, 2023:

I was the Sahara Hotel Assistant Casino Credit Manager in 1969. My boss Gil Virant was killed by organized criminals that year.

Newspapers had run the story that Gil's death was a suicide. Further investigation by the local law officials, the State Gaming Control Board, the FBI, and the Del Webb Corporate officials revealed that Gil was involved in the embezzlement of a large amount of money in association with a criminal element from back east. The FBI later found that the individuals who were associated with Virant had also embezzled monies from a large Baptist Church organization. Those men were later found dead. Tom Ault, head of the FBI Las Vegas office, told us that evidence at Gil Virant's home indicated that Gil was forced to ingest Drano by the two suspects which caused his death.

The embezzlement started as a check-kiting scheme. The FBI felt that the suspects were threatening Gil with disclosing his gay lifestyle as a means of keeping him to give them more money and time to pay the outstanding markers and checks. Eventually, the dollar amount of the float became so large that Gil appeared to decide to go to corporate management and disclose what he was involved in. It was felt that his possible decision precipitated the murder. I was caught in the middle of the investigation because my name (signature) appeared on a number of markers and documents. My home was secretly staked out by the FBI for about a month, which I later learned from Tom Ault.

[Below] is a photo of Gil Virant from my files.

“$300,000 Shortage Reported From Cashier's Cage at Sahara … the R-J learned about the investigation Monday. On Nov. 6, a casino cashier, Gil Virant, 35, was found dead in his home. His death was termed a suicide. He apparently slashed his wrest and taken poison … Virant, who resided at 3020 Ashby, worked at the Sahara for the past seven years. He was single.” – Don Digilio, Review-Journal, 11/12/69

[waywardxwords]

5. No Time

Chapter 5 of Little Secrets

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 3,312

Warnings: Case, talks of family death *this chapter and case is based on the episode "Red Sky at Morning"*

MASTERLIST

The case in Cicero was exhausting once the trio realized it involved the safety of the town’s children. Dean was concerned about Lisa and her son, Ben. Meanwhile, Sam and Y/N had done whatever they could to get to the bottom of the situation with the victims’ families. It had felt like forever, but the case was solved and taken care of within three days. This was the first instance of Changelings any of them had seen, but John’s journal had certainly come in handy while solving it.

“So, I don’t know about you but I could use a long weekend in Vegas,” Dean piped up from the front seat as a playful grin graced his lips. Y/N managed a small smile, and Sam had one to match from his spot on the passenger’s seat.

“Dean, Vegas? Really?” Sam laughed, his tone full of sleep. Y/N knew they had only gotten about three hours of rest the night before, if that. There was no reason to waste a day in Indiana; once the case was closed, they were back on the road. It was always like clockwork.

Dean seemed to be the only one content with just a few hours of sleep. That, or he was really good at faking it for the sake of the two other people in the car. 

“Deanie, if we’re taking a long weekend then I just wanna sleep,” Y/N groaned from the backseat. She leaned her head against the cool glass of the Impala’s back passenger window and closed her eyes for added measure. “So take me wherever the hell you want, but please God, let there be a bed.”

Dean chuckled. “See what it’s like playing in the Major Leagues, Y/N?” His eyes gleamed back at her in the rearview mirror as he managed a wink. Y/N’s eyes opened as she narrowed in on him with a scowl.

“Alright, alright,” Sam laughed, playing referee yet again as his eyes glanced over a few different newspapers he held on his lap. They always picked up the major papers from stops along the way to keep an eye on anything strange happening in the world–specifically supernatural strange. “Dean, it looks like there’s some weird stuff happening in Washington.”

“Ah, come on, Sammy. Things in the northwest are always a little weird. Doesn’t mean we have to chase every cat that barks,” Dean groaned. Dean rarely complained about the lifestyle, as far as Y/N could tell. In all honesty, she never really met a hunter who complained. It was the way things were; they had a job to do and they knew it wouldn’t get done if they didn’t do it. But every person needed a vacation every once in a while.

“We just chased after a fall on a power saw because you wanted to get laid,” Y/N laughed from the backseat. “What’s in Washington, Sam?” It was unavoidable; her tone had softened when she directed the conversation back to the youngest Winchester. She hoped Dean hadn’t picked up on it. She truly felt like if she and Sam could keep this from everyone around them (over-protective big brothers included), that maybe–just maybe–they would have a shot at making this work. Whatever this was, exactly.

“There have been three cases so far of people drowning,” Sam began as he turned his attention back to the newspaper in his hands. Before he could continue, Dean cut in with a grunt.

“Oh yeah, because drowning just screams our kinda job.”

Sam eyed him with his eyebrows raised. “Even drowning in the shower?”

Dean didn’t have a response. Y/N pulled her lips between her teeth to keep the laugh bubbling up her throat at bay. “Sounds like our kinda game…” 

Sam glanced back at his brother. Dean leaned his head back and groaned. “One day off, is that too much to ask for?” He asked no one in particular as he switched lanes. Sam laughed and smiled back at Y/N. He managed a subtle wink before he turned back to face the road.

X

Y/N smoothed down her black pencil skirt as the trio approached the modest, yet beautiful home in the suburbs of town. She felt for her fake police badge nestled in the inner pocket of her blazer jacket and took in a deep breath of the cool, autumn air. The air was brisk against her lungs, but she loved the chill it brought–it was refreshing.

“Alright, so Sam is my partner and you’re an intern, Y/N,” Dean explained as they walked along the sidewalk path leading to the stairs of the front porch.

Y/N looked at him incredulously. “An intern?” She snorted and shook her head. “Nuh uh, nice try, Deanie. I’m your supervisor, tagging along on the case for investigation purposes.” She planted her feet on the sidewalk and folded her arms over her chest to show her refusal to move until he agreed.

Dean laughed loudly and stopped to pivot back towards her. “Yeah, okay,” he said sarcastically. “That would mean the department was undermining mine and Sam’s–”

Sam interrupted Dean before he could finish his thought. “Okay, okay,” he held up his hands. Y/N looked at him, her eyebrows cocked in a manner that asked him: Well, referee?

Sam glanced between his brother and his newfound romantic interest–his eyes were wide and his mouth was suddenly very dry. “Uh…” he tried to think it over for a moment. “Okay, so Dean and I are partners and Y/N is tagging along because she’s investigating a similar case. Deal?” He glanced between the two of them.

A smug smile stretched across Y/N’s face, completely satisfied. Her black pumps clicked upon the cement sidewalk as she moved past the pair towards the porch once more. Dean looked at Sam in shock.

“Seriously?!” Dean’s frustration was evident in his tone. “Whatever happened to bros before hoes, Sammy?” Sam knew Dean wasn’t insinuating that he knew something was going on between him and Y/N, but it still made his cheeks flush red.

“Just…let’s go,” Sam sighed as they followed Y/N’s steps towards the home.

She had already rung the doorbell, so there was no room to argue any longer. Before long, an older woman–probably in her early 70s–opened the dark wooden door with a smile upon her lips.

“Hello, can I help you?” She asked sweetly as she eyed the three people in business-attire before her.

“Hi, Mrs. Case,” Y/N began with a kind smile. “We’re sorry to bother you, but my name is Y/N L/N, and these are two of my fellow detectives, Sam Angus and Dean Young.” The three of them flashed their badges for the woman to look at. “We’re here to assist in the investigation involving your niece, Sheila.”

