#he's becoming known as the city drunk

[allastoredeer]

Headcanon! The hypnosis effect dampens with alcohol. Alastor fortifies with a shot of absinthe if he's expecting to be in close proximity to Vox. It has an effect like making a sound under water. You hear, but you can't really make it out.

Vox: (walks into an Overlord meeting)

Alastor: Ah, fuck. (pulls an entire bottle of vodka out of his coat and chugs the whole thing)

#he's perpetually drunk at every Overlord meeting #that bitch is not listening #he is playing with Rosie's hat feathers #he's becoming known as the city drunk #it has to be that smoopy “Happy” Hotel right? #it's turning him into a drunkard #better not go there #or do #if it drove the Radio Demon into being an alcoholic it's gotta be SOMETHING #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #the radio demon #alastor the radio demon #vox x alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #radio demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #voxval #voxal #vox the tv demon #asks #anon #anonymous #radiostatic #staticradio #Drunk AL Au

[anantaru]

— drunk genshin boys

including heizou, alhaitham, scaramouche, kaveh, pantalone, childe, diluc, cyno x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff & crack, idk what this is but very cute

drunk! heizou who gets tremendously clingy with you— he doesn‘t have anything but embracing and snuggling up to you in mind. from the beginning, before anything else, you have to help him get to bed, he can barely walk in a straight line and you wonder who he was sharing his drinks with— might be kazuha for all you know. "you‘re so good to me." he slurrs his words, eyes lowered and almost closed but keeping them open, heizou tries to because he can’t keep his eyes off you— even when drunk out of his mind, then the sweet man reaches his arms out for you, "come here come here." it’s a combination of a pitchy whine and a pout displayed before you and archons, how can someone be this adorable without even trying hard? you wonder but ultimately smile at your boyfriend, drawing a fuzzy blanket over his body before leaning into his chest.

drunk! alhaitham who fights with himself, more or less— he can hardly stand. you see, your boyfriend knows he‘s drunk and now he‘s forcing himself to sober up with nothing but pure, strong willpower and a good spirit at hand, but beware, he knows it‘s not possible but he tries to tell himself to sober up regardless, even when aware that that‘s not how it works in the general rule of booze. "i have almost conquered myself." he announces proudly while leaning against your shoulder, his soft hair ruffled and ticking your cheek. "yeah yeah." you playfully roll your eyes, placing your hand on top of his thigh while petting the clothed skin. it‘s when he places his palm on top of your hand to catch you in his embrace before you can notice the faint, soundly snoring sounds of your boyfriend succumbing to a deep slumber against you.

drunk! scaramouche who, much to your own surprise, tends to indicate a few kisses, cuddles and silently thanks you for taking care of him— it‘s especially surprising since this never happens when he‘s not under the influence of alcohol. truthfully, he didn‘t think he was even capable to get drunk and tried a bunch of different beverages around sumeru city. what he didn‘t know was that, alcohol can become a little tricky, especially when it hits you somewhat delayed. you were quick to notice his cheeks changing their color until his entire face was covered in red— the small pants from his parted lips and his larger pupils only proving your point. "nuisance." kuni curses, planting his arm over your shoulder as he makes you stop for a second, keeping your movements to a stand still. "kiss." he leans closer, no words following, ultimately failing to hit your lips and bumping in your nose instead— at this point you’re dying of laughter, you had even attempted to fight your giggles but how could that even be an option when he‘s like that? yet to the best part, you show him how it‘s done and properly melt your lips on his.

drunk! kaveh who— and such fact is known throughout all of sumeru, was a lightweight on the inside, but sometimes had the need to pretend to actually be able to hold his drinks in. you on the other hand knew your boyfriend and his tendencies to drink a little bit too much whenever he‘s meeting up with his friends for a round of tcg or anything really— most of the time it does consist of gossiping. considering this, you always await him late at night, knowing full on well that he‘s going to have a hard time getting out of his shoes or, frankly, find the way to his bedroom. "i‘m not- not drunk!" he proclaims with a pitched, half broken tone, raising his pointer finger in the air, "drunk not i not!" and stammers before dropping into his bed face first. you welcome him with a smile, "you sure aren‘t." and amusingly shake your head but not before placing a bucket next to the bed for— well, who knows what you both will face this entire night.

drunk! pantalone who loves to drink a few glasses of red wine— reveling in the massive flavor of different nuances the beverage had in store after a long day of working himself to frenzied tiredness. believe it or not but he knows the limits of his body quite well, yet even he can overindulge in it from time to time. in which case would he make himself overly noticable the moment he stumbles home. it‘s louder than usual and you wonder if he actually tripped over and fell carelessly or ran against the door. but the man finds you at last as he always did, you long since ready for bed before dropping right next to you, still fully clothed in a perfectly fitted garment and his glasses messily shoved up, "i may have had too many drinks tonight." he admits against his own volition, rubbing his head and the tiny red spot emerging on his forehead— he really did hit the door, "and you may need to help me out of my clothes."

drunk! childe who doesn‘t consider a party being a real event without him in it— surprinsingly was the eleventh harbinger good with keeping his booze in, it‘s rarely for him to get real, drop dead drunk, but when he does— oh boy, you can be sure he won‘t stop talking to you the entire night. "have i told you about that time i dropped a whale on an entire army?" brazen words after arrogant notions, ajax cuddles himself against your back to try to turn you towards him, after all, he thinks you weren‘t listening with your body being turned away like that. after a deep-rooted yawn, you pull yourself to the left to face him, "you did." and cradle his cheek, "you did at last three times this past hour."

drunk! diluc who, much to his own embarrassment, needs to be taken care of. the man loathes alcohol to his very core, but even he needs to occasionally drink a couple glasses with important partners who he had been collaborating and working with. "i can‘t feel my legs." he almost whines at the loss of his senses, numb and tired as you repeatedly dapped a cold washcloth on his forehead while he was continuously pinching his biceps, "that‘s your arm baby." your expression softened slightly as you carried on to clean him up. as it was time to turn in for the night, you felt diluc‘s intense, warm presence closer than on any other day before, "please don‘t leave." his words find your ears with such ease, like a piece of his own soul, a bright, hopeful voice, full of hope but webbed in bristling fear, "i won‘t."

drunk! cyno who— and this really doesn‘t surprise you at this point in time, pompously shows off all his aquired and bundled up jokes, you had, in the beginning of your relationship, thought that what if he would genuinely turn out to be legitimately hilarious when in such wobbly state. "a tighnari and cyno walk into a bar." he pulls his mask off and places it on a drawer that, and don‘t ever tell him that, but there isn‘t a drawer there, he‘s just imagining things, "knock knock, *hiccup* who‘s there?" cyno quickly stops himself as you pick up the mask and put it on a real drawer, sliding into the warm bedsheets beside him afterwards, "wait, that‘s not how the joke goes." the man wrinkles his nose in thought, blinking rapidly while looking at you through puppy eyes, as if you had an actual idea on what he‘s talking about.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #heizou x reader #alhaitham x reader #kaveh x reader #pantalone x reader #childe x reader #diluc x reader #cyno x reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #wanderer x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #scaramouche x you

[whorergal]

SHE'S MINE

summary: you get attacked by ghostface but another ghostface comes in and saves you…

warnings: scream vi spoilers, language (cussing), blood, gore… typical horror stuff lol

pairings: ethan landry x fem!reader

authors note: this is my first ever imagine (and post) on here so i hope u like it >.< i want to write more so i’ll try to be active especially for ethan. also, this is pretty short so i wouldn't mind writing a part two :3

❗️: part three can be found here!

———————————————————————————

You weren't in much of a party mood unlike the rest of your friends. Really, you haven't been in the exact mood in doing much anymore. Ever since Woodsboro, you had lost a part of yourself in the tragedy that haunted you. It was unusual especially since it was nearing Halloween, your favorite holiday, that you didn't want to participate in dressing up and getting drunk as a reward. You decided to stay inside your apartment that you shared with Anika, catching up on homework that you had missed.

Tara had made it her job to text you every so often, casually updating you on the party. After a couple more short texts, they started to become more and more hard to understand which made you laugh. At least someone was having fun.

When you sat aside your phone, trying to keep all your attention on finishing your notes, your phone began to ring. You furrowed your brows when you took a glance and saw it was coming from an unknown caller. Immediately you became paranoid. You let it ring until it ended, shaking it off as a coincidence.

Ghostface was gone. There was no possible way it could've followed you and your friends to New York City. Right?

Your phone began to ring again.

Maybe it was Tara, you thought. You knew she was drunk so maybe something happened and she was borrowing someone's phone. But why wouldn't she just use Mindy's or Anika's? You tried not to think about rational answers because you didn't want to feel stupid for answering the call when you knew you shouldn't have.

"Hello?" You answered.

"Hello, Y/N," the familiar voice said back. "You miss me?"

You should've known. Well, you did know; you were just stupid enough to think otherwise. "Fuck, no," then you hung up.

Instantly, you opened your contacts and went straight for Tara's number. But, then you remembered she was absolutely hammered which meant she probably wouldn't be much help in your situation.

You scrolled mindlessly until you landed on Ethan's contact, clicking on it instantly, seeing as he was someone you confided in the most. Mindy had already told everyone her plan tonight was to get shit-faced so you weren't confident in her being able to aid you in this; neither could you count on Anika as she would be with her.

It rang for a couple short seconds which felt like eternity for you, being panicked and all. You were relying on him answering because you weren't sure how long you had until something happened.

Luckily, he answered in confusion. "Y/N, what's wrong?"

"E, I need you to come to my place now," you let out in a complete rush, the words almost slurred together.

"What?" he questioned. "Y/N/N, I can barely hear you. Are you okay?"

"Ethan, he called me. Ghostface called me."

The line went silent, only the sound of loud music and people hollering. That was until your phone began to vibrate against your cheek, startling you. You brought it down to your line of vision and saw it was the unknown caller. Or, should you say, whatever fucked up person that was behind the mask.

"Y/N, can you hear me?!" His voice came out in distress, worried something happened to you. "Hey, Chad and I heading over right now! Y/N?!"

"They're calling again," you stated simply.

"Don't answer it!" He was practically yelling into his phone at this point because he knew exactly what you were going to do. It was what almost got you killed in Woodsboro.

You didn't listen to him, deciding to hang up on him and use your remaining courage to answer the call. If you survived once, you sure as hell can survive again.

"What the fuck do you want?" You spat in anger.

"You hang up on me again and I'll paint your bedroom walls in your blood," they rushed out. "It would be a shame for your friends to find your mutilated lifeless body, wouldn't it?"

"Fuck you." You held back your wavering because although you weren't afraid, their descriptive threat made you nauseous.

"How about we play a game?"

"How about you fuck off."

"It's an easy game, Y/N," they told you. "You answer correctly and I may consider sparing your life."

You scoffed, getting up from your bed. "Fine. I'll play your stupid game."

"Great." There was a short pause. "Where in your apartment do you think I'm at?"

The confidence crumbled as now you started to feel the rising fear bubbling in your chest. "What?"

"You heard me," they said. "Where. Am. I?"

"Fuck," you mumbled to yourself. "Why don't you just come and get me, asshole? Are you too afraid?"

"The opposite." Their voice came out hushed.

Then, your bedroom door flung open, hitting harshly against your wall that it left an indent. Ghostface came running toward you, knife rose in the air, intending to plant it into your skin but you managed to dodge their attack, shoving them onto your bed as you made your escape.

You didn't get too far as they grabbed ahold of your ankle, making you face-plant into your wooden flooring. If the pain of hitting your head against the hard surface wasn't enough, the sheer agony rippling through your leg at the feeling of their knife digging into your calf was enough to make you scream. When they pulled it out, you grew enough strength to kick them in the face as you struggled to get up, finding all your energy diminishing.

Attempting to make a run for it didn't turn out well as you heard their footsteps catch up to you, causing you to throw yourself out of the way for their knife to go straight through the door.

Your apartment was pretty small. I mean, it only housed you and Anika so there wasn't much room needed which ultimately meant there wasn't anywhere else to go. Your kitchen was connected to your living room which was also connected to your hallway. It was all one open space. So, it was no surprise that they caught up to you again.

They managed to tackle you to the floor, holding you in place by stabbing you right where you had been previously, breaking through the stitches. You screamed so loud, you were concerned at the fact that your neighbors hadn't become suspicious at the sound. Where the hell was Ethan?

Them pulling out the knife hurt much worse, causing you to whine in return. But then they stabbed you in your abdomen once more, causing you to let out a choked sob. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to release the tension as you were physically helpless at this point. You reached down, feeling the blood coat your hand as you forced them to pull the knife out of you. Using whatever energy you had left, you kicked them off of you.

You used your entire arm to hold your wounds in place as you turned to crawl away. You weren't surprised to feel them grabbing your ankle, on the leg that had been injured which made it feel ten times worse, and drag you back to them. They flipped you on your back and stared down at you for a second until they began to raise their knife in the air.

Preparing yourself for the worse, you laid there with not much else to do, waiting to be punctured for what you assumed to be the last time ever. That was until they were thrown off of you by someone smacking them in the head with the wooden cutting board Anika used to cook you two dinner. Your eyes felt heavy but you couldn't help but widen them when you saw a second Ghostface, staring down their accomplice instead of you. The sound of the wooden board clattering against the ground caused you to flinch.

The one who had previously been attacking you was shorter than this new figure. You began to crawl away again, seeing as this short distraction gave you that advantage. You were bleeding out quickly, but you didn't want give up just yet.

You made it toward your counter, glancing at them as it seemed they were having a silent conversation. That was until the shorter one attempted to attack the taller one, using their knife but they easily intercepted the stabbing by grabbing ahold of their wrist. The taller one tossed the other one carelessly against your bookshelf, causing all your shared books with Anika to fall at their collapse.

It was funny to think you were now more worried about your books well being than your own.

You cowered behind your counter, carefully watching them in total confusion. The fact one of them was defending you, which seemed to go against their whole purpose, had rendered you frozen.

There was one last silent mutual conversation until the one with the knife shook their head in what you assumed could've been anger before fleeing the scene. You followed their figure until it was gone with wide eyes.

Your breath hitched when the Ghostface that practically saved your life turned to look at you. They didn't come near you, or really move at all as they stared into your soul. There was noise coming from somewhere in the building which caught their attention, making them turn toward your door and run out as well.

You watched in surprise. What the hell just happened?

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #jack champion #scream #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x you #scream vi imagine #scream imagine

[rootbeersturniolo]

part 1 here

the second part of this series.

pairing: matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: two weeks had passed after the death of their bestfriend, and it still remained a mystery yet to be solved. it wouldn't take long before more secrets began to unravel, and there was only one question left to ask; would you love somebody enough to die for them?

warnings: mentions of murder and death, murder in detail, grief, blood, weapons (knives and guns), anxiety, smut, suggestive, homophobia, being laced, attempted assault

-

It's been two weeks.

Not that it feels real yet.

Two weeks of starring off into space, watching detectives scope out our dorm room. Natalie’s entire side of the room has been demolished. Pictures and memories deemed as evidence in her case.

They’ve been going at it for a while now, but there were still no updates. The corner kept quiet, they said legally they couldn’t say anything else. My parents told me they were actually just stumped on who could’ve pulled off such a crime.

She was found the morning after the party. Which meant we were the last to have ever seen her. Her blonde hair flowing through the air as she closed the door in Jackson’s face, subconsciously saying goodbye to us all even if she had no idea what would come next.

Her body was covered in her crimson blood. Her clothes, hair, and skin were stained permanent in her own defeat. They counted fourteen wounds throughout her body.

Absolutely none were self defense.

It wasn’t a surprise. She was drunk. She was drunk and weak, incapable of protecting herself as she walked back to campus.

I should’ve been there with her. I should’ve walked back with her. If I did there was still a chance she would be alive. Or there was a chance I would be dead too. Which wouldn’t necessarily be the worst thing. Not anymore.

Her smile is engrained in my head and I’ve been so scared that one day it's going to go away, I don't want to ever forget it.

When she was alive I was so focused on myself. So focused on Matt, school, and the annoying rumors that she spread.

But now she's gone and I want her back more than anything.

I want more sleepovers on her trampoline where we told each other our deepest secrets. I want to be sitting on the hot pavement, doodling onto the sidewalk with cheap chalk while we mindlessly talk about middle school drama. I want her back for everything that made her good.

How can somebody become a memory? She was laying in bed next to me, talking about her and Jackson two weeks ago, and now all I have left is the impact she left behind. How is that fair to her?

How is it fair to be known by what you put into the earth in a mere nineteen years?

The funeral was terrible. Her family became my family, and seeing them so broken only filled me with more guilt.

"You're just getting ridiculous."

I was so mad at her, so fuelled with anger that I couldn't think about anything else, and now I’d witnessed her parents, sobbing onto the coffin while her older brother stays strong for them.

“Do you have anything better to do?”

My last words to her.

On repeat every time I visit her.

She did so much good, and I was too focused on the bad to see that.

Although grief shows up differently for everyone, we’ve all been taking it hard. Nick took the most time to process, he was unable to fathom a world without her in it, and I held him as he cried in my arms after the funeral.

That’s the only thing that made her death feel real. Not the news reports, or the empty dorm I came home to. Instead seeing her lifeless body, covered in makeup she wouldn't have applied herself. Somehow still looking beautiful as ever.

Jackson became overly distant. It seemed unlike him to say so little about someone he loved so much. None of us wanted to push him though. His relationship with Natalie wasn’t one I wanted for myself, but they relied on each other to get by, and now he feels utterly alone.

The whole city feels different. Remnants of her everywhere I look. I just can’t escape as much as I try. As much as I try and pretend everything’s still ok. The truth is nothing will ever be truly ok again.

At least not for me.

-

“I'll just get an order of fries and a vanilla milkshake please.” | smiled at the waitress, the maroon apron resting on her waist while she takes my order. She nods as she turns her head away from me.

“And for you?” She asked, referring to Matt who sat across from me, a knit sweater resting on his body. The body that I knew like the back of my hand.

Matt and I haven’t been out since Natalie died. Date nights had always been a common thing for us, but it’s taken me awhile to bring myself to leave the house.

Natalie was murdered. Stabbed and killed by another human being. Another soul, yet no remorse filled their bones.

I couldn’t bear the overwhelming amount of evidence that she was in fact dead. I moved into Matt’s dorm for the time being. His roommate left for break, which meant I could easily sneak in for days on end. His arms wrapped around mine while fresh tears coated the dry.

Instead of rotting in the once shared dorm, I laid inside of Matt’s room. My mind never letting me forget what happened to Natalie. My dreams, my thoughts, everytime I closed my eyes.

For once though, I’m more focused on the cute smile on Matt’s face while he orders than I am about the tragic events that took place. The way his fingers toy with one another as he speaks, picking at his skin to get him through having to order himself.

We decided on a vintage diner that's been open in our town since forever. The same place he took me on our first date. I smile slightly as I reminisce the innocence of it all, how awkward he had been asking me out, how he went above and beyond with fresh flowers and a kiss goodnight.

“What’s got you all smiley?” He asked as the waitress left to give our order to the chef. His hands overtook my own on the surface of the table, his silver rings brushing against my gold.

“I just love you at lot.” I replied, feeling my cheeks tensing up slightly at the grin that exhausts the muscles in my face. The skin heating up as a light pink scattered across it.

“That's really the only reason?” He asks as he furrows his eyebrows. His gaze glued onto mine, like he could almost look through me. I sighed, relaxing my shoulders completely.

“Remember our first date? I was just thinking about the car ride to this diner, and how scared you were to hold my hand as you drove.” I giggled lightly. He cringed in embarrassment, placing his hands over his face to cover his now red cheeks. I took his hands back, bringing them to my own and forcing his gaze towards me. "It was cute."

“I can’t even think of myself two years ago. I was so—” He began to speak again before the sound of my voice cut him off. “So what? So thoughtful, so caring, so attractive…” I listed off, causing him to roll his eyes.

“I fell in love with you two years ago. The same way I’m in love with you now.”

“Wow, you are so corny.” He jokes, shaking his head with a soft chuckle.

“Ok, ok. I’ll stop. I’m just really happy to have you here for me. I couldn’t go through this alone.” I smiled at him. He cleared his throat with a soft nod, his eyes focusing on the waitress bringing us our food.

We leaned out, our hands now lifting from one another's as she places my milkshake and fries in front of me, Matt getting the exact same thing. "Thank you.” I smile at the girl, her footsteps now echoing as she left behind a small smile.

Matt brings a fry to his mouth.

"Is there a reason you get the same thing as me everytime?" I laughed softly, taking a sip of my vanilla milkshake. The cold liquid refreshing my body from the so called tragedy of the hot sun beaming outside.

"Will you make fun of me?" He asked, causing me to shake my head, my mouth still surrounding the colored straw. “I got the same thing as you on our first date, because I didn’t know what to do and I figured you’d have good taste.” He spoke again.

I laughed with a slow nod as I replied. “Did you at least like it?”

“Course’ I do. I was right when I said you have good taste.” He smiled.

The date continued on how they normally do. I finished my food way quicker than Matt, leaving me with more time to talk while he caught up on eating his food.

He had always been my favorite listener. Never judging and always playing sole attention to whatever nonsense left my mouth. He never made me feel alone. He never made me feel small.

When I was with Matt I felt just right.

-

After our date ended we arrived back at his dorm, my body heading straight for his bed, the place I’ve been rotting in for two weeks. My parents are too busy trying to find the person who killed Natalie to be home, comforting their own daughter.

It wasn’t anything new, and I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. That’s how it had always been in the Parker household.

Work came first, family came last.

When I was younger it bothered me more. All I wanted was for my parents to be there for me more. All I wanted was the slightest amount of attention from them.

In the third grade I got caught up on trying to break my arm, seeing as how Natalie did too. Her parents showered her with gifts, love, and attention. Something I had wanted more than anything, and had only received it from Matt.

“Can we please just watch Perks of Being a Wallflower? I haven't watched it in so long." I asked, cuddled up against Matt with my arm hanging over his stomach.

“Isn’t that the really sad one?” He raised his eyebrow, his chin resting on the top of my head as his hand rubbed small lines on my back. One of his shirts placed over my body. It smelt like his cologne and whiskey. My favorite scent in the entire universe.

The room is dark, the TV illuminating the space just enough for me to focus on his hand on the remote, the way his rings fit perfectly around the curves of his fingers.

“It’s not that sad—just the ending, but sad endings are ok if the rest of the story is good.” I finally replied, my eyes meeting his.

“Fine.” He sighed in defeat, his fingers on the remote control spelling out the letters of my favorite movie. The movie I haven’t watched in so long, because I’ve been caught up with everything else.

I hoped it would bring me back a sense of comfort. The comfort that I badly needed after my life turned into such a mess.

But that was selfish of me to say.

Because after all, I still had a life.

The movie started playing, the volume filling the room as Matt’s soft breaths blew against my hair my wind. For whatever reason, my brain couldn’t focus on the film in front of me.

All I could think about was Natalie.

Her last words, the fear she must have felt, how much she wanted to live and wasn’t given the opportunity.

There was a possibility she was too drunk to even comprehend was happening, but there was also a possibility that she understood everything. Maybe she wanted to fight back.

My breathing started to quicken uncontrollably, thoughts of her death overtaking my human need to receive oxygen.

Matt noticed almost instantly, like he always did. He placed his hand on my heart and paused the movie, his arms tighter against my body as he paused his movements against my back.

“Shh, it’s ok. You’re ok. You’re safe with me here.” He whispered, my eyes trying to stay focused on him as he scanned my face, concern and confusion covering his expression.

It wasn’t fair.

What happened to Natalie wasn’t fair, and if I wasn’t too concerned in saving my own ass and protecting myself against the rumors, I could’ve saved her instead.

But I didn’t.

Instead I watched as she walked through the party door. I didn’t say anything as she looked at me for help with what to say to Jackson. I didn’t offer to walk her back to our room.

I just let her leave.

I didn’t know she wouldn’t come back. I didn’t know any of this would happen. If I did I sure as hell wouldn’t have even let her leave that night. Maybe then I could’ve protected her. Just like friends are supposed to.

But Natalie and I were never just friends. We were sisters, and we fought like we were.

“No, I wanted the pink skirt.” Natalie spoke, frustration plastered on her face as she ripped the mauve laced fabric from my small hands. I sighed in annoyance, reaching out for the skirt once more.

“You didn’t say that.” I replied, holding it against my chest as she glared at me. If her eyes were really lasers, I’d be long gone by the way her gaze was glued against me. Her hands empty as I held what she wanted in mine.

We only had two skirts. One pink and one blue, obviously neither of us wanting to wear the dark blue one compared to the glitter filled pink.

It was too late for her parents to go back to the store, the time approaching nearly nine at night. Instead, we had to use what we had; one pink and one blue skirt.

“Just give it back.” She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. I shook my head, holding the skirt closer to my body. She rolled her eyes at my words.

Natalie’s mom pushed through the double doors, spotting us bickering in the living room. Our stance clearly telling her that something was wrong, if not our words.

“She can have the skirt Nat, she’s our guest.” Her mom sighed, picking up the blue skirt and handing it to Natalie who shook her head in response. Now I was the one rolling my eyes, watching as Natalie walked from the room, leaving both skirts behind and finding her way to her bedroom.

“You two fight like sisters.” Her mom mumbled, smiling gently as she followed Natalie through the double doors.

Soon enough my breathing slowed, the memory easing my mind. His hand cupped my jaw as his thumb left soft strokes on my cheek, almost as if he was wiping away everything bad.

“I know it’s hard baby, but she’s better now. It’s your turn to get better now too, yeah?” He spoke, his eyes finding mine again. “No more rumors, no more lies.” He hummed.

“I just wish it wasn’t this hard.” I sighed, not a single tear running down my cheek. It wasn’t because I hadn’t been sad. It’s because I’ve ran out of tears entirely.

Endless nights spent without a dry face. My eyes burning from how much I rubbed them as the tip of my nose turned red. It didn’t matter where I was or what I was doing, because everywhere reminded me of her.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed out, carefully bringing my head back to his chest. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this. I wish I could take all your pain away. I promise I would.” He hummed, placing his hand over my head as he ran it against my hair, his other laced around my waist.

We sat in silence for a few moments, the distant sound of the air conditioning filling the room along with kisses placed on my head.

My mind slowed down again, only one remaining thought in my head while Matt moved his hands from my back to my side, only to reassure me, but I couldn’t help but to have already decided on what I had wanted.

“Matt.” I spoke up again, lifting my head from his chest one more. His eyes were already on mine as he hummed in response, furrowing his eyebrows gently as he awaited my words.

“Can you just—” I breathed out, pausing as my lip got caught between my teeth. He nodded slowly, gesturing for me to continue. “Can you distract me please?” I whispered.

He gave me a soft smile before picking up the remote once more. I let out a soft breath as I shook my head, placing his hand down. He was so clearly confused now.

I hesitated before pushing my body from his, my legs wrapping around his waist as I straddled him. I pushed my hair behind my shoulders, my pleading eyes finding his again.

“Oh.” He whispered, his cheeks flushing pink as he placed his hands on my waist, his touch was gentle. Too gentle, like he thought I would break.

“Please, just distract me.” I mumbled, leaning down as I placed my lips against his. We both breathed into the kiss, his hands placing a gentle pressure on my sides, a touch so delicate it causes goosebumps to form on my arms at the familiar contact.

This kiss isn’t like most we’ve shared in our two years of being together. Instead of slow and sensual, it’s desperate, hungry.

Maybe it was the fact we hadn’t had sex since the night of the party. Maybe it was all of our emotions unfolding together.

Either way, I couldn’t stop kissing him.

Our lips moved together in a unison that was comfortable while our tongues had a chance to explore each others mouth, like many other times.

Matt always knew what I was in need of. Most of the time he knew before I knew it myself, and right now, I knew I needed him.

My own hands traveled to his hair while he shifted to position himself above me, the familiar horse necklace dangling and grazing my neck.

Right then, it was as if I needed to be as close to Matt as possible, like I was craving his touch desperately, and it’s all I can think about. He pulled away, the small amount of light in the room outlining his jaw while he spoke.

“Are you sure you want this?”

I thought for a second, my body wanted it so badly, and as much as my brain had been occupied recently, I didn’t think a distraction would hurt.

I nodded, maybe a little too eagerly based on the loose laugh that he breaths out. “You’ve been so stressed.” He leaned into my neck, placing soft, plush kisses to my neck. “Just relax, yeah?”

I just nodded again, attempting to stay still as his gentle kisses leave me restless below him. His hands on my side trail up, grazing over my chest. He removed his lips from my neck, bringing them back against mine.

The feeling of his nose brushing up against my own could’ve put me into a trance, along with the way he bit my bottom lip gently as he pulled out of the kiss, his hands now pulling up my shirt— well, his shirt.

I held up my arms, allowing the fabric to move over my head, leaving me exposed underneath him. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes trailing up and down as I shifted uncomfortably, waiting for him to do something.

“Matt, please. I need you.” I whined. I was more desperate than ever for any form of relief. Matt leaned back in, kissing directly below my ear before whispering.

“Shh— I’ve got you. You’re good.”

Something about Matt is how much he cherished me at all times. Whether it was something as simple as walking on the side of the sidewalk that’s closest to the road, or something more intimate like right now.

He treated me like I was the best thing to ever grace the earth, and it felt like a title I was unfit to hold sometimes.

