guys I need help finding a Aki x reader one shot I read a while ago (yes it’s smut sue me)
Essentially y/n made a deal with a devil that allowed her mind reading abilities, and in such she has learned like Aki has these very mm for lack of better words interesting thoughts abt her to which she constantly avoids him.
Then the two r paired tg on a mission and it’s lk awk but they end up trapped with a devil that secretes an aphrodisiac. The reader eventually confesses to Aki that she knows and he does a confession ish kinda and I think u can see where this goes so I won’t elaborate but pls if this seems familiar to u lmk i rlly wanna read it again
𝓖f!himeno 𝓒omforting 𝓨ou 𝓐fter a 𝓢hitty 𝓓ay 𝓐t 𝓦ork
cw: slight angst, oral (r. receiving) scissoring
MDNI
you unlock the door, feet sore and back aching from all the carrying your stupid boss made you do. you'd just been bossed and pushed around all damn day and almost cussed out your supervisor in the process.
you slip off your shoes, already feeling a warm set of arms around your waist. "himeno, not now.." you whisper, to which she whines.
"what, you don't want my love anymore? what happened, baby?" she starts peppering kisses up and down your neck. you sigh, "I don't wanna talk about it, I just wanna lay down." you place down your bags, and she takes the opportunity to sweep you off your feet and carry you bridal style.
you help at the sudden change, then she walks toward your shared bedroom and tosses you unceremoniously onto the mattress.
she pins you under her, a pout on her face, "don't get all quiet on me... cmon... I'll make you feel better."
you look away, but glance at her once she finishes her sentence. letting out a sigh of defeat, sliding your legs up as your eyes meet. "fine. but only because I'm pent up,"
she smiles wide with her lip in between her teeth, already tugging down your pants. they pool around your ankles, then she reaches upward and under your shirt, grabbing your left boob. she flicks her thumb over your nipple, feeling it harden in between her fingers as her teeth scrap across your pink lace panties.
you set your head back and close your eyes, a soft moan clawing out your throat as she pinches your nipple. she starts to drag your panties down with her teeth, her free hand running over the newly exposed skin. her fingers settle into your folds, circling your clit for a few moments then slipping inside your hole. "so wet for me already?"
you tip your head back, whining as your fingers go to take off your shirt. she smiles at your bare chest, kissing up the underside of your tits and sucking a nipple into her mouth. your back arches, moans getting louder everytime she crooks her finger into your gummy walls. "right here? that feel good...?" she whispers against your tit. you nod desperately, toes curling against her hips.
she pulls off, slipping her fingers out and brushing game against your bottom lip. "open," she commands. you do, tongue swirling around her slender fingers that leave behind the bitter taste of you and tobacco.
she curls her fingers into your thighs, throwing them over her shoulders as she lavishes your trimmed mound in long licks and kisses. the contact of her wet and warm tongue makes you shudder. she ducks her head down, never pulling back her tongue until it reaches your clit.
your hips jump as they make contact, but she just giggles and presses a wet smooch onto your folds. her tongue pokes out, running up and down your folds and swirling around your clit then prodding at your hole. you reach down to bury your fingers in her hair, tugging on it as you watch her smother herself in your cunt.
"mm- gonna cum, 'meno..." you whine, thighs starting to shake. "cum then," she murmurs, sucking up your slick and folds. each flick of her tongue gets you closer and closer to the edge, but the moment you feel her fingers prod at your hole, you get thrown over the edge. your orgasm hits you hard and wide, making your back arch and your cunt spasm around her fingers.
"good girl.. doing just what I say," she giggles, sitting up and unbuckling her pants. you reach up with a newfound boldness, tugging her tank top off and reaching up to pinch her pretty pink nipples.
she pulls your right leg against her chest, slinging it over her shoulder. her fingers curl around your wrist as you squeeze her boobs. she shimmys up to your hips, slotting your pussy against hers and grinding, each pass of your clits against each other making you both moan and whine at the same time.
she cranks her head, kissing up and down your calve and trailing her tongue around where she left her kisses. your fingers squeeze tighter around her boob, your moans getting louder as you get closer and closer to your orgasm.
a couple more thrusts against your clit and you're both cumming together, backs arching as a soft cry leaves your mouth. once you come down from your high, you find himeno pressing kisses all over your thighs and up to your lips. her tongue prods into your mouth, twisting and fighting with yours. you can taste yourself on her, salty and savory against her tongue.
pulling off, she smirks at you and falls onto her side next to you. "did that help?" she asks, pointer finger trailing up and down your tummy.