The older woman’s smile fell slowly as her eyes traveled towards the ground, signaling for the three of them to stash their badges back in their suit jackets. “Oh good, I’m glad to see those good-for-nothing officers decided to send detectives after all. Please, come in,” she held the door open and stood back. Y/N smiled at the boys and walked ahead of them past Gertrude Case into the living room.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Dean flipped the switch for his infamous Dean Winchester charm and it was game on. The elderly woman eyed him with a wink.

“Oh, please call me Gert,” she beamed flirtatiously. Y/N and Sam both had to bite the inside of their bottom lips from laughing. Dean seemed slightly disturbed but cleared his throat and managed a smile.

“Gert, can I ask you something?” This was Y/N’s tactic and the boys loved her for it–especially when it came to women they were questioning. Gert seemed interested and nodded. “Why are you so open to us doing an investigation when your niece’s death was ruled a drowning?”

It was a valid question; they had all wondered how Gertrude would react to having three investigators going over the details of her niece’s death once more when the autopsy had ruled it to be accidental.

Gert managed a small smile. “My niece was not suicidal, and she was a fantastic swimmer,” she explained. “And even so, have you ever heard of someone drowning in the shower before?” She glanced between the three hunters. They all shook their heads ‘no’. “Exactly. Bathtub, maybe. But in the shower? Standing up? Even if she passed out and fell on her back, it would be nearly impossible. I know there’s something more here…” she trailed off.

Y/N watched her inquisitively. There was something she wasn’t saying. “What do you think happened?”

The boys seemed confused by her question. The fact that this woman believed in the supernatural was highly unlikely. But Y/N asked, or prompted her, anyway.

After studying the understanding expressions of the three people in front of her, she continued. “Have you ever heard of a ghost ship before?”

Y/N hadn’t, and neither had Dean by the shake of his head. Sam glanced between the three of them and then back to Gert before nodding tentatively. “Like the Flying Dutchman.”

Gert’s eyes almost managed to light up. “Exactly!” She exclaimed. “Are you sure you’re associated with the officials?” Her question made Y/N’s throat run dry–was she about to have them made? “No one has even listened to me so far. They all look at me like I’m crazy.”

“Well, we’re listening,” Dean leaned forward with a smile. “Trust us, we know crazy.”

Gert seemed hesitant at first, but heaved a sigh before continuing. “Well, there’s this tale of a ship that sailed in the 1800s, a merchant sailing vessel. It was called Espirito Santo. In 1859, one of their sailors was accused of treason and hanged.”

To any other person, it wouldn’t seem like much to go off of. Even to Y/N, she was a bit confused. In her mind–the man who had been hanged could be a spirit, but wouldn’t he just haunt the vessel he was on? What would bring him to Sheila Case’s bathroom?

“Sheila had said she spotted the ship off the coast on her run one evening just a few nights ago along the port,” Gert seemed skeptical about the information she was providing them, but anything could help.

“So, you believe in all this? The ghost ship?” Dean asked curiously after she finished.

“Is there a better explanation?” Gert asked, exasperated. “I know my niece didn’t drown in the shower. I know she was spooked by a ship she thought she saw a few days before. I don’t know what to believe in, exactly.”

Y/N glanced at the boys. “Thanks for all the information, Gert,” Sam offered the elderly woman a friendly smile.

“Oh, my pleasure,” she beamed, winking at Dean as they all stood so the three of them could leave. “Please, if there’s anything else I can do…”

Dean cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. The thought made Y/N want to laugh; Dean Winchester? Uncomfortable because of a woman’s advances? She never thought she’d see the day.

“Thank you, Gert, “Y/N grinned. “We appreciate it–and we’re sorry for your loss.”

They said their goodbyes and headed out the front door, back down the sidewalk path. As soon as the door had closed and they knew Gert was no longer in ear shot, Sam and Y/N let out the laughter they had both been holding in.

Dean grimaced, a small pout over his lips. “God, I feel dirty.”

Unfortunately for him, this only made his brother and hunting friend laugh harder.

X

There was another victim’s sibling who had come forward to the police department requesting an investigation, but still so many newspaper clippings to attend to. Y/N headed to the home of the vic’s family to question them while Sam and Dean headed back to the abandoned shack they had decided to squat in to try and find a motive. The victims had to have a common denominator somewhere. They just weren’t quite sure where yet.

Y/N mulled over the conversation she had just had with the victim’s family. There had to be a connection somewhere, but why couldn’t she figure it out? As she walked along the bridge overlooking the water back towards Baby (she was still surprised, herself, that Dean had trusted her with his most prized possession), she heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance.

Her eyes pulled from the wooden bridge below her feet and up towards the sky. It had become bleak and gray, puffy fog-like clouds had rolled in and covered the sun that had only been there moments before. Another low grumble sounded from the sky and Y/N’s eyebrows knitted together. That’s when her eyes saw it; it was clear as day.

On the horizon where the dark blue water met the now gray sky, a ship sailed forward. Lightning crashed against the gray of the sails that whipped in the wind of the oncoming storm. Y/N’s throat ran dry and her eyes widened in fear. Maybe this wasn’t the ship everyone had spoken of; maybe this was different.

But almost as soon as she had seen it, the ship suddenly vanished, taking the looming storm with it as the sky suddenly cleared and the thunder rolled out to sea.

Her heart pounded against her chest. She tried to swallow past the lump that had formed in her throat. Her mind played games with her; had she really seen it? Or maybe she was imagining things from lack of sleep and her involvement in the case. She had nightmares about cases sometimes; maybe that was happening.

She fumbled with the car keys in her hand and hurried to the Impala. Y/N knew what she had seen, and she needed to get back to Sam and Dean now more than anything.

She barely knew what she was doing as she was driving. Her mind took over and her foot practically pressed through the gas pedal as she floored the Impala all the way back to the shack. If Dean could see her now, he would kill her.

She screeched the brakes and threw the car into park. She clambered out of Baby and took hurried, wobbly steps towards the shack. Her hands found the white door as she knocked three times hurriedly, and then three more times when no one answered.

Y/N heard the lock click and the door handle move and stepped back. Without realizing, her breathing had become heavy and her eyes had filled with tears. Sam stood behind the opened door, his face broke into concern when he noticed how upset she was.

He reached out to touch her arm, “Y/N, you okay?”

She hurried past him into the room where Dean stood, his brow also knitted together with worry and confusion. “What happened?”

“I-I…” she couldn’t get the words out and her throat ran dry again. “I saw it.” Her eyes darted between the two brothers. They still seemed confused. “The ship. I saw the ship.”

Sam’s jaw tightened and his eyes moved quickly to Dean. “Wait, you saw it? Like you actually saw it?” Dean seemed angry.

“Yes, I saw it and then it disappeared,” Y/N responded hesitantly. She was terrified. She knew they would be terrified now, too. Everyone else who had seen the ship had died. Her fate was now on the line.

Dean eyed Sam closely, but Sam remained just as tense as he had moments before. “Son of a bitch,” Dean breathed as he ran his hand over his face. “Y/N, we love you but we have to ask you something.” He seemed nervous approaching whatever he was about to ask.

Y/N looked between both of them quickly. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. All she could think about was that damn ship, what could they possibly need to ask her?

Sam pulled Y/N gently to sit down on the end of one of the beds in the room. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and watched him closely, her eyes still full of uncertainty and questions. “We…we found what the spirit’s motive is.” He started carefully. She looked back at Dean who now stood before her with his arms folded across his chest.

“And?” She urged him to continue, the pause in his voice almost unbearable as she tried to process why he sounded so cautious. A bundle of nerves tangled in the pit of her stomach; she had no idea what they were about to say or what it would potentially mean.