His hands roamed my chest momentarily. His fingers placing gentle pressure on every single sensitive section of my body. The only thing I can focus on is the way the pads of his fingers trace over my nipples, and the way he’s practically unable to remove his lips from one.

His hand slid down the center line of my stomach, placing a pressure on my clothed core before leaning out of the kiss.

“You deserve the world, you know that?”

I rolled my eyes playfully in response, pushing down a smile as I looked to him with urgency in my gaze. If anyone was going to be a complete cornball right before sex, it’s Matt.

He shifted down the bed, aligning his face with my lower half and immediately plants a kiss right above where I need him. I began to slide my blue shorts off, clearly eager to get started, but Matt just grabbed my hands and looked at me.

“So impatient, Char. I just want to take my time with you.” He cooed, placing my hands back onto my own stomach as his nose made contact with my clit through two layers of clothing.

My stomach filled with even more butterflies due to his words mixed with his actions. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes momentary as I tried to maintain the aching sensation.

I tried my best to stay still under his affectionate touch, but it was nearly impossible when he began to finally slide off the layers of fabric that are keeping me from him.

I pushed my hips up to help him, still incredibly desperate for any relief he can provide me. He knew exactly how to get me worked up, and I was definitely there.

He removed my shorts along with my underwear off of my ankles before re aligning his face with my aching core. His hands made contact with my legs, lifting them up over his shoulders before his tongue finally got put to use.

It began gentle, just the tip of his tongue starting to explore everywhere expect where I wanted. My hips pushed down against the mattress.

“Matt if you don’t do it for me, I’m going to do it myself.” I groaned through a sigh, getting less patient by the minute. Usually I could take his teasing, but again, I’m not usually this needy.

He just smiled before placing an open mouthed kiss directly into my clit, causing me to arch into the touch. The feeling sending shivers through my entire body.

His movements were soft, but the pressure of his tongue was enough to have me moaning out spewed sentences as he lapped around my clit. My hands immediately make their way to his slightly curled brunette hair, playing with his strands as his hands traveled back up to play with my chest.

The combination of his fast moving tongue over my sensitive clit, and his large hands toying with my hardened nipples had me throwing my head back into the pillow I laid against.

It’s safe to say I was distracted.

Matt picked up the pace now, eager to get me to crumble underneath his touch the way I always did. His hands left my chest, instead being brought down toward my entrance, and asking for my permission without words.

“Please.” I whined, crossing my ankles over his upper back as he detached his mouth from me momentarily. I quickly nodded.

He placed a kiss to my lower stomach as two of his fingers lid into me, curling up slowly as my hips bucked up into his hands subconsciously. His long fingers were definitely a blessing, because they reached my sweet spot without him even having to try.

“Am I making you feel good, pretty girl?” He asked, his voice low but just loud enough for me to hear. Pain mixed with pleasure as he continued to move his hand inside of me.

I nodded instantly, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip as his fingers sped up at a pace that had my mouth watering.

“Tell me what you’re feeling, come on baby.” He said before placing his lips back around my clit, sucking softly as I was expected to speak.

I breathed out, trying my best to muster up my words, because I know Matt well enough to know he’ll stop if I don’t speak. “You—mmph, fuck!” I moaned out, his tongue working at a faster pace that has me squirming around him. His spare hand against my hip to hold me in place.

“You’re so good at making me feel good— you’re the only one who can get me like this.” I replied, bringing my bottom lip in between my teeth to suppress the moans trying to escape.

The initial shock of pure pleasure subsided and my body relaxed into his touch, the only thing I can think about is him and how good he makes me feel. “Just like that.” I moaned, pulling on his hair slightly as his fingers continued curling up into me. “Please Matt.”

He continued without a break, relentlessly flicking his tongue on my clit all while his fingers worked tirelessly to graze my g-spot over and over again.

It didn’t take long before my legs began to close over his head as the pressure building in the pit of my stomach becomes too overwhelming to ignore. “Matt I’m—”

My body acts before I can bear to get the words out, my stomach tensing at the newfound pleasure as his tongue remains ever moving on me until it became too much. “Ok.” I breathed out.

He knew that I was done, and although I could usually go for longer, I’m mentally and physically exhausted, and it’s taken a toll on me in every aspect of my life— apparently including sex.

“I love you so much baby.” Matt reiterated as he shifted up to place a kiss on my neck before helping me slide my shirts back on.

Something about the intimacy in that moment meant more to me than any of the events that took place minutes prior. It’s raw, loving, and it only confirms the love I have for that boy.

“I love you more.” I replied, smiling as he laid beside me on his bed.

I lean into him, his arm reaching over my head, allowing my face to find comfort in the crook of his neck while my leg wrapped around his hips.

His hand made its way to my bare back, stroking small patterns while he scoffed slightly. “I think you forget it’s impossible to love you as much as I do.” He replied quietly.

The words of affirmation never failed to have me flustered, and I truly don’t believe I’ll ever get sick of them. “I am pretty amazing, yeah?” I replied as I pulled myself closer to his body, my bare chest against his clothed.

He just placed a kiss to the top of my head at my words. “Don’t get too cocky now, pretty girl.”

-

We laid in bed for what felt like hours, but was really a mere ten minutes wrapped against his body. His arms around my waist, rubbing gentle circles against my bare sides.

It was so peaceful. I could’ve fallen asleep, and I almost did until the sound of his phone made me shift again him.

“Who’s calling you?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows as the ring of Matt’s phone echoed throughout the room. He shrugged, shaking his head as he denied the call, wrapping his arms around me once more.

We laid in silence, his fingers tracing shapes on my bare back while our legs stayed intertwined with each others.

After a few moments the familiar ring filled the room again. I pushed my head from his chest, sighing gently as he took his phone in his hands, answering a panicked Chris on the other line. He turned the one on speaker, raising it so we could both hear the other line.

“Matt—” Chris breathed out, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “Matt, Jackson got arrested. They think he killed Natalie.” He spoke quickly. My heart dropped at his words, my eyes widening as they met Matt’s.

Jackson?

Killing Natalie?

“What?” I asked, cutting Matt off as he was about to speak. “Jackson killed Natalie?” I spoke again, my tone weary and filled with dread. There wasn’t a chance, he wouldn’t do something like that. Especailly not to Natalie.

Right?

“Charlotte, I didn’t know you were—” Chris paused with a sigh, not knowing I had been listening to the conversation. “Yeah, they think so.” He breathed out.

I swallowed the undeniable nerves, nodding to myself as my mind raced. Just like it had been for two weeks.

“Well do they have proof?” I replied, now I was completely sat up next to Matt, his blanket covering my body as our vision remained on each other. Chris sighed on the other line.

“Yeah, some old text messages apparently.”

My heart dropped again. This time resting in my stomach as I brought my lip in between my teeth. Jackson couldn’t have possibly done something so horrible. He doesn’t even seem capable of doing anything like murder.

Then it hit me.

Jackson left the party after Natalie did. After they got into their fight, after she slammed the door in front of his face, telling him they were over for the fifth time this month.

But would he take something so unserious as a need to commit murder? To kill her? He was most definitely drunk, even then it didn’t make sense. I’ve known Jackson almost my entire life.

And I knew that he loved Natalie.

At least that’s what I thought.

-

The drive to the police station was uncomfortable to say the least. My leg constantly bouncing up and down while my fingers found comfort between my teeth.

Matt had tried to play music to ease the silence but I shut it down insanely fast. I needed to focus on everything going on.

None of this made sense, Jackson’s not a bad person. An asshole maybe, but not a murderer. What he had with Natalie would’ve never ended with such an extreme, a petty argument at most.

There’s many moments in life where for whatever reason it doesn’t feel real. A lot of the time it happens to people on a fascinating vacation or on something loving like their wedding day.

Mine was today.

“Mom.” I breathed out as soon as I stepped into the building, the familiar woman standing beside the registry desk, paperwork in her hands.

If there was even a chance to find out if Jackson was innocent, I wasn’t going to miss it.

She just rushed me into a smaller office without a word. “Mom what’s going on?” I asked. I had a pretty long list of questions rushing through my head but I tried to focus on the present.

My mom is usually good at hiding her emotions, not letting them appear easily on her face. Tonight I could read her like a book, and I knew instantly I wouldn’t like the ending.

“Where were you after the party?” My mom spoke, referring to Matt as he stop beside me. Matt didn’t hesitate before responding. “With your daughter.” He answered, his unfamiliar glare meeting hers.

I furrowed my eyebrows almost instantly at his lie. He wasn’t with me, I was alone that night. I was completely alone considering the fact Natalie hadn’t made it home.

“Charlotte, Is this true? Is Matt telling the truth?” She asked, staring at me with a sense of urgency shooting through her pupils.

I attempt to answer her as quickly as I can in the moment. Although, it’s not easy to ignore the guilt that’s already building up in my stomach.

“Yes mom, he’s telling the truth. He walked me to my dorm and we ended up falling asleep while we were watching a movie together.”

Lying didn’t feel good in the slightest. I constantly remind myself that I’m doing nothing wrong since Matt did nothing wrong. He probably just wanted to avoid looking suspicious because he went to his dorm alone last night.

It’s completely understandable, and besides, I’d do anything for him.

My mom must’ve believed my words because she just nodded slowly, placing her hands against the curves of her hips. “I don’t know Char. It’s not looking good for Jackson.”

I scoffed immediately. She’s working on my bestfriends case, and acting like she knows everything about them.

In reality she was at work so much she barely even met them.

“Jackson’s not a murderer. You guys are wrong about him. He didn’t kill her.” I spoke again as I shook my head with a pleading expression. She barely even registered my words before the door opened again, another officer stepping inside.

My mom’s eyes met mine before I sighed. Just like always, duty calls. It didn’t matter that my bestfriend just died, what mattered was that she was satisfied with her work.

How could I ever forget?

“He’s innocent.” I scoffed again before turning on my heel, brushing past Matt as we left down the familiar hallway. Once we reached a quiet area he stopped me, placing his hands on my shoulders and making me look his way.

“He didn’t do it, Matt. I know he didn’t— He loved Natalie.” I spoke up, searching his eyes for some trace of hope that he believed me. I could’ve been wrong, and I knew that. There was a chance that Jackson really did kill her, but I didn’t see the proof, and I didn’t see him do it.

There’s no chance the killer had been in front of me the entire time.

He only sighed before letting his gaze trace away from mine. He shrugged lightly. “They say there’s a good chance he did.” He spoke quietly. I rolled my eyes at his words. Nobody had his back but me. Absolutely nobody.

“Just try to stay calm, ok? Your parents know what they’re doing. They’re not going to let an innocent teenager go to jail.”

I hesitantly nodded at his words as he placed a soft kiss against my forehead. He was right, he would be in custody until he was truly proven guilty. Not just suspected.

“Besides, there’s no more rumors, no more lies.” He repeated his words from earlier, giving me a reassuring smile as he placed his arm on my arm. The two of us walking back through the doors, the sun hitting our skin instantly.

This time I thought on what he said.

-

matts pov

The sun set and rose again. The entire night spent with Charlotte’s nearly two hundred new possibilities on who could’ve killed Natalie, if it wasn’t Jackson who did it.

I have to say, I had to give her credit for thinking so much about something she had no control over. But I knew she just wanted justice for her best friend, everyone did.

The past two weeks had been spent with her being a complete mess. Mentally. She’s went through the five stages of grief nearly ten times around, and the denial continues to linger once someone now mentions Jackson’s name.

Endless nights spent with her in my arms, words of reassurance and comfort leaving my lips. I hated seeing her so upset.

Not nearly as upset as she was when Natalie started those rumors about her.

“Alright, you needed help on what section of our studies?” Professor Collin’s asked, shooting me a bright smile as he logged into the computer. The forced yet returned smile covered my face.

My eyes traced to the clock behind him. I had to be quick, class would start in an hour, and we had so much to do before then.

“Just section four.” I replied, sliding him my notes. He nodded, looking through what I wrote.

It’s clear he’s not impressed with the work I’ve placed in front of him by the way his mouth forms a tight lipped smile as he reads through. “It’s a good thing you came for help, I’m worried about you getting behind your classmates.” He advises, continuing to judge everything I’ve laid out for him.

Maybe if he wasn’t flirting with my girlfriend the entire two hour lecture, I would be able to get more work done. Instead I was too worried on making sure he didn’t pull her into the broom closet between her studies.

Natalie was lying about the fact that the two of them were having sex. They never hooked up, and I know that for a fact.

She would never do that to me. Especially not with him.

On the other hand, it was painfully obvious how badly he wanted to. Between his eyes locked on hers, dilated pupils, and folders covering his crouch while he stood in front of the class.

It never felt right knowing he imagined her in all of the positions that I have full access to every night. Hell, I’m sure he gets off reminiscing on their innocent conversations in class.

I wasn’t an idiot, and I hated him for how he thought of her. She was mine, and she certainly wasn’t a piece of eye candy. Especailly not for her own professor.

Someone had to teach him a lesson.

“Do you like fucking your students?” I spoke up again, my gaze dropping from my paper to the man sitting in the desk below me.

His eyes quickly widened as he furrowed his eyebrows, looking at me with disbelief. Like he had no idea what I was saying.

“Excuse me?” He breathed out, shaking his head with a nervous laugh. I rolled my eyes so hard they ached. “Did you not hear me?” I asked as I took a step closer to him.

“I said do you like fucking your students.” I had repeated my previous question, this time louder. Thankfully for him the door was shut, leaving us alone in the dingy classroom.

His expression was panicked, but it was also clear how hardly he tried to remain a straight face. He was a pervert. Just a disgusting piece of shit, and everyone was going to know it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He finally replied as he turned away from me.

I scoffed as I took a step closer to him, reaching into my bag. I was going to finally end this. Right here, right now. Nobody else would say another nasty comment about my girl.

“You must think about it at the very least. Are you only imagining Charlotte when you’re sitting in your desk? Or do you think about her laying in bed next to your wife too?” I tease, drawing out my actions as the fear lingers within him.

“Matt?” Professor Collin’s speaks quietly, his eyes widened as I held the metal knife in my hand. He looked at me with guilt, fear, and confusion. The sight I loved more than anything.

The words I loved to hear before disaster. My own name being called out, like they were genuinely confused. Like they didn’t know they deserved this, that it was coming for them.

That I was coming for them.

“Matt?” Natalie slurred, raising her eyebrow as she looked at me. She was complete wasted, I had been watching her stumble on the way back to her dorm, but she hadn’t even been going the right way.

I stepped closer to him as he pushed his chair back, ultimately hitting the wall behind him. He had no where to go, he was completely trapped. And I had the weapon. We were playing a game of mouse. He was the mouse, I was the cat. He was my prey as of this moment, just like he had been preying on my girlfriend for months.

In a swift action I pulled him by his collar, his head hitting his wooden desk as his hands dropped to his side. Small winces escaping his lips as the knife went through his back.

I watched it with eager.

Again.

And again.

The knife going through his back.

Again.

And again.

The light of moon reflected on the silver knife going through her skin, her warm blood seeping out against my hand, against the pavement below us before she fell over.

There was a sudden moment of strength within her. Maybe adrenaline, maybe just pure will to live. Either way she spoke. “I just” She coughed, blood dripping down her chin as tears welled in her eyes. “I wanted someone to pay attention to me.” She sniffles pathetically as she weeps. “Why does no one notice me?”

Her body fell flat against the floor, her head scraped against his ground. I pulled the knife back, her blood pooling on the pavement around us as I wiped it between my gloves.

“No more rumors, no more lies.” I spoke under my breath, taking a final glance at the girl below me. Taking a final glance at the nonsense she’s caused over the past months.

It didn’t take long before his body became still underneath my touch. He was restless, no trace of life left. Just how I liked it. I pulled the knife back, wiping the blood off between my hands.

I took ahold of his hair, pulling his lifeless face up before running two slits on his bottom lip, dots of blood pooling around them.

“She’s mine.” I hissed through my teeth, picking up a lose piece of chalk from the end of his desk before leaving one final message on the board.

Yesterdays problem.

-

My heart raced as I pushed myself through the dimly lit hallways. One foot in front of the other the entire way. I could feel the warm blood seeping into my skin.

The blood I drew.

There was a dead man in that classroom. I was the one that killed him. Guilt mixed with power as I approached the nearest place with a sink, the boys locker room.

As soon as I walked into the room, I rushed to the nearest sink and turned on the water. I watched as all of the evidence went down the drain, but if anyone were to walk into that classroom they would see the truth.

“Matt?” A voice spoke from behind me. Panic flooded my body as I quickly turned around, my eyes meeting Bryce’s. He held his water jug in his hand, his jersey loosely hanging off of his body.

Fuck.

My eyes met his as I moved myself closer to the sink, trying to cover the mess in front of me. The water spraying the mixed blood around the white counter, an undeniable sight.

At my reaction he pushed himself closer, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked down at the sink, the water still running as my hands remained soaked.

“Is that blood?” He finally asked.

My first response was to shake my head, tell him he was wrong. Maybe even gaslight him, make him belief he was the one going crazy.

But it was going to be hard to convince someone that something else was going on. Especially someone like Bryce.

On different circumstances, I would’ve been able to take care of this myself. Make sure everything was clean, and hidden before I ran into anyone. He didn’t give me much of a chance.

It’s unfair if you think about it. I’m only doing what other people are too scared to, and now i’m facing unjust consequences.

“I— I fell.” I spoke out, my eyes locked on his while his was glued to the blood running down my hands. That was until he noticed the knife sticking out of my pocket.

“Don’t fucking tell anyone.” I ordered, trying to remain persuasive or powerful to him, but I knew how much panic was laced through my voice.

He was frozen in fear, like he was the one who was supposed to be scared when I could be getting sent to prison for the rest of my life.

Maybe if he didn’t walk in on me it wouldn’t have been his fault. Unfortunately for him, his curiosity simply got the better of him.

“Bryce.” I spoke again, harshly as I placed my stained hands against his shoulders. His eyes widening as he finally looked up at me. “You gonna fucking tell?” I asked.

He didn’t respond. My heart rate only picked up. He was going to tell. Anyone would. I didn’t blame them, but I couldn’t let that happen. Nineteen years old, spending the rest of my life behind bars for simply giving others justice.

I really couldn’t let that happen.

Before another thought ran through my mind, his head was pressed against the mirror. The glass shattering around us, while the rest became stained with his blood.

His water jug dropped from his limp hand, the liquid leaking around the floor before he dropped down as well, landing against his back with a thump.

I took a deep breath, blood now coating the mirror, sink, and floor.

“It was too risky.” I mumbled to him, well, really only myself as I pulled the knife from my pocket again, three slits placed on his bottom lip, only drawing more blood from his face.

Kill count, three.

-

I'm not a bad person.

At least I don't think I am.

My intentions aren't flawed. I have someone who understands me and sometimes the world treats her unfairly, is it wrong to want to help?

I never meant for it to get this far, but since Natalie it's like an urge. Like if someone looks at Charlotte the wrong way I have an animalistic urge to end it, to end them.

It’s not like I wanted to hurt Natalie, at least not at first, but she was the one who hurt Charlotte. She had been hurting her for months, and I wasn’t going to let it happen any longer.

I’d known Natalie since middle school. I knew almost everything about her. It’s not like I had been fantasizing about killing her for years.

It just happened.

Though, the professor had it coming. Nobody can deny that he deserved what I did to him. Making those nasty, perverted remarks at Charlotte.

What kind of man would I be to allow that?

Bryce was a mistake. He didn’t do anything wrong. I was actually quite fond of him. I had been since he started dating Nick a few months ago. He was one of the better people on this sick earth.

Wrong person, wrong place.

I don't think it's psychotic what I'm doing. When you hear about killers you assume one of two things.

Either they have a bad home life, like Richard Ramirez who was abused as a child. Except I wasn't abused, sure I had my own mundane problems, but nothing in comparison and nothing that caused shit to hit the fan.

Or they are just clinically insane. Like Albert Fish.

I'm not insane, I don't hear voices or see things. I just want to protect the one person who gives me the time of day.

Maybe by protecting her I'm also protecting myself, but I don't think it's selfish. Charlotte is amazing in ways I struggle to understand. She's thoughtful and charismatic, she listens but she also always knows how to make me laugh.

Charlotte’s a good person.

And I'd like to think that by protecting her l'm a good person too.

-

“Matt, what is that?” Charlottes voice spoke up from beside me. My body against hers as my papers were sprawled out in front of me. My eyebrows furrowed at her question.

“What do you mean?”

Fear covered her face as her eyes traced down. They stopped just above my arm, focusing directly on my wrist.

I quickly looked down, my eyes widening as well as I noticed my silver bracelet stained with red liquid. I sucked in a sharp breath, pursing my lips before pulling my sleeve down.

She wasn’t supposed to see that.

Her face remained in a panic liked state as her eyes met mine. Her expression sinking into confusion as she took hold of my wrist, pulling against my sleeve.

“Is that blood— are you bleeding?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowed as she scanned the stained the material. I wanted to nod, maybe even put on a bandaid and keep her from asking anymore questions, but she wasn’t stupid.

Charlotte was many things, but she wasn’t stupid. She could point out a lie from a mile away, a small difference in someone’s tone. It was impressive that she hadn’t caught me yet.

I took my arm back, pulling my sleeve down one more. “It’s nothing.” I spoke cautiously. I didn’t want to necessarily lie, but I couldn’t exactly spit out the truth. Not yet at least.

My intentions were good, at least for her, but that doesn’t mean she’d forgive me for what I did.

“Matt that was blood.” She replied, barely audible but I heard her as tears started to brim her eyes. Her perfect fucking eyes. I hated when she cried. Seeing her upset made me upset. If she wasn’t happy than neither was I.

“It wasn’t.” I mumbled in response. She scoffed, shaking her head as she pushed herself off of my bed. I sighed, following her as I reached my arm out for hers. She quickly pulled back, wrapping her arms around her body.

I sighed as I took a step closer to her, letting my hands drop to my sides. Giving her a respectful amount of space.

She looked lost in thought, her eyes remaining on my covered wrist. The blood was dried, it was from hours ago.

There were police swarming our campus. Both bodies found in the span of five minutes. Collins first, Bryce second. Everyone was sent back to their rooms, doors locked as they suspected an active killer.

Although, nothing was released to the public yet. Nobody knew who was killed, except the first kids that walked in for their morning class.

“Can I see?” She spoke again, a soft breath from her lips as she looked up at me. I hesitated before pulling my sleeve again, the silver bracelet in her vision as the lines of dried blood coated the material.

“Please tell me that’s your blood.”

“Matt.”

“Charlotte.” I finally replied through a sigh. I didn’t want to lie to her. I just didn’t want her to know the extended truth. It wasn’t my blood, honestly I wasn’t sure whose it was. “It’s not mine.” I spoke again. She furrowed her eyebrows.

“Then whose is it?” She asked, letting go of my arm as she looked up at me. I hesitated. This could ruin everything. “Matt— if it’s not your blood, then why is someone else’s on you during a fucking campus lockdown, it makes you seem like you—” She cut herself off as her eyes widened.

“No.” She spoke again, her eyes finding mine again, practically begging for an answer. “You didn’t— you wouldn’t.” She laughed in denial, shaking her head. Once she noticed the lack of my reaction, her expression dropped again.

Silence.

“Charlotte.” I spoke after a few seconds, taking another step toward her. “Listen to me, alright? Just for a minute.” She shook her head again, her body language was so unfamiliar.

Distant, confused, and hurt but all directed at me.

“No, you’re supposed to listen to me. Just answer the goddamn question, why the fuck is your bracelet covered in someone’s blood?”

I pursed my lips as my heartbeat picked up in my chest. If I waited long enough maybe she’d forget. Or maybe she’d just figure out what really happen. That I killed her best friend. I killed her professor, and I killed my brothers boyfriend. But

But everything I did was for her.

She needed to understand that.

“Answer me, Matt!”

“Charlotte.” I snapped, placing my hands on her shoulders, a soft gasp leaving her lips. “Listen to me first.” I breathed out. “I did what I had to do. For us, for you—”

Her expression dropped once more, her face practically white at a those as she pushed my hands off of her. “You killed them?” She mumbled, taking a step back.

“Is that what you’re saying?” She asked. “Thats not your blood, because— whatever happened on campus today, it was you, wasn’t it?” She was speaking so fast, I wouldn’t doubt that she would pass out if she kept going.

I didn’t respond.

“Did you hurt someone- did you— did you- you killed someone, Matt?” She breathed out, her arms pressed tightly against her self. “We’ve been dealing with Natalie’s death, and you go and ruin someone else’s life?”

I looked at my feet, silence overtaking us for a few moments. My heart was racing, my breath short, she knew, and she wasn’t happy. Although, my silence wasn’t the answer, because it gave her more than she needed.

“You killed her.” She finally spoke.

My eyes met hers, as I pursed my lips again. I couldn’t respond, I couldn’t. She looked so hurt, so betrayed, when all I wanted to do was help her.

“You don’t care— you never cared about Natalie! All those stupid words you told me, that you missed her— you’re a liar!” She practically screamed at me, her eyes watering.

“I did it for you!” I replied, matching her tone as I took her wrists in my hand. She quickly shook her head, a look of disbelief on her face as she stepped back, bumping into the doorway.

My heart broke at the way she looked at me. Like she was scared of me, and I couldn’t blame her, but I hated it. I wanted her to look at me how she always did.

With love.

“Charlotte, please.” I begged, looking down at her with pleading eyes. She shook her head with a soft scoff, opening the door before slamming it in the matter of seconds. I wanted to run after her, bring her back into my room and tell her all night that everything was fine. That we were fine, but she had already made that decision.

I wasn’t sure how I expected her to react, but I never expected her to even find out. It was supposed to be a secret, but then again trying to keep a secret from someone like her is nearly impossible.

She could be going to run to her parents for all I knew. Going to hide from me, and tell someone what I did. I might be going to jail after all.

And I might lose her after all.

-

charlottes pov

The last place I needed to be right now was yet another college party. But despite my sour mood, I had friends expecting me and I wasn’t going to let them down.

I spent the past hours stuck in my room, my phone in my hand as I contemplated calling the police, telling them what Matt did, but as much as I wanted to I couldn’t.

It felt like my mind was on overdrive. Maybe he didn’t it, but it was obvious. He never exactly confirmed that he touched Natalie, but the aching pit in my stomach told me.

How could I have been so blind?

So blind to see that it was him all along. Every tear he wiped, word he said, all of it was a lie. He cried at the funeral, hugged her parents, and all along he was the one who shoved the knife through—

I took a deep breath.

Matt was back at his dorm, it didn’t matter. I mean it did, but it couldn’t. I love Matt more than anything, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to him. Even if he deserved it.

So for the sake of not completely falling apart again, I was going to pretend today never happened, and that everything was ok.

I hadn’t been to an outing like this since Natalie’s death, and it felt very real, very fast as I walk up to the front lawn. Red solo cups sprawled unevenly throughout the yard, with people already throwing up in the trimmed bushes.

The campus was still closed off, so with the help of a few friends, someone decided to throw a party just off campus and nearly everyone was there.

I walked in reluctantly, imperially being sucked in by loud rap music. The bass practically beating through my body as I looked around the thick crowds of people.

The sudden grasp on my waist caused me to turn around at lighting speed, panic rushing straight to my heart as I make sense of the face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Nick laughed slightly, pulling me by the hand to a more quiet area in the living space. “I’m happy you’re here! I’ve missed you.”

I smiled. If anyones going to make my presence feel special it’s Nick. “It just feels weird being here now since… yeah.”

A frustrated breath left my lips after my words. Of course I immediately made the mood sad, it’s all I’ve been doing for the past two weeks.

“Hey, she’d be happy you’re here right now. If anyone’s going to take over her role as the obsessive party-goer it’s you.” Nick joked, taking a moment to look around at all the familiar faces.

“Have you seen Bryce anywhere?” He asked. I furrowed my eyebrows. “He hasn’t been texting me back, but his parents could’ve taken his phone away again so.”

I thought about every recent interaction I’ve had with Bryce, but I hadn’t spoken to him since he had helped me with a history assignment a few days ago. “I haven’t heard from him, I’m sure he’s fine though his parents are dicks.”

Nick just nodded slowly in response, it’s clear he was a bit worried, and I couldn’t really blame him. After Natalie’s death and Jackson going to jail for it everyone at this college is on edge.

My heart dropped at the thought.

Jackson.

He was still in jail, and he was innocent.

“Let’s get ourselves a drink yeah?” I asked as I placed my hand on his shoulder, guiding i’m to the kitchen. I just needed to forget, more than anything.

Forget about Natalie.

Forget about Jackson.

Forget about Matt.

It didn’t take long until we’re surrounded by wood cupboards, and large bottles of cheap liquor. I poured us both a cup of vodka mixed with cranberry juice before Chris called Nick to assist him with whatever drinking game he’d started.

I couldn’t really be bothered to take part, so I used this as my opportunity to explore the house.

Weirdly enough walking around all these random drunk students felt almost like an out of body experience. Like I was a spectator simply people watching as I sipped on my poorly rationed drink.

After a small amount of walking I find myself in some sort of man cave. Deer heads are mounted on the wall alongside numerous patriotic posters.

Definitely tacky.

For whatever reason the alcohol hit me like a brick, I was just unsure if it’s because of the sheer amount of vodka poured in or the combination of the antidepressants I was just started on.

Either way my head immediately begins to feel heavy and I opt to sit on the carpeted flooring, leaning my back against the wall.