"fuck yeah it did,"
a/n: i had no idea how to end it😭 also made this for my twin jem˃͈◡˂͈
Your Boss is always messing with you. This time she might have gone a little too far.
CONTENT WARNINGS: Dubious consent/noncon, power imbalance, slight mommy kink, dacryphilia (yes i know), objectification, yandere Makima, Makima using her powers so kinda drugged sex?, fingering, Reader has internalized homophobia, Reader is either bi or lesbian (up to reader whether its comphet), Schrodinger's Aki victimization (aka its up to you if he's suffering or not), begging, top Makima.
I trust Makima stans to read warnings. Bonk me for spelling.
Getting a cup of coffee in this city is like dodging knives on fire as a circus freak. The only difference between you and the circus freak being that they were getting paid for their nonsense and you were actually losing money with the coffee.
Either way you’re slipping between people, your hair wild as you run through the city with the cool wind of Tokyo slapping you in the face. Of course some stupid vending machine devil spawned in the city. And yes, it was a literal vending machine. Stupid fear to some, but apparently deadly enough to kill more people than sharks.
It wouldn’t be a concern if it wasn’t so large, the snacks dispensed could upend the earth, and a large chocolate bar crashes into a building, sending debris crashing down and you narrowly turn a corner to avoid being smushed before righting your coffee. People are screaming, which is natural, but a small spiteful part of you wishes they’d at least get out of your way.
“Fucking hell.” You whisper under your breath.
There go your plans of looking cute. What was originally a work appropriate but nice looking outfit of a bow in your hair and a shorter pencil shirt with tights is now a dusty ripped mess. The bow dangles off your hair and you lose it completely as you dash off, dropping the rest of the coffee but managing to grab onto two cups.
Swearing again when it hits the ground, you grit your teeth as hot coffee splashes onto your ripped tights and stains the concrete before you, making you nearly slip on the mess in your dress shoes. You must look like a circus freak too at this point, but you can’t really do too much about it but keep running, if only to pause to swerve between people and finally make it towards the familiar less crowded path to the devil hunters HQ.
No casualties so far from what you’ve seen thankfully, just structural damages and a few injuries, and you pray that of the devil hunters that you spotted in the distance Aki is one of them. Because you’d rather die than have him see you in the office looking like this.
So of course, when the elevator door opens with a soft ding, Aki is there, standing in front of you, looking clean and crisp in his suit, with his topknot done and his soft eyes mildly confused as they take in your disheveled form.
“Vending machine.” You explain as you shove his order into his hands without too much of an explanation. His order, black with no sugar, is easy enough to remember but you still repeated it in your head to the point that you forgot nearly everyone else's.
“I… see.” He says, deciding just to accept the coffee and the state of your flushed cheeks when his hands brush against yours.
Unfortunately, you have no choice but to step into the elevator with him, and you try not to look at him, fixing your gaze on the floor panel as you push the one for the top floor. You hope he doesn’t talk to you and you squirm slightly as the impossibly rickety metal box groans with movement.
“...you doing okay?” He asks, and you close your eyes for a moment so you don’t start crying from embarrassment. You know you look like shit and it makes all your confidence from earlier in the morning shrivel up and die.
“Yeah.” You say, and your voice goes up in pitch. Pressing your lips together for a moment and willing yourself to not act like an idiot you try again. “Just… devils and all. This city is a zoo.”
The last part lands a bit bitterly and you hope it doesn’t interfere with the nice persona you’ve been trying to keep up around him, but to your surprise he just lets out a huff of amusement.
“A zoo is pretty accurate.” He agrees before gesturing to the cup. “What’d you get?”
“Oh– no.” You say with a shake of your head. It would have been smarter if you had grabbed your own cup, you'd be happier at least, but your instincts were more worried about getting fired. “This isn’t mine, it's Makima-san’s.”
“Ah,” He says, and you feel a twinge of annoyance when you see the subtle admiration in his eyes as he hears the name. Of course, everyone likes your boss, even you, but sometimes you wish Aki would just get his head out of his ass and pay attention.