“The sailor who died,” Dean began, his eyes now on Sam before glancing back at Y/N. “He was hanged for treason.”

“Right, we knew that already,” Y/N looked between them once more. “Guys, I can’t take it anymore. What are you getting at?”

“He was hanged by his brother,” Sam quickly said as his eyes bore into hers with sympathy and compassion. “We’ve realized that the spirit is targeting people who have been involved with the death of one of their family members.”

There was a silence in the air that felt suffocating; Y/N suddenly found it nearly impossible to breathe. Her eyes pooled with tears of hurt and frustration. Her mind was filled with flashbacks to a time she never wanted to remember.

“Hey,” Sam whispered delicately, his hand suddenly on her hand. “It’s okay. Just talk to us, alright? We’ll figure this out.”

Y/N begged the tears not to fall. Once the lump in her throat felt under control, she found that both brothers were watching her intently. They needed her to explain.

“The brothers killed their dad for his inheritance,” Dean explained while she stole a few more moments to gather her thoughts. “So yeah, that was pretty screwed up. But Sheila–Sheila’s cousin was killed in a car accident. The accident was her fault, but it was still an accident. It doesn’t mean Sheila deserved to die.”

Y/N nodded with a grim smile at their attempt to make her feel better and took in a shaky breath. “It happened when the vamp nest raided my family’s home. It was after I had been hunting with Jeff and Lily, a vamp escaped when they raided my roommate’s nest–the one I was telling you about,” she looked at Sam. He nodded, urging her to continue. “Lily, Jeff and I got to my parents’ house as soon as we could. But they had already had enough time to attack my family. They…they turned…” her voice dropped off at the end as tears threatened to fall.

“It’s okay,” Sam rubbed her arm soothingly. Y/N brought her hand to her cheek to wipe away a tear that had slipped.

“They turned my dad,” she cracked. She officially broke and didn’t even try to fight it anymore. “There was nothing we could do; it was too late. I…I had to kill my own father.” Her body shook with sobs as her head fell into her hands. Sam instinctively pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her tightly, as if holding her so close would keep her body from shaking so badly.

Dean reached out to rub her back in a pacifying gesture. The boys exchanged a look over her head; they had one option, considering the body had been cremated after the sailor’s death. Without any other remains that they knew of, they had to move quickly with the only possible solution Sam had–to resurrect the sailor’s brother who murdered him and hope that would end things. There was little to go off on, but they had no time.

[morbidology]

Sex work never has been a safe job and as long as it remains criminalized, it never will be a safe job. Due to sex workers' often transient lifestyle combined with the secrecy surrounding their work, they are quite often targets to sadistic predators.

One such woman who fell victim to one such offender was 28-year-old Catrine de Costa.

Throughout the spring of 1984, Catrine worked as a sex worker on the streets of Stockholm, Sweden. Catrine had fallen down on her luck and turned to sex work as a means to fund her drug addiction. The last time she was seen alive was on the 10th of June, 1984, when a client let her out of his car in central Stockholm.

After not hearing from her for a couple of days, Catrine’s mother reported her missing. It wasn’t like her to keep in contact with her family. Her mother had ever right to worry.

On the 18th of July, the first grim discovery was made. Underneath a overpass in Solna, a bin bag was found containing dismembered remains. These remains were identified as Catrine’s by her fingerprints. A couple of weeks later, another bin bag containing more remains was discovered. Catrine’s head, internal organs, one breast, and genitalia were never found. No cause of death could be determined, however it was evident she had been murdered.

Shortly after the discovery, Teet Harm, a local pathologist, was suspected and arrested for the murder but shortly thereafter, he was released. Another suspect came to light the following year when the wife of Thomas Allgen, a general practitioner, told police that she believed Thomas had been molesting their daughter.

Coincidentally, Thomas and Teet were acquaintances. While investigation the molestation, Thomas’ wife told them that her daughter had started talking about witnessing a dismemberment. The two men were put on trial for the murder and dismemberment of Catrine. They were subsequently both acquitted after the court determined that there wasn’t enough evidence she was murdered.

After the verdict, District Attorney Staffan Bergman told local newspaper, Svenska Dagbladet, that Catrine theoretically could have fallen and dismembered herself and that the murder hypothesis was built on circumstantial evidence. “On the other hand, there is quite a bit that points to murder. I haven’t heard of anyone being dismembered after a natural death,” he added.

The murder of Catrine provoked the women of Sweden to rise up and protest against male brutality. Despite the uproar and popularity the case garnered over the years, the murder of Catrine still remains unsolved.

[pepsiandmermaidhotel]

N/A: This is the first fanfiction I write in English and about Elvis Presley! I have such a fun time writing the first chapter and making the cover and all the little edits to make it more real! It was really fun. Also, Elvis will not appeared in that chapter but he will appeared in the second chapter (I'm sorry) but it was important to me to put the base of this story in a certain way.

Summary : You are a young and talented agent of the "I.T.A" or International Time Archives Agency. Your job is to time-travel in the past to collect information, content, and stuff from the past to enrich the knowledge of the history for the present time. As was your father, you are one of the greatest and promised agents of your time (although you nearly start your career) and more specifically of the department that focuses on old celebrities. You were praised for succeeding in one of the most iconic and hard missions known in your department: "The Red Lipstick." After a huge success and a great reputation on your own, the agency decided to put you on a new quest to complete, and this one was as hard as the previous one : "The Bossa Nova mission". Although, for you, it seemed as easy as "one, two, three" because it was just stealing old stuff from no other than Elvis Presley. For you, it will be easy and quick because of his reputation and lifestyle. Therefore, you didn't think that one mission that you think would be so easy would be one of your most intense, hardest, and unique mission you ever did at the point to reconsider all your priorities because of the one who would steal you heart as you steal (involuntarily) his... Mister Presley.

Warning : idk right now i'm sorry but i'm gonna say everything is a warning.

•○LOVE IS TIMELESS○•

Chapter 1

It's the beginning of the summer, the sky is blue as the ocean, birds are singing and it is eight in the morning. You are layed in your round pink bed, covered by a pink silky blanket, your head hiding in your fluffy pillow. You are trying to stay in your dream world while the birds outside sing more and more loudly as the second passes while the sunlight light up your room making it very hard for you to stay in a deep state of sleep. You end up, after five minutes, to wake up and leave your dreamy world for the real one. You look at the little alarm clock on your white nightstand to see what time it is before stretching yourself and leaving your bed.

You put on your pink fluffy slippers and your white vest before going out of your colorful girly bedroom. You can hear music from downstairs, some oldies that your mom liked to put on while she was cooking for her and your father breakfast. Also, you can hear your dad complaining about being retired from his "perfect job" and working at the administration of the military now. You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit more as you slowly walk and go downstairs. You can smell more and more strongly the sent of grilled bacon and crumble eggs plus the noise of your parents talking, making you little by little quite your sleepy state of mind.

You didn't even step a foot in the kitchen that your mom, as sweet and caring as she was, turned her head to look at you, like she feel your presence to ask you with her sweet voice.

《Sweetheart, how are you? Did you sleep well?》

You look at her tired but with a small smile on your face, even when you didn't want to talk, you can't just start to be mean to her : she was the sweetest mom in the whole world!

《Really tired mom... I sleep well but not enough》

You go in front of the big shelf to take the box of cornflakes after going back in front of the fridge to take the bottle of milk to make your breakfast. Your father was sitting on the chair of the dinner table. He was reading the newspaper before lifting his head to make eye contact with you and exclaimed.