I put the empty red cup down, I didn’t even realize I had finished it until it tipped over on the floor, and not a single drop of liquid poured out.

“What are you doing in here by yourself?” The vaguely familiar voice she spoke, entering the room before closing the door behind himself.

I squinted my eyes to get a better look at the figure that approaches me.

“Chris is that you?” I asked, my head still weighed down in between my bent knees. He just laughed from a distance as I was still unable to figure out who it is.

That was until he sat next to me, his face now illuminated by the ceiling lights. “Josh.” I gawked, rolling my eyes.

“Atta girl.” He smiled, handing me a cup of God knows what. “I got you a drink, figured you’d need to loosen up after the whole… situation.”

I nodded slowly, taking the cup from him and bringing the rim to my lips before wiping my mouth and replying. “Yeah it’s weird being here. Hard to be happy when I know she’d rather be here than me.” I confessed, the alcohol in my system acting like a truth serum.

Clearly making me oblivious as well.

“Not even happy that gay kids dead?” Josh spoke as he looked down at me, raising his eyebrow while mine furrowed.

I’m wasn’t entirely sure what takes over me but my breathing increased rapidly, vision altered and suddenly my hands feel numb. “What the fuck are you talking about J-Josh?”

Speaking was harder too, the words in my head are struggling to leave my mouth.

“It doesn’t matter pretty girl, he got what he deserved.” He replied, pushing himself closer to me and pushing a strand of hair from my ear. I furrowed my eyebrows. “What�� no— he didn’t.” I shook my head, squinting my eyes as I looked at Josh. Everything becoming blurred.

He let out a soft sigh. “Just relax, please?” He asked. I shook my head, trying to push myself to my feet, but he pulled me back onto the ground. I landed against my knees. His hands coming in contact with my hips.

“Charlotte.” He groaned at my action, holding my hips tighter. I shook my head again once his hands came in contact with the waistband of my shorts. There was something in the drink, and he put it there.

Fuck.

My breathing picked up as his hands came closer to me again. I was going to pass out soon enough, and he was stronger than me. There won’t be anything I could do. My vision turned into a gun rack just in front of me, the door halfway open.

I pushed myself toward the door, his hands not leaving my sides as he tugged at the fabric again, clearly eager.

“Where are you going—”

He began to speak, but was ultimately cut off by the sound of a gunshot firing through the air. My eyes widened as I watched him fall back, hitting the table before falling flat against the floor.

The gun in my hand.

I covered my mouth with my hands, quickly dropping the gun to the floor before looking down at him again, blood pooling quickly around him.

In a second without thought I ripped my jacket from my body, pressing it against the ground in hopes to clean it to the best of my ability.

“Charlotte?” Matt’s voice rang. I quickly turned my head around, my eyes meeting his as I stood from my bruised knees, momentarily pausing my movements of cleaning up the mess in front of me. The same mess I created.

“Matt, there’s blood—” I breathed out, my hands shaking by my side as his body laid under my feet. His lifeless body. That I caused. His blood spread around the carpet, soaking into the material as it approached my shoes.

I took a step back, stumbling slightly at my own action. My hands came in contact with the table behind me, keeping me steady and upright.

It was hard to think about how upset with him I was. Considering the fact that now I had done the same thing; take another life.

“There is.” He nodded, looking down at the floor before looking back toward me. “It’s ok.” Matt assured, stepping closer to me before placing his hands on my shoulders.

My gaze went to his, panicked breaths leaving my lips as my hands continued to shake. I couldn’t tell if it was the fear, or the poisoned drink running through my veins.

Either way I was screwed.

“I killed him.” I spoke again, my breath shaken as I closed my eyes in my own defeat. The sound of my own heartbeat filling my ears.

Matt rubbed my arms gently before he shook his head. “No you didn’t.” He replied, scanning my face. I furrowed my eyebrows, fighting the urge to give in to the weakness overcoming my body.

“I did.” He spoke again. I shook my head, moving my hands onto his hips, keeping myself upright. I didn’t understand what he was saying, what he was trying to do. “Matt, I shot Josh, because he tried to—”

Because his eyebrows as I cut myself off, closing my eyes as I fell against his chest. His arms instantly coming around my waist.

“Hey, woah.” He breathed out, rubbing my back to try and keep me apart. “What did he try to do?” He asked. I didn’t respond, my mouth not opening.

He let out a heavy sigh, quickly moving me so I was leaning against the wall in front of him. My hands falling to my side. He placed his against my jaw, moving me so I was looking at him.

“Listen. You don’t go anywhere. Stay here, let me get something to clean this. Just stay here, please.” He spoke.

I nodded slowly, closing my eyes again as I pulled my knees to my chest, suddenly oblivious to the blood pooling around me.

“I love you.” I breathed out as I realized how fast my heart was racing. Whatever was in that drink was strong, and it was hitting me fast.

He furrowed his eyebrows before shaking his head. “I- I love you too, but you’re going to be fine. Just stay here.” He spoke, before pushing himself from the ground and leaving the room.

My eyes opened again to trace his body. I watched him walk out the room, my eyes remaining on his blue sweater, silver jewelry, and the shoes that I loved.

The sight of him eased my mind from the fear coursing through my veins. That was until he left my sight, now an empty hallway filling my vision. My eyes turned from the door to the floor in front of me, the rifle on the floor.

“Fuck.” I mumbled, pushing myself forward and grabbing the gun. I slowly pulled myself to my feet, the gun in my hand as I looked down at Josh. The boy I had killed.

I went to put the gun back into the case, but before I could my body froze. A sudden ringing in my ears as I involuntary stumbled backward. Fast breaths leaving my lips before all of the sound in the world came back.

“Take the gun.” An unfamiliar voice spoke harshly, the gun being taken out of my hands while a pain radiated through my stomach. My hands were placed over the area, before my eyes widened.

Blood.

My blood.

I swear I could feel my heart drop down to my feet, my chest heating up as I looked down again. My eyes were met with my stomach, more blood seeping through my shirt.

When my eyes drifted up again they were met with three officers, one of them holding their gun directly at me. A faint line of smoke leaving the end.

He shot me.

Before I could think again I was back into the floor, my head coming in contact with the ground sharply. My body felt like it was on fire, my vision ten times worse than it had been.

If I wasn’t dying before, I certainly was now.

My stomach was burning, and I knew there was nothing I could do. It was like I was looking through the world with a kaleidoscope. Just like when I was a kid. The colors and shapes collided into an array of one.

For some reason, once the pain in my body subsided, all I could feel was peace.

I was simply numb. Physically and mentally numb. Nothing could hurt me, no one could hurt me. I was safe, I was happy. As much as I could be for nothing my fate.

The last thing I saw was the familiar blue sweater making its appearance at the doorway, the same sweater that I refused to take off for months. The sweater that smelt like Matt’s cologne. The boy I loved more than anything.

The boy that I’d die for.

“Matt—” I breathed out, barely forming the world before finally, my mind had been cut off for one last time.

Finally, the world had went black.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

a/n: sincerely, sienna and grace

taglist: @greatooglymooglyyy @fake-sturniolos @raysmayhem-72 @luv4kozume @junnniiieee07 @sturniolosbxtch @wurlibydominicfike @bernardsbendystraws @txssvx @thecynthh @biimpanicking @stazsi @mazzystar111 @gnxosblog @imwetforyourmom @stonermattsgf @paibey @creamoncreamoncream2 @sturnioloslife @bitchydragonparadise @anlqq @y0urm4m @bernardenjoyer @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @cherrypostsposts @thenickgirl @patscorner @freshsturns @annamcdonalds67 @lilyloveschris @sstvrnioloo @chrattstromboli

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff

[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. 

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki x you #aki hayakawa smut #chainsaw man smut

[farfromstrange]

Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

-> Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader (she/her)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), alternative universe, blood play, marking, scent kink, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, biting, vampirism, angst, religious imagery & symbolism, Catholic guilt, mentions of violence, allusions to suicidal thoughts, lots of plot, age gap

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

Other Characters: Vampire!Elektra (mentioned), Ben Urich (mentioned)

A/n: I finally got this one edited. This is a beast, y’all! I drew inspiration from Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire, but particularly the 2022 AMC series (I fell in love with it then and there), but it’s not based on it, so I just played around with the idea and this came out. It’s a lot, but it wasn’t enough for a full-blown series, so you’re getting a big ass One Shot instead. I used my usual Smut tag list, but since this is slightly Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heed the warnings and proceed with care! Don't read it if you don't want to. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Read Me On AO3!

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps. 

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again. 

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable. 

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil. 

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature. 

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving. 

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.

You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one. 

On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans. 

They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist. 

And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires! 

Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak. 

The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire. 

You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen. 

You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead. 

You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real. 

Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.

Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires. 

They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear. 

That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes. 

He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges. 

You don’t know me, but I know you.

It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.

I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.

No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.  

It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands. 

The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.

What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market. 

Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight. 

You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself. 

I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into? 

I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man. 

You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set. 

Yours sincerely,

M.

The paper crumbles in your hands, but only at the corners. Your eyes are glued to the lost drops of ink, the blue blood of an old fountain pen caving under too much pressure. 

He chose his words carefully. Every paragraph circles around your head. You breathe in, and it suddenly feels as though the whiff of the unknown is an inhalable drug, twisting your brain inside out. 

The pull threatens to submerge you in a stormy ocean. You’re flailing your arms around helplessly, but there is nothing for you to hold onto. All buoys have drifted into oblivion, leaving a sea of utter emptiness behind, and in the midst of it, there you are, drowning.

In a moment of clarity, you fold the letter back down on the desk. It lands with a thud, and you look around frantically, checking if anyone is watching you. They aren’t. 

M. That’s all he’s giving you. And the fact he is over two hundred years old proves the rumors to be true. He’s standing by it, but only to you. He wants to reveal himself to you, show you his true face for a story, but he’s a vampire. 

You’re alone. You can wash his hands, but is just showing up enough for him? You don’t even know him. 

You’re in trouble. This time though, you didn’t even do anything. You did your job, and he caught an interest in you. How does that work? 

Your heart skips another beat. It should not, but it does. The danger is exciting. It shouldn't be exciting. You hate what your body is doing, but how can you make it stop? You can’t. You can’t do anything but take it.

This stranger has got you in a chokehold, but in his hands, you might as well surrender to your certain demise. You don’t consider vampires inherently evil, but there is a reason people warn you not to walk alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s dangerous, no matter his nature, and he is not supposed to lure you in the way he does.

But you’re a curious kitten, and he is offering you the holy grail of answers to questions you have been grappling with for years. He hit the nail right on the head. And it doesn’t even scare you how well he knows you. 

This is a gold mine. Realistically speaking, telling a vampire’s story could make or break your career as a journalist. If you do it for the magazine, you’re done before you can even bring your words to print, but if you do it individually and you do it well, people will certainly eat it up. The question is just, are you going to play your entire life safe, conforming to your boss’s view of you until you get the freedom you crave, or are you going to take the risk and fly? 

The answer is as clear as day, but it takes you a moment to process. It’s as though someone is in your head, steering you in the direction of whoever this M is. Daredevil. This vampire who wants you to interview him, and for what? That’s still an open question you don’t have the answer to. But you do know what to do.

You scramble for your laptop, your notepad, and the letter in the envelope. The clock strikes four. You have another two hours on the clock, but you can’t be bothered to stay. 

Upon hearing the sound of your shoes hurriedly scraping against the linoleum floors, one of your colleagues turns in her chair. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be,” you tell her as you brush past her.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

You stop on your way out, looking back over your shoulder. “If everything works out,” you say, glancing through the window to his office at the other end of the hall, “He’ll have my letter of resignation by the end of the week.”

She gasps softly. “You’re quitting?” her voice is barely above a whisper.

Almost sinisterly, you chuckle. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“But—”

“Tell your daughter Happy Birthday from me. I gotta go.”

Your steps echo for minutes still, but you are long gone with the wind.

Silver linings are considered an advantage that comes from an unpleasant situation. The name has proven to be entirely unfit for the magazine that replaced a big piece of Hell’s Kitchen’s history. The Bulletin had cultural value as much as it was laden with decades of the city’s stories told to the average person. 

Wilson Fisk was the dynamite that sent New York alight. The Bulletin’s destruction was mere collateral damage in the fight to get the city back on track. You have had so many reasons to leave presented to you, yet you never took them. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here, making bad decisions on what started as just another Monday in June. 

The fact is though, you didn’t leave, and you are here now. Facts are what matter. They count. Your hypothetical past, present, and future have no place in this reality because you can’t travel back or forward in time. Vampires may exist, and the Avengers time-traveled to save the world, but things aren’t quite as easy once you look at the bigger picture. You are not a superhero, you’re just a journalist chasing the kind of story that will finally make her voice be heard. 

You know that Ben Urich, at least, would be proud of you.

His address weighs heavy on the small card you pulled out of the envelope earlier that evening. You passed it on to the cab driver, and he began to navigate the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The luxury condominiums in this part of the city can be counted on one hand. You know exactly when you’re there. 

The sun has once again set over New York City. You’re wide awake, not quite sure though if you’re ready to face what you are walking blindly into. Even your driver refuses to take you past a certain point, and that is how you know that you’re not dreaming. This is real, and it’s supposed to be terrifying. 

How come you’re not scared then?

You slip twenty dollars to the cab driver, then climb out of the backseat. The salty air from the Hudson River a few blocks down wafts around your sensitive nose. In the distance, you can hear waves crashing into the docks as the wind picks up in speed. The boats must be moving wildly by now, swaying from side to side and possibly even making the fish in the depths of the water seasick. You would be if you were them. 

With every step, you grow closer to your target. On second thought, maybe you should have brought more than just a pathetic bottle of pepper spray and your precious laptop. You could have brought your grandfather’s cassette recorder, at least that would leave a mark if you hit someone over the head with it. 

Do vampires get concussions? That is another question you can add to the seemingly endless list in your mind. It’s a confusing place as of late, and the weird sense that someone is playing with the controls won’t leave you alone. Either you are overthinking, or you are worse off than you originally thought. 

The apartment complex the card directs you to stretches high above you. You look up, seeing not a single light on. That’s odd, you think, but then again, you are meeting with the city’s most notorious man. If he is who everyone says he is, and if the rumors are even true, that is. 

As you are about to approach the entrance, your fingertips start to burn. A gasp escapes past your lips. Staring down, the cubical piece of paper goes up in flames. You are mere feet from the door, nowhere near close to an open source of fire, and the card starts to burn like a wildfire. 

You pull back, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The ashes fall to the ground, but before they can hit the asphalt, they vanish.

“What the–” before you can finish, the doors before you swing open toward the inside. The lights turn on. Someone even has called the elevator for you. 

Another step forward, and a voice stops you. “Fourth floor, down the hallway, first door to your right,” the voice says through the speaker. Only then do you notice the lack of a doorbell. 

Everything in you is screaming for you to run, but you are rooted in the spot. He dragged you here with a mere letter, and you were more than ready to jump. Desperation was the only thing that drove you here. Your brain seems incapable of rational thought.

What if that is what he wanted all along? To get you complicit by playing on what you so desperately need, which is a story and a way out of this boring everyday life that is threatening to slowly kill you.

He’s like a siren, luring you into his deadly trap, but even knowing all of this, you still can’t find it in yourself to run. 

The second you enter the building, the door shuts behind you, and your only way out is officially locked. You made the decision; you have dug your own grave, possibly quite literally, and now you have to lie in it. It’s better to die chasing a good story than dying at a desk in an office that doesn’t respect you.

You are a disgrace, you can hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. He always warned you not to be too reckless or your bad decisions will eventually catch up with you. He always taught you not to trust strangers, and to stay the hell away from those who disgrace God, but you have never cared much about being a good girl. 

Your thoughts are as morbid as your obsession with the walking undead. It is time you embrace what people are already saying about you.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. It goes up and up and up until it finally stops on the fourth floor. The walls smell like nothing but a faint hint of bleach. It’s clean, parquette not carpet, and the walls are kept in a shade resembling a mixture between crimson and maroon, and it is blending into a sort of marble.

The metal doors slide open. Again, you hesitate. A sweet whisper echoes in your ear, dragging you toward the edge. You breach the border between the elevator and the hallway that waits behind it. The voice is distant, and it doesn’t sound human—it reminds you of a siren’s song, calling for you. He is calling for you, and a fog settles over your mind. You’re not in control anymore, he is. 

You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged. Vampires stop aging when they’re turned. Their mind doesn’t. You’ve read the research plenty. They are wise beings, more intelligent than human beings could ever fathom. That makes them dangerous. 

Their venom rivals the intoxicating feeling of heroin, you’ve heard, and it heightens your senses to the point all you can feel is the one who bit you. Research suggests it’s a million times stronger than an orgasm, for both the vampire and the human being. 

Part of you has always wanted to try it. Part of you wants to know what it feels like to be sucked dry. You want to know what it feels like to be carried into a new dimension by someone who knows how to play the human body like a fucking piano, eliciting the sweetest melody through your very essence and the symphony of your moans.  

This M—Daredevil—is inherently dangerous. He’s as mysterious as they come; a man in a mask lurking in the dark corners of Hell’s Kitchen every night, turning the fight for justice into his hunting ground. 

It’s as though he curled his fingers, and you followed. 

You walk the dark hallway down to the door on the right. Paintings litter the walls. Masterpieces, blotches of white, red, and color. You recognize the red marble as a decorative theme on the wallpaper. Tracing your fingers over it, the rough drywall scratches at your skin. 

You reach out a shaky hand toward the golden knob. Before you can turn it though, the door already flings open. It must be witchcraft. 

Red appears to be his favorite color. At least judging from the hallway, that is true. When you step into the room with a pounding heart and blood pooling in your cheeks though, the inside of the room is a lot more… human. You wouldn’t have guessed it from the gloominess surrounding you on your way there.

A leather couch and armchairs stand in the middle, facing toward the window front. Colored windows, as you have gathered from the rumors. They are see-through now though, showing the city skyline and the moon up high. The chandelier on the ceiling is the only piece of furniture you would consider old. Browns meet hues of blue and dark green, a forest at midnight, and you suck in a sharp breath. The apartment is beautiful. 

You look to your left and see a bookshelf stretching the length of the wall. You can’t help but run your hand over the backs. You would have expected original editions from the 18th or 19th century, but when your fingers trace over the bindings, you are met with the bulging of Braille underneath the elegant golden writing of the titles. None of them seem to have collected dust. It surprises you to only find a mere handful of classics that haven’t been transcribed in Braille and a realization you did not expect starts to crawl its way forward.

“I stole that one from a library in Paris.”

Your racing heart stops beating. The book you’ve been holding falls to the ground, its worn-out leather cracking further around the spine. The thud is deafening. You gasp, turning around. Your shoulders fly up as the tension ripples through every last muscle in your bone. Your bones ache just from how stiff you’re standing, but you can’t move.

The man before you moves as quietly as a mouse. You didn’t hear him coming. The moonlight reflects off his dark brown hair, making it appear almost ginger. He’s wearing a simple suit without a tie, and the white of his shirt is as pristine and clean as the cut of his beard. You can see chest hair poking out from underneath the two open buttons, as dark as the locks on his head. His jawline is irresistibly sharp, leading up to a pair of plump lips he is wrapping around the brim of a crystal glass filled with rum.

Your heart remains frozen. Not a single drop of blood pumps through your veins, yet your cheeks burn brighter than a bonfire on a pitch-black night. 

But his flawless appearance is not what catches your attention the most. Looking up into his eyes, wanting to know whether they are as red as those set into the devil’s mask, you find nothing but your terrified reflection staring back at you. It’s as blurry as the picture of your face in a still ocean’s water, your wide eyes staring back at yourself. 

The red glasses are all you can see. Round with a black rim. Silver would have looked better on him, or maybe even gold. The black reminds you of an endless pit, a sinister embrace of vampire stereotypes, but you can’t look away from the maroon that won’t allow you even a glimpse into his eyes. They are shielding him from the world, and his eyes from curious, stupid humans like you.

He nods toward the ground. “You gonna pick that up?” he asks. His voice reminds you of rumbling gravel. 

He looks like a man. He talks like a man. If you didn’t know better, you would say he is human. There seems to be blood in his cheeks and air in his lungs. 

You have to pull yourself together. Clearing your throat, you bend down and pick the book back up.

“Thank you,” he utters your name. “It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors that don’t work for me.”

You put the book back on the shelf. Your lips are sewn shut; you can’t find the words. Every time you open your mouth like a fish on dry land, you close it again, and it is embarrassing to be standing in front of him with your guard down. 

“Welcome to my home,” he says. You wish you could see his eyes to know if he’s mocking you. “Do you want a drink, or do you need another minute to process?”

He is mocking you. His tone is gentle, as is his voice, but he smirks like a smug motherfucker, and your anger boils to a tipping point. The candle is about to burn out. 

“I–” you stammer. Internally, you curse yourself for being such a fool. 

“Another minute it is then.”

You don’t need a minute though. “You’re blind,” you blurt out. 

The beautiful—deadly—stranger nods. “Yeah.“

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

“But you’re…” you leave the missing part of that sentence hanging in the air like a noose. 

“Say it,” he murmurs. You want to say it sounds like a growl, but you’re not sure. He isn’t asserting dominance or trying to force you into submission by scaring you away, but he is toying with you regardless. 

You take a deep breath. The word, the truth, numbers your tongue and your lips with its weight. “A vampire,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, matching his. 

His smirk broadens. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, then releases it as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m a blind vampire, yes,” he answers. “We’re rare, but we do exist.”

Blind vampires. In all of your years of fascination, that has never crossed your mind. You used to believe that they had healing abilities that far exceeded your own. You were wrong. He lost his eyesight before he got turned into a vampire. He lived as a blind human being and didn’t regain his most crucial sense when he died. 

He came back to life, but he died. It is surreal to stand across from him. He’s not just letters on a piece of paper, he is very much real. And he’s blind. 

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

That elicits a soft chuckle from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says. 

“I was considering not to.” 

He sees right through you with those empty glasses. “That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?” you counter. 

“I can hear your heartbeat. The blood pumping in your veins…” His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You take a step back. It’s an instinct. “Your pulse picks up when you lie, or when you’re nervous, or both,” he states. “When you first saw me, your heart skipped a beat. It did again when you lied to me.”

Your eyes trail down to his thick thighs perfectly fitted in his tailored trousers. His thick digits pat the rhythm with his fingers on the fabric. Thud-thudthudthud-thud. You place a hand on your chest. He wasn’t wrong; your heart is racing. 

His smirk turns into a smile, but only briefly again. It’s a glimpse of humanity he doesn’t want you to see. “I like that sound,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell good? Sweet, sour, and a little salty. Natural. You don’t use a lot of artificial perfume, but you like cherry chapstick.”

You swallow, taking a whiff of your arm. Besides your deodorant masking the scent of your nervous sweat, you smell nothing. How good must his nose be? His hearing? His sense of taste? 

“Right now, sweat is dripping down your back, and your muscles are tense enough to strain against your bones every time you breathe. Your heart just skipped a beat again. You find it weird,” he muses. “I can’t turn it off, but I get it must be strange for you.” 

“You–” The blood has collected in your head, pushing the temperature in the room to an all-time high. “Get out of my body!” you snap. 

He laughs. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”

“And I never thought you would ask for an audience with me, but here we are.”

“Here you are.” 

You want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. He looks so smug, standing there with his drink, wearing a suit too fancy for his own home. He’s fully in his element. It’s scary how alluring he is, too. You don’t want to think that way, but as soon as your eyes gaze upon him again, your chest contracts, and you forget how to breathe. 

He’s a wolf, and you’re a lonely little sheep that doesn’t know any better. That lonely little sheep just wants to be a part of something bigger, even if that means surrendering herself to the big bad wolf. He wants a taste of her, and the sheep would give him that in a heartbeat if he just asked. 

You blink. There is a voice in your head, and it isn’t your own. Far from it. You don’t want to be associated with this stranger. She thinks she knows you. She thinks she knows what you want—the sheep in the eyes of her natural enemy. This voice is the most irrational you could be, and you need to stop letting her win.

And yet you—not just the voice of the lonely sheep you appear to be—would follow this man anywhere, even to hell if he asked you to. 

Your eyes drill knives into his skull, but they are also full of curiosity. Can he hear your thoughts? Your heart beats in your throat. You can taste it on your tongue. If you bit your lip, you would bleed, and he would probably fall into a frenzy. Still, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. What if he can hear your thoughts—hear how fucking needy you are? You’re pathetic. What he must think of you, standing across from him, smaller than human life itself. 

You want to read him, but he is far from an open book. He’s not Braille you can run your fingers over, and even if he was, you don’t know how to read it. He’s an enigma. His face is set in stone; an iron mask you can’t penetrate. 

His chest heaves with another chuckle. He sets the crystal glass down on the coffee table, taking a step forward. “No, I can’t read your mind,” he says. 

You flinch. “What?”

“Your breathing pattern. The way you look at me. I can sense that you’re thinking about something.” He adjusts his glasses. “It’s just… Most humans ask me if I can read their minds, you know. I can’t. Some vampires can, but my senses are the only heightened ability I have.” This time, when he chuckles, a hint of bitterness dances in his voice. 

“At least you’re not in my head then,” you say. 

“No.”

“Good.”

A pregnant pause follows. You clutch your bag to your chest, your fingers digging into the frame of your hidden laptop. 

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, pointing to his empty glass.

You wave him off. That’s the last thing on your mind. “No, thank you.”

Sometimes at night, you fantasize about diving into the abyss of darkness. It looks and sounds a terrifying lot like him. You want to know him. You need to know him. When it comes to him and this—whatever this is—the lines between want and need are blurring into an unidentifiable mess. It’s an ocean of emotions with no land in sight. A total eclipse of the heart, if you will. You’re losing your mind.

“What you can do–” You straighten your shoulder, hoping it will add height to your beaten confidence. “You can tell me your name. Sir,” you say. 

He nods. “I suppose it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Matthew. My name’s Matthew.” The softness of his features as his lips move to the rhythm of his words takes you back anew. His eyebrows raise slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of beautiful, unfocused hazel eyes that steal your breath away. 

Matthew. It is a name that easily rolls off the tongue. It suits him.

You repeat his name aloud. “That’s an odd name for a 200-something-year-old man,” you point out. 

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

You hit a sore spot. His head dips, fingers running over his nails and tongue tracing his teeth. “Not anymore,” he says.

God died for him a long time ago, and all churches burned down.

Your grip on your bag loosens. “Then why Daredevil?” you ask. 

His lips part. “I, uh, have the Bulletin to thank for that one. After centuries of existing in this world, and being despised for no matter what I do, I’ve decided to embrace it. I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.”

Matt grabs his glass, turning away from you. He doesn’t use a cane to navigate from the couch to the mini bar on the other end of the room. You carefully follow his movements. One of his hands remains at his side, snapping his fingers as he navigates the familiar terrain of his home. 

He uncaps a half-empty bottle of Whiskey to pour himself another glass. 

“You know, Matthew,” you prompt, daring to step forward an inch, “as big as your reputation is in this part of the city, Silver Lining is not the kind of magazine that would cover your story.”

“You still came,” he says. 

“I could lose my job if anyone knew I came here.”

“And yet you’re here and not where you should be.” He turns his head over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t risk losing your job if it wasn’t important to you, would you?”

You stammer, “I–” He’s got you. You’re a fish with a hook in her mouth. 

“If Silver Lining Magazine won’t cover my story, why are you here?” Matt turns back to you, leaning back against the shiny Mahagoni of his minibar. It offers a beautiful contrast to his strong physique and the slight paleness of his skin. “Could it be because you’re fascinated by the mythic?” he asks, teasing. “By werewolves and witches and vampires?”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I won’t confirm or deny. My boss wouldn’t let me write a vampire vigilante exposé even if I begged him to.”

“And that’s why Mr. Doherty doesn’t deserve you.” Your body visibly recoils when he pushes forward, moving just an inch toward you. “Your curiosity is a virtue,” he purrs. The moonlight sets your reflection in his glasses alight. 

“Is that why you lured me here?” you ask him. “Because my curiosity is a virtue and you consider yourself better than the people in my life?”

“I didn’t lure you here, and I think you know that. That’s not what this is.” The distance between you starts to shrink, backing you into a corner. “I believe you came here because the thought of interviewing a vampire and sharing your findings with the world on your account excites you,” he says. “You want to be heard. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and you want to make people happy.”

The only way for you to come out of this with your pride and dignity still intact is to put up walls before the already existent labyrinth of walls keeping your heart guarded and your soul safe. “Again,” you ask, “why me?”

“Why not you? As I stated in my letter, I’m a fan of your work.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, about that. How did you write that if you’re blind?”

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

“Of course.” Of course, he has a secretary. “I… I just don’t get it,” you say. “You’ve been hiding for so long–” 

Matt cuts you off with an urgency you didn’t expect, “Things have changed. Circumstances…” he trails off. 

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?” 

His answer is silence. You let out an exasperated sigh. “If you want me to interview you, you have to be honest with me.”

“I’m not on the record yet.”

“Right. Maybe you can answer this though—off the record, of course—how can you be certain I didn’t call the cops or the FBI before I came here?”

His eyes crinkle. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” he says. 

He’s amused. You’re amusing him. 

“Don’t call me that,” you growl. 

He’s spreading you open, holding up a mirror for you to look into. It’s your miserable self in all its glory, and he knows you better than you know yourself. 