“And what did she get?” He asks as the elevator dings and creaks open, and you’re mildly annoyed that you know that he’s going to memorize that order the same way you remembered his. Still, you can’t refuse him, you never could, and you part your lips to respond as you both step out into the hallway.
“Black.” A familiar silky smooth voice responds and you and Aki both instinctively jerk to attention.
Makima looks beautiful as always, her hair neatly braided and her golden eyes filled with slight amusement from your reactions. She looks at you up and down, and you feel your cheeks heat up as you feel her gaze like a weight.
“My, you look… distinguished.” She remarks, and you fight the urge to shove your head in your hands, instead handing her her coffee.
She reaches out, brushing her fingers against yours as she takes it and you feel a familiar yet confusing flutter before you awkwardly pull your hand away, trying not to think about the weird spark you felt.
“Vending machine.” You tell her, the same as you told Aki and she smiles.
“Ah, that one? I’ve got the report started, you can help me finish it.” She says lightly and you groan before she turns to Aki. “You don’t mind if I steal her from you, do you Hayakawa?”
Aki shakes his head a bit too eagerly and you feel another angry twinge inside.
“Not at all.” He says, but his eyes flit towards you and your heart skips a beat despite yourself. “Hope your day gets better (Name).”
You can feel your heart leaping in your stomach and you struggle to find the words for a minute before getting out a whispered “you too” (though that definitely isn’t the proper response) before following a mildly amused looking Makima to her office.
“You too?” She asks when Aki is out of ear shot and you scowl at her.
“It’s been a long day.” You say defensively.
“I’m sure. The reports from yesterday are on your desk, a few casualties need to be logged in the Ginza district too.” She says as she takes off her jacket, pulling her arms out of the sleeves.
Not even a good morning. Just teasing and straight to work, though it's always been like this in your time working under Makima. You should be used to it, but you do feel minorly hurt that she didn’t even thank you for the coffee.
“Yes ma’am.” You murmur a little bitterly, but you jolt slightly as she gently wraps you in her jacket, putting the fabric over your shoulders and suddenly very close. You think you could count her eyelashes from this distance.
“Keep this on.” She says in a murmur. “I don’t need anyone getting distracted by you.”
You have no idea what she means for a moment, but she steps away before you can question it too much, and you hesitantly put the jacket on as you rush to follow her to her office. It smells like her, faintly of dog and something musky and surprisingly masculine.
It's cold. Not in the temperature sense, but in the sense that everything in her office looks so painfully sterile. Her desk is bare, the curtains have never been wrinkled or moved and her papers are neatly filed away. Your desk however, is a chaotic mess of papers and desk decor, a few picture frames of family and friends littered about.
Often, you find yourself wishing you were more like Makima and the thought lingers as you sit at your desk and start your work. It’s simple enough, but it churns your stomach slightly when you see the names and numbers, the causes of death. If you were more like Makima this probably wouldn’t phase you.
You try to get into her mindset for a moment, but it doesn’t work when you read the first death report, impalement. Nasty way to go, and you find yourself earnestly sympathizing with the poor person who met their end.
Needless to say, it takes longer than expected to get through those reports and by then you're so emotionally exhausted your mind starts to wander to keep your own sanity as you start doodling on a fresh sheet.
Your eyes dart up for a moment and you take in the way the light hits Makima as she focuses on her work. Her skin is flawless, almost porcelain, and yet she’s not delicate either. She’s strong. Stronger than you’ll ever be and more perfect than you could think to conceive. It sends a weird flutter through you, admiration and envy.
It’s not like you like feeling this way. Jealousy always feels terrible, but you can’t help it when the only person you want to look your way is looking at her. Maybe Himeko feels the same, and that’s why she hates Makima, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same.
It’s impossible to hate her in your eyes, she’s too… well, magnanimous you suppose, but also, she’s different when she lets her guard down. You’ve been around her longer than anyone else, but even then it's still rare. Still, when you catch her doing something earnestly you can’t help but feel fond.
Maybe a little too fond, especially since Makima is just a friend. And a girl just like you… you feel like you should wish it was Aki you were spending time with. But you find that even that sentiment has changed a little, like it crept on before you realized it.
It shouldn’t matter though, Makima is a friend and Aki is firmly out of your reach in your eyes. You don’t think he’d ever look at you with those steel blue eyes in the same way he looks at Makima. But you wish he would just once. Just so you could savor the way he took you in.