《Tired? Y/N you can't stay all night long to stay in call with your boyfriend like that. How will you stay the best agent of I.T.A if you are tired like that mh?》

You look at your father with an annoyed face before taking your bowl of cereals and take a seat in front of him. You love your father, you really do, but since you decided to take the relieving of his job in I.T.A he was very though and strict with you. It was at a certain point understandable : you big brother didn't want to take the relieving of this and you were the only one who wanted it and excel in it but your father was hard and want you to be as perfect and strong as it was which put to much pression on your shoulders. You take one spoon of cereals before responding. Also, you didn't want to start discuss on how you should act or not when you just even woke up.

《Dad... I already am the promised future of the agency! And it's not because I talk to my lover that it will change something. Okay, I'm tired now, but... it's not like it was always like that!》

Your mom came back with her and her husband breakfast in her two hands. She put the dishes on the table before taking a seat and add.

《Also Marcus, she's only twenty years old... she have the time to be an excellent and perfect agent like you did! Don't you remember? At her age you were in a relationship with me and it didn't stop you to be the greatest of your time!》

Your father sigh at you and your mama arguments before starting to eat his crumble eggs and fried bacon.

《I know Bett'... but I want her to be perfect, do more things and better things than me you know? She's like... my heiress, my me 2.0... I want her to be perfect!》

Your mom sighed and mumbled, "You will never change," while you were looking deep in your bowl of cornflakes. You will prove to him that he doesn't need to worry because you will be the best of the best.

Your dad was in the past a special agent for the agency "I.T.A" or most known as "International Time Archives." It was an intergovernmental agency which used time-traveling to enrich the knowledge of the past in every way possible : politically, social life, lifestyle, pop culture ect... your dad was part of the I.T.A. when it open. He was one of the best agents of his time and was working on the "Celebrities department,"which he used to time-travel a lot. He traveled so much that you didn't see him a lot until you were sixteen. After that, he prayed every night for your brother to join him in the agency, but he refused because he knew how much time it took and didn't want to do it. But you... you always dream of it! Time traveling seems so fun to you and so exciting. When your father heard about your ambition to be an I.T.A agent, he put everything in his will to make you one of the greatest! He put you on mission with him. However, at this time, you're were just a novice learning how to be a good agent in the I.T.A. private school! After that, you're ending quickly to work for the agency because of your father. You were like a type of "nepo-baby" in the game because your dad did everything to put you in work as early as possible but this luck was because of the hard work and the huge pression your dad inflicted to you, make you sometimes had multiple breakdown and question yourself a lot about if yes or no you deserved all that luck and even if you deserved the pride of your father.

Although your hard work pays off because of that one mission you successfully completed. Everyone was in admiration towards you, was greeting you and was being proud of your accomplishment as a young agent. Your father was even more proud as he shows off every time he can how his daughter was "the future of I.T.A" and "The pride of his life". The pression was even more intense than before but you try to handle it as much as you can.

Since you were in your mind thinking about all that, you father wake you up from your though by saying.

《Also Y/N, early this morning, i take the mail to see if we have letters from your brother, taxes, or i don't know what. I find this in the mailbox, that's for you.》

he slid the letter, which was beside his coffee cup and put it right in front of your bowl. You take it delicately and read the front side of the letter. It was written "Confidential, Y/N, I.T.A". You open it in front of your dad and in front of your worried mom who was not feeling good about this letter. You take the paper out of the letter and read it not too loud, just enough for you parent to hear it.

After reading it, your mom took a sip of her cup of tea before exclaimed.

《Marcus, before you say something. I'm against Y/N doing this mission》.

You look at you mom, not really surprised. Since you came back from your previous mission, she got really worried about your tiredness and your sanity. She thinks you need to rest, enjoy your twenties, and do lover things with your boyfriend. She already told you all of that but never told your father about it. She was too scared to start an argument with your proud father, who wants you to be "the best."

Your father looks at your mom conflicted, he didn't care what your mother says, he love your mom for sure, but he legacy was dearer to him. So he glanced at you and smiled quietly before asking you.

《Y/N, don't you want to improve yourself? This mission is such an opportunity for you to be greater than now and to learn more things that you have learned from the past. And my sweet Y/N... didn't you tell me that you love Elvis Presley?》

《I do like him dad but... let me think about it just for a few minute...》

You look at your mom, then your dad in total reflection about what you did read, what your mother said, and what your father also told you. Of course, you were tired, and you really really want a break from this job, but oh God... your dad was right! You really want to improve and be better and never be surpassed by anyone and also want to be the pride of him. Although... there were an another reason! You really liked Elvis Presley!

Of course, like a lot of people from your generation, you discovered him because of the "Elvis" biopic by Baz Lurhmann and fell in love with his most popular song as you fell in love for the actor who played him : Austin Butler. But it was not only that.

When you were in that "lipstick" mission, you were in the fifties, more precisely in the mid fifties when he actually blew up. At this time, your target was no other than Miss Maryline Monroe. You were undercover as her personal assistant, and you did (even if the agency forbidden this action) ask her for a rest day only to go see Elvis at his concert. So you already saw him when he was young, wild and free. You remember how incredible it was and how your heart pounded every time he sang, danced, and acted on scene. He was magical and unique, and no other concert was able to make you feel the same way after living this one. You also remember that tiny eye contact that you made with him that cause you to melt a little bit.

You never talk to anyone about that "forbidden act" you did, nobody need to know after all, and it didn't mess up the temporality. After thinking about your choice and maybe also to pleased your father, you look at your mom with a bright smile and respond.

《You know what? I'm fine, mom, I swear! I'm a strong girl, and dad is right. I want to improve myself, to be the best period. So, to be the best, I need to practice, and this lil mission is just as easy as "one, two, three." I will end it in less than a week and go back home peacefully, so don't worry, mom!》

Your mom looked at you and sighed before covering her face with her hands to show how exasperated she is.

《Sweetheart please... don't be so hard-headed! You need some rest please and don't listen to your father, he just want... to satisfy his ego towards his friends!》

Your father eyes were wide open when he heard what your mom said. His attitude starts to act out, and he start to complained.

《Please Bett', did you really think I'm doing all of that for my OWN ego? Please don't start here. I just want her to be the best!》

You were already annoyed by this little argument your parents have in front of you. Before your mom can even retort to your father something, you put loudly your hands on the table to exclaimed.

《Don't start to argue... my choice is already done, I want to do it without being influenced by dad, mom. You two also know I kinda like Elvis Presley, so it would not be such a chore to do for me. Mom, I know you're worried, but trust me, I really want to do it!》

Your father smiled proudly, feeling like he won while your mother looked at you, still worried but she didn't try to retorted something against your choice. She only caresses your cheek and kisses you sweetly.

《Now, I need to let you two alone! I need to notice the agency about my decision!》

You leave the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher before leaving the Kitchen while saying.

《And don't argue too much!》

Which makes your parents laugh. You leave the kitchen and take the black wooden stairs to go upstairs in the bathroom to prepare yourself. You take your time. Take a hot shower before doing your hair, and go back to your bedroom to change yourself. You put on your most formal outfit ever : black flare pants, a white shirt which was softly opened and a black suit jacket to match your black pants. You put on some accessories like a leather belt, a tiny golden necklace, and some tiny golden hoops. After that you go back to the bathroom to put some make-up on, something light since you know the agency like neutral make-up so you only put on some eye-liner, mascara, red Lipstick and a bit of bronzer.