You ignore the sharp pain in your left ribcage as you pull the arrow out of your heart. “Unless someone holds up a sign that they are pro-vampirism, how would you even know I’d listen to you and not just refer you to the Journal of Psychiatry?” 

“Are you telling me you don’t believe in vampires?” Matt quips.

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

The sound of your heartbeat must sound almost like the rapid firing of a machine gun, that’s how fast your pulse is racing. Your veins threaten to burst with the excess blood. It’s a heat like no other. You’re a witch at the stake, and Matt is holding the torch to your gasoline-doused body. 

He clears his throat. Your face falls at the words that tumble out of his parted lips, and the rapid firing turns into a deafening silence and a monotone line on a heart monitor. 

“After what I’ve learned from reading Dr. Rice’s research on the phenomena of vampirism, I can confidently say this species is no different than an animal like the great white shark or the Homo sapiens sapiens—our kind,” he recites. “Vampires are a medium of fiction and propaganda to induce fear, but they are also a widely misunderstood species that is being silenced rather than heard. Our species, the human species, likes to consider themselves superior, even when we’re in a position of being someone’s natural food source. Dr. Rice’s research is based on a comprehensible set of facts, and isn’t that what we have been relying on ever since the beginning? Our psychology makes it possible for us to change the narrative in our favor, and more often than not, we ignore the very facts deemed by humans as an intellectual importance to spread the message of an entirely different agenda. Dr. Rice’s research only proves that egotism and humans themselves will be humankind's certain downfall.”

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out. 

“Published by Columbia University.” 

Your heart restarts with a rush of adrenaline. “How… how do you know all of this?”

“I may be blind,” Matt says, “but I know how to read between the lines.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The alcohol in his drink seems to have little effect on him. “I know you have questions, and I’m willing to answer them if you promise to publish a detailed report somewhere other than Silver Lining Magazine.”

You look down at your bag, then back at him. “Ben Urich could have told your story in a way that would’ve made people listen,” you murmur. “I don’t have an impressive career like him.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “but you could have easily written ‘Attack on NYC’. Ben was a good man, an even better journalist, but he could not have written your college essay. And he could never have been you.” 

Your name rolls off his tongue—not a pretentious nickname that makes you want to vomit but your name, and it flicks a switch within you. 

You glance around the spacious living, pulling your laptop out of its confines, and you bridge the distance between you, finally. You notice he smells of sandalwood cologne and scentless soap. “Okay,” you cave. “Where do you want me to set up?”

Session 1.

The spacebar clicks underneath the tip of your index finger. The white of your screen fills with a series of red sequences as the microphone takes in every little sound around you. Except for the two of you and the fading footsteps of one of Matthew’s assistants though, the world has fallen silent in the dead of the night. He’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, head tilted; your life is about to change.

“So, Mister Murdock,” you begin, “tell me. How long have you been dead?” 

His mouth opens in a wide grin. “242 years,” he answers. 

“And what happened the year you died?”

“Well, it was 1782. I was a good few years out of law school. I was a good lawyer, but I wasn’t successful. That year, I met a beautiful woman at a banquet. I wasn’t rich—trust me, I was beyond penniless—but she had been adopted into a wealthy family, and that made her one of the richest women in the room. Everyone wanted her, but when I sensed her across the hall, she only had eyes for me. And she was the first woman to not see me just because I was blind.” He chuckles sadly. “I thought she was the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, but a few weeks later, after letting her into my life, I realized that she didn’t look at me that night because she was interested. She was hunting me. El— Miss Elektra Natchios…”

The year 1782 becomes apparent before your inner eye. As he tells you about the night he met her, you can see the dark-haired beauty making her way across the ballroom. Red lips and a gown to die for. Her dark eyes were full of mischief, but the passion in them could have knocked a grown man off of his feet. And that is just what she did to poor Matthew. 

“I was going to marry her,” he tells you.

He went to church regularly. His knees were bloody from praying, his senses already heightened before he died. God’s soldier, that is how he puts it. He was told that the accident that left him blind happened for a reason, and he had to fight a war that went beyond the country’s fight for independence. 

That summer, Elektra drained him. He didn’t know what she was. She fooled him. He was obsessed with her. Her dark eyes he couldn’t see lured her in, and it was the venom in her blood that became his downfall after she dug her teeth into him.

Matt tried to beg his priest for forgiveness, but he didn’t even make it past the marble stairs before the doors locked. He knelt in a pool of blood—both his and that of the first human he ever sucked dry to survive as a newborn vampire—offering an eternal sacrifice to Catholicism, but God abandoned him on his doorstep. 

The church walls would have been set on fire if he had touched them from the inside. 

You look up from your notepad to find him now standing at the window. He’s not looking out, of course, but he seems so deep in thought, the memories that aren’t your own but his start to dissipate, and you’re brought back to the here and now.

Matt poured his heart out to you. You expected answers, but not this kind, and certainly not of this magnitude. You see him in an entirely different light. He’s vulnerable, fragile, and human. He has endured trauma that killed him, but he couldn’t die because the woman he loved made him immortal. It’s a bigger curse than growing up with the belief that an accident made you God’s soldier. 

He lost everything. For centuries, he has had to live with that. It’s killing you, feeling his pain, the pure agony that radiates off him. 

Your voice is quiet when you ask him, “What was it like?” You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know what you are referencing.

Matt chuckles, the sound a mere breath in the atmosphere. “Like she took my soul from my body, setting fire to my belief system and already heightened senses,” he says. 

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

“It was. Is. My heart stopped, but when that happened, something else awoke inside me. The hunger… the hunger was the worst part. It’s insatiable. One hour passes, and you feel like you’ve been starving for weeks.”

“Like you’ve been possessed by a demon?”

“Like I am the demon.”

“But you’re not.” You should stop the recording. You’re not on track; you’re incorporating your feelings into Matt’s story, but you can’t help it. The words tumble out of your mouth without a second thought, a train that cannot be stopped. 

He raises his eyebrows, you can see it in his reflection in the windows. “Are you religious?” he asks.

You shake your head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Are you?”

The veins on the back of his hands bulge as he balls them to fists at his sides. Your throat is a desert, and your heartbeat resembles a storm that burns right through it, sending the sand flying in all directions of the horizon.

You adjust in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. He takes a whiff. He’s smelling you, and that doesn’t help the speed of your pulse to calm down. 

Tapping your pen on your notepad, you watch the red sequences fill the white space of the recording program. It moves with the sound of your voice when you finally dare to answer. “It’s a complicated question because there is a difference between believing in God and believing in the church,” you say.

“Do you believe in God then?” Matt asks. It’s as though he’s trying not to seethe at the mere mention of someone he used to worship. You make a note of that.

“There is so much bad in this world. So much cruelty. I can’t…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know how to believe in a God that would let the things humans do to each other happen. If God existed—if he was as merciful as Christians like to claim, he wouldn’t let this happen. And I’m so sick and tired of people using their faith, and their beliefs in God and the church as justification to be disrespectful. I don’t understand it. How can anyone? Why is someone who has to drink blood to stay alive—someone who didn’t even choose this life—worth less and the devil’s breed when humans do worse things to each other? Why would God allow us to start wars that kill innocent people? Children? It’s just not fair that we treat ourselves and others as though we are already in hell, and we’re just supposed to accept that God doesn’t care—” You stop yourself, the tears burning behind your eyes. 

Matt turns back around. You can’t look away. “When I was still human,” he murmurs, “I used to believe everything that happened to me was God’s will. The accident, God’s will. Me going blind, God’s will. I went to confession, prayed until my knees were bloody and bruised. I tried convincing myself that every scream I heard from down the block, every person who lost their life or their innocence was my responsibility. God made me this way for a reason, right?” The scoff is as bitter as the liquor in his glass. “I fell apart, you know. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what was happening to me,” he tells you. 

You hold your breath. The glasses slip from his eyes as he takes them off with shaky fingers. You are met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes. Emotions dance a heated tango in a tornado. If you look closer, the green specks bring life to his eyes. It’s human nature in the purest sense of the word. 

Your reflection stands in his irises, his unmoving pupils, and the tears glisten in his eyes. They’re as red as blood, watered-down crimson essence. You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, but that would be crossing a very big line that you can’t bring yourself up to touch. 

“I studied law because I thought it would change something,” he continues. You listen. It’s the only thing you can do—listen. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever did felt like it was enough. I lost my father. Jack. I didn’t know my mother until it was too late. Maggie. I had no one. No money, no prospects, just me and those voices in my head, telling me I was supposed to be God’s soldier.”

“You’re not,” you cut in. 

He shakes his head. “I prayed; I crawled up the stairs of the church, and I spent hours repenting for my sins. I bled myself dry for Him. I sacrificed myself. I sacrificed my youth, my heart, and my soul, and I got nothing back. I begged for help until my voice was sore, but nothing… God, nothing was ever good enough. Until Elektra came around,” he says. 

“She changed everything for you. It makes sense. She turned you into a vampire, but she also loved you.”

“She did love me, in her own twisted way.”

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

He isn’t yours, but the pang you feel in your chest is treacherous. Your heart cracks like a porcelain vase, jealousy creeping in like a parasite of toxic waste.

In response, Matt only chuckles bitterly. “She made me believe again, then took my soul and crushed it in her hand.” The correction makes your shoulders slump. “Instead of feeling like my world ended though, I felt at peace when she sucked the blood out of my veins and fed me her venom,” he says. “It’s sick, I know. I was aware I died that night, that she turned me into a devil who could only survive if he drank the blood of others. The Catholic in me struggled to accept it, but I had no choice but to embrace what she made me.”

“And where is she now?” you ask.

“Gone.” The light in his eyes has fully disappeared now. “I stayed with her for a while until she died in my arms. She showed me what love is, and she showed me heartbreak. She made me hungry for blood, awakening the devil I’ve been trying to tame. She taught me how to feed, how to hunt, and how to chase. But she also cursed me,” he says. “I only exist for myself now. I only bleed for myself. No God, no church, and no more religion. I’m not Jesus, I’m Judas, and I retired the cross the day I was crucified.”

You have run out of questions to ask. Too overwhelming is the sight of his walls crumbling down, this stranger you now know better than any living being seems to. You no longer see money in this, or a story to chase, you only see Matthew, and the halo above his head he still believes is a pair of horns. The world broke him. His faith in God broke him. It crushed him, and he lost everything. How broken he must be. 

“Not such a pretty story when I say it out loud, huh?” He scoffs.

The spacebar clicks again. The recording comes to a sudden halt. One hour and fifty-eight minutes, the first session of your interview with the vampire. You need to put a halt to it now because what you are about to say or do as you reach your hand out to brush his cold, dead skin is not something that should be found on a record. And you won’t ever tell.

Matt pulls away when your warm fingertips brush his. You’re standing across from him now, so close he can smell, hear, and feel all of you at once.

Your touch is the holy water that burns his skin, but the fire sustains him and shoots straight to his core the same way the blood rushes to yours.

“It’s not a pretty story, no,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it did tell me what I already knew.”

“And what’s that?” he asks.

“That you’re not evil. You’re not the Devil. You’re misunderstood. You’ve been beaten; you’ve been abandoned, hurt, and broken. That doesn’t make you a monster. Trying to make this city a better place does not make you a monster.”

“If you only knew the things I’ve done…”

“I know the rumors suggest that you were the one who fought Wilson Fisk and got this city back where it needed to be. You’ve saved countless women from the worst of fates. You are the reason the innocent people of Hell’s Kitchen feel safe. By picking up that mask, you became a hero, not a villain, and that is the story I want to tell.”

In lightspeed, he has moved you from the window to the other end of the room. Your back hits the wall. 

Matt towers over you in all of his intimidating glory. His eyes spark red, but you hold his unfocused gaze. He has such beautiful eyes. This pull between you is far from human; it’s unhealthy, and it is exactly where he wanted to get you. You’re trapped, pinned underneath him like a deer caught in headlights. 

Exhaling, your breath strokes his cheeks. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you. Every particle in the air, he inhales. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. Oh, what you wouldn’t do to suck that tongue into your mouth. 

Your pheromones play his head like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his marionette. He growls. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?” 

The moonlight catches his sparkling white teeth. This time though, you come face to face with the sharp edges of his previously concealed fangs. Your jaw drops open. He’s ethereal. 

“I could snap your neck—” Matt places his hand on your neck, “I could make that heart stop beating, take the air from your lungs. I could eat you…” He traces the vein in your throat from your jaw to your collarbone. “I could bite you and suck your blood until you’re empty. I could kill you, sweetheart. My kind is your natural enemy. You shouldn’t be here.”

You shudder. His nose brushes the sensitive skin below your ear. He’s so close you can smell him. On inhale, and his scent consumes your senses. He is all you can feel now. You reach out to hold onto his arms, his muscles tensing under your teeth. He’s big and strong, and those hands have a mind of their own as they begin to wander but never where you need him most. 

You shouldn’t be here, yet you came. He asked you to him, and you complied. Is this your fate now? Chasing after your big bad wolf like the helpless sheep that you are?

Your walls clench around an agonizing emptiness, your swollen clit brushing against your soaked underwear. Whatever he is doing to you, it’s the cruelest form of torture. 

A strangled noise breaks out of the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest. “You have no idea how badly I want to taste you,” he breathes. 

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

Your tone shatters him. When he kisses you, finally, fireworks explode in the universe around you. All the stars seem to finally align. Your heart opens, and it sucks him right into you. Your soul yearns for him. He’s so close yet so far away. 

The moon stands between you, but you cross even that ocean as you push against him, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He takes like heaven and hell; he’s the apple Eve bit into and cursed her for all eternity. But he’s also the snake, the one who compelled you to take this journey of bad decisions and jump right off the cliff’s edge. You melt into him like a broken candle. 

He pulls away. Those fangs are alluring, as sharp as a knife’s tip. You want to know what it would feel like gracing your skin, digging into your as he thrusts his cock into your tight cunt. The thought alone sends your mind into a spiral.

Your lips are swollen, but he has yet to draw blood. Matt looks as though he wouldn’t dare, his eyes darting around in a darkened conflict he feels might cost him more than your dignity. You are begging for it, as is your body, but he’s holding himself back. He’s the one who tied himself to an invisible pillar, keeping his hands locked behind his back. But that is not the Matt you want. 

You lean your head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. All control has slipped from your fingers. It’s in his hands now—you are. He cups your head gently. A mere few inches lie between your fountain and his lips.

You press a kiss to his calloused palm—a desperate and needy kiss, tracing your tongue over the lines that tell his life’s story in a way no interview can retell—and it is then he is forever done for. He’s doomed, and you are the second woman to pull him under the pits of hell. 

Saliva drips from his fangs. You hold your breath. He hisses, a weak admission of surrender; the words die miserably on your tongue when his lips close around your pulse point with all his might, and his teeth drive home. 

You moan aloud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, forcing him deeper as he sucks the dark red essence out of your vein. The sensation is more than you bargained for. It’s a drug that wrecks your system. The synapses in your brain backfire with all their might, and what follows the initial explosion of pleasure shooting white hot through your being is complete and utter silence as this God of a man feeds on you. 

The invisible string between you glows a bright crimson. It slings around you, tying you together like the roots of a tree. It’s an eternal sacrifice. You are giving your all to him, the very core of your existence that is now flowing into his mouth. You swear you can hear his thoughts mingle with yours. Yes, more, please. You taste so good. Your knees buckle, but you remain standing strong. He makes sure you don’t fall. Don’t slip away from me. I need you. 

A tear rolls down your cheek. You could sob. It feels so good—too good to be true. In that moment, you become one. There is no telling where one begins and the other ends. The coil in your stomach tightens, and the only pain you feel is the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. He’s taking everything as you give him everything, but it is not enough. It has never been enough. 

When your body struggles to catch up with the lack of blood, he pulls away. His fangs drag out of your neck agonizingly slowly. You whimper at the sudden loss.

Matt catches you as you stumble into his arms. “You okay?” He cradles your face, brushing the hair out of your face. Your blood stains his lips. Blinking up at him, the force of your metaphysical connection slaps you awake. 

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his. 

He pokes the tip of his index finger with the sharp edge of one tooth, sliding it over the two holes that are pulsating with the work of your heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins. 

“No,” you say. “You did exactly what you should have.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“But you did.” You wipe the blood from his mouth. “And I felt you. I only felt you.”

The living room passes by you. Before you know it, your back lands on something much softer than a concrete wall. He’s not a monster, that one, but he surely is an animal. 

You taste your blood on Matt’s luscious lips as he devours your tongue. It tastes of copper and a little bitter, but that is what makes him moan. That sound is the last thing you could ever grow tired of. 

His palm rests on your chest. Your heart pounds against his palm. “You’re so alive,” he says.

You cradle his face in your hands. “And you’re more human than you think.”

If he wanted to pull your heart out and hold it, you would let him in a heartbeat. 

He leans you back. He strips you bare. He kisses down your body like you are a fucking masterpiece for him to explore. That is how he sees you. 

Your head falls back. The kisses wander from your hips to the inside of your thighs. Every kiss brings his breath closer to your center. Matt pulls them apart. He opens you up to him. Your scent clouds his senses, and he groans, but he doesn’t touch. 

His fangs graze your skin. “Mine,” he growls. 

You gasp. He bites into the sensitive flesh. Hard, passionately. Your legs wrap around his head, trapping him there. He sucks, and he sucks, and he drinks, and the wetness pools out of your cunt in an obscene amount. This is foreplay to him. It drives you toward the edge leading to an abyss you are afraid you might never be able to crawl back out of. There is no bottom, it is just a pit, and he’s pushing you closer and closer, and—

Your back arches, but he pulls away before the coil can snap into a million butterflies. He pries your legs away from his head, spreading them further on the mattress, as far apart as they will go. 

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner have been served on a silver platter. He breathes in. The scent of your soaked pussy sticks to the hairs in his nose. It isn’t enough. He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction. You’re everything and more. He wants to taste that part of you more than anything, suck up the slick that is soaking the sheets—and you didn’t even think that was possible—but he waits because he needs to savor it. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon. neither for him nor for you. 

The blood is still dripping from his tongue and his fangs, and the raw inside of your thigh. He runs his finger through it. The sting runs from the wound to your folds, then back down. Still, he doesn’t touch. He plays with the blood, sucking on his fingers until they’re clean, and then he dives back in for a taste. He doesn’t bite, he kisses and sucks, but he doesn’t push it further. He doesn’t hurt you. 

You’re his saving grace; he has to worship you. Pain only has a place in pleasure. 

“Matthew,” you moan. 

He chuckles, kissing where his fangs left deep indentations. “No one will ever touch you again,” he purrs. “I’ll make sure of that.” 

You try to protest, but the words die on your tongue when he leans in, capturing your clit with his hungry mouth. The wound on your thigh closes. The blood from his lips mixes with your juices, and you cry out at the intensity of it all. 

He eats you with the ferocity of a man starved for weeks. He eats your pussy like he ate your blood, savoring every drop but still feasting for the taste to spread out in his mouth like wildfire. Sour, sweet, and copper. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth. His tongue drags through your folds, up and down, and then the tip slides inside, tasting your walls. He grows bolder as your moans accelerate. 

Matt cradles your thighs. He forces your hips back down to the mattress, stronger than the average human man. You have to endure his beard scratching and burning, and the pace he has set.

The orgasm creeps up on you. Before you know it, he has plunged his tongue into you, and your body convulses around him. You scream into a pillow as you come. 

You are each other’s forbidden fruit. No prayer in the world could keep you apart. 

Faintly, you can hear him say, “Good girl.” Your legs quiver. He pulls away, then comes right back like a boomerang. 

He’s warm now. He was cold before, but when he kisses you this time, he’s warm. He’s hot. You run your hands over his bare chest, the scars that lie under the dark strands of hair. You tug at it, and he moans. You can tell he is a little insecure, but by pressing your lips to one of the cuts on his shoulder, he relaxes. 

What he must have endured, what he must have lived through before he died and was resurrected in the same breath, just without a beating heart—you don’t want to think about it or you will break, but you can still feel him through the crimson tie that holds you together, and you know that he has suffered enough for more than two lifetimes. You wish you could take it all away from him. You wish you could have saved him before it was too late, loved him more than the woman who turned him, but turning back time is an impossibility. You are both acutely aware of that. 

“Hey.” Matt tilts your head toward him. “Where did you just go?” he asks. 

“Thinking about you,” you murmur. 

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

You. His salvation. He kisses you, softly this time. He pours gratitude into his lips and bleeds them out in poetry as they slide into your mouth, and you swallow every last drop. 

If someone had told you a week ago where you would see yourself on that particular Monday, you would have laughed at them. And if someone had told you a week ago that you would be making love to the devil, you would have called them crazy. But it’s happening. 

He thrusts into you without a warning. His thick cock fills you like nothing and no one ever has before. Your cunt has been molded to fit him, you’re sure. You take him in, and you moan at the stretch. It’s a pain so delicious you could fall apart right then and there just from the feel of him inside you. 

Every thrust drags the tip of his cock along your sweet spot. Every added sensation drives you closer to your death. 

Your body tingles. He explores your face with his lips rather than his fingers, moving to your neck again. You cling to him, oh-so-desperate for him. He likes you like that, and you like him like that. 

“You’re fucking with my head,” he tells you. “Offering your pussy to a vampire. Letting me drink your blood. Begging me to fuck you. You’re in my head, baby. Can’t get you out of my system. Fuck.”

You are his downfall, his salvation, but he is all of those things to you as well—all of those things and more. If he could read your mind, you would tell him that. Words can’t do justice to how you feel. Not right now, maybe not ever. 

“Bite me again,” you beg.

His thrusts falter. He searches your body for any sign of regret. His fangs come out, and he buries them deep in your jugular vein. The floodgates open wide. Your walls clench around his cock, your clit pulsates, and the wave crashes into you. 

You come as he devours your neck and your blood. You transcend into another dimension, far away from everything and everyone but never him. Never Matthew.

The sensation of you wraps around him like a weighted blanket. His balls tighten, your blood unfolding its taste on his tongue. You are all over him, inside of him, everywhere at once. He falls head-first, dragging you down with him. 

He comes with a shout that is only muffled through his teeth buried in your flesh, his cum spurting into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your eyes roll back. You’re flying and falling all at once. 

Oh, how good it feels to be consumed by him. To be fucked and sucked dry. You would have never expected this to come out of your week, let alone your life, but now that it has happened, you are floating on cloud nine. 

Dizziness threatens to take over, but before you can pass out, he forces himself away, allowing your heart to catch up with the lack of blood in your system. He collapses on top of you. His cock softens, but he stays inside. You need him there. You want him there. And that is the only place he wants to rest tonight. 

He heals the wounds on your neck. “You have a mark,” Matt rasps, tracing your skin with his finger. 

You choke out, “Yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He kisses you there. Once, twice, even a third time. “Mine,” he says.

You’re his. He’s yours. It doesn’t get any better than this. 

The minutes tick away on the obnoxious clock on the wall. Matt pulls out eventually, wrapping you up in a blanket. He coaxes you to drink, but you’re barely lucid. Only when he begins to stroke your hair you start coming back to yourself. You thought you might regret it, but as you look at him, his almost guilty eyes staring back at you, all you can do is reach out for him. 

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

He chuckles and retorts, “Have I not scared you away?” There is some truth to it though.

He’s covered in your blood. It sticks to his lips, his hands, and his chest. It’s sickeningly intimate, in a way.

You shake your head in response. “You could not possibly.”

He listens to your heartbeat. You’re as honest as they come. 

“Okay,” Matt says. “Session two tomorrow then.”

That night, you fell in love with the Devil, but he also fell in love with you, his angel in the form of a reckless journalist, and the only blood he ever wants to taste again until the end of his miserable, cursed days. 

Matt Murdock (Smut) Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @theradioactivespidergwen @cheshirecat484 @1988-fiend @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-girl-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #vampire!matt murdock #matt murdock angst #daredevil #x reader #interview with the vampire #charlie cox #alternate universe #reader insert

[kitkats-and-kittens]

One of my favourite things to think about is the rest of the batfam all having their own ‘Brucie Wayne’ personas. So here’s me listing how I imagine the main family members would front to the public.

Dick

I think would be very similar to Bruce with the same air-headed personality. As far as the internets concerned he can’t spell orange and pretends not to know any of the 50 states let alone which one he lives in. He also uses the fact that he never officially finished college to his advantage. As a kid he was more eccentric and people just knew him as that little kid whose constantly high of sugar and lollipops. Not much changes when becomes an adult.

Of course like father like son and he is also extremely charismatic. His persona is a little more goofy than Bruce’s and he’s known as the Wayne’s resident gymnast, at least in the air. He’s made a habit of acting as though any and all fine motor skills come to an absolute stop the moment he isn’t doing some complex flip, or cartwheel. There are serval videos on YouTube of him tripping over air, spilling drinks over his shirt, and stumbling into several guests, only half of these were faked. He also has a reputation of being an absolutely insane drunk. He went viral on twitter for doing a triple backflip in the middle of a gala which resulted in a shattered punch bowl, several traumatised guests and a fake news report claiming he’d died which sent the city into a riot for the next 24 hours all because he was a little bit tipsy.

Jason

Jason was pretty young when he ‘died’. Before hand he was the happy go lucky kid. With stars in his eyes and more energy than a Chihuahua hiked up on red bull and pure, liquified blue raspberry. Of course you had the occasional leech who saw in some news report that he used to be a street kid which resulted in several rumours about his ‘horrid violent nature’ but all it took was actually meeting him for most to completely disregard this.

After his death he doesn’t hang around the rest of the family much. Especially not in public and out of masks. However there is the occasional day (once every millennia or so) where he’ll stroll up to whatever part or gala or social event the Wayne’s are hosting that day, with his foolproof, impenetrable disguise Tayson Jodd absolutely no relation to Brucies dead kid, nor the elusive red hood who has a hate account dedicated to his very existence.

His whole thing tends to be a regular upstanding member of society. He acts completely normal. This wasn’t always the case. He used to change it every time he went to the parties, either acting as some depressed, lonely rich guy or an alcoholic and on one particularly memorable occasion a closeted drag Queen. However one time he showed up without a persona pre made and ready to go and just decided to wing it.

However Tim Drakes insane paranoia meant he stayed up a good 3 weeks after that night just to make sure Jason wasn’t trying anything and when Red hood found out he found it absolutely hilarious and resolved to be as respectable as possible while also generating maximum suspicion for all other members of his family.

Stephanie Brown

Although not officially adopted by the Wayne’s most people have gotten used to seeing her just roll up with the Wayne’s and it didn’t take long for social media to realise that Brucie had emotionally adopted her, if not legally. At first Steph didn’t really understand the need for a persona. She was already fine with keeping her actual personality and not turning it off for the cameras.

It took seeing Jason, who was having an absolute blast with his public persona to open her mind to the range of possibilities and she spent a full 3 months crafting a personality from scratch (putting that psychology degree to good use).

She cycled through a couple. Rich party girl, serious career woman, ditzy idiot. But eventually she landed on scheming socialite. She saw some tabloids slandering her for being Tim’s ex and although the rest of the family was not happy she took it and ran with it. Landing herself in the circles of the most gossip loving, shit talking, hot woman she could find.

She makes sure she exudes villainy at all times and has been seen eyeing Timothy Drake from across the room, stroking a cat (though no one knew where she got it from) and sipping a martini. Although she doesn’t particularly like how cruel some of her companions are she finds no greater joy than passively aggressively remarking about how Donna is wearing the same heels she was 3 years ago and oh my is she running low on funds? She was born to instigate and takes every opportunity to do so.

Tim Drake

If Tim is known for anything then it’s his ability to appear as though everything has gone to his exact calculations on the outside while internally screaming and just completely winging whatever half brained plan comes to mind. But one forgets, he isn’t just a Wayne but a Drake. Son of Janet Drake at that.

As a kid he was very much a mamas boy and would replicate her cold calculating air to the best abilities of a 10 year old boy. As he grew up however he realised that he much preferred letting people underestimate him. So in the end he settled on the stoner.

It was pretty unexpected for most of his family. Bar Dick who embraced it with all the reverence of a chaotic older sibling. Of course Tim Drake being as meticulous as he is meant when he made this persona built it from the ground up. He gave himself a favourite drug, a fake dealer, and he methodically updates his account balance every week, taking out just enough that it looks like he’s been buying.

Not only does this have the added benefit of explaining the random times he’s passed out in the middle of a party or those random compilations of him on YouTube simply staring into the abyss for hours on end, but it also means he had to try way less than his siblings when it comes to presentation. If Dick or Bruce show up with even so much as a slightly ruffled collar the tabloids will go on for weeks about the mystery guy or girl they definitely slept with. But when Tim does it, they just laugh. He gets a pat on the head and a glass of water shoved into his hands and no one thinks anything more.

And if he can also use it as an excuse for a few extra minuets of sleep then whose going to stop him?

Cassandra Cain

Cass didn’t need to do much of anything. When she first arrived in Gotham she was small, quite and not very well versed in social customs so it was practically written in the stars that she’d become an instant fan favourite. However unlike most of her siblings most of her fans aren’t focused on her what she’s been doing, or with who, but rather on trying to spot her.

She’s some aloof, mysterious figure to them and she’s also become a bit of a where’s Waldo meme. News reporters will post overview shots of the huge hall the guest are occupying, the grounds of the manor, the well kept lawns, the roofs, and the internet will go crazy trying to find her. At first it was difficult but only because she kept to herself, you’d find her in a corner of the room, or hiding behind one of the taller guests but ever since she realised what was going on she’s been making a conscious effort to make it as difficult as possible.