“You like him, don’t you?”
Makima’s soothing voice rings out, startling you from your doodling, although her voice itself doesn’t startle you as much as her words.
“...what?” You finally manage to ask, after mouth fishing for a few minutes, trying to figure out what the woman across from you is saying. You have a feeling you know where this is going and it makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat.
She simply smiles at you, her piercing golden eyes suddenly feeling a lot more intrusive than they usually are.
“Aki.” She says, teasingly, as if what she was implying was perfectly clear from the start. “You like him.”
You blank for a second, face heating up as you process her words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You lie, averting your eyes back to your desk, where, inconveniently, the drawing you doodled of said aforementioned man lay.
Makima watches your gaze shift with an amused smirk, laughing lightly when you send her a halfhearted glare in return.
“You don’t need to deny it.” She says, seemingly enjoying watching you squirm in your seat. “...although, watching you act bashful is cute.”
“...you’re incredibly annoying.” You manage to say, cheeks burning. “If I knew you were this annoying I wouldn’t have worked under you.”
And it’s true to a slight extent. When you first met Makima, introduced to her as her secretary, you thought of her as a calm, poised and rather reserved woman. She was kind, if not a little stern, and you thought she wouldn’t be the type to bother you with silly gossip about your personal life.
Clearly, you were wrong, since despite the fact that she could maintain her professional image in front of most, she had no problem dropping that act with you. Be it through subtle touches or teasing words like now, either way she’d send you into a flustered state.
“You wouldn't?" She asks, a small imperceptible smirk on her face.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Ah?” She laughs, but the tone is a little sharp in a way that has you stiffening up despite yourself. “That’s a shame, I’ve always found your reactions cute.”
“...” You blink at her owlishly, face starting to flush. “T-that’s…”
“But I digress, let’s go back to the original topic.” She says abruptly, standing up from her desk, the few papers she was no doubt pretending to work on, falling to the floor. “You like him.”
You neither confirm nor deny her words, instead looking at her warily trying to see what exactly she’s getting at, though you already know your face is giving you away.
“...what does this have to do with you?” You eventually ask, a slight sense of discomfort overwhelming you, in the way that it always has. Not exactly overwhelming but enough to keep your skin prickling and humming.
“With me? Nothing really.” She says, giving you a small smile as she walks over to you, her shoes clicking against the polished floor and then muffling against the carpet.. “But I can’t help but feel… concerned.”
You furrow your brow at her words, trying to make sense of what she’s saying, the discomfort within you shifting to something jerky, defensive even. Shifting slightly in your seat, you look up at her, confusion and hesitance intermingling as you do so. “Is there something I should know?” You eventually ask.
“Oh, no.” She laughs slightly at the way you flightily jump at her words. “Nothing you need to be wary of. It’s just that, I can’t help but worry for you (Name).” She says, her tone shifting into something more soothing and familiar.
“Worry… for me?” You repeat, unsure of what you're hearing.
She offers you another smile, this one somewhat pitying as she presses her hands on your desk, looking down at you with those swirling eyes. “Don’t take it personally (Name). But Aki… well, he’s not really a settling down type is he?”
You feel the same uncomfortable knot tighten in your stomach. It’s not like you don’t know what she's getting at. Aki is a lot of things, he’s determined, brave, gentlemanly, kind, selfless, loyal… but you already know that the main priority on his mind has always been revenge. Not that you could blame him, you hardly faced loss, you couldn’t even start to imagine how it felt to lose everyone you knew all at once.
It still stings though. A small selfish part of you wants to yell at him that it's all pointless, that he’d die before he ever got to see the family he could rebuild, hopefully with you, somewhere soft and light in the blanket of snow, building an igloo with rough mittens and sweet laughter, rosy cheeks and kisses.
But you know Makima is right, she usually is. With her gentle voice she corrects you into the correct posture, the correct penmanship, the correct wording. She knows how you work as much as she knows how everyone else works, a clockmaker setting her gears. And she knows Aki best of all, longer than you having worked with him for years. An eternity in this line of work.
So she must be right, but it still hurts a little, a lump welling in your neck.
“...I know.” You say, a little quietly, defeated. “It’s not like I…”
Like you’d try really. Aside from soft hellos and the occasional coffee you get him it's not like you’ve actively tried to get his attention. More so just brushed past his peripheral.