After all that, you take one of your handbag, your phone, and some important personal belongings before going downstairs in the entry of your house to put on some black high heels. Your mom saw you and goes toward you. You lift yourself up after putting in your heels, and your mama takes you in her arms while mumbled to you.

《Wish you luck》

You smiled and lightly laughed to what your mom murmured to you. You look at her and put your two hands on her shoulders before responding in the same tone.

《You don't need to, I know I will be taken》

You smiled before leaving the house without knowing that your mom prayed for you to not be taken.

_________________________________________

It's noon, you arrive at your destination. You stand in front of an old building that was standing between a lot of glorious hotels and casinos in Las Vegas. At first glance, it looks like one of those luxury hotels you can see everywhere in Las Vegas. But happily for you, it was not. You walk the stairs until you end up in front of a big black door with a little box in front of it, which you need to type a code to make it open. Of course, you know the code by heart, and you type it in the little box. That one thing made a noise that told you the door was open. You push it and enter a new world full of loud noises and people working here and there.

You enter the building full of noises, and people, walking, talking, and running here and there giving documents to one another. You can feel "work" and also the multiple temporalities condensed in one big building. You always liked to work here because of the mood of the agency! It was speedy, and intense and gave you so much adrenaline that you didn't feel the tiredness of work until you back home. It was like time was frozen and mixed in one building. You can find people dressed like the sixties, the fifties, the twenties, and even like the previous century. It was always fun! People ran in the hallway and worked on their desks or even planned their future mission! The vibe was comforting for you and for you it was your second home.

You, you knew where you needed to be. You walk confidently into the main hall of the building, saying hello to all of your co-workers before directing yourself to the elevator. When you were in, you pushed the button where it was written the number "4" and let the doors close before to bring you back on the fourth floor. You step outside the elevator and walk through the hallway. The walls were covered by golden and black wallpaper that gave an oldies vibe and the floor was covered by some red curtains. It was kind of dark, the old wall lamps were broken that was why it was so dark.

You stopped in front of a wooden door that was graved on it "Mr.Jacks" before knocking on it. A loud voice respond loudly to the knock.

《Please enter!》

So you opened the door and smiled at the old men who was in the room. The room was very oldish, giving some fifties detective vibe. It smell like alcohol, cigarett, and cheap perfum! Then there is that old men, sitting in his desk chair and smoking. He was very skinny, got those tired eyes, black skin and his face have those big hollow cheeks. He was wearing some old blue-ish suit that was to big for him and make him look like some cartoon-ish characters. He looked at you and pass one of his hands on his lacquered hair before taking his cigarett out of his lips and telling you.

《Y/N! I'm pleased to see you! Come and take a sit》

You enter the room and take a seat in front of him with that one big smile. Oh, you love Mister Jack! He was like a friend to you even though he was older than you. But he was always kind and caring toward you so it was no big deal.

《How are you Jack?》

You asked him, he looked at you and put his cigarette in the ashtray before responding.

《I'm fine lil Y/N, and you? Did you rest well since your last mission?》

《I'm fine Jack, I did rest but my mom thinks I didn't rest enough!》 You slightly laughed about it and he joined you.

《Your mom is so worried about you, you're a big girl now! She shouldn't be so worried. Did she know you're the best girl and can do everything?》

《I guess for her I'm still her little girl... I can understand that! She's a mother after all》

You softly smiled thinking about it, after all, it was her way of showing her love for you. Mr. Jack looked at you in a soft way before asking you.

《That's cute! ... So Y/N why are you here?》

You get out of you little though and go back in professional mode. You take the letter out of your handbag and give it to him with a big smile before saying.

《I received this, this morning, and I'm just here to tell you I accept to do this mission!》

He takes the letter and opens it to read the content. It was always fun to see Mr.Jack react to your convocation, letter, or anything else because he was always overreacting and acting out in front of you. And you did sometimes, laugh about it so much could it be funny.

《So Y/N gonna be with THE Elvis Presley??? My young self is jealous miss Y/N! I remember when I was young... I was a big fan of him but I never really got to saw him. But I guess you will do it for me!》

《Of course! And if you want I can take some pictures for you?》

He glanced at you with a pleased face before he sang.

《If you do so, I swear you gonna be my lil favorite!》

You laughed at his little attitude before adding.

《Because i'm already not?》

The two of you laughed together before taking back your seriousness. Mr.Jack goes under his desk to take something, he goes back correctly to his chair and gives you a file. You take it and look at it before opening it and reading the document that was in it. You first, read the document about your target and what you will need to do during that mission. You furrowed your eyebrows as you see how much censored that document is.

《Wow... I have never seen a much-censored document in my life. Is that an application of the FBI or what? Even the Marilyn Monroe case was not as censored at this one!》

Mr.Jack didn't respond to what you were saying, he only fixed you reading all the documents. You continued to study the files, you learned a bit about your mission: you need to take some important unreleased content and a "Red book" that tickles your curiosity. Also, it was mentioned that you should take some "content of his private life" 《maybe taking pictures of his private life》 you think to yourself. After that, you read the rules of the mission and your eyebrows furrowed even more and your eyes show how lost you are.

《Jack are they kidding? Is it a joke? How can I complete this mission successfully if I can't EVEN talk and create a little friendship with my target?》

Jack's face shows desperation because he had to read the whole files and was in total disbelief with the rules which seemed to complicate more the mission than others.

《Like for real Jack. I understand not talking to the people of the past, the "pastinger". But really??? Can we be for real for one minute now? I never saw this in my life. Even in my past mission, I was able to create some kind of friendship with my target because it was allowed and it was always allowed in every missions every agent in here do!》

You started to getting pissed and add.

《Just because he is "friendly" and "kind" should not be enough reason to not be his friend. Like how can I take all of what those applicants want without creating some trust between me and my target uh? It's unbelievable.》

Jack was understanding you, he related to your annoyance and put his hands together in a fist before putting his chin on it and tell you to reassure you.

《Listen to me Y/N, I know you can do it even with those hard rules. It seems impossible but trust me you can do it efficiently. And...》 he bent over you to murmur 《you can still break those rules and talk to him, just be careful and build just trust and not some type of relationship》

He wink at you and you feel reassured, more confident about that strange mission. You smiled.

《You're right! I'm gonna nailed it, I know it. Also Jack, do you know who are those applicants?》

Jack put his fingers in front of his lips like the response of that question was a secret.

《Can't tell you! They don't want to be known.》

《Mh, okay.》 You briefly respond. Jack pursuit that little conversation.

《So Y/N, you know where to meet us and when! Just need to add to not take a lot of clothes, the agency will provide you with all the clothes, skincare, and other types of stuff. Also, we will give you a fake ID, a credit card, some money, and other identity papers to be safe out there. Also, remember to never act like your own self. In there you will be the personal photographer of Elvis Presley, you already got the job and you will see him tomorrow at the International hotel.》

You node at everything you said before he continued his speech.

《For your background, the agency decided to make you become a girl who successfully graduated from university and search for a job. Both of your parents are dead for obvious reasons, you didn't have siblings. Your trait personality is that you are cold, professional, and distant in the professional world. They think it's a good way to make Elvis see you only as a worker and not as some worker "friend". And I guess that's it》

You grimace as you hear how you should act during the mission. You were the opposite of that. As usual, you were a bubbly girl who loved to make friends, act like a fool, take all the pleasure in life, do funny things, and be near everyone... you were not cold or distant and it hurt you a bit to hear that you would need to act like a cold-hearted woman. But I was for the mission so you don't argue with it.