Some of her hiding spots include: under the table, the roof, inside the fountain, disguised as Dick Grayson, a statue, on the chandelier, and somehow as one of the reporters, camera and all. It’s become a bit of a game to see who can find her first and she remains Gothams favourite Wayne.

Duke Thomas

Duke isn’t really sure what to make of this whole public persona thing. He finds hiding such a big part of himself a little strange, and doesn’t much enjoy the idea of putting on a mask for others. So he does what he does best and puts the rest of the Wayne’s to shame with his sound logic.

He’s just himself. And somehow manages to cause the biggest impact. The people aren’t used to rich people not being overly eccentric. This is Gotham after all! And Duke Thomas’ actual personality is not exactly something they were expecting.

This is the same man who raised an army of teenage armies in the absence of his hero. To call him impulsive would be an understatement. Also he very much enjoys ‘eating the rich’ so to speak. He used his powers to convince one particularly nasty man that he needed full psychiatric care by randomly disappearing whenever he was in their line of sight.

He hangs out with Dick a lot, but only so when the worst of the Gotham socialites approach he can make them feel as uncomfortable as possible by questioning their thoughts and feelings on the working class, living conditions and all the other stuff they usually couldn’t care less about which leaves them scrambling for an answer that won’t completely ruin their reputations. Although he’s been branded ‘the responsible one’ that’s only because he presents himself as such to reporters. Most of the people attending the galas live in fear of him ever approaching them.

Damian Wyane

Being the youngest meant that people already had expectations by the time Damian showed up. Although most had no idea where the kid came from that didn’t stop them from making assumptions, and the rumours circulating from before he was officially introduced range from a mini Bruce Wayne to raging alcoholic. And yes, these were published when reporters knew damn well he was 10 years old maximum.

When the public do finally see him for the first time it doesn’t take them long to craft a persona for him. Damian of course sees this whole thing as beneath him, he doesn’t understand why he would need to hide himself, he didn’t train with the league for years to just not show of his skills. Dick tries to get him to think of it like training, as though he were on an undercover mission. This works a little too well and now he takes it so incredibly seriously it’s hard for the others not to laugh.

He arrived, squeezed in between Brucie Wayne who was blowing kisses to the camera, Dick Grayson doing a handstand, Tim Drake who looked absolutely blitzed and Stephanie Brown who was manically rubbing her hands together. Cass nowhere to be found and Duke giving his classic sunny smile to the camera.

So of course people realise this kid must be the adult. There’s jokes about how Damian must be the one doing the Wayne’s taxes, about how he probably drives Bruce to work, and other such things. Which is only further cemented by the kid himself. But he also doesn’t talk much (Dick said if he had nothing nice to say he shouldn’t say anything), and a few (illegally taken) photos show him drawing, as well as his small army of pets and so people are torn between this kid who is clearly far too mature for his age and this cute baby of a child who likes fluffy animals and crayons.

Damian is disgusted by both sides, but there isn’t much he can do about it and resolves instead to fuck with everyone by leaning into it and alternating on a seemingly random basis between clueless child and grown adult in a 10 year olds body. It mostly ends up terrifying the rest of his family because occasionally Damian (who several of them watched kill a man) will come up smiling and demand to be placed on their shoulders, and other times the same kid (who found a cow a decided immediately he was a vegetarian) will be found sipping straight vodka and going on about the good old days with people 8x his age as though he were some drunken world war 2 veteran.

#bruce wayne #richard grayson #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #duke thomas #damian wayne #Public persona #batfam #they were born to terrorise the rich #dc comics #brucie wayne #Tayson Jodd

[https-yeonjun]

awkward (c.yj)

summary. you let your best friend see your body, and now it's awkward

wc. 5251

genre. angst

tags. minors DNI!! yeonjun x fem!reader, college!au, best friends to lovers to ???, mentions of sex and alcohol, suggestive,

a/n. repost; if you're from my other account, you would know this is just a compilation of all three parts of awkward, though i edited it again.

more of my work

of all the friends you have at college, you’ve known yeonjun the longest. your mothers grew up together and were those best friends that dreamed of raising their kids together. you saw each other through snotty noses and scraped knees in elementary school and through first heartbreaks and senior prom dates. he was even the one who convinced your parents to let you move from your small suburban town to the big city for college.

tonight, you’re sitting on the couch in one of his friend’s apartment, nursing another red solo cup, watching him suck the face off of some random girl.

you feel a pit in your stomach.

anyone would think that because you had known each other for so long, seen each other at your absolute worst, there would be no way your relationship would ever cross that platonic-romantic line. but as you watched yeonjun become the confident man that he was today, the image of that bratty little kid who always tried to get you into trouble faded away, and you just couldn’t help but develop these weird feelings about your best friend.

there have been many times where you have actually brought up the idea of you guys getting together. jokingly, of course. because lord knows that you would never seriously tell him how much you wanted his soft lips against yours. especially not after he laughs whenever you bring it up.

so now, you just watch him, as he leaves you in a corner at the house parties he drags you along to, flight with other people.

you chug the remainder of the drink in your hand, wincing at the warm taste. you hate the taste of beer but it’s the only thing they have at these stupid parties. you get up a little too fast, and the wind almost knocks you back down. you didn't think you were that drunk, but then again this was your third drink in the last hour.

you walk over to the kitchen and tap the black haired boy on the shoulder. he moans against her lips, not even acknowledging the fact that you were right next to him. you feel the blood rush up to your cheeks as you tap him again. this time, the girl pulls away from him. “can i help you?” she asks.

you don’t even look at her, just at your best friend, who looked annoyed at the fact that you just interrupted him. his arm was still wrapped around her waist.

“jun, i want to go home.” he looked between the two of you, hesitant in his response.

“right now?”

“yeah, i’m kind of tired.” you looked at the rest of the party. “i don’t really want to be here right now.”

“do you want me to call you a car?” he ran his fingers through his hair. are you really trying to cockblock him right now?

“i think i’m going to throw up.” you lied.

“fuck,” he mumbled, “seriously?” you slowly nodded in response. “okay, shit,” he turned to the girl, his arm still around her waist. “i’ve gotta go.”

“you’re seriously leaving me right now?”

“i need to take her home.” his voice sounded sad. “but, uh… i’ll see you around?” it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself that he would ever speak to this girl again. she pushed him away from her and walked out of the kitchen.

his arm supports your back as he walks you to your apartment. his friend’s place was already small, but the fact that it was packed like a can of sardines made you feel a little claustrophobic. the night air definitely sobered you up. but you still feel a little woozy as you make your way into your apartment. yeonjun carefully walks you over to your room and lays you on the bed.

“do you want to stay the night?” you ask him in a small voice.

“no,” he is already halfway to the bedroom door now. “i have to work in the morning.”

“i’m sorry.”

“for what?” he walks back to your bed. 

“for making you leave early.”

“it’s all good. you should go to bed though.”

“can you please stay?” you ask again, a little more desperately this time.

“i’ll see you later, y/n.” he bends down to kiss your forehead. “good night.”

it was the last day of finals and you and yeonjun were celebrating together in his apartment. “i can’t believe we’re finally done. this semester was rough.” he was double majoring in music business and dance and he had a lot of final projects to complete in those last few weeks of school and this was the first time you had seen each other since last month. “how should we celebrate?” he asks you with a smile on his face. you missed him.

“i think,” you begin, an evil grin appearing on your face. “we should play truth or truth.”

“that’s not a real game.” he interjects.

“yes, it is. and we are going to play it, but every time you do a truth, you have to take a shot of this.” you pull out a bottle of fireball from your bag.

“that sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

“true.” you shrug. “but c’mon. it will be fun.”

and he agrees.

you are both three rounds into the game now and your throat is already starting to burn. the questions started out easy and light but now your head is starting to feel a little fuzzy and the air is starting to get a little tense. you sit cross-legged on the couch opposite yeonjun, the bottle of fireball between your two bodies. maybe it was the way he was looking at you or the fact that you had been drinking knowing that the last meal you ate was a nutella sandwich before your last exam five hours ago. whatever it was, it was making your stomach do flips.

“it’s your turn now.” you giggle.

“ok… when was the last time you made out with anyone?” he asks you.

fuck. why did he have to ask you that? you were a little embarrassed that it had been a minute since you had been remotely intimate with anyone. “i don’t know…” your voice trails off sheepishly, you try to hide your face with one of the cushions on the couch.

“what do you mean “you don’t know?”” he is surprised. he always had friends asking him to set them up with you. “what about that guy from that party we went to?”

“what guy at what party?”

“the one guy who you were talking to all night. i thought you guys hooked up.”

“well, we didn’t.” you pour your shot and immediately drink it. “can we move on? please?”

“well, would you make out with me?”

“it’s my turn to ask the question, yeonjun.” you feel the blood rush up to your face.

“okay, but would you?” he moves the bottle to the coffee table, and inches closer to you. he was right; this game was a recipe for disaster.

“i can’t believe you had sex with yeonjun.”

“yell it out for the whole world to know.” it is a week later and you are having lunch with one of your friends. you told her what happened with yeonjun and she cheered, gleefully, saying that she was happy it finally happened. it seemed like all your other friends had an ongoing bet about your relationship with your best friend, and she just made twenty dollars.

“so are you guys finally together now?” she leans forward, her palms supporting her chin, invested in your love life.

“god, no.” you sigh. “i haven’t talked to him since then. i actually left when he went to the bathroom and he’s been texting me but i don’t know what to say.”

“you left when he was in the bathroom?” she exclaims, causing you to groan.

“i made things so awkward now. i don’t even know what to do.”

“so you’re ghosting him? and i thought he was the fuckboy.”

“i’m not ghosting him. i just don’t know what to say to him.”

“so you’re ignoring his text. y/n, that is literally the textbook definition of ghosting.”

“what do you want me to say to him? “i’m sorry i’ve been ignoring you after i snuck out of your place after we fucked?” and through text? i sound like such a fucking asshole.” a woman passing with her child glares at you. you groan again.

“you kind of are an asshole, y/n.” her phone vibrates on the table and she looks at it, a smile forming on her face. “looks like you don’t have to say that through text?”

“what?”

“yeonjun is throwing a party to mark the end of the school year. his friend just invited me and you’re my plus one.”

“he didn’t tell me about that.”

“well, how do you expect him to tell you that when you’re ghosting him?”

“i’m not ghosting him!” you try to defend yourself. “and i don’t think i’m going to go. what if he doesn’t want to see me?”

“if he didn’t want to see you, i would not have been invited. and besides, i don’t want to go by myself.”

with one final groan, you put your head against the cold diner table.

you and your friend arrive at the party and thank goodness, you hadn’t seen yeonjun yet. she promised that she would stay by your side all night and you’re very grateful that so far she has kept her promise. the two of you walk into the kitchen.

you’re making small talk with some mutual friends when someone comes in and asks if you know where yeonjun is. right then, he comes into the kitchen laughing with his friend. his smile drops when he sees you. you wave at him, with a small smile. he turns the other way to answer the person who asked if he wants to play beer pong.

“well, that was embarrassing.” you say to your friend, trying to push your tears back.

“y/n we can leave if you want to.” she tells you, rubbing my arm.

“no it’s fine. i’m fine. besides, we just got here and you promised me we would have fun.”

“okay, but if you want to leave, let me know.”

you couldn’t even try to have fun that evening because you spent the entire party trying to avoid yeonjun. when he was in the living room, you were in the kitchen. when he was in the kitchen, you were on the balcony. when you were sure he was on the balcony, you escaped to the bathroom.

this is so ridiculous. you think, staring at your face in the mirror. you sit on the toilet scrolling through your phone until you hear faint voices outside the door.

“did you know y/n was going to be here?” you could recognize that voice anywhere.

“no, but she’s always at these things. aren’t you guys best friends?”

“uh… yeah, i mean.” you can hear him groan. “something happened and she ghosted me and now she’s at my fucking party.”

why does everyone think i ghosted him?

“what is “something”?”

“if i tell you this, you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“damn, did you guys fuck or something?” there is a pregnant pause on the other end of this conversation. “fuck!”

“and she fucking ghosts me. complete fucking radio silence for a whole fucking week and then she shows up at my place again.”

“maybe she’s just scared. i mean, your relationship changed overnight.”

“then send an emoji or something. don’t just ghost your best friend.” he stops for a second, sighing. “and, our relationship wasn’t supposed to change. we know each other. we don’t judge each other.”

“do you regret it?”

“regret having sex with y/n? no. i just wish we were still friends now.”

 me too.

you clear your throat and take a look in the mirror. he’s still outside the door but it is starting to dawn on you that camping out in his bathroom all night is neither sustainable nor serious. also, why are you trying to avoid him? it’s better to talk it out once and for all than have him hate you forever. you walk out of the bathroom and see him standing there with his friend. when they hear the door click, they both turn to look at you and his friend makes a face at him. yeonjun grimaces back and they begin walking back to the living room to join the rest of the party.

fuck, okay maybe that’s why you were avoiding him?

your heart is racing now and something in the back of your mind is telling you to just walk back into the bathroom and save yourself from further embarrassment that evening. but then you remember that this is your best friend. he couldn’t really be that mad at you, could he?

“hey, yeonjun.” you call after him and he turns around with a groan. “can we talk, please?” his friend pats his back in encouragement and yeonjun walks towards you.

“now you want to talk to me?” he spits at you.

you feel a chill down your spine at his tone. only he could make you feel so small with such a simple comment. “i was never ignoring you.” you reply. your voice is quieter and more strained than you wanted it to be. you clear your throat and repeat yourself.

he laughs at your attempt to gain confidence. “really, because i was this close to sending a carrier pigeon to your house to get you to talk to me.”

“i’ve just been busy.”

“busy?” he raises his eyebrows in disbelief, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

“yeah, i was busy. i have a life, you know?” you cringe internally at how defensive you sounded. why are you getting so riled up?

“you don’t have to try and convince me. i believe you.” you are standing against the bathroom door and he is still at the end of the hallway. silence fills the gap between the two of you, until he clears his throat and begins to speak again. “so, what did you want to talk about?”

“seriously?” you scoff. “there’s a massive elephant in the room, jun.”

“i mean, what exactly do you want to say y/n?” he looks behind him to the rest of the party. you feel like you were wasting his time.

“i wanted to say i’m sorry for leaving, but–” you begin but you couldn’t get far because he chuckles. “is something funny?” you ask.

“you know when people apologize, like give a sincere apology, there are usually no buts.”

you run your hands through your hair in frustration. you’re trying to clear the air and he’s interrupting you. seriously? “i am apologizing, but–”

“you’re doing it again.” he smirk. he always did enjoy getting you flustered.

“it was awkward.” you blurt out, not giving him a chance to interrupt you again.

“not to me,” he says under his breath, quiet enough for you to almost miss it. but you don’t.

“c’mon jun, we’re friends.” you reply, plainly.

“you and i both know that we aren’t just friends.” he moves closer to you and your breath hitches in your throat.

“yes, we are,” your voice cracks. “ you’re my best friend.” you’re lying through your teeth, trying harder to convince yourself that your feelings for him were made up and he most definitely did not reciprocate them.

“so, why did you leave?” he asks, arms crossed, completely unmoved by the fact that you were about to burst into tears.

“because,” you push back your tears. “because, we’re friends and friends don’t fuck. but we did and i felt so awkward. i made it awkward.” you’d humiliated yourself in front of him too many times in the past week and you were determined to not cry in front of him and have him pity you.

“now what?” he asks, his arms folded in front of his chest.

“what?” you look up at his face, really examining his eyes. the eyes that looked at you fondly and made your stomach do flips were gone.

“you left my house right after we had sex and then you ignored me for a week. you show up to my party uninvited with your “apology” so what now? what do you want from me?” he never raises his voice at you, but he can still manage to make you feel stupid and small.

“i want us to go back to normal.”

“you want us to go back to normal?” he chuckles, not so much in a mean way but more in a confused way. like you just told him that the sky is actually green and grass is blue.

“is that so much to ask for?”

“y/n, you left.”

“but i’m here now.” your voice cracks again.

“and that’s supposed to mean something.”

“yes, yeonjun. it means that i’m here and i’m trying. i want us to be friends again, okay?” you plead. “i’m sorry for leaving and i’m sorry for ghosting you after but i’m here now. i’m trying.”

he sighs and massages his forehead before looking at you. he’s never had a great poker face, but right now his face is blank and you can’t read him at all. “i don’t think we can be friends anymore. not the way we used to.”

“we can try, please.”

“no, we can’t. you were right. it’s awkward now. you made it awkward now.” he starts leaving but turns around. “you shouldn’t have come.” and with that he disappears back into the party.

you sit on the floor for a minute before you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket.

where did you go????

you look at the time. it had been almost thirty minutes since you told your friend that you needed to go to the bathroom.

im by the bathroom can we leave now

you took a week to mourn the end of your longest friendship and then you spent the rest of the summer pretending that you had accepted it and distracted yourself with work. you didn’t see a lot of people over break because many of your friends were actually yeonjun’s friends and he got them in the quasi custody battle. now you weren’t getting invites to all the parties you once did, you had to find a distraction in being a straight-a student.

you’re working on a homework assignment when your parents call, asking what your plans for the holidays are.

“i’ve just been really busy, mom.” you tell her when she asks why they haven’t seen you in months. the truth is, you knew yeonjun was going home for summer break and as much as you tried to convince yourself that you were completely over everything that happened between the two of you, you really weren’t. and the last thing you wanted to do was see him everyday for two months.

“you always say that honey.” you roll your eyes at your mom’s passive aggressive comment. “but we will see you in a few weeks, right?”

“you will?” you rack your brain to see if you forgot whether or not you invited your parents to come visit you at your university or something.

“it’s winter break honey.” you had been stuck in a routine of going to work, going to class, and doing your homework in your room. you had completely forgotten that the semester was coming to an end and you couldn’t avoid going home anymore.

“oh, right.” you reply before your mom proceeds to drone on about the annual dinner your family has with your neighbors, which you absentmindedly listen to. “i don’t think i will be able to make that.”

“what? why not? we do it every year!”

she gives you half a second to come up with an excuse. you couldn’t just outright tell her that you didn’t want to see yeonjun and that’s why you haven’t come home since last winter and why you did not want to come home. because that would just be absurd. “i probably have to work on christmas eve. i’m not sure i can make it back home.” not very effective but you’re internally praying to the universe that she believes you and doesn’t push it any further.

but, alas, the universe has not been on your side lately.

“it’s the holidays! i’m sure you can call out.”

“mom, i still have a lot of work to do for school so i still might not make it even if i can get out of work.”

“honey, you know we have this christmas eve dinner every year. and your dad and i have already started planning this year. you can’t say you just can’t make it.”

you sigh. she’s so annoying when she’s trying to persuade you. “i know mom but it’s just that i hate being the youngest person at these things. it’s so boring for me.”

“that won’t be a problem this year. you won’t be the youngest because a new family moved in over the summer, i think in june. they have kids around your age.” she perks up. “and yeonjun is going to be there too.”

“oh, right.” as if you could forget about that.

“we were wondering why you didn’t come home because he was home for a month over the summer.” your mom broke you away from your train of thought.

“i had to work mom.” you respond, dryly. since you told her that you weren’t coming home at the end of last summer. she’s been bringing it up everytime she talks to you. “and i still have to work so i’ll let you know if i can come home for the dinner.”

“oh, you’re coming home.”

“i’ll see, mom.” you’re trying to quickly get off the phone. “i have a lot of homework to catch up on so i’ll call you later. love you! bye!” you hang up.

you know she’s right and you are going to go home.

from being your mother’s daughter you have learnt two fundamental truths: the salad fork goes on the outside of a plate setting and you need to learn how to lie. you have been at your childhood home since nine in the morning, trailing behind your mom as she prepares for the annual dinner. she made you stay with her the entire day, save for the two hours she allowed you to get ready before the guests arrived. even afterwards, she stayed by your side, forcing you to mingle with guests.

right now, you are in the kitchen with your mom as she gives you a quick rundown on what had been going on in the neighborhood since the last time you were there. other than your family and yeonjun’s, there was a new family at this dinner. according to your mom, they had moved in over the summer and they had a daughter your age who was going to the local university in your town. “it would be nice to have another friend in the neighborhood.” she says, prompting you to talk to her.

rolling your eyes at your mom, you move over to where the girl was with her little brother in the living room. before you could get to her, the front door opens and yeonjun and his mother step into the house. your mom rushes to greet her old friend, as if they didn’t see each other just the other day. you greet her too before escaping to the bathroom under the guise of freshening up before dinner actually begins. you had made plans to avoid yeonjun by any means necessary.

by the time you return downstairs and dinner actually starts, you realize once again that fate (or your mom) had other plans for you. when you get to the table, you see that the only empty seat at the table was between yeonjun and the girl your mother so desperately wanted you to be friends with.

this is just perfect.

you try not to make eye contact with him as you engage in small talk with the girl beside you. you find out that she’s a freshman at the local university and she’s majoring in english literature. you tell her about your major and your classes.

“what about you?” she speaks over you, to ask yeonjun. “do you also go to the same school?”

you turn to face him for the first time that evening. “yeah, i do.” he answers, coolly.

“are the two of you studying the same thing?”

“no.” you answer quickly, trying to keep him out of this conversation.

“i can speak for myself.” his tone shifts when he talks to you. “i’m doing a double major in music business and dance,” he replies to her.

“whatever,” you scoff.

“is there a problem, y/n?” he asks you, snarkily. the girl beside you turned away to play with the food on her plate. it seemed to her that she might have pulled a little too hard on a sensitive trigger.

“oh, you’re talking to me now?” you parrot the words he said to you that night outside his bathroom. the last time you saw him.

“i never said that i wasn’t taking you.”

“then what exactly did you say?” even though the two of you are not having the loudest conversation at the table, you are sure that the other people at the table can feel the tension rising.

“i said that i didn’t know if we could be friends the same as before.”

“so stop trying to act like everything is fine.” you say a little too loudly. the other conversations at the table stop.

“i’m not–” yeonjun begins but someone clears their throat and you both look up to see your mothers glaring at the two of you.

“maybe you two should have this conversation on your own time?” his mother suggests. you feel him shrink in his seat beside you, quietly apologizing.

after dinner, your mom drags you into your childhood bedroom. your room was adorned with discount furniture, an old bookcase you took from your grandparent’s house in high school, and lots of fairy lights. 

“i don’t know what’s going on with you but your behavior tonight is completely unacceptable.” your mother scolds you. you are sitting on the edge of the bed and she is standing across from you with her hands on her hips.

“my behavior?” you respond.

“you’re being rude to your friend and the rest of my guests, arguing at the dinner table, embarrassing yourself. what is wrong with you?”

“i wasn’t arguing with anyone.” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“so what exactly was going on then?”

“god, mom! this is like the last thing i want to talk about right now.”

“suit yourself.” she gives you one more look. “but i need you to calm down before you come back out there.” and with that she walks out of the room. you flop on the bed and groan.

how did everything turn to shit? you are so engrossed in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice that yeonjun walked into the room until he spoke. “can we talk?”

you quickly sit up on the bed, adjusting your dress, and looking at him before scoffing. “you want to talk now?”

“why are you being weird?” he is leaning against the door frame, not knowing whether or not he was welcome to walk in.

“i’m not being weird.”

“why didn’t you come home this summer?”

you look him in the eyes for what felt like five minutes. “why are you pretending like nothing happened between us?”

he takes your response as an invitation to enter your room. he moves to sit on the bed next to you. “i know that i was really mean to you the last time we saw each other but i don’t hate you and i don’t want you to hate me.” you scoff. “what?”

“i don’t think i could hate you even if i tried.” you reply, quietly. the two of you fall into a silence. you took in your room and the man sitting beside you. you two had spent many nights in this room, but tonight you both felt out of place. the fairy lights that surrounded your bed and windows highlight how aged he looks. the once comfortable silence between you two was now a gap, a liminal space. not quite what it used to be before, but not quite awkward.

“i’m–”

“i think–”

you both begin talking at the same time but stop. “you can go first,” you concede.

“i’m sorry for that night at my party.” he begins, not making eye contact with you while you are eyeing him intently. “i think i was more embarrassed than angry and i shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“i’m sorry too. for showing up unannounced.”

“what were you going to say?” he quickly changes the subject, feeling that the silence was threatening to return.

“i was saying, i think you were right.”

“right about what?”

“about us not being able to be friends again.”

“i didn’t say that exactly.” he reminds you.

“yeah, whatever, i know.” you roll your eyes. “but i’ve been thinking about it a lot – our friendship. and i don’t think we were ever really friends.”

“what do you mean?”

“i mean our moms are friends and they kind of shoved us together. i feel like we never got to know each other outside of growing up together.” you feel blood rush to your face when you notice how attentively he is listening to you, taking in all your words. you look down at your hands, like a child being scolded by their parents. “i guess i don’t want to go back to what our friendship was. i want to get to know you as you are now. i also had a massive crush on you.”

“wait, had? like past tense?” he jokes.

“yeah, past tense.” you lightly punch his shoulder. “i think when we moved for college, i was really insecure about our friendship, because we had no true bond, you know? i think i convinced myself that i had a crush on you, when in reality, i just knew you were slipping away from me.”

“or maybe you were swept away by my good looks and charming personality?”

“actually, i think it was the former.”

“i mean it’s just a possibility.”

“now i’m definitely sure it was the former.” you smile, thinking about how you were falling back into your old banter.

“okay, ouch.” the silence came again, but this time it was comfortable – something you hadn’t felt in a long time. “i wish you told me sooner.” he says after a while.

“why does it matter?”

“i would have never let us get to this point if i knew how you felt before. i felt us drifting apart and after you left i was really embarrassed. it was easier to blame you and push you away. i really miss you and i want us to be friends.” you look into his eyes and you can tell that he was being genuine; not just saying what you wanted to hear. “truly friends; not just childhood friends.”

"i want that too."

taglist: @boba-beom @atinyniki @dearlyjun

fill out this form to join my taglist!

#fay's works #yeonjun angst #yeonjun #yeonjun x reader #choi yeonjun #txt angst #txt x reader #tomorrow x together

[mvltisstuff]

Evan Buckley x female reader - tsunami episode - they have been dating for 4 years and Buck has recently proposed, reader and Buck spend a day on the pier with Christopher but they soon get caught up in the tsunami. Reader gets injured badly (hit her head/unconscious/broken bones etc) and Buck struggles to find her and panics. Some hospital scenes with Buck and reader and 118.

angst, injuries(if ur comfortable too write about it), heartbreak, fluff 🫶🫶

waves - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

a/n: you guys always have such good ideas istg… so funny story i was gonna finish this last night but i was drunk so i couldn’t 😁

every time her eyes were forced open, y/n was faced with a new horror in front of her. the murky grey water full of debris scratching against her skin. the stinging salt water in her eyes and lips. the salt from the sea diving into her scrapes. the feeling that she was drowning and there was nothing she could do to stop it. the ocean has always been scary, but it’s never scarier than when you’re in the center of its wrath. she came up for air, only to take one deep breath before being forced under the surface again. she’s a good swimmer. she knows she can swim, but no one prepares you for a wave from hell in swimming lessons.

y/n and buck had taken christopher out for the day, trying to get buck more involved after his accident. they went to the pier, the arcades, anything that christopher suggested they did.

they were supposed to go to the movies. to see a film, but the only thing they saw now was pure calamity in front of them.

she didn’t think buck could take much more pain and uncertainty in this world. he’s the toughest man, but even the toughest soldiers can fall. y/n’s concern for him had peaked. his life felt empty when he didn’t have y/n or the 118. he loved working more than anything, saving people ended up saving him.

he knew y/n before she even started working at the 118. they had been in the same training program, and y/n was eventually transferred to los angeles. buck was so fond of y/n. he loved her more than anyone, which frightened him but also made him filled with electricity. she was alluring, talented, and the sweetest person he’s ever known. she showed him love when he needed it.

so, the ring was in his apartment, shining in one of the hidden compartments in his closet. he was certainly prepared to whip it out and spend the rest of his days next to y/n, but then, a kid with some bombs took over. the engine was on top of buck before he could take a breath, and all his plans to propose were thrown away. it was now or never, he thought, laying on the stretcher. he’d switched from gut-wrenching wails to a solid “marry me.”

now, y/n looked for buck wherever, but the shore had become one with the whole city. the pier was gone, and she didn’t know if buck and chris were too.

she was being shoved across the water, her body being smacked with incoming debris. her head made contact with a slab of concrete that the wave had taken up. after, she’d made contact with another piece that sliced through the side of her abdomen, leaving a clean gash that was releasing a spill of blood. before she knew it, the the water was cold, but she started to feel warmer by the minute. the water around her started turning red, and her face became paler as she accepted her fate. she wanted buck to be there to save her. she wanted to be able to save herself, but the aggression of the water made it near impossible. she allowed her frail body to wash up on top of a white delivery truck, laying there with her maroon blood smeared on the top of the truck.

she was transformed into survival mode, thinking of anything she would be able to do without killing herself even more. she was able to reach for a piece of sopping fabric, pressing it securely against her belly where the massive slash was. there was nothing to be done for her head as the damage had already been done. she’d be damned if this tsunami killed her, but as long as she knew buck was out there, she was going to fight like hell.

buck felt completely lost. he was settled on top of a fire engine, christopher being cradled in his arms as they faced the disaster together. they were the only two people on bucks mind, y/n and christopher. at least he knew where christopher was, but he was separated from his fiancé the moment the wave flooded the pier.

buck tried to stay positive, he really did. but, seeing all the bodies float past limply brought his spirits down. he knew that he would be okay, but the woman who’s the center of his universe could be dead. buck thought nothing could hurt more than his accident. on the contrary, the thoughts in his head during these moments of his life hurt more than any physical pain he’s experienced.

buck stayed silent, not wanting to scare christopher but the boy had his own questions. “how come y/n is gone?”