Makima seems to hear your unheard words, though she always does somehow. “I know. You’re a smart girl.” She says softly reaching out slowly. You don’t register the cool of her palm against your cheek until it's already pressed against you, soft and slow.
“A pretty one too. He really doesn’t know anything does he?” She says sympathetically, and you feel your eyes burn for a moment as you find yourself sinking your weight against her hand. It feels warm, good even. It’s like a lullaby being sung to you through the rhythmic stroking of her thumb against your cheek and you close your eyes for a moment.
And then you jolt up, your eyes snapping open as you look up at her, your chair screeching for a moment against the wood floor, making you cringe slightly. This is your boss, your dear friend, what the hell are you thinking? You must be out of your mind, and you feel your cheeks flush as you attempt to clear your throat, though a part of you whines at the loss of her touch.
“Ahem– Makima-san, I understand your concern, but I’m fine.” You say, hesitating before fiddling with the sleeves of her jacket nervously. “It’s not like I don’t know how it is working here…”
Makima studies you for a moment, tilting her head to the side, before she slowly retracts her hand, smiling in that vague way that makes you feel mildly disconcerted. “Of course, just looking out for you, little one.” She says, her voice soft like wind chimes, and you feel a shiver build up.
Little one. It should feel condescending, it is condescending. But coming from her lips, anything would sound reassuring. Ironically, that’s something that should put more people on guard.
“I appreciate it.” You say, averting your eyes to the desk before looking back up, pressing your lips together. “But you’re not getting out of paperwork Makima-san.”
She smiles this time, something genuinely amused and fond and it settles something within you. It’s just Makima, your silly boss who pokes fun at you, the thought is grounding.
“Too smart. I guess I have no choice but to work.” She sighs as she pads back to her desk dramatically.
You smile to yourself as you duck your head and go back to your work, sorting through files and organizing reports, the familiar rhythm of the room coming back in taps and pen clicks, scribbles and the soft sound of a clock ticking.
Focused on your work, you don’t even realize the incriminating paper missing from your desk.
—
By the end of the day, the evening glow of the sun paints the room and you feel like you’re about to fall asleep at your desk. You’ve had the worst shrimp posture at your desk and you’re now paying the price for it, wincing slightly as you straighten up.
As always Maikima is impeccably straightened up, with an elegance to her that again makes you nothing less than jealous and you wonder how she's just so perfect all the time before you recall that she’s not and you’re being ridiculous.
“You’re staring.” She says amused, turning from the window to look at you, and you think she might have eyes in the back of her head before you realize she just saw your reflection in the glass.
Flushing you look down, trying to think of an excuse but ending up blurting the only thing on your mind. “My back hurts and I’m jealous.”
Makima laughs, a light tinkling thing that sends goosebumps running up your arms for a moment and you feel mildly annoyed at your body’s responses to her just existing. You wish you could just hate her sometimes, it would be far less perplexing.
“Poor baby.” She teases and you scrunch your nose up at her.
“Don’t make fun of me, my back feels like it's been fractured.” You whine. Never in your life did you think you’d whine about anything, but Makima’s always made you feel safe enough to let loose a little, even if you get embarrassed by yourself afterwards.
“I’m not making fun of you.” She says, her smile widening as she beckons you with one slender finger. “Come here.”
Normally, you think you’d hesitate, but you’re tired and she’s smiling at you in a way that makes your brain go fuzzy so your legs move before you can stop yourself. The back of her coat you’re still wearing brushes against the back of your bare legs as you’d long since kicked your stockings off in the comfort of Makima’s office.
“What?” You ask when you reach her desk, and she pulls herself up from her chair gracefully and approaches you. She reaches out your hand and you blush slightly as her hand brushes against yours before wrapping around your wrist.
“Sit.” She says gesturing to her chair.
“Hm?” You hum, a little stunned. You don’t think you’ve seen anyone else sit in her chair and you can hardly process her request.
“Sit.” She says simply. “Sideways preferably.”
Blankly, you stare at her again. You can’t comprehend exactly why she’s directing you to do so, but you find your body moving forward again without question as you perch yourself on the chair. “Okay, can you tell me what–” You cut yourself off as you feel her hands place themselves on your back, feeling her cool skin through your dress shirt and jerking in surprise.