《Ok! Thanks for all the information Jack!》

《Your welcome miss Y/N》

You smiled at him, took the files, and left your chair to leave the room. As you were leaving the building you thought about all of that and felt a bit odd about this mission: something wasn't seeming right but you didn't know what so you decided to not think about it and go back home to enjoy the last moment with your family.

__________________________________________

It was eleven at night, and your only little suitcase was ready, filled with your PC, some memories, your plushies, and other personal belongings. You were sitting on your bed, dressed like a girl from the sixties and with makeup like one too! You were wearing a baby pink short dress with a white shirt with puffed sleeves, your legs were dressed with white tights and some black heels. Your hair was slightly curled and side-parted, and you were wearing a pretty pink colored lipstick, some blush and an extravagant liner with fake lashes. Your nails was painted in white and you did know that you rocked that one outfit.

However, maybe you feel pretty and excited but before you leave you need to do one more thing: call your boyfriend. He didn't know about your mission and you already know how upset he will be. It's been now three years that you've been in a relationship together and it was very unhealthy between you two.

Although, you knew about the fact that your pretty boyfriend James didn't like your job. He often makes you notice how it takes much of your time and does not leave enough space for your love life. Of course, you were conscious of that but you always reassured him about that and told him that it was your dream and that it would not ruin your relationship. Because of your job, multiple conflicts between you and him appeared in your relationship making you very stressed and nervous because you do love James and you do want to do your life with him. But you also love your job to death and choosing between those two seems impossible for you.

This job is your child's dream job and it makes you happy but James is your first love, your dream husband and the love of your life.

So the chore of announcing to him that you'll go on a mission tonight at midnight makes you, for sure, kinda nervous... you don't want to lose him after all. So you take a deep breath, take your phone, and go into your contact register to click on his phone number and call him. The ring of the call stressed you even more, your heart was pounding and your hands shaking a little bit. You wait six second before hearing.

《Baby?》

You gulp your saliva and respond.

《Honey... are you? You good?》

You tell him while trying to hide your nervousness.

《Of course I'm good! And you?》

《I'm good...》 you respond before pursuing the talk to the main topic. 《Listen honey... tonight... i-i'll go on a mission and... and the mission is undetermined and... I swear I would go back in time as fast as possible and... and don't be mad please I...》 you didn't know what to say so you let a silence filled the conversation.

Your lover, on the other side of the phone, takes a moment before talking, he takes a deep breath like he is trying to hide how much he's not happy with that news.

《Y/N... you know, and I know that you know... that the anniversary of the day we met is coming soon? In three weeks more precisely... are you-》

You cut him as you said fastly and loudly.

《I promised you to be back in two weeks James! Trust me... I will be as fast and efficient as possible I swear. The mission is just... It's just taking things and that's it! Very easy. I will be here trust me please.》

You were nearly begging him to trust you with all his faith. You will do everything possible to keep him, you loved him so much. He put time to though about all that letting you again in the silence before responding.

《Well... I guess I have no choice but to accept the news... however, I know I can't say anything if you should go you will go. Keep your promise, don't betray it Y/N... I love you but this job is killing us...》

《I swear babe, I will go back much soon than you think! I love you you know it... I will do everything for you》

《If you say so》 he mumbled 《anyway Y/N... I go back to sleep... be careful, I love you》

《I love you t-》... you didn't even finish your sentence that he hung out the call. You sight sadly and look at your watch, it will soon go to the meet point.

You verify clearly if you don't forget something before taking your luggage and go downstairs where you father was waiting for you.

He look at your with a bright smile before telling you.

《We should go now!》

You only nodded before hugging tightly your mom and kiss her cheek.

《I love you mom, I'll miss you!》

She sadly look at you before saying.

《Please be careful and come back as quickly as possible back home my little princess》

You nodded before joining you father outside of the house. It's time to go.

__________________________________________

It's midnight, you father leaved you in front of the abandonned "Pink Vegas Restaurant" and your waiting outside in the slightly cold night those agents that should give you the things that will be provided to you by the agency.

You look at the dark blue sky and at those shiny stars who comfort you in that lonely place. Before leaving you father tell you how much proud he was of you and how he wish you'll do better than the Last missio. Deep into you it makes you proud to be his pride but also makes you nervous to maybe disappoint him if you don't do well.

You think about it and tell to yourself that you will do good, that you will be perfect and be the best of the best... not only for you but also for your father. To show him you was as excellent as him.

While you were lost in you thought, a red car park in front of the restaurant. The noise of the engine put you out of you thought, you look at the car and see two men dress as the Men In block get out of the car. One of them was short, red-headed and kinda chubby, the other one was as short as the red-headed one but more muscular and blond headed. The blond headed one go get out some stuff from the car's truck while the red headed one go towards you.

You look at him as he glanced at you before saying.

《Hello Y/N, we are the agents of the I.T.A who will give you the provided stuff by the agency and some more information for the mission. I introduce myself and my friend: I am Matthew and the blond head his Thomas.》

You looked at Thomas who waved at you will taking two suitcases out of the trucks.

《So Y/N, mmmh... you will go back to ninety-ninety-sixty-nine for the Bossa Nova mission. Remember : you need to take some unreleased songs, private content by taking pictures and also the red book... very important things to take.》

You nodded and his friend join him and give you the two suitcases you takes.

《Also, remember, no contact with Elvis, only professional and small talk. It would be hard but you can do it! Don't hesitate to sneak into his personal belongings if needed. Moral in that case is not important we just need the content ok?》

You nodded, you were disgusted by what he said. You never heard that in any of your missions. "No morality"? You find it kinda disrespectful toward your target. With the last one, you never used to be in the immortality or do bad things... so you were shocked that the agency tolerated that sort of behavior.

《Also, be careful, don't make yourself seen in any way and especially seen by Mister Presley. Be as inexistent as a ghost. Mister Presley is impulsive so don't draw attention to yourself. In those suitcases, you can find all your fake papers, your material as a photographer, clothes, and all the other stuff you need for living in the past.》

Thomas also give you an envelope which contained all the money you need. He tell you.

《In there, there is all the money you need. Of course, the Elvis team will pay you but you know. We need to be far-sighted. Also, you obviously already have the job as the personal photographer of Mister Presley. You will meet them at ten in the morning in the International hotel. Don't be late.》

You nodded and Matthew took out of his pocket a pink round powder compact and gave it to you. You looked at him curiously and took it before opening it and open your mouth surprised. It was not a powder compact but a hidden phone... like in the cartoon "Totally Spies".

《And if you ever need help or anything, you can use this phone to contact us or even contact your family, friends, lover, or whatever. This is a new gadget from the agency and it worked pretty well! Also, the loop is situated in the restroom. An agent will wait for you in the restaurant, he is the owner so don't worry about being seen or not. Good luck Y/N.》

《Oh th-...》

You lift your head and see that you are alone, those two disappear the same way as they appeared. You sighed, you took your luggage, and entered the abandoned restaurant.

It was dark, dirty, and dusty inside, the smell was terrible and there were crashed glasses and syringes on the ground. Sometimes you ask yourself why the agency put their loop in the most disgusting, scariest, and obscure location in the world. You walk slowly and carefully before entering the darkest corridors you ever seen, nothing was perceptible, you were just able to hear the sound of you heels crushing syringes and broken glasses bottle on the ground.

You hardly find the door of the restroom but, hopefully, you find it. You open the door and a terrible sent welcome you, so terrible that you keep you breathe and start breathing with your mouth.