“she, um, she got lost in one of the waves, pal,” buck mumbles, trying to contain himself from completely breaking down. “we’ll find her when this is over, alright?” buck wishes he had a more firm answer, but there is nothing in this environment that is stable. no one knows a single thing that could or couldn’t happen.

suddenly, everything turned to nightmare fuel. christopher had fallen, and was swept away by the harsh flow. buck screamed his name, jumping in after him and searching for him anywhere. he swore his heart stopped, watching the exhausted boy fall into the unknown pit of water. everything had become a blur to buck. he didn’t even care about anyone else as long as christopher went home to eddie, and y/n went home with him.

bucks heart fell with eddie’s face as their reunited with each other at the hospital. he was carrying the weight of two missing people, feeling like it was only his fault. he wanted y/n there so bad, he so badly wanted her to hold him and say it’ll all work out in the end. y/n was gone, and buck had no fucking clue because now, she could be anywhere. he loves her more than anything on this planet, and a wave can’t change that.

buck continued to notice the shallow breathing of eddie, the pure horror on his face as he might’ve lost the person he adores most. there’s no pain like losing a child, and buck could never live with himself if he didn’t save christopher. alas, when eddie’s eyes directed to behind bucks cut and dirty body, he saw his son wrapped up in a warming blanket. buck felt like complete shit.

he knew he saved christopher, and he was thrilled beyond words. but where was y/n? he had to know. the sun had already set and if she wasn’t found, she was probably dead. the word rang through bucks brain, repeating itself over and over like a monster under the bed. she’s the best thing that ever happened to him, and he never guessed that it would shoot him in the foot until now.

“buck!” bobby yelled, beginning to walk over with hen and chimney as eddie sprinted to his little boy. “hey, what’s wrong, kid?”

buck could barely formulate words, the heaving in his chest was too strong to hold anything else. he panted while spitting out y/n’s name. “i cant find her, guys i tried so hard but we just got separated so fast-“

“alright, buck hang in there,” hen says, placing her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to ease him. “we’re going to look around, ok?” buck nods, knowing that this isn’t easy for them either. y/n was the light at the station, being able to cure a bad day and always making every glad to be at work. she made it the best experience, and she became their best friend outside of work too. they’d lose a coworker, but they’d lose a member of their family above all else.

buck storms around the parking lot in the triage areas, desperately begging them for her name. “do you have a y/n here? y/l/n? ive been to all of the other ones and if she’s not here i don’t know what to do.”

“she’s not on my list, sir. i’m so sorry, but have you checked the black tents?” the sad woman asks, acknowledging the tarp that was decked with body bags. buck stared at them, like they became the only thing in the world.

“i- i cant-“ buck breathes, turning around to break the contact.

“i know, you’re ok, buck,” hen speaks, as buck falls into her arms, his knees barely holding any support of his body. he tries to match henrietta’s breathing, her comforting voice soothing his ears. he tried to ignore everything around him, but the aggressive sirens of another ambulance and the lights illuminated the teams faces.

he watched as the two paramedics opened the doors, revealing another on next to a womans body, squeezing the air into her lungs with the bag. buck knows. he sees her damp hair on the stretcher, the hair loves and admired every day. he sees her crimson-stained outfit, the one he complimented her on this morning. lastly, he sees her beautiful face, the face he could never forget. he wants to sprint over to her, but his feet are planted on the ground. he has no more fight left to give, and he lets himself fall to the ground in exhaustion.

the next time his eyes peel open again, buck is sitting behind a curtain, an oxygen mask around his head and a bottle of water being handed to him. “drink this,” bobby demands.

“thanks,” buck replies.

“don’t thank me. you did great work out there today, buck. i’m proud of you.”

“thank you, cap,” buck twists the cap off, starting to take sips of the water. “please tell me i wasn’t dreaming when i saw y/n.”

“you weren’t. she’s in surgery now. she had a pretty nasty laceration on her head, and an even worse one on her abdomen. they’re thinking it hit her appendix, so they’re going in to take it out before it causes more harm than good. they did a few test on her as well,” buck hisses at bobby’s words, not wanting to hear anymore but needing to know. he didn’t know if it was good or bad, but he had to know. “she has a severe concussion. she’ll probably be disoriented and confused when she wakes up, and surely in pain. buck, hey,” bobby notices the man starting to zone out. she’s still hurt, and it’s not enough for buck. he wishes he could put a force field around her, wanting to take the force of anything that might hurt her. knowing that this out of the ordinary thing almost took her life pains him beyond injury.

“s-sorry,” buck whispers. “i want to see her when she’s out of surgery.”

“you can, but i need you to know that it’s going to look bad. she’s going to be intubated and definitely banged up. you have to know that she’s going to be ok. so, say it,” bobby tells him.

“what?”

“say she’s going to be ok.”

buck gives him a confused look, trying to contain the waves of his own tears as he utters the words out. “she’s going to be ok,” before he knows it, the dam breaks and bobby’s hugging buck, comforting him from the emotions that have taken over.

the minute buck gets the confirmation to see his girl, he’s passionately walking down the hallway of the ICU, scanning the rooms for the only one he cares about. scarily, bobby was right. it looked bad. she had cuts through her cheeks and her shoulders, even passing through her eyebrows and forehead. she had a thick bandage around her abdomen, protecting the incisions on her stomach. the lights were dimmed, protecting her eyes from hurting her head even more. the tube down her throat was a haunting sight for buck to see, realizing that she could barely do it on her own.

he sat in the chair next to her, anxious to even graze her hand. he just watched her chest rise slowly and sink down again, next to the hissing of the machine. and he stayed there. he couldn’t bring himself to leave her side again. he lost her once, it wasn’t happening again. so, buck sat next to her until her anesthesia wore off. some people might’ve thought he was a statue, the way he didn’t rip his eyes off of her.

the doctors came in a while later when y/n started breathing over her tube. she was still sleeping, but she was breathing on her own. buck knew she could, he knew this wouldn’t be the thing to take them apart. the worlds had it’s go at trying to separate buck and y/n, but it never works. until death do them part, literally. buck looked at the ring on her finger, almost forgetting that they’re planning a wedding. he’d been given the ring from the nurse, who took it off before her scans. he was the first one to put it on her finger, so he did it again.

the 118 had piled into her room, eddie bringing christopher to his tías house to spend time with her. he came back when he heard about y/n. buck just saved the life of his son, and y/n saved bucks life before he even knew it. the entire team knew it. they needed her to be ok, or work would truly never be the same.

she’d worn off the anesthesia a few hours later, looking at her family surrounding her.

“hey, baby,” buck smiles, still dressed in his muddy clothes. “i know it hurts, it’s ok.”

“what happened?” she asks, rasp in her voice.

“there was a tsunami, y/n. it got you pretty good, too,” bobby added, standing at the edge of her bed. “you fought that pretty good, y/n. they said it was pretty ugly when they found you.”

“yeah, i remember,” she squints. “but why am i here? shouldn’t i be at work soon?” buck gives his captain a confused look.

“she’s just confused, buck. it’s the concussion, don’t worry about that,” eddie whispers behind buck into his ear.

“do you remember seeing anyone or anything?” hen asks.

“i remember being scared, for buck and c-christopher. i thought they were dead for a little, and i thought i was next. but i couldnt just drop there and give up on them.”

buck noticed her exhaustion, from the pain medicine and just the stress of her disorientation. “you should get more sleep, honey. you’re gonna need it.”

“bucks right. we can come back to see you tomorrow, y/n,” hen stands. “we love you, y/n. you did good.”

“you’re tough, y/n, you’ll be alright,” chimney adds, patting her hand and starts to clear out of the room.

“don’t go, buck,” y/n says, grabbing his hand with her eyes shut tightly.

“i’m not going anywhere, y/n/n. you’re stuck with me,” buck tells her, leaving a kiss on her hand and he sees the corner of her lips rise with it.

#911 #911onfox #bobby nash #eddie diaz #evan buckley #evan buckley fanfic #athena grant #henrietta wilson #evan buckley x reader #evan buck buckley x reader #maddie buckley #chimney 911 #may grant #evan buckley fluff #evan buckley angst #evan buck buckely #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley fanfiction #evan buckley one shot #evan buckley x you #evan buckley fic #911 fic #911 buck #911 fanfic #buddie 911 #911 show #911 on fox #911 oneshot #911 chimney #911 spoilers

[irisintheafterglow]

like we’re made of starlight (timeskip!iwa x you)

summary: on the night of your birthday, you accompany hajime to the olympic team's new year's celebration, meeting the players and receiving a small surprise.

wc: 1.78k

cw/tags: swearing, alcohol and drinking, established relationship, crack and fluff and atsumu being dumb, one (1) down bad iwaizumi hajime, implied fem!reader but they/them pronouns used

note: this is dedicated to the #1 iwa lover @shotorus <3 i hope you have a spectacular birthday and enjoy this little thing for you and your man :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated !

“You know, if I’d known they planned this whole shabang on your birthday, I would have asked them to reschedule.” He squints skeptically at the colorful strobe lights shining outside of the club, one of the most prestigious in the city and the venue for the Olympic team’s belated New Year celebration. You could only imagine how loud the inside of the club would be, especially since it already seemed overwhelming outside and you weren’t even in the building yet. “I promise I’ll make it up to you this weekend, something a little…quieter.” 

“It’s okay, really,” you reassure him, setting a comforting hand on his thigh as he continues to bounce his leg in the driver’s seat. You run your thumb over the expensive fabric of his dress pants and he visibly relaxes, releasing a deep exhale and giving you an apologetic smile. The line for the valet was long and your boyfriend had politely declined your suggestion for him to hop out while you get the car situated. “I’m here for you and to meet the guys.” 

“That’s also something I’m a little anxious about,” he admits.

“How so?”

“They can get a little wild at these kinds of celebrations.”

“Well, we can bail whenever we want, right?” He nods, still a little unsure. “So, if the vibe is off or people start getting a little too wild, we leave and eat soup on the couch with a movie on.” The last comment about lounging around finally makes him smile and you lean over to press a light kiss on the side of his face, taking note of the way his ears become a little pinker even in the darkness of his car. A few minutes later, Hajime helps you step out of the car, tug on your coat and leads you to the entrance of the club, bypassing the extensive line with a tilt of his head to the bouncer. 

“This place was 100% Bokuto’s idea,” he mutters when you both step inside. “It’s like we’re at a frat party again.” A club employee escorts you up the stairs to a private, second floor balcony that overlooks the dance floor. “All the lights and music and drunk people is very reminiscent of that one during–”

“During junior year, second semester. The one I dragged you out of your dorm for because my roommates flaked out and I didn’t know anyone else to go with,” you grin, looking down at him over your shoulder as you climb the stairs. He’s quick to close any remaining space between you two once you reach the landing, snaking a protective arm around your shoulders while the employee gestures for you to join the rest of Hajime’s coworkers. “Except this time, everyone’s of age to drink.”

“In theory,” he murmurs. “I still think Hinata’s younger than he says he is.” You stifle a snort into your fist and catch him smirking before you’re bombarded by several suit-clad athletes with varying levels of alcohol intoxication. “Watch out for Atsumu. He spit-talks when he’s drunk.”

“Our beloved trainer has arrived!” On cue, the more chaotic Miya twin appears in front of you with one arm slung around his Jackal teammate, a buzzed-looking Bokuto, and followed closely by Hinata and Sakusa. “What took you so long?”

“I couldn’t find my good cufflinks,” he shrugs, revealing the silver volleyballs hiding on the inside of his wrists, the ones you got him on his first anniversary of working as a trainer. “Thought they were appropriate for the occasion.” You smile, watching your boyfriend act as cool and casual as ever, even in the face of his very enthusiastic colleagues. “I, uh, have someone for you all to meet,” he says, glancing at you with a questioning glint in his eye. Are you ready? You nod, taking a deep breath as he introduces you as his partner. 

“Like, in business?” Atsumu asks with such a genuine expression that makes you giggle. Behind him, you can see Sakusa slap an exasperated palm against his forehead. “You have a secret side hustle?” You bite your lip to keep from laughing too hard and look up to find your boyfriend with a similar expression. 

“No, dude,” Bokuto says slowly. “He means like, romantically. Like, a life partner.” Atsumu’s eyes widened to the size of car tires. “A partner for life, you know?” 

“Holy shit, you’re married?” You catch Sakusa mouth oh my god under his breath before he walks away from his dumbfounded teammate. Hinata is quick to steer both of his friends to a table before they fall over and rejoins the conversation as Hajime introduces you to the more collected players of the group. 

You shake hands with the stoic skyscraper that is Ushijima as well as receive a warm hug from Komori. Both note how great it was to finally meet you in person after your boyfriend seemed to never stop talking about you, before the man in question hurriedly introduces you to another player. Suna and Sakusa are quietly polite but open up more once you ask them about how training is going for the next Olympic games. While you chat with them, Hajime pulls over Aran and Yaku, introducing you as his partner with poorly hidden pride. Once they’ve assimilated into your conversation, he disappears into the herds of players and staff again to no doubt drag out another coworker.

“Forgive him for coming and going so much,” Yaku says apologetically. “I think he’s been waiting to show you off for a long time, even if he won’t admit it.”

“He’s really excited for people to meet me, huh?”

“I’ve never seen him this hyper and I’ve been drunk at a karaoke bar with him,” a new voice says who introduces himself as Kuroo, a tall guy with spiky hair that you remember Hajime arguing with over the phone several times. “Our offices are right next to each other and I like to play pranks every so often,” he explains when you ask him about why your boyfriend yells at him so much.

“Technically, it’s his fault for being out of the office so often,” Suna reasons. “And I only say that because I’m one of the accomplices to the office pranks. We all are.”

“I bought the wrapping paper for the one on his car,” Aran adds. “Yaku pitched in for the Post It notes on April Fools day, but we don’t let Atsumu in on the pranks anymore ‘cause he talks too much.” Your mouth gapes in disbelief, unable to imagine the organized, well put-together machine that is your boyfriend getting pranked so easily. 

“It’s only because we love him as a trainer, though.” Yaku is backed up by nods of agreement from the rest of his team. “He really loves his job; I think the only thing he loves more than volleyball is–”

“You, obviously.” Hajime returns from fishing out people to introduce to you, easily finding his place by your side. “They tell you about how much they fuck up my office?” The perpetrators’ voices overlap each other in protest, arguing that he’s the one who keeps leaving his door unlocked. “Yeah, yeah. Just you wait until I get this one in on pranks against you guys.” He tilts his head towards you and is met with friendly taunts of competition, saying that you’re too nice to prank them or that they’d never fall for any of his pranks. His head dips to whisper in your ear while the team is preoccupied with debating what song to request from the DJ to create one big Olympic flashmob. “Mind if I steal you away, real quick?”

“Of course. But be fast; you need to be back in time for the big dance number,” you tease and he rolls his eyes with an amused smile, lacing his fingers in yours and pulling you down a back hallway of the club. The black walls reflect the moody shades of pink, orange, and blue shining from the lights above and you find that the music isn’t as loud in the little corner he finds for you two. When you’re ready, he pulls out a small box tied with a ribbon from his pocket.

“Wanted to give you this on your actual birthday but didn’t want Atsumu’s big mouth to ruin it out there,” he says and you chuckle, carefully taking the box from his fingers and unwrapping the bow. You pull off the lid and find a delicately silver chain threaded through a pendant indented to resemble a volleyball; flipping it over and admiring it in the light, you discover a stamped “H” on the back that only appears when the light hits it just right. 

“Hajime, this is beautiful,” you breathe. 

“You like it?”

“I love it.” You remove the necklace from the box, but before you can fasten it around your neck, he stops you. 

“May I?”

“You are a hopeless romantic,” you grin. 

“Only for you.” His fingers brushing your neck send goosebumps over your skin and he carefully secures the chain at the back. 

“How do I look?” You turn to face him and see his pupils blown wide open, licking his lips and blinking to maintain his restraint. 

“Like you’re mine,” he rasps and he closes the remaining distance between your bodies, letting your back hit the wall and tilting your chin up with two fingers to kiss you. Your fingers comb through his hair and he groans into your mouth when you tug on it experimentally. His hands firmly grip your waist while he kisses you infuriatingly slowly, like he was savoring this private moment without the prying eyes of his teammates. He pulls away to breathe but doesn’t go far, nudging his nose against yours. “The guys didn’t say anything dumb to you, did they?”

“No, but they did let me know how much you talk about me,” you whisper and he rolls his eyes again, your eyelashes brushing his face when he leans in close again. “And how much your dumbass gets pranked.” 

“In my defense–” You cut him off with an uncontrollable fit of laughter, one that he joins into with a tired shake of his head. “You know what? I don’t have a defense. Happy birthday, my love.” He presses a sweet kiss to the top of your forehead. “Every day I think about what I did to deserve someone like you.”

“You existed and I found you,” you say simply. “That’s just how it works and now you’re stuck with me and all my future birthdays.”

“You say that like I’m not ready to grow old with you in any lifetime.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi hajime x y/n #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu fluff

[koiir]

I’m drunk in you… (I’m drunk in you)

— In which they’ve had too much to drink… how do they act?

Pairings - kazuha, diluc, Kaeya, xiao x reader

Genre - fluff, comfort with some angst

Cw: mentions of alcohol/drinking, cursing, getting inquired due to being intoxicated (more like just being a dumbass) a bit suggestive on Kaeya’s part, not proofread

Kazuha who is known to not handle drinks very lightly, which is why he tends the avoid them even at events. Yet he always finds himself taking a drink or two (mainly because of the crux) this then ends up in Kazuha becoming a mess. A mess that you usually will have to take care of. Yet this is the loving romantic that you fell head over heels for, so of course you would do anything such as watching over him and helping him in his (desperate) need of time.

It’s a good thing that you live in the city of liyue, otherwise it would have been a hassle trying to get Kazuha to cooperate with you. With events, came drinks. One thing you honestly dreaded, mainly because of your lover who couldn’t handle himself after just one. He would cling onto you the whole night, tell others of his love for you, him proposing his love to you over and over until you shut him up (with a kiss to be exact).

Your name would spill out of his lips, slurred due to the intoxication of the drinks he has consumed. Still, the loving tone still holds even when his mind is clouded. “[Name]…cmon my love, please let’s just stay…” you knew it was not a good idea to stay, who knows what the poet would do if you decided to stay.

Once in the comfort of your home, you dragged him the your room. Laying him down preparing him for sleep. “Kazu, here drink this. It’ll help, you know.” You handed Kazuha the tea, hoping it will make him more at ease and less lightheaded. A small *hic* came out before he spoke once more to you. “The things you do to me… my songbird…heh.” Thats a new one, you thought. It was a common occurrence for kazuha to come up with a new nickname name for you whenever he was drunk. Ah. It must have been because you had been forced into a little karaoke event… where you didn’t notice but Kazuha had been looking at you with loving eyes (as he always does).

“I love you… so much…my love,” Kazuha said, he looked at you with hooded eyes, his hand crawling to yours and holding it softly. You moved, kissing him in the lips before you stood up. “And I love you more, kazu. I have to go finish up some things, I’ll be back soon though.” You got up to leave, yet you never ended up leaving the room

Instead up ended up tangled in your lovers arms falling asleep due to him pulling you on top of him. Not wanting you to leave him.

The idea of drinking made Diluc get the ick. Quite ironic for someone who owns a bar, yet that didn’t mean anything to him. He always tried to avoid drinking no matter what, yet even he can’t always follow this rule he has set for himself.

It was a small event set in the Dawn Winery manor, meet ups and a gather up for those who had worked together in the past and Diluc had been offering drinks to those who came. But ever one makes mistakes right? What he thought was grape juice was actually wine similar to grape juice. He didn’t think straight and poured himself a glass before heading over to you. The effects of the drink hit him hard, making it easy to notice something wrong with the man.

It was in the way he was clinging onto you that surprised you, Diluc does this often, but only when it’s the two of you. Not around others. Yes he would wrap his hand around your waste but never he never displayed this much affection in front of others. He started to lean into you, tuck his head under your chin, and whisper sweet nothings into your ear. This was something a sober Diluc would never dare to do, especially right now with some of his acquaintances.

Some started to snicker about his behavior, never seeing this side of him before. “Luc, cmon,” you nudged your lover hoping to get him off you for just one second. “No, let’s just stay here…please.” It almost came off as a whisper, like he was unsure about it.

You then decided to drag your lover outside of the room and into his office. The atmosphere was more comfortable and cozy with just the two of you in there, intimate with the one you loved. “Come here,” diluc said. Pulling you to sit on his lap at his office chair. Usually it would be you placing yourself, not the other way around. But you weren’t complaining, especially not after all the affection you’ve gotten. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck while giving you a soft kiss. “I love you [name].” Even after hearing this multiple times in your relationship, you never could never stop blushing after hearing him tell you. “Well I loved you more luc.”

It was often that you saw Kaeya intoxicated in the bar that belonged to his brother, chatting about whatever and whenever until you had to pick him up. Almost as if you were a mother picking up your child from school, in this case the child was Kaeya with the way he was calling out your name while cursing.

“Fuck fuck fuck…. Is [name] here?” You watched the scene unfold right before your eyes. Your boyfriend held his head as some of his drinking buddies swarmed around him. You walked towards him, not without laughing though. “And just what happened to you?” Kaeya looked up at you, a small frown appearing on his face once he saw you laughing about what had happened. “Don’t laugh… cmon, give me a hug pretty.” Before he could do anything, you grabbed him by the hand and left the tavern with your lover.

Thud. “What was that?!” You looked behind you as Kaeya made a small “ah” sound. He hit his foot on the sign and now was grunting from the pain to his foot. “Shit, again…”

“Again?” “Yeah I hit my head in the bar…heh.” You groaned while your lover laughed. So that’s what happened at the bar. “This is what you get for drinking to much Kaeya.” “You can’t stay mad at me forever, you love me to much you know.” You looked away, not wanting him to see the smile appearing on your lips. “And if I don’t?” You didn’t miss the small put that came from his face, but the soon turned into a smirk. “Then I’ll prove my love to you right here and right- Wait! [name] come back! I was just kidding you know!”

~

“You didn’t have to leave me like that you know, what if I had hurt my pretty face again?” You rolled your eyes, Kaeya had just gotten home after you left him when he made that silly comment. “It would have been deserved.” You said, he gasped and went on to exaggerate about how you are so cruel to him. You two ended up cuddling in bed, giggling about the events that had happen due to all the drinking Kaeya had done.

You never thought this could happen to Xiao, if anything if would happen to you, not him. It was a small event being held at wanshung inn so it was only natural for you to drag xiao out into the balcony and get some food to dine with one another. Yet he made the mistake of drinking the wrong drink, which was an alcoholic drink. Xiao was never one for drinks, or any type of drink other than water. So when the substance hit tongue, he knew something was off.

But his curiosity got the best of him, so he ended up take small sips of the drink, over, and over, until you came back. “Xiao, I’m back” you said. You came from behind him and wrapped your arms around him. Usually he would get flustered and mutter something under his breath, but the only he did was lean into your embrace and sigh. “I missed you.” He turned around making eye contact with you, something that wasn’t usually for him. You looked at xiao, something off about him.

His gorgeous face with flushed, his eyes seemed to sparkle and were more hooded, he was gorgeous. You could never deny that, and you admired him in the moment. “You’re so pretty xiao, I don’t know how I got so lucky with you.”

That’s when he looked away, blush apparent on his face. “You don’t mean that, you’ll get tired of me eventually.” You know xiao was scared of this, your relationship and what it would become. It didn’t matter if you two had been together for years, he would often doubt himself because he knew he wasn’t the best with his emotions, even worse with others. Yet for he you he did his best, and you knew that.

“Don’t say that xiao, I know you better than anyone else. I know that we will work out no matter what, I would never leave you.” You placed a hand on his cheek so he could look at you. The two go you were silent for a while, admiring the other. Xiao the made the first move to nuzzle his face into your neck, holding you tight. “Still, I’m scared of what might become of me. Of something that I might do to ruin us.” This was something you knew xiao had trouble with, you know that the moment you two got together. “And I’ll be there for you xiao, I knew that when we first got together.” You hugged him tighter, but that’s when you noticed it. “But… have you been drinking xiao?” He looked up at you, making a face that made you giggle. “What? No, why do you think that.” He mumbled. “Because, you’re never this straightforward unless I force you. And you’re more open to my affection.”

He sighed, tired to argue which was unlike him. He stayed in your arms, wanting to you feel your warmth. He wished the two do you could stay like this for an eternity, holding one another knowing that you will stay by his side no matter what.

It’s been a while since I’ve made a post…

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin scenarios #genshin kazuha #genshin diluc #genshin keaya #genshin xiao #kazuha x reader #kazuha x y/n #kazuha fluff #diluc fluff #diluc x reader #diluc x y/n #kaeya x y/n #kaeya x reader #kaeya fluff #xiao x reader #xiao fluff #xiao x y/n #kazuha imagines #diluc imagines #kaeya imagines #xiao imagines #koiir writes

[syrupfog]

Law being the most anemic fucking vampire. 

Like he doesn’t pick up on hunger cues, especially when studying in med school and during his fellowship time. Will go days without feeding because he doesn’t notice he needs to until one day he stands up and just falls the fuck over

Like he becomes well known in his apartment complex because of the number of times he’s passed out on the stairs. 

He doesn’t change his ways though until he comes to on the landing with his neighbour looming over him.

“Zoro says you’re a vampire” the neighbour says. 

Law doesn’t know his neighbours he has no clue who Zoro is. “I’m a vampire,” he says, groaning as he sits up. 

Neighbour nods, walks over and fucking HEADBUTTS the wall. Some cement crumbles.

Law gapes at him. 

The neighbour walks back, looking mostly fine (definitely has a concussion) with a trickle of a bloody nose. 

“Here you go!” He says brightly. 

Law gives him a horrified face. He scrambles back when he thinks the neighbour is going to headbutt him too.

But the man just walks up to him and swipes the blood off his face and onto Law’s face, like you’re supposed to do to get kittens to eat. 

He’s grinning. Very wide. 

“Please don’t ever do that again,” Law says. He wipes the blood off his face.

The man frowns “I worked hard for that!” He says. 

“I’m not rewarding bad behaviour,” Law says petulantly. 

“You passed out on the stairs!” 

“That’s beside the point.” 

Law has blood bags at home. He doesn’t need a weird stranger’s blood. He probably has mad cow.

The man crosses his arms. “Well I think that’s rude,” he says. 

Law sighs. He’s still lightheaded. “How about next time you want to donate blood, you ask me first? I can take some WITHOUT giving you a concussion.” 

The man brightens. “Okay!!” He says, excited now.

“Im Luffy! It’s nice to meet you, vampire!” 

“Trafalgar,” saw Law. 

“Traffy,” says Luffy. 

Law narrows his eyes. He senses arguing is futile.

Law never actually means to take Luffy up on his offer. He HAS blood, he just forgets to take it. Every time Luffy offers, he tells him he’s got blood at home, maybe next time. 

That all changes when a summer storm rolls in and they lose power.

They’re out of power for almost four days, a sickly still and wet heat settling in the city. And when Law wakes up after passing out in his kitchenette, he realises he’s actually in need. 

He doesn’t even know where in the complex Luffy lives, but it turns out not to be an issue.

He’s just made it down the stairs when the fire door in front of him opens and— 

“TRAFFY!”

 “Luffy,” Law groans despite himself. 

“Do you need—“ 

“Yes.” Law grabs his wrist. “Come with me.” 

Luffy obediently follows him back up the stairs to his apartment.

Law drags him in and sets him at the table. “You’re going to want to refill on protein and sugar after this,” he says. 

“Okay!” Luffy says, expression bright. 

Law sighs. He wipes down Luffy’s forearm with an alcohol pad before grabbing his wrist and sinking his teeth in.

Usually humans taste gross. Blood at the best of times is a neutral flavour, but skin and arm hair and sweat are disgusting. 

But Luffy?

 Luffy… tastes like honeyed ham. 

Law pulls back, a wet noise as he pulls his fangs out. “Why do you taste like that?” He asks, alarmed.

“Like what?” Luffy asks. 

“Like… glazed ham?” 

Luffy laughs. “Silly,” he says. “Because I was eating glazed ham, of course!” 

Law bit close to Luffy’s elbow. He also sanitised the area. How on EARTH did the taste permeate his skin so well?

With trepidation, Law goes back to feeding. It’s with horror he realises he… likes the glazed ham taste with the blood. It’s like drinking flavoured coffee; useless accoutrement but pleasing nonetheless. 

When he’s drunk enough he’s confident he won’t be falling down stairs,

Law cleans Luffy’s arm and attaches two small round plasters to the holes. 

“Fun!” Luffy says, looking at them. “Fang sized!” 

“Thanks,” Law says. “You can go now.” 

Luffy blinks at him. “Let’s hang out,” he says. 

Law blinks back at him. “I have to—“ he gestures at his apartment.

Considering they are IN his apartment, he’s just sort of gesturing at everything. 

“That’s cool,” Luffy says. “I’ll just stay here.” 

Law… nods. “Okay,” he says. The power’s still out, it’s not like he was going to actually do anything anyway.

What Law doesn’t know is that once Luffy’s gotten into Law’s apartment once, he’s gonna always assume he’s welcome. 

Even when Law tries to kick him out. S

ometimes (often) Luffy is just. Here now. 

And unfortunately, like the glazed ham taste, Law realises he sort of likes it.

#lulaw #lawlu #my writing

[thefiery-phoenix]

YANDERE THOMAS SHELBY HEADCANONS

There is a REASON he is known as the Devil of Small Heath around Birmingham. Pretty much all the men who come for a drink at the Garrison have the common sense not to mess with Thomas Shelby, just by hearing his mere name sends shivers up people's spines and for a reason too because of his dark deeds against people who stand against him. If there's one thing he values the most, it's family. He's willing to kill anyone who dares to prove to be a danger to his family

You were new to the city of Birmingham after completing your education overseas at a reputed university and you had a dream and passion for becoming a writer, to make a name for yourself in the literary world. You were supposed to meet your childhood friend Russell whom you've known ever since the two of you were in your school days as you opened the door to the Garrison and took a shaky breath as you entered the pub and sat down on a stool. You fidgeted with the sleeves of your dress nervously as you'd never had the habit of consuming alcohol much less even stepping foot inside a pub. The bartender Harry Fenton's eyes landed on you, as he had a polite smile on his face. "Where are you from miss, haven't seen you around here'' he said in a friendly tone as you told him about you visiting Birmingham for the first time and how you were supposed to meet your friend Russell. The bartender offered you a drink on the house but you politely declined as his lips curved into an amused smile at your refusal, finding it amusing that even though you were in a bar, you'd refused a drink of alcohol. Little did you know, there were 3 pairs of eyes watching you without your knowledge from a nearby booth

"Oh, she's new. Haven't seen her around'' said Ada to her brothers as she sipped her drink and looked at you with an interested expression on her face. "I know...she looks like a goody two shoes, bein' in a pub an all and not drinkin'' said Arthur as he smirked to himself as he gulped down his beer. "I know...real beauty ain't she?" said John as he grinned and took a swig of his drink as the three of them started discussing about you. Just then, they went quiet when Thomas entered wearing his glasses, his smart black suit along with Polly by his side as the two of them sat down at the booth with the rest of them. "Alfie's men are causing trouble again...need to get rid of that bloody dolt for good'' grumbled Tommy as he fished in his pocket for a cigar and lit it as he took a puff of smoke and sighed. His eyes fell on John who was still staring at you as his gaze landed on you as well and he surveyed you with his calculating piercing gaze. "Whos' she?" he asked the others with a stoic expression on his face as they told him about you and how you were waiting for someone

He couldn't help but feel slightly amused when he heard you wanted to become a writer at Birmingham of all places which was definitely NOT the place for you in his opinion. Yet his eyes never left you, as he kept observing you from a distance. "Oh, looks like you fancy her now don't you?" asked Ada in a teasing voice. "Shut up Ada'' he retorted as he continued to look at you. However a few seconds later he spotted some lousy drunk sleazebag trying to make you uncomfortable as he kept getting too close to you and you had an uncomfortable expression on your face. You tried to keep politely declining his offer to join him for the night but the man finally had enough as he grabbed your wrist. "I'll show you what happens to wenches like you who think they're too good for the world...little brat'' he drawled as his eyes traveled down your body hungrily. Within a matter of a few seconds, the man let out a sharp scream of pain as the whole pub fell silent and the chatter around you ceased at once

"She said no...'' said Thomas in a cold voice as he glared at the man who tried to have his way with you and twisted his hand till the man fell on his knees, writhing and groaning in pain. "Pathetic...next time you do something like that, I'll be sure to actually cut your bloody hand off and feed it to the dogs'' said Thomas as he looked down at the man in contempt as the man whimpered and got up and left. Thomas looked at you as you thanked him and he waved his hand dismissively telling you it was nothing, Deep down, secretly, there was a part of him that was glad he could just help you in time. Your friend Russell arrived into the pub a few seconds later as he looked at Thomas with a slightly pale expression on his face. "How about you be punctual on time and not make a lady wait...'' said Thomas as he glared at Russell before he went back to join the others at the booth and continued to stare at you and Russell talking with each other. He hated the feeling that was rising in his chest when he saw you talking to someone else, it was a bitter feeling bubbling inside him

Russell and you talked about your old school memories and how things were back in your childhood days as the two of you caught up with each other on what was going on in each other's lives. Thomas couldn't stand the way you were laughing at that moron's dull jokes, as he scoffed slightly to himself. He saw Russell hugging you which made him clench his fists till his knuckles turned white and he couldn't understand why the hell he was behaving like this for someone he'd just met. Yet, he didn't like the feeling of seeing you with that dimwit. Congratulations, you've managed to spike his curiosity regarding you so you now have the most dangerous mobster in all of Birmingham at your back. He's determined to find out more about you when he's determined to do something, he takes his task at hand very seriously

He'll have Arthur and John dig up information regarding you for him, everything from your history to your daily activities and your likes and dislikes. He's a complete stalker and blends really well in the shadows, his family don't even call him out for his behavior, they're just glad he's finally found someone to love and don't see anything wrong with his obsessive and possessive behavior towards you. Polly is looking forward to making you a part of the family as soon as possible. He'll start off slow, getting to actually know you personally and talking to you. He likes your company and likes hearing your voice. It soothes him and whenever you tell him something about yourself, he'll just smirk slightly to himself since he already knows everything about you, nothing he hasn't heard of before but he'll still play along for your sake

He'll start leaving little gifts at your doorstep like your favorite chocolates or a pretty dress for you to wear or something like that or some of your favorite flowers. You have a feeling like you're being stalked and when you rush to him for protection, his eyes glint with amusement, oh you sweet child, you truly had no idea. But all the same, he's glad and pleased he was the first one to come to your mind when you felt like you needed protection and he's more than willing and pleased to protect you and keep you safe. Rivals? What rivals? He's Thomas FOOKIN Shelby of the Peaky Blinders, when he wants something, he gets it. It's best if you don't know how many people's he's killed for daring to get too close to you. He'll either send John and Arthur to abduct the schmuck in the middle of the night and take the person to a deserted secluded location where Thomas will just use a single bullet to put the lousy scumbag who dared to lay his filthy eyes on you to put them to sleep permanently

He WANTS you to rely on him, it just feeds into that god complex ego of his, but also because he loves you, in his own twisted manner of course. He hates it when you show interest in someone else who's not him, it's like you're insulting him to his face and telling him that he's not good enough for you. Deep down he's just insecure and he doesn't want to lose you, he's already lost plenty of important people in his life and the last thing he wants is to lose you too

He's a control freak, he wants to know EVERY thing that happens in your life and his men are ALWAYS watching your every move. He finally decides to take things to the next step and approaches your parents to ask them for permission to marry you while you aren't in the house. Your father is slightly surprised to see Thomas standing outside his house as he invites him in and after the usual small talk and serving tea, Thomas clears his throat and decides to speak. "Sir...I would like to marry your daughter'' he said as the atmosphere became slightly tense. "Mr. Shelby, with all due respect, I am a father who wishes the best for his daughter. I know what kind of man you are Mr. Shelby, my daughter shall not marry a man as dangerous as you where her life would be at stake constantly or get thrown into the madness of the underworld. Please refrain from seeing my daughter again'' said your father in a firm tone as your mother agreed with his words. Thomas had to hand it to your dad, he was a gutsy courageous man who could actually stand up to him which would make things far more interesting

Seeing your parents and asking them for their permission was merely a formality, he already made preparations to being you to Arrow House which even your parents could not stop. "Mr. L/N, you are a smart man, a father who's willing to protect his darling daughter and I admire that to a certain extent. Your daughter WILL be mine one way or another, coming to see you was just a mere formality. Good day'' said Thomas as he put on his hat and enjoyed the way your father's expression turned pale at his words

That night after you returned back home from your publishing office and you set your books down, during dinner, you saw your parents looking slightly tense and nervous than usual. "Mom, dad...what's the matter'' you asked them gently as they stared at you with mournful looks on their faces. Your mother took a shaky breath before she spoke "Darling...your father and I love you very much, but you...you need to leave Birmingham immediately. It's for your own good'' You stared at them in shock, what were they saying? "Mom, dad... have I...have I become a burden to you both?'' you whispered as your eyes welled up with tears. "Shush child. Don't say such nonsense. You are the light of our lives but that man Thomas Shelby is a dangerous man...he's a relentless monster who wants to make you his and I'll be damned to let my darling daughter get married to a monster like him...you are to leave Birmingham immediately. We've already packed your trunk, you'll be taking the next train to Istanbul where you'll be staying with your aunt and uncle there for a while...it's just temporary my dear...hopefully'' said your father in a gentle tone as he sighed heavily and his eyes welled with tears too

"Mom...dad...I don't want to go, please...'' you said as you sniffed sadly. "It is not up for argument pumpkin, it's for your safety'' said your mother as she said as her voice cracked with emotion and she gulped down a glass of water. After dinner was over, you sat in the carriage with Russell who helped you with your trunk and you hugged your parents as tears streamed down your cheeks, you didn't know how long it would be before you'd get to see them again. You made it to the railway station and got out of the carriage as Russell helped you with your trunk. "It's for your own good you know, Thomas Shelby is a dangerous man...your parents are right. I'll miss you, don't worry, we'll keep in touch with letters'' said Russell as he placed a comforting arm around your shoulder. There weren't any people at the station since it was midnight but you thought it might work in your favor, unaware of what the universe had in store for you

"Step away from my future wife before I shoot you'' said a familiar voice nearby as you saw Thomas and the rest of the men from his Peaky Blinders gang head towards you. Your eyes widened in horror as you tried to back away from them when Russell stood in front of you to protect you from them. "Leave her alone Shelby'' he said. "Tch...how annoying, you know, I'm not a man with regrets but I regret not killing you that day at the Garrison. Not to worry, that can be arranged today'' said Thomas as he brought out a revolver and after a loud bang, your dear friend Russell was now on the ground dead, his eyes looking lifeless as the blood oozed out from his wound and you let out a scream of horror as tears streamed down your eyes. The train to Istanbul was approaching as you saw the train from a distance and your heart almost leapt from relief, this was your chance to escape and leave

John and Arthur held you by your arms and prevented you from escaping as you flailed and screeched on top of your lungs. "Shhh... don't worry, you'll be happy with me. Just be a good girl for me...I'll keep you safe'' he said and those were the last words you heard from him before a rag was placed on your face and you passed out. His passion for your love is beautiful and terrifying at the same time, laced with extreme obsessiveness and devotion to keep you safe. Love truly was the most powerful force of all...

#yandere thomas shelby #yandere thomas shelby x reader #yandere thomas shelby scenarios #yandere thomas shelby headcanons #yandere thomas shelby oneshots #yandere thomas shelby imagines #yandere thomas shelby x reader oneshots #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby headcanons #dark thomas shelby #dark thomas shelby x reader #dark thomas shelby imagines #peaky blinders #yandere peaky blinders x reader #yandere peaky blinders characters #yandere peaky blinders characters x reader #dark peaky blinders #dark peaky blinders x reader

[cherryxsang]

𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐖

Outlaw!San x Bountyhunter!Reader (afab) Genre: smut Word count: 3.7k Warnings: POSSIBLY TRIGGERING BRIEF SEXUAL VIOLENCE (San tries to attack the reader for sexual reasons but doesn't actually do anything), dub con (San is drunk), physical fighting, handcuffs, penetrative sex, handjob, oral sex (m and f), spit kink, hate sex?, filthy dialogue

»»————————————►

You tried to keep your nerves at bay as you reached for the door of the bar on a night you’d been searching for for weeks. It wasn’t the building you were searching for, but a certain person you were hunting. One of your sources had tipped you off that he would be in that very building on that very night.

You stepped inside and quickly scanned everything around you. Although the bar was brightly lit, it was also quite busy, and you didn’t see him just yet. You tugged at the itchy frills of your dress and followed your senses. If I were an outlaw, where would I be, you asked yourself. That question lead you to a counter located near the back of the building. It was slightly less illuminated and not as packed with people.

You stepped inside and quickly scanned everything around you. Although the bar was brightly lit, it was also quite busy, and you didn’t see him just yet. You tugged at the itchy frills of your dress and followed your senses. If I were an outlaw, where would I be, you asked yourself. That question lead you to a counter located near the back of the building. It was slightly less illuminated and not as packed with people.

Your heart pounded with excitement when your eyes focused in on the silhouette of one man. Your gut told you that you’d found him. As you carefully approached, you caught a glimpse of his profile and knew immediately from his wanted pictures that he was your man. Here we go, you thought.

Unlike most women who walk into a saloon after sunset, you weren’t there looking to wow him, at least not as your final goal. You were there to trap him. He had a hefty bounty on his head, and you had found that you were a natural at this kind of thing.

You scooted yourself onto a stool near the outlaw, keeping a close eye in your peripheral while also appearing cool. As you leaned your elbows on the bar counter you felt his heavy gaze take its post on you. “A bourbon, please,” you smiled at the bartender.

A chuckle to your right. You looked over as an unknowing stranger, your eyes wide with feigned innocence. That was the first time you gazed into the cat-shaped eyes of Choi San. The same dark and weathered, yet still young and curious eyes that had seen every one of his crimes. Ten known murders and an estimated thousands worth of stolen goods, among other things. You hated yourself for noticing how attractive those eyes were.

Through dark and droopy—probably drunk—eyelashes, he looked your feminine form up and down. “Sorry, miss,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly, “I just wouldn’t have expected a pretty little thing like you to walk into a place like this.”

You smiled at him—a fake one, you were sure—and responded in your nicest voice, “Well, sir, I did expect to see a handsome man like yourself, see.”

He flashed a cocky smile as his gaze dropped down to his drink. “You city women are a peculiar treat,” he said in a low voice. It made your confidence waver just a bit. Had he already become suspicious of your character? Should you have put on a smooth, slow drawl to match his? You cleared your throat and shooed the thoughts away.

Ignoring what he had said, you spoke again, remaining composed. “If I’m not mistaken- Did I notice that you’re alone tonight? Would be a shame.” You fingered the condensation on your drink glass, anxious for his response.

“I’m always alone, miss.” You rolled your eyes at his vague and, you judged, pompous answer, but nonetheless began to plan your next move. That is, until you felt the vibration of the stool next to yours moving. You inhaled deeply, instinctively ghosting your hand over the pocket-sized pistol that was strapped to your thigh under your dress, but allowing San to take the seat beside you. “That don’t have to mean physically, though,” he added.

You giggled through your teeth, watching a warm smile grace his soft but masculine features. Now that he was close, you noticed how large he was—not especially tall, but muscular. A true farmhand’s build. How charming. That was also when you realized that you had placed your hand on his arm to flirt with him. It wasn’t a conscious choice, just a reflex. Still, all part of the job.

“Can I buy that for you?” he motioned to your drink. Sensing an opportunity arising, you answered with a cunning “sure.”

“Perhaps I could repay you in some way,” you said softly and avoiding eye contact, acting shy. The look San gave you sent a chill down your spine. It was as if you could see his mind switch gears, see the tunnel vision activate. His face darkened, his eyebrows resting shiftily above his eyes and his polite smile fading with seriousness. But it only lasted a second, and then dimples melted back into his tan skin.

“It would be much obliged,” he almost whispered, his voice sweet like molasses. It made you weirdly nervous. You were silently puzzled by the fact that you felt your trust in yourself dwindling. You can do this, you reminded yourself. Your internal quarrel was interrupted by San reaching very suddenly for your hand. “You know,” he started mindlessly, toying with your fingers. You kept stern eye contact, reminding yourself not to be fooled by his prowess and to keep your guard up. “Despite your cold reputation, you city ladies are really quite friendly.”

He looked at you and you smiled politely, telling him, “I’m full of surprises, sir.” Never breaking eye contact, you added, “And can I have my ring back?” You probably shouldn’t have said it, as it could set him off and ruin your chances of getting the bastard caught. You didn’t care about the ring anyhow, it was a simple prop. But he was cocky, attempting to steal your ring right in front of you. And you were annoyed.

San gave you wide eyes of surprise but quickly covered himself with a laugh. Holding your ring on the tip of his pointer and examining it, “Let me pay you for it with another drink,” he said smugly, dropping the ring in his pocket plainly. “It’s not worth much anyways.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Or…” You raked your fingers up and down the cowboy’s denim-clad thigh. “Spend the night with me and we’ll call us even.”

San dipped his head in feigned shyness. He kept his head down for a second too long and it made you uneasy. You knew he was imagining all the things he might be able to get away with doing to you. “You are something, city miss. You don’t even know my name.” He maintained a teasing smile.

“Mine is Y/N,” you offered.

“San,” he returned, pulling your hand to his mouth for a kiss. All calculated, you reminded yourself. “There’s an inn next door,” he suggested.

“Let’s go.” The two of you stood up, abandoning your own drink while San quickly finished his off. He replaced his hat and led you out of the saloon. The walk to the bedroom you would be occupying was clouded by a war within your head. You didn’t know what it was exactly. You knew your plan was to get him alone, handcuff him and bring him straight to the police’s attention. But there was a nerve-wracking feeling deep down that you didn’t trust yourself this time. You didn’t know what exactly you were worried about, you’d done this all before after all, but nonetheless something felt strange. There was some part of yourself that you felt you weren’t in control of.

Those thoughts were interrupted when you arrived at your rented room which San had ever-so-kindly paid for. He let you in first then closed the door. “Finally,” he sighed darkly. The next thing you knew, you were off your feet, caught completely off guard. San had picked you up by your waist and thrown you roughly onto the mattress. He was quick to climb on top of you, thighs around your waist and with a tight grip on either wrist. Even drunk, the bastard was damn strong.

“Get off me, you fucker!” you shouted, blindsided by the sudden danger. You were painfully aware of the cold metal of your pistol on your thigh, so close but entirely out of reach.

“I’ve been waiting too fucking long for this.” The two of you struggled, meanwhile San had let one of your hands go to allow himself to fumble his belt undone. You began to desperately punch him as hard as you could. All the while he was staring you in the eye expressionless. “You’ll lay still and take me, stupid whore.”

Once he had unzipped his jeans, he began pulling at your dress. As he worked the mess of fabric up your thighs, he unintentionally revealed your weapon. He shot you a look like he was scared, his brows furrowed and eyes wide. “What are you?” he asked frantically.

He was weakened by his confusion and you were able to twist away from him, your feet hitting the floor. He quickly grabbed you again, but now you were able to kick him back by his stomach. You tried to calm your nerves while he was down and reached for your gun. This has gotten out of hand, you told yourself. I have to end it.

Before you could cock the pistol, San grabbed it by its barrel. He pushed you backwards until you hit a wall. You shouted as your head hit the hard wooden door frame and continued to wrestle for your gun. Again, San just stared expressionless. He was probably petrified. He was fighting for his life, but so were you. “You shouldn’t have fucked with me,” he whispered. “But I hope you’re having as much fun as I am,” he smirked. With his body pressed against yours, you happened to notice that he was rock hard. You didn’t do anything with that information except get the idea to knee him hard in his groin.

When he fell to the ground you quickly spun around to his back side and pointed your ready gun at him. You still had another tool on your body: a set of handcuffs in an inside pocket of your dress. The realization gave you an idea: Stick to the original plan. But you needed to get him near the bed first. So you climbed onto the mattress, your pistol still locked on San. Sure enough, as soon as he got to his feet, he jumped on the mattress with you, reaching for your gun again. But you were ready for him, grabbing him by his neck and throwing him down with all your adrenaline-fueled strength. His skull hit the headboard in a thud and you sat on his chest, the handcuffs already in your hand. You dropped your pistol and through a struggle managed to chain his hands together, looped around the headboard so he couldn’t move.

Stepping back, you took a few seconds to ensure he was immobilized and to catch your breath. You thought you imagined at first when San started to laugh maniacally. A drop of blood slowly rolled down his forehead, meanwhile he grinned. “What are you?” he asked again. “Bounty hunter?”

Proud of the work you accomplished tonight, you told him honestly, “Yes.”

He continued to laugh, mumbling to himself, “Fuck me. City miss. Bounty hunter. I thought you were just an odd whore.” He adjusted his legs, seemingly getting himself comfortable as he accepted his fate. He wiped his blood on his denim jacket. “You have no idea how much fun that was. Between us, I like a feisty woman.”

You took a step closer to him. “You were hard,” you said flatly.

He grunted in response, rolling his head toward you. “You’re gorgeous. And you put up a hell of a fight, Y/N.”

“You’re gorgeous, too, actually.” What’s the harm in telling a man likely soon to face death row? “When I heard your description…your crimes…I wasn’t imagining something like you.”

He listened intently. The first time that night that you felt he was really hearing what you said, it was when you were praising him. He was disgusting, and yet look at him; Chained up and submissive. At your complete disposal. You thanked the heavens for your occupation as a bounty hunter and not a member of the police force. There were no rules against what you had now accepted you wanted to do.

You simply undid your dress, allowing it to pool at your feet. San was silent, just watching for whatever you would do next. “You’re going to fuck me, cowboy. Then we’ll be even.”

He laughed harder than before, his broad chest heaving. “You really are a whore.”

You punched his mouth. That shut him up. Then your eyes trailed to the tall tent in his jeans. You finished what he had started earlier, unzipping them all the way and fishing his rock-solid dick out. It was tall and veiny, leaking and frustrated. You felt your arousal spill at the sight. You pulled his jeans down to his knees and then you straddled him, hovering above his hard-on.

You undid the buttons of his leather vest, exposing his swollen abs and pecs. You threw his hat across the room and examined the wound on the top of his scalp. You dabbed the blood with the bed sheet and then carefully combed your fingers through his bangs. You took care with him now as in a moment of weakness, you let your mind wander straight into fantasy. If only this deadly, gorgeous man had a soul, you thought. Maybe you would try to make him yours. Still, you took pride in being the only woman to ever take him down and make him feel weak.

“Don’t fall in love with me,” he teased you, sensing your hatred for him slipping.

You grabbed him by the neck and pushed his stupid head against the hard wood of the head board. “Don’t you fucking dare,” you said.

“Then just fuck me already, will you?” he spat, fed up. His dick was still standing there all alone in the cold room and you guessed it was painful for him. Good.

You peeled your underwear off of your already sweaty body and slowly lowered yourself onto his dick, facing away from him as you couldn't bring yourself to look at the bastard’s face any longer. He felt even bigger inside of you and he had a beautiful curve, effortlessly brushing against your sweet spot with every movement. You and San let out a unison moan as you bottomed out and your walls fluttered around him.

He was silent now as you rode him. No snide comments as you finally gave him what he really wanted all along. But you couldn’t complain about what he wanted because you were giving yourself a little treat too. If he’s going to be arrested and likely executed, why not make him useful while he has the chance?

You rubbed your clit against San’s pubic bone, the friction causing you to tense around him with each grind of your hips, much to San’s delight. He was shameless, a moaning, whiny mess behind you. He was breathing heavily and you imagined by the way he was tugging at his restraints that if his hands were free they’d be all over you right now. A part of you longed to feel those arms. Not San’s, you reminded yourself, but maybe someone’s.

You settled to fuck yourself stupid on the outlaw’s dick. You held his thighs as you sought out the feeling of sharp, quick thrusts. You moved rhythmically, tensing and relaxing your muscles, allowing yourself to revel in the sensation of being stuffed full.

Soon enough, San started going crazy beneath you, tugging harder at his handcuffs, his thighs twitching. That was your cue to lift your hips. You weren't about to let a criminal place some kind of mark on you with his seed. Plus you weren’t done with him. San groaned deeply at the loss of sensation. You turned around and he looked like he wanted to kill you right then and there. “What the fuck, Y/N?” he hissed sharply.

“You piece of shit,” you retorted, “We just started. You need to make me cum, too.” You brushed his lips, which were slightly swollen from your earlier punch, with two fingers and without verbal direction he obeyed and opened his mouth. “Let me see that tongue,” you whispered to yourself, meaning to only say it in your head.

“I don’t-”

“Shut up,” you said before grabbing a handful of his hair and directing his mouth to your pussy as you crawled forward. Despite his apparent resistance, he obediently stuck his tongue out for you and lapped at you like a starved man. You grinded against his tongue, seeking more. “Suck me,” you said, and he did just that, wrapping his swollen lips around your clit. You didn’t need to give him any further instruction, he knew just what to do as he continued to happily drink up every last bit of your arousal and paid close attention to your clit. You came undone with a string of high-pitched moans and kept a hand in his hair so he couldn’t get away, not that you thought he’d ever try to. He continued to gently work you through your orgasm, and you laughed, “You might hate me, San. You might want me dead, but you still can’t get enough of my pussy, can you?”

He disconnected from you and looked up with puppy eyes. “Please let me cum, miss.” How sweet, you thought. Miss. You had apparently broken him when you didn't even really mean to. You tried your best not to smile at his cute, pitiful state and instead busied yourself with licking your arousal off of his chest. The mixture of cum and sweat was salty but sweet in a way. You licked up the crevice between his pecs and then swirled your tongue around one of his nipples. He hummed happily. “No one’s ever done that before,” he said.

“Which part?”

“Everything you just did.” There was a gentleness to his voice now. You knew it was just that he was more desperate than ever to cum and was trying to play his cards right to get there. But a part of you couldn’t help but enjoy it in the moment. Not that you were going soft, you told yourself. It was just sweet how a man as big and tough as San was always, at the end of the day,  a slave to his own dick.

You turned around again, sitting your wet pussy on his belly and wrapped your hand around his dick. You dropped a string of spit onto his cock head and spread it around with a couple of soft pumps. San moaned again behind you, once again chasing his long-awaited orgasm (although it hadn't been that long, he was just impatient). You continued pumping his shaft with one hand, while the other alternated between massaging his balls and teasing his tip. “It’s good, miss,” he whispered mindlessly. Sleepily. Drunkenly. Why did it make your hands move faster? “Feels so good…” When he started to stir again, you bent down, sticking your pussy in his face and sucked on his tip, tonguing the slit while your hands still worked him too.

A long and strained “Fuuuuuck,” told you he was close and you started pumping him as fast as you could, grabbing and sucking harder. Just a few pumps and you felt his warm seed spurting out into your mouth, felt his thighs quake, heard the pleasing aria of breathy and tired moans behind you. You decided you would swallow, if only to not create another mess for the innkeepers.

You looked back at the man you were sat on. He was lying still with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath after his orgasm. You took one last look at his marvelous dick before concealing it again with his jeans–you wanted to leave him some tiny bit of dignity when the police came to find him chained up.

You stood up, ready to call it a night and grab your things, but there was one more thing you just couldn’t shake the feeling that you had to do. “Don’t go,” San teased as you looked down at him.

You leaned down close to San’s face and stared at his lips, hoping he would catch your hint. He did, as he opened his lips just slightly, expectantly. You grabbed his jaw roughly and opened it the rest of the way, spitting on his tongue. “Enjoy the taste of yourself, you dirty fuck.”

He shot a pair of sharpened cat eyes and said, “You really are full of surprises, miss.”

As you slipped into your dress again, your head was full of thoughts. For the most part they were of your plan to get the sheriff to the inn, but there was a strange feeling you couldn’t ignore: Regret. Not of having slept with the San, but of not being able to do it again. It was quite fun. An exciting adventure and an enjoyable fuck, and now it was over. Even though he was a horrible man, you were going to miss him in a way. And though you felt no guilt over his arrest which was to come, you felt compelled to leave him with a goodbye.

“Good luck to you, San,” you said, tucking your forgotten pistol into your dress pocket. “Whatever happens to you, good luck.”

He watched you unamused. He sighed, then said, “You can fuck yourself. And I guess I’ll see you in hell.”

“I’ll see you when you’re being arrested,” you smiled, taking in the sight of the attractive outlaw handcuffed to a stranger’s bed for the last time before closing the door behind you.

From there, you went straight to the police station and informed the sheriff there of the outlaw waiting for his arrest. You led a pair of officers to the bedroom. Another gut feeling was telling you now that something was wrong, and as the officers rushed in, your fear was realized: there was no handsome criminal, just a broken headboard.