《I really should talk with the administration about putting those loops in better place.》

You say out loud. You shut the door behind you before looking towards you and see it: a big white lightening hole in the wall, it was the size of the wall and very very light and white, so white that it start to hurt your eyes.

《Here we go now, we go to the sixties baby》

You telling yourself. You walk and enter the hole letting your whole body be swallowed by that hard white light. You shut your eyes and let the feeling of peace filled your whole body. Enter this hole was always for you the best feeling because you always feel empty but not in a bad way, it is always relaxing and comforting to enter the portal... until you arrived in the past and just crashed in the ground like you right now did, like the hole spit you in a new whole world.

《OUCH!》

You stay during a few second lie on your stomach on the ground before standing up, touching your face and your neck to see if you were wounded by that crash. You look beside your and see your suitcase also on the floor. You feel soothed and stand up your suitcases before hearing the door opened, you glanced at the door and see a dark haired men who was two time taller than you and muscular enter in the restroom. He seems very old too, you squint you eyes to see him despite the darkness before a feeling of happiness filled your whole heart.

《UNCLE DANNY?》

《Y/N?》 He respond happily.

You two go hug each others with a lot of happiness and surprised. Uncles Danny was your dad brother, those two were working for the agency since they were twenty-five. contrary to your father, uncle Danny still work as an agent but more to welcome the traveler who need to accomplish a mission than a real agent. He go back everyday on the futur but just enough to not get stuck in it, that was why you didn't see him that much.

《You have grown so much since I've seen you!》

You laughed and took your suitcases before responding.

《it's been a true while. However, since my mission is in the same timeline as you, we will see each other more often!》

《Real little Y/N, you need to tell me everything because your father will tell me nothing about what's going on!》

You and your uncle go out of the restroom as you talk about the future, your lover, the life with your parent, your social life, and your successful career while he is talking about his life in the sixties and how he dealt with it. You also have the opportunity to see the restaurant in his living years. That one was a cliché of those American restaurants from the sixties (and you find that very funny). As the two of you talk, you leave the restaurant and your uncle closes it before getting in his car.

He put on some music and started to ride in the direction of a motel. You are very tired so you don't talk that much, you even start to fall asleep in the car but your uncle wakes you up when you were finally arrived.

《Wake up Y/N, we are arrived in your destination!》

You slowly open your eyes and see in front of you an old motel that look very shabby and cheap. You looked at your uncle who says.

《I know... it's not the best place in the world but I don't choose where you gonna sleep! If you want to complain, complain to the agency》

You rolled your eyes amused by what your uncle said before retorted.

《I'm not a spoiled child, I'm not gonna complain just ending this mission as quickly as possible and going back to the future!》 You were very confident and that makes your uncle smiled.

He gives you a piece of paper with his phone number on it before telling you.

《If you need to see me. Call me ok?》

You put it in your handbag and nodded.

《Don't worry!》

You hugged him before saying goodbye and get out of the car. You take all of your luggage out of the car's truck before going into the motel.

The interior seems quite modern for his time, you who will think it was looking cheaper and Chabby was in fact in the wrong. You go take a room at the reception and it was a lady that takes your application. You paid and she gave you the key to the room one-hundred-sixty-four. Although she seems nice, you can see in her eyes that she is suspicious about you as if something was odd with you.

You preferred not paying attention to it and directly to your room. You walk in a very bright corridor covered by art paintings before taking spiraled wooden stairs. You go to the first floors and longed the corridor until findings the door of your room.

You take the key to open it and push the door, you enter the room and close the door. You put your luggage beside the big large bed before sitting on it and taking a big breath. You look at the ceiling and take a time to rest.

Tomorrow will be a long day! But that's not the most important. Tomorrow... you will met Elvis Presley, and just thinking of that make you standing and heard you heart pounded.

Because you were busy you didn't even realize how big it was : meeting Elvis Presley, working for him and be near him. You blink multiple time your eyes.

《Oh my god! Y/N how can you be calm when you gonna met Elvis in person?》 You're telling at yourself in total shock.

You tried to calm yourself, and you took your luggage first and inspected it. There were a lot of clothes, your camera, your fake ID papers, perfume, makeup, some types of vinyl you take with you, your plushies, and other stuff. you take you skincare with you and go to the bathroom.

That room was very classy and neat for a cheap motel, you even ask yourself if this motel was very cheap. You start cleaning your face and take off your clothes and while doing that you still thinking about tomorrow: how it would be? how do resist in front of the King? is this going to go well? You were stressed and even doing you skincare can't calm you down.

You go back to the main room in underwear and directly go into you bed, covering yourself with the black blanket and taking your plushy that you put on the bed before. You hug it tightly and still think about tomorrow.

You think about meeting Elvis, about the mission and about your father but also you lover. Everything was so stressfull but you try to calm yourself down: "everything gonna be fine" you told yourself. You set your alarm clock at eight in the morning for tomorrow because laying in your bed and taking a time to calm down

You little by little you fall in a deep state of sleep without knowing that tomorrow will be one of the biggest day of your life.

[hyukassubi]

🪡 17 | The ‘S’ In ‘Seamstress’ Stands For ‘Soulmate’

♡𓂃 Pairing -> (Former) Knight! Huening Kai x Seamstress! Reader

♡𓂃 Synopsis -> Growing up, you never believed in purpose, nor destiny. Simply following the path of life, becoming a royal seamstress didn't at all seem like a bad idea. Only thing is, it wasn't your idea.

Your best friend who just so happens to be the crowned prince knows what it's like to grow up having limited choices, and Prince Kang Taehyun doesn't want the same happening to you. The commander knight, in turn, has other plans for the future. After Huening Kai closes a profound chapter of his life, he seeks refuge from the chaos of his past, opting for a cozier lifestyle instead.

... And it just so seems that those plans wouldn't be fulfilled without you.

♡𓂃 Wc -> 944

Newsreading over espresso on an early autumn morning while ignoring the helpless screeching of crows wasn’t how Taehyun pictured his career to go, yet he’s doing exactly that over his bedroom balcony, Beomgyu next to him mixing up a slimy concoction with plastic utensils.

Above here, with this view, Taehyun often times sits here in silence, villain-face on, seething.

At least that’s what it looks like.

“How long did you say the dye will last? A few years?” Taehyun flips the pages of the newspaper, a brief run down of all the other princes of neighbouring kingdoms having achieved something. Something ‘great’, starting generational movements, so to speak.

Taehyun, unironically, did not care.

Beomgyu whisked away the slime, “As long as you’d like it to last!... Hopefully.” and then whispers to himself as quietly as he can, which isn’t at all quiet. “… needs more pink… needs more glitter…”

Taehyun snapped his eyes back at Beomgyu, “You are not adding glitter into the dye.”

“Oh yes I am!”

“…”

”… Please?”

”…”

“…FIne—”

“A pinch, and no more.” Taehyun said in all seriousness, pointer finger to the sky sliding from left to right. “I want my hair looking like strawberry froyo, not the Milky Way galaxy.”

Beomgyu continues stirring until a thick grime of pink bubbles up inside of the bowl, knowing all too well everything after this will go smoothly.

Everything will be okay.

Dying the prince’s hair pink was the last thing you expected to do today.

There, at your door stood Crowned Prince Taehyun eighteen and inching… so subtly… over you. Like, you actually had to tilt your head backwards to look at his face, which, in the trajectory of your whole friendship, you’ve never done before?

All you could do was blink, wondering for a second why that mattered as much as it did now…

“I’m sorry, me? Dying your hair?” A featherpen and yellowing-paper sits at your desk, Taehyun had noticed, not the usual sets of fabrics and needle plushes and boards hung up full of rough design drafts.