#san #choi san #ateez san #san ateez #san fanfiction #san fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #san smut #ateez #ateez x reader #san x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez headcannons #ateez oneshot #kpop smut #kpop imagines #kpop oneshot #ateez hard hours #ateez drabbles #smut

[stwrkeys]

request : maybe rafe is y/n bodyguard and reader gets hurt or something maybe he has to save her ... but ends with him confessing his feelings toward y/n and soft smut 😵‍💫😛

i luv dis idea so bad

bodyguard!rafe x reader au

tw : sexual assault

not long after rafe had turned over a new leaf and moved out of the obx and into the city, he found himself in need of a job. with his luck, he’d been hired by a company CEO as his daughter’s personal bodyguard. at first he didn’t understand why a businessman’s daughter would need that much protection. but he soon learned that your father was a hugely successful and wealthy man, and you were a gorgeous, young woman. your father was a very well known man, making you an easy target to just about anyone who wanted to get their hands on you. after your apartment was broken into, your father thought it would be best to get you your own personal form of permanent protection.

rafe had been your bodyguard for almost a year and the two of you had become increasingly close with each other. he was the person you spent most of your time with, and he was more of a friend than a bodyguard. you two were close in age and had similar personalities. plus, he was always protecting you. plus, plus, he was very attractive. how could you not get close with him? previously, you hadn’t agreed with your dad about getting a bodyguard, acknowledging that some people are creeps but arguing that that’s just how the world is. but as you and rafe grew closer, you found yourself becoming grateful for the man and his services.

normally, a young, single woman as attractive as yourself would be the perfect person for creepy men to prey on. it didn’t help that you liked to go out often. but with rafe by your side at all times, none of them dared to even look your way. rafe towered over you, his tall and muscular figure threatening most of the men who thought about coming up to you. not that a fair share of them haven’t tried, only to freeze and walk away upon seeing the glower rafe was sending their way.

rafe had recommended a place to you and you decided to let him take you there for your usual saturday night out. you’re dancing with him in the nightclub, fifth drink of the night in your hand. you’re pretty sure rafe is sipping on a soda. he never drinks when he has to take you home. you on the other hand, are pretty drunk, and you don’t plan on stopping. you’re sweating from the close proximity of everyone. you’re enjoying yourself, swaying to the music without a care in the world when you feel a pair of large hands wrap around your waist. believing rafe’s still behind you, you dance onto the figure belonging to the hands. but when they move their way up your body to palm your breast, your head shoots back only to see the unknown man fall to the floor as rafe’s fist collides with his face. heads turn all around you at him hovering over the man’s body. he kneels down, grabs him by the collar, and lays another punch to his face. he looks at him with disgust, “did you never learn any respect, man?! you’re fucking disgusting.” shortly after, the security came and escorted the man out.

once you got in the car with rafe, you had sobered up enough to sense the tension between you two. he didn’t seem upset with you, but he seemed tense about the situation. you stay silent for most of the ride, contemplating whether or not you should talk to him. nearing your house, you decide to speak “thank you, rafe. you didn’t have to do that.” you speak softly. he taps his fingers on the wheel anxiously, "when i saw him touching you, something just took over me. i swear, i wanted to kill him." you dont know if you should feel scared or comforted by those words. "that's a little intense, don't you think?" you half-joke with him. he lets out a low chuckle and shakes his head. "no guy should be doing that to any girl, especially you," his eyes stay trained on the road. "especially me?" you cock your head, not quite understanding what he means. the tone in his voice displays his feelings slightly, but you need to hear it from him. "yeah, you're special, you know?" he answers with an obvious expression on his face, keeping his gaze forward. neither of you mentions it, but the demeanor of both of you changes. "special how?" he finally takes his eyes off of the road, turning and giving you a sly smirk, "come on, don't act clueless." you stare at him intensely, making sense of his words. he turns on your street and pulls into your driveway, stopping the car as he does so. he turns to you, the dome light making his features visible. making eye contact, he reaches over and places his hand on your knee. his tone is low and soft, "tell me you don't feel it too, and i'll stop right now." he slowly moves his hand higher up your leg, reaching your thigh. "rafe-" you mumble, not necessarily in protest. his hand inches higher. "just say the word and i'll stop." you pause, allowing his hand to move itself to your inner thigh, and your body gives into him. you all but jumped out of your seat, grabbing his face with both hands and pressing your lips against his in a heated, long-awaited kiss. he wastes no time in kissing you back, but you quickly pull away. "let's go inside," you suggest, catching your breath.

the two of you make your way inside and up the stairs of your house, hands and mouths never leaving each other. once you reach your bedroom, rafe sets you on the bed. you lay on your back as he straddles you, his knees on either side of you. he pulls his shirt over the back of his head and tosses it across the room. he helps you do the same with yours, discarding your bra with it and leaving you in only your skirt and panties. he leans down and kisses you again, then moves to press warm, sloppy kisses against your jaw and neck. he throws his head back with a groan as if you're the one touching him, and not the other way around. "fuck, you don't know how long i've wanted this. gonna treat you so good, just like you deserve." you turn your head to the side, allowing him better access to your neck area. he moves his mouth down your body, leaving a trail of wet, dark love bites from your neck to your tummy, paying extra attention to your boobs. when he reaches your skirt, he slows his movements, purposefully taunting you. he knows he's only making you want him more. "rafe- quit being a tease," you plead needily, earning a haughty laugh from him. he sticks his finger in the waistband and drags it from left to right, teasing you further. before you can scold him for fucking with you, he pulls your skirt down, getting rid of it as well. you're absolutely soaked through your panties and rafe notices right away. "all this for me, huh? guess you really did want it as much as me." you can see his ego grow about ten sizes in that very moment, and while normally it would piss you off, it only turned you on more. he drags a finger up your clothed slit, eliciting a gasp from you. not wanting to wait any longer, he pulls your panties down, sending them to the pile of clothes in the corner of the room. he sticks his index finger inside of you and begins pumping slowly, adding another finger when he starts to pick up the pace. as if you're not already writhing under his touch, he presses his mouth to your clit. he french kisses it, making you squirm as his tongue goes to work on your pussy. instinctively, your hand moves to the back of his head, grabbing onto his overgrown buzzcut and pushing his head down and causing his nose to push up against your clit. with the intensified pleasure of him eating you out while his nose continuously brushes up against your nerve, you start to feel that familiar wave of pleasure coursing through your veins and moving along your body. a few more flicks of his tongue and you're done with. you moan out his name along with a string of curse words as you cum. rafe comes up for air with his face glistening, "i wish i could take a picture of this moment and keep it forever. you look so pretty falling apart for me." still catching your breath, you don't notice him pulling his cock out of his pants and stroking himself until he's hovering over you and you feel him lining up with your entrance. he slides it in between your folds like a credit card before pushing it inside of you. snapping back into reality, you grab his shoulders for support as he moves back and forth. the room is filled with the sounds of the bed creaking and skin against skin, mixed with the sweet sounds rafe brings out of you and his own grunts and soft moans. your body parts fit together like puzzle pieces, as if they were made for each other. he hits you in all the right spots like he's explored your body in every past life. "this pussy is even better than i imagined, and my standards weren't low at all." he shakes his head with a small laugh as he praises you, bringing two fingers to your clit to rub circles on it. you reach up to grab his head and smash his face against yours in another heated kiss. your bodies move in sync and soon you feel your second climax approaching. he gets you through it, still plunging into you as you ride out your high. once his thrusts start to get sloppy and his body jerks, he pulls out of you and holds his cock over you, allowing his cum to spill all over your naked body.

"im gonna paint you like a canvas, make you all mine."

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks #obx3 #outer banks imagine #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader

[imightgetbetter]

back in time

i don't even know what came over me, but i basically meshed all these ideas into one and here we are, five thousand words later. i typically love writing long pieces, so we'll see if this becomes the new trend for my writing. as always, be nice and give feedback (reblog and messages and all that). thank you for all the support you've been showing me. it literally makes me so happy. okay bye. have fun reading! content warning: MATURE (if you're a minor, get out of here)

Nearly everything in your quaint apartment is moved out, deconstructed, and sold. Outside, New York City is bustling with movement. Holiday season always is. Mothers dragging their families to the Rockefeller Center Tree and Times Square and the notably known apartment buildings in SoHo. Inside, you are waiting anxiously for the buzzer to sound near your front door, where there is someone on their way to help you gather the rest of your things and move back home. Originally, your mother was meant to fly out and help you, but his willingness and insistence that it would be easier for him to come and help because he knows the area quite well from visiting and you’d already asked him (you didn’t), so he had absolutely no issue flying out for only a day or two to get things moved back home, made it so that she simply couldn’t refuse.

Holidays and special occasions always went like this from as early as you can remember. The Healy’s, The Daniel’s, The MacDonald’s, The Hann’s, and your family, all gathered in someone’s house, sharing stories and alcoholic beverages as the boys wacked and played their instruments and you would sit idly by trying to make yourself seem busy and uninterested. And that worked quite well, you thought, for years. Until one holiday, you found yourself drunkenly kissing Matty Healy on the side of your house, his hands brushing electrically against the skin hidden by a thick sweater. His skin was so warm compared to the harsh winter air around you, and kissing him, albeit drunkenly, made your entire body feel warm.

You and Matty never spoke of it, once you two walked back inside, making up some lie that you needed help throwing out the garbage. No one believed you, but you couldn’t speak of it, ever again. Not once. Mistakes are made when you’re drunk and you were friends and you were friends with his friends and you all grew up together, and it felt like the absolute worst thing you could possibly do. You ignored it, and Matty seemed to not have any cares for the fact that this had happen, continuing to act as he always had towards you. You thought it was a one-off thing, a one-time mistake. Until the next party. Until, when everyone was distracted, Matty was taking your hand and pulling you towards the entry way closet and grabbing your face and kissing you.

And this happened, a lot.

Matty never kissed you sober, which, was somehow insulting and intriguing simultaneously. Could you really be everything Matty wanted when he was drunk, but absolutely nothing more than a friend when sober? Questions like this swirled around your brain every time a gathering happened – which was quite often for you all – and every time, you found yourself drunkenly misplaced in his arms, his lips on yours. Matty never took it farther, never pushed it, as though that was enough for now.

All the one-off kissing was enough, until the day came when you were officially leaving. Your acceptance to New York University did not come as a shock to anyone, especially not your friends. You had always been a writer, from the minute you knew words, you were making up stories. You sat with Matty as he wrote songs, giving him synonyms and telling him if his rhyming scheme was off. You were made for this, and it was your dream coming true.

One last party was necessary, all the friends and family gathered together for one last real party, one where it wouldn’t only be because you were visiting in town for the holidays or the summer. All your friends were gathered on the floor of your bedroom, sitting knee to knee as you all share a joint around the circle and talk about what’s going to happen when you leave.

‘You’ve got to come back for holidays,’ George said, tilting his head back and letting the smoke puff out between his lips. ‘Have to check in and listen to what we’re working on, too.’

‘I’m not dropping off the face of the earth,’ you argue, stealing the joint and pulling it between your lips. ‘I’ll still be around. There’s the internet and stuff in America. I’m not going to the Arctic. You act like I’m never coming home.’

‘Might as well be,’ Matty huffs, the cigarette smoke pooling around his head like a cloud. He’s been the one having the hardest time with you leaving, and everyone could see it. He relayed his happiness for your acceptance, as everyone did, but there was something different attached to it, a different feeling. Matty stood up suddenly, lending out his hand for you, ‘I’m going to go outside for some air. Want to come?’

���Uh, sure.’ His hand felt warm against yours, and you two slipped out the front door without anyone in the garden noticing. Matty walked you to the side of your house, a spot you remember vividly, and the tension feels weird, the energy is different, like there is so much to say but you want to say nothing at all. ‘You’re acting strange.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Matty says quietly, stubbing out the cigarette on the ground and leaning his hand on the side of the house. Adjusting yourself slightly, you twisted yourself to be facing him. ‘I can’t handle you leaving. It’s making me lose my bloody mind.’

“Matty, I’m going to school,’ you say, trying to brush away the feelings welling inside you. Objectively, to anyone else watching, this would be the perfect moment to profess your feelings for him, for him to share his feelings with you and tell you that you’re all he wants, and he’ll do the distance and all the things you watch in shitty romantic movies growing up. ‘I’m going to still talk to you and the guys. I’ll be back for holidays and summers. I’m not disappearing.’

‘I don’t want you to go.’

‘That’s not really an option, Matty. My career isn’t here. Nothing ties me to Manchester, besides my parents, growing up here. I want to go to New York. I want to go and experience it and then I want to come back and move to London and be an author and do all the things. Just like you want to be a musician. I wouldn’t be showing up at your house hours before you leave for a tour telling you not to go.’

‘I wouldn’t go,’ Matty says, turning his head away from the wall of the house and towards you. ‘I wouldn’t go if you didn’t want me to.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ you say, leaning against the siding of the house and tilting your head up towards the sky, staring at the stars. ‘You shouldn’t ever give up your dreams for your friends. That’s absurd and you know it.’

‘Jesus Christ, YN,’ Matty says roughly, the scratch in his throat accentuated by a wet rasp, and when you look at him, you can see the tears welling in his eyes, ‘you are not just my friend, you never have been. It’s always been more than that, and you know it.’

‘Know what, Matty? Me and you are only a thing when we’re high or we’re drunk. It’s not like you’re in love with me or something!’

‘And what if I was?’

‘Don’t say that to me. You can’t say that to me,’ you say, pushing off the wall and hurriedly walking towards the front door. Matty grabs your wrist and twists you around, grabbing your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. It’s the type of kiss you read about, the one you watch in movies. It’s the type of kiss that leaves you breathless and confused and unsure where to go, only that you need to keep kissing him. Matty pulls away only for a second, giving you a moment to say, ‘You can’t do this when I’m about to leave. It’s not fair, Matty.’

‘I know, I’m sorry.’ Matty rubs your cheeks softly, his eyes tracing over your features, trying to memorize everything about you. ‘I just, I can’t let you leave without knowing how I feel about you. You’ve always been more than just a drunken kiss.’ You don’t know what to say, how to feel. ‘I want you. I want to be with you. I love you.’

‘I’m going to be on another continent, Matty,’ you sigh, tears welling in your eyes as you lean your face into his hands. ‘I can’t do long distance. I don’t want to. I want to write and fall in love and fall out of love and have experiences, and I want you to have those, too. I can’t do this, no matter how I feel about you. Matty, we can’t do this.’

Matty knows you better than to ask what he wants to really ask you. ‘Can I come and visit you? Can you come home and listen to the band and write songs with me? Can we get high and talk about existential crises and politics?’ His eyes squeeze shut as you wipe a tear from his cheek. ‘Can I still kiss you?’

‘Yes,’ you say, not specifying which question you’re answering. Matty can decide what the ‘yes’ is to and for. ‘And when I’m done with school,’ you say hesitantly, nervous about the implications of what this might mean, ‘when I’m coming home, if you still feel the same way, we can talk about it. I don’t want you to ignore every opportunity just because something might happen in four years. Live your life, Matty. And if something happens when I come back, then–’

‘Yeah,’ Matty says quietly, kissing your forehead and pulling his hands away, reaching into his pocket and grabbing another cigarette. ‘I’m going to stay out here; you can go in.’

‘Okay,’ you say, drawing back from him and walking towards the front door, and the further you walk away, the more it feels like you’re walking away from what should’ve been so good.

And this is where you are, four and a half years later. Home is calling, you’re excited to be where you know for a while, especially for the holidays, before heading down to London and making a life there on your own. All of your bags are packed, lined against the wall. Only a few more boxes need to be shipped to your new address, and you have time to do that tomorrow before your flight in a day. All of it is coming together, except for the fact that you have to face what you’ve been actively avoiding for the last four years, because you know it’s going to be something you talk about.

And only a few minutes pass with this thought, because then the buzzer rang, you clicked the button and opened the apartment door, and before you could properly think of a greeting, you’re sucked into his arms, his entire body wrapped around you tightly. He is warm and smells so good, you swear it’s impossible that he’s just gotten off an airplane. His warmth is familiar, a sweet scent wafting over you as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hold him, your eyes shut as you just soak in the silence. He’s quiet, as well, and you know that you both are thinking the same thing, trying to avoid the unspoken energy in the room. You wonder how long it’ll take for him to say something about it, and you wonder how long after that it’ll take you to blurt out the words that have been itching at your throat since that dreaded night you think about often, the night you regret more than anything.

Matty slowly pulls away, grabbing your cheeks and staring at you intensely, and you feel like your whole body is on fire and you can feel the heat of his breath on your mouth, and you want nothing more than to be kissing him, to feeling his lips on yours. His thumb traces your cheek, and he says, “I’m so happy you’re coming home. I’ve missed you.”

“I’m only home for a week. I move to London next week,” you say, and immediately you feel guilty for not spilling out how much you’ve missed him since you’ve been away. “I’ve missed you, more than you could believe.” His smile is enough to make you feel like your feet are floating above the ground, and you have to step away, reaching for a mug on the counter and taking a sip of the warm tea. “I’ve come down with a cold, I’m sorry. I know we have to share a bed and all, but I’ll try to stay away from you.”

“Don’t worry about me, darling. I mean it,” Matty says surely, taking a look around the empty apartment. He’s been here a handful of times, coming to visit here and there and always spending the most amount of time with you that he could, even if that meant sitting and watching you write on your computer for hours. “Do you want to do anything, tonight? I don’t mind staying in if you’re not feeling well.”

“I think there’s a Walmart about thirty minutes away,” you say reaching for your phone and clicking at your screen to try and find a car to take you there. “Don’t feel like, tied to me, while you’re here. I’m okay with being alone.”

“I’m not okay with you being alone,” Matty says without a second thought, grabbing his things out of his bag and opening the door for you, waiting for you to lead the way. He follows you closely and watches you as you stare at the scenery around you. You’ve always been this way, a city person at heart, from the moment he met you, you talked about moving to the city. Granted, he didn’t know that it would be New York City, but he did always know you would wind up somewhere with hustle and bustle, and you would fit in.

“Quit staring at me,” you say, not willing to look away from the sight of the car passing over the bridge. Having to leave feels so bittersweet. On one hand, you are excited to be home, to be living in London and around your friends. On the other, you know that you’re going to miss the city you’ve fallen in love with. It’s been your true love for so long, it feels like heartbreak.

“I’m not staring,” Matty says, turning his head out the window, a smirk fighting to curve across his mouth. “You’re staring at me, now.” His smile is wide when you quickly turn away from looking at him, the view of the store coming in front of you. “Come on, sicky. I’m sure you dragged me here for a puzzle that you certainly will not finish.”

“I will finish it,” you say, rolling your eyes and climbing out of the car behind him. Matty takes your hand, and you can feel electricity and heat wash through your body, entangling your nerves. “I want an artsy one. Not sure which one, but something pretty.”

Matty nods and you walk through the store quietly, neither of you saying much. There are too many unspoken words in the air and neither of you are willing to start the conversation. Matty points towards the aisle with the puzzles, and you follow him, standing quietly as you peruse the options and try to find one that calls your name. Your eyes follow his movements, tallying the new tattoos and the significance of different ink on his skin. You always told him that you wanted a tattoo, but you were never willing to go alone.

“Ah, you can make your own puzzle with a picture,” he says, drawing you out of your trance and towards an advertisement. “Do we have time for that?”

“I don’t think so,” you say, shaking your head. “Could you grab that one? That looks easy enough,” you add, pointing towards a tree of life puzzle on the very top shelf. Matty reaches for it easily, grabbing it and handing it to you to look at. “Perfect, thank you,” you say quietly, taking it from his hands, and without a second though, you kiss his cheek. His eyes go wide, and you can see the thoughts swirling around in his head. “Matty, seriously, don’t even think about it, I’m sick. I can’t get you sick before we fly home.”

“Have I ever cared about anything like that before?” Matty says seriously, turning towards you and taking a step forward, his body dangerously close to yours. “Are you really telling me not to?”

“No,” you swallow, and you can feel every nerve inch into your throat, your heart beating so loudly you can feel it reverberating in your ears. “Are you drunk or high? I don’t,” you pause, thinking very carefully about what you’re going to say next, “this can’t be like the other times.”

“YN, I just got off a plane three hours ago.” His body is now so close, you can feel his chest against yours, his breath hot against your face. You feel suffocated in this moment, too enraptured by the way being around him feels and the way he smells and the way his eyes have not left your lips, not even once. His hands come to your cheeks, a feeling you know all too well. “Can I?”

“Please,” you whisper, and suddenly your breath is taken away by his mouth on yours. Kissing him, it feels like sharing oxygen, like flying. Kissing him, it feels like every wrong decision is right and every bad thing is good. Kissing him, it feels like coming home. Kissing him, it feels like what you should’ve been doing all along. “I want to go home,” you mutter against his lips, and you can feel him smile against you. You can’t see it with your eyes closed, but the way his mouth is leaving open mouthed kisses on your cheek, it’s easy to tell.

“Take me home.”

Three simple words that have so much meaning, so much weight. Take me home. Take me home to your house. Take me home where we can be alone. Take me home where I can finally be with you, the way I’ve always wanted to be with you. Take me home, where we can start something, we’ve been waiting our whole lives for. Take me home, where I can be yours forever.

And the tension is there when you’re getting out of the car, and when you’re walking the stairs to get into the apartment, and when you’re quietly moving about the apartment trying to avoid talking to him about what just happened at all costs. Matty shuts and locks the door behind you, watching you mill about the apartment anxiously as he’s pressed against the wall, arms folded in front of his chest. You walk around him a few times, jumping back and forth from the kitchen to grab wine glasses that you were shipping out tomorrow and a wine bottle that you bought specifically for you two to share and the puzzle on the ground next to your makeshift mattress for the next day before you leave. Until finally, he can’t take it anymore.

“I don’t care about the bloody fucking puzzle, YN,” Matty says suddenly, cutting you out of your anxious thought wheel and walking directly over to you, grabbing your cheeks, and kissing you deeply, kissing you hard. His breath feeds you, and you feel like you could exist in this bubble for a long time, never needing anything else. “I want you so badly.”

“I want you, too,” you sigh, a moan leaving your lips as his hands begin wandering around your skin. “I don’t want this to be just a one-off thing, Matty. I don’t want to be a one-off thing.”

“You have never been a one-off thing,” he says sternly, gently tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it above your head with ease. He’s warm, and he’s almost certain it’s not from the heat of your apartment. “I have never, ever wanted anyone the way I want you. I love you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say ‘I love you’ back,” you say, and it’s the very first time in minutes that Matty has pulled away from you to really look at you. His heart softens, his thumb brushing under your cheek as a stray tear falls. All the emotions all at once are hitting you, and it feels like it’s too much, but you don’t want to stop, you don’t want this moment to end. It’s you and him. You and Matty, for the first time, and it feels just how it’s supposed to feel, “I’m sorry I didn’t say it back, back then, and I hope it’s not too late now to say it.”

“It’s not, baby. It’s not too late,” he assures you, leaning his forehead against yours and breathing against your lips. “I am still in love with you. I am in love with you. Nothing’s changed. Nothing about that has changed four years later.”

“I love you,” you say, and it’s easy, the words are easy coming from you to him. Matty smiles, leaning down and kissing you passionately, his hands reaching under your thighs and lifting you onto his waist, carrying you a few steps backwards to where your makeshift bed is. “I’m sorry about the bed.”

“Don’t care about the bed,” Matty whispers against your lips, setting you on your feet and working quickly to undo the buttons on your jeans. He’s skilled at this, you’ve noticed, the multitude of times he’s hurriedly worked to undo your jeans at family parties seemingly coming in handy, at this very moment. He’s heard you moan before; he’s made you orgasm, but it’s never gone this far, it’s never been this, and there’s an anticipation killing both of you that you are not willing to play with. “I have a condom in my wallet.”

“You’re an asshole,” you laugh, shaking your head as you kick your jeans to the side and take a seat on the edge of the makeshift mattress. All you have on is your bralette and a seamless pair of underwear, not exactly the most ideal pairing, but something about it makes this feel even more perfect. Nothing was expected or certain. Like you two. Matty scrambles in his bag for the condom, and you can’t help but laugh watching him. He’s hurried and frantic and you have to remind him, “I am quite cold over here, but I’m not going anywhere. Take your time, I guess.”

“I’m doing my best,” Matty says with a grunt, swearing once or twice before smiling widely and waving the packets in his hand excitedly. “And I’m not an asshole, I just had very high hopes.”

“Extremely high.”

“You’re naked, aren’t you? Doesn’t seem like such a far-fetched hope to me.”

“And my clothes are right there,” you reply back with a smirk, pointing at your jeans and shirt piled together in the corner of the room. “Can put them back on in two seconds and we can go back to that lovely puzzle and my bottle of wine.”

“I’ll run into traffic.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

Matty shrugs off his sweater and his jeans, carefully leaning down and climbing over you, his warmth covering you completely. “I love you.” His face leans down and kisses you, the condoms forgotten somewhere beside you and the duvet at the edge of the mattress getting pulled over his back to cover you in extra warmth. “I would’ve waited a lifetime for you. I’m so glad I didn’t have to, though. That might’ve killed me.”

“I wouldn’t have made you wait that long,” you assure him, your hands holding his cheeks and threading through his hair. His hips dip against yours, and you can feel him hard and heavy against your core. You want him, and you don’t think you can wait any longer. Your hands move from his cheeks, trailing down his chest, pushing his boxers down his thighs. He pushes the material off his legs, leaning back onto his feet to look at you in front of him. “I clearly didn’t think this would happen. I’m not entirely, you know, ready.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Matty says, his hands reaching behind your back and slipping your bralette off your body, his mouth immediately kissing alongst your chest, ghosting over your breasts and down your stomach. His hands are warm against your, but the goosebumps rising along your body from his touch is invigorating. He drags your underwear down your legs, kissing inside your thighs sweetly before climbing back up to meet you face to face. “I have so many things I want to do with you. You are just so beautiful.”

“You have time, Matty. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

Matty fumbles with the condom wrapper for a moment, earning a giggle and a muffled laugh from him as he lays his hand over your mouth to quiet the laughter. He leans over you when it’s fully wrapped around him, his mouth heavy on yours. His fingers gently drag alongst your center, your arousal coating his fingertips and earning a moan from both of you. His cock moves easily against you, you’re so ready for him and anticipating this, that all you want is for him to finally be with you. “This is it. You’re coming home. I love you. And you love me. It’s us, now.”

“Us,” you whisper, a moan escaping your throat as he slowly inches himself into you, his forehead falling to yours and his mouth desperately finding yours to kiss you, to swallow your moans and your breaths and feel every part of you that he can. Matty’s arms are next to your face and your feel held and safe with him, like there’s nothing that could possibly go wrong while you’re like this. His hand slides between you, rubbing at the nerves between your thighs and kissing along your neck, your fingers dragging alongst his back as your legs circle around his waist, bringing him impossibly closer. His curls are clinging to his forehead with sweat, and you feel like your body is on fire, but it’s something you’ve craved for so long that you’re basking in it, that it’s everything you’ve wanted to feel. His thrusts are driven and hitting the right places and you think that it’s quite possible that you were always made to be together, that his body was made for you to enjoy and you for his. “I love you,” you whimper, your whole body tightening and your nails digging into his shoulders as your orgasm washes over you. His body stills above you, your legs still wrapped around his waist, and you can feel him release, his body easing into yours. He doesn’t want to move, but he knows he has to, and you hate the feeling of losing his warmth.

“Don’t move, baby. I’ll be right back,” he hums, kissing you sweetly as he slowly slides out and removes the condom, and he turns around when you giggle, your eyes fully fixated on his backside. “Are you staring at my ass?”

“Yes.”

“Is it nice?”

“Very.”

Matty laughs, shaking his head as he walks towards the wall and turns the heat another notch, before walking back towards you and sinking under the comforter with you. He lays on your chest, his hand wrapping around your waist, his fingers dragging along the curve of your side. “You don’t have to be so worked up, now. I know you, I know you’ve been awake all day because you were nervous about me coming.”

“I was not nervous.”

“You were nervous,” he says surely, his forearm supporting his body weight as he trails his fingers up your body and begins tracing your lips. He’s always been enthralled by your lips, by the way they feel on his. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Have you already told the guys?” you ask, turning your head slightly to give him better access to your skin, your eyes remaining closed and only listening to the sound of his voice. Outside, the stars and the moon are shining through the window, casting a perfect light over you.

“Told them what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Matthew.”

“They knew at Walmart.”

“I hate you so much,” you say, trying to hide the smile and the laughter that is fighting its way to the surface with your hands covering your face. Matty pulls your hands away, and you look at him, your eyes meeting his softly. “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“I have something that may make you feel better.”

“I doubt that.”

“I mean, the guys don’t know that you’ve given me head every Christmas since you moved to New York, if that makes you feel better,” he smiles, the smirk on his face telling you everything he isn’t.

“And look at that! Tradition just ended. Just in the nick of time for this year,” you say, smacking his arm and turning around in the bed to face away from him. Matty wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest and kisses your shoulder sweetly. “I’m going to be travelling a lot for work. How are we going to do it?”

“You and I can figure that out,” Matty says surely, kissing the indent of your shoulder once more before gently guiding you to lay on your back, his eyes meeting yours. “I don’t want you to see anyone else.”

“I don’t want to see anyone else.” Matty leans down to kiss you, and you hum against him, a content smile breaking apart your lips. “How many of the guys bet on this happened? I want to know.”

“I don’t think it was much of a bet of if it would happen,” he says, his fingers pushing stray strands of hair away from your forehead softly. “More of when.”

“Great! Happy to know they think I’m easy, Matthew.”

“Not my fault they can judge a situation! Think about it, darling, you can only sneak off at holiday parties so many times before someone notices.” He’s right, and you know it. “Not to mention, we weren’t very good at hiding it.” His mouth leans against your cheek when you roll your eyes, he knows he’s won this time. “I want to go to Central Park before we leave.”

“Central Park is just landscaping that people don’t take care of properly and tourists littering. It’s practically Sea World for New York City.”

“Can you do anything without posing an argument?”

“No, and now you’re in for a lifetime of arguments. That’s on you.”

Matty smiles brightly because he wouldn’t care if you argued over the simplest things every minute for the rest of his life if it meant he got to be with you.

#matty healy #matty healy fic #the 1975 #the 1975 fic #love it if we made it series