Even the sight of that alone was refreshing for him. “Yes queen, you’re the chosen one.”

You could’ve asked him, ‘Me?’

‘…Why?’

’Why me?’

‘There’s a whole lot of hairstylists out there so why me?’

The next couple of words that came out of your mouth went a little something like this:

“Hm, I guess I’ll give it a shot.”

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

You and Taehyun, Taehyun and you. Together. Nearing the pond over a picnic blanket, watching as its miniscule waves brush by the grass.

Taehyun, in all his princeliness, allowing the warm sun to kiss his skin given that spring has arrived just days ago.

You, his seamstress, pick apart at his hair, clipping random uneven bunches up using neon heart-hair clips.

You can’t help but ask. “Pink? Of all colours, you chose pink?”

“That sounds kinda sexist, the way you’re wording it.”

“No, I just thought… well, since you’re unofficially the prince of sass, maybe… purple would suit you better?”

“Purple?”

“I dunno, any colour that screams ‘I mean serious business, don’t even try me’.”

Taehyun smiled and… it was the first time in a long time you saw the prince light up the way he did, still unsure whether it was real or out of habit but… was that a bad thing?

“I guess that would fit me… but no.” Taehyun stares blankly into the pond, “I wanted to go for something… softer. Something different. Because people change, don’t they?”

“So… you’re dethroning yourself from that Prince of Sass position?”

“As if. No one will ever replace me but… there’s so much more you haven’t… we haven’t…”

There it was, in his eyes lied a certain emptiness that never quite sat there before:

Yearning.

The mixing of the pink sludge in the plastic bowl came to an excruciatingly long stop, or at least it felt that way. The way realization hit you, that, the more time went by, the more focused you were on your career, the more the people who once brought meaning into your life seemed to have grown, too.

And you weren’t there to watch it.

Taehyun didn’t drastically change, he was the same old prince from before… was he?

"…We haven't really talked in a really long time." You mindlessly mention. "I can't remember the last time we..." talked.

When Huening Kai left, when was it really, the last time you even saw the prince?

And instead of hating you for it, instead of belittling you or shaming you for being such a blind-sighted ‘friend’, he says slowly, "It isn't your fault. None of it is. I'm looking forward to spending more time in the future with you." you're all I have, the only special thing I have, he didn't mention.

Somehow, you can feel those words unspoken.

The rest of the afternoon was spent painting strands of hair pink and choking down silent tears.

Yeonjun came into the tent in a white tank and cropped joggers half-eaten by the dragon on their previous joint slay, toothbrush in hand, toothpaste foaming in his mouth. “Commander cutie patootie Kaiiii, we’re ordering drinks right now do you wan— Oh my—” Yeonjun’s toothbrush fell out of his hand and santa beard smothered his chin.

On a hammock (Yeonjun bought solely for his Commander), Huening Kai laid there buried in at least ten thousand sheets of paper and five plushies on his bedside.

“Can’t talk right now.” He flips to read another letter Yeonjun has never seen in his life. “I’m doing hot boy things.”

Yeonjun zipped the front of the tent shut.

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♡𓂃Tags: @sweetheartsaku @imcringebutimfree @i-like-to-read-at-4am @pengningie @marloree @stormy1408 @blossommi

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[4seasonsofart]

❀ Masterlist ❀

-> Here you will find the oddities and ends of which my mind has come up with~

♡ Updated On: November 14th, 2023

♡ Current Hyperfixation: Vinland Saga

♡ Daily posts are little bits that I post. Most are comedic and most have some headcanons in them.

♡ ✔️ - Mean the poll is completed

♡ No nsfw content

Vinland Saga

Hunter or the Hunted? (Hybrid AU)

-> Hybrid Askeladd Profile

-> Hybrid Thorfinn Profile

-> Vinland Saga Hybrid AU [#1]

-> Vinland Saga Hybrid AU [#2]

-> Hybrid Thorfinn (Part 1) Season 1: 6 year old Thorfinn meeting you.

-> Hybrid Thorfinn (Part 2) Season 1: Thorfinn sees you after eleven years.

-> Hybrid Thorfinn (Part 3) Season 1: November 2023

To Know A Man

Lokis mischief has ended up with Thorfinn's fate being manipulated and him falling incredibly ill; Arnheid Village is on the edge of destruction. Einar is sent on a mission by the Norns to keep Thorfinn's fate in check. Will he be able to save his best friend, or will he fall prey to Thorfinn's nightmarish past? Inspired by: @wutheringmights

Part I: Old Friends, New Enemies

-> Chapter I: What has been, is, and will come.

-> Chapter II: Unknown 2023 Date

Daily Posts

-> (Thorfinn) Vinland Saga Self-Aware AU [#1]

-> (Canute) Vinland Saga Self-Aware AU [#2]

-> (Thorkell) Vinland Saga Self-Aware AU [#3]

-> (Askeladd) Vinland Saga Self-Aware AU [#4]

-> (Snake) Vinland Saga Self-Aware AU [#5]

-> Why people hate VS Season 2: A Theory

-> Our little princess (Feminine Canute)

-> Thorfinn doesn't know how to flirt

-> Thorfinn doesn't understand pregnancy

-> Thorfinn doesn't understand periods

-> If Garm was in S1 of Vinland Saga [#1]

-> If Garm was in S1 of Vinland Saga [#2]

-> Vinland Saga Characters when reader texts them "I want a baby."

-> Vinland Saga Characters "murderer, insane, or baby...?"

-> Askeladd introducing his family (Modern AU)

-> Canute and cat noises

-> Thorfinn x Canute (Drabble)

-> Sin For Me (Thorfinn x Canute One-shot)

-> Pride Before The Fall (Thorfinn x Canute One-shot)

-> Fuck The Angsty Teenage Lifestyle (Thorfinn x Canute One-shot)

-> t4t Thorfinn and Canute

-> Thorfinn and Canute Ship Dynamics

-> Thorfinn/English Royal Reader/Canute

-> Poly Yandere Thorfinn/Reader/Canute

-> A True Warrior (Thors x Reader | Part 1)

-> Vinland Saga Match-up Event

-> Vinland Saga Match-up #1

Vinland Saga Breaking News (Newspaper)

-> Local Men Adopt Three Children - Prince of Denmark secretly a princess? - Thorkell is how big!? [#1]

Vinland Saga Hunger Games (AU)

-> Vinland Saga Hunger Games (Round 1 Results + Life Update)

-> Vinland Saga Hunger Game Matchups (Round 1) ✔️

-> Arnheid -vs- Fox (Round 1 | Poll) ✔️

-> Asgeir -vs- Thorfinn (Round 1 | Poll) ✔️

-> Bug-Eyes -vs- Willibald (Round 1 | Poll) ✔️

-> Canute -vs- Olmar (Round 1 | Poll) ✔️

-> Einar -vs- Sigurd (Round 1 | Poll) ✔️

-> Garm -vs- Gardar (Round 1 | Poll) ✔️

-> Hild -vs- Ketil (Round 1 | Poll) ✔️

-> Thorgil -vs- Wulf (Round 1 | Poll) ✔️

-> Vinland Saga Hunger Games AU [#1]

-> Vinland Saga Hunger Games AU [#2]

Vinland Saga Percy Jackson AU

-> Vinland Saga Percy Jackson AU Gods/Cabins

Miscellaneous

-> Queer Alice In Wonderland

-> Queer Alice In Wonderland Headcanons