“Wha– Makima-san?!” You fumble out, but she’s already started on kneading the skin of your back, pressing into all the sore spots that have you melting in her hands. Her hands work expertly at the knots in your back, and you find yourself wondering how she’s even good at this.
“What’s this for?” You ask, a little dazed.
“For your back.” She responds simply and you would roll your eyes but she presses a spot that makes you sigh in relief and you forget about your annoyance for a moment. Her hands feel so good, like they’re slowly heating up, and your head feels so dizzy you just want to give in to whatever she tells you.
“You’re weird.” You just say, a little giggle leaving your lips. It almost stuns you for a moment, you don’t think you’ve giggled even around Aki, not like this girlish and almost flustered. You think it must just be because Makima is a dear female friend.
But… you suddenly don’t feel so sure about that.
“...Makima-san…?” You ask drowsily.
“Mmh?” She hums, right next to your ear and you shiver slightly at the proximity.
“I think… I should go home.” You murmur.
“Home?” She asks sweetly. “I think you just need a nap.”
A nap yes, a nap is what you need, and you’re so dizzy you don’t even process the way that she gently scoops you up, in a way that seems almost impossible for her stature and gently settles you into her lap, tucking your head under her neck and looping her hand around your waist. You can’t help but relax into her, even though there’s a small part of your mind that’s still baffled.
Why is this even happening? Is this even okay? You’ve cuddled with your close female friends before, but was this really okay with someone like your boss?
“Makima… this… isn’t this a little informal?” You weakly question though you’re already surrendering to the feeling of her body pressed against yours, her soft curves pressing into you, her scent even stronger now with her so close.
She just laughs, that soft tinkling thing. “We’re past that point aren’t we?”
You’re not sure if you were, this all feels a bit off, in a way you can’t really explain but it seems like there’s something on the tip of your tongue, you tell her that blearily, the words a little slurred.
“On the tip of your tongue hmm? Can I see?” She asks. Before you even process it, your mouth is parting for her, your tongue, pink and glistening sliding out at attention for her.
You think either your eyes are blurry or her eyes are blurry, but you see something in them darken and she reaches out with her hand, her thumb hooking on your lower lip and tugging it down to see further. A protested noise escapes your lips and you try to speak with your still open mouth.
“Ahhkkia?” You try, and before you know it, the thumb is out of your mouth and replaced with her lips. For a moment, everything goes blissfully blank. She tilts your head to get better access and you find yourself angled for her to lick into your mouth, tasting you as you taste her.
She tastes like something sweet and floral and entirely too much, it makes you mewl into her, a pleased hum of her own leaving her in return. It feels good, especially since she’s so soft, her lips perfectly moist and smooth, sliding against yours.
Numbness on your lips… you can feel the numbness, as if you’re drunk, drunk on her kisses, drunk on her lips. A dizzy feeling sets in, breathy gasps escaping your lips, and you’re not sure when exactly you felt so… out of control…
It’s different from anything else you’ve felt. Than anyone else you’ve kissed, though that might be because everyone before was a man.
A man. Like Aki. You’re kissing her. Your boss, her.
“Mmhmm—!” A muffled noise does its best to escape your lips, which feel muddled and sticky and impossibly good as you try to paw at her chest, before moving to press on her shoulders weakly, head spinning.
“Mmh— Makima— we shouldn’t—” You try to protest as you pull away for a moment gasping for air.
She doesn’t seem to hear you though, chasing after your lips and pressing her sweet dizzying kiss to your lips again, her hands moving to shift you over to face her as they grab your waist. Another muffled noise leaves you, but you can’t really pay attention to what you were even thinking about in the first place.
Her tongue is warm and it flicks into your mouth like it owns the area, you’ve never felt this softly debauched before and you find yourself melting again before you pull away with a wet smack that echoes in the room.
“N–no, we can’t–” You blubber out, your face burning as you open your closed eyes. It’s not like you even know when they closed. Just that they did.
She stares at you for a moment, taking in your breathless disheveled form in her coat. “Because I’m your boss?” She asks patiently, wiping the spit from the side of your mouth.
“N–no, well– yes! But–” You fumble with your words, unable to put your thoughts into words.
She looks at you for a moment before cupping your cheek, something soft and tender that nearly brings tears to your eyes.
“Because we’re both girls?” She probes gently and you feel the tears sting as you nod slowly.
“Oh sweetheart.” She coos softly. “You could be anyone in the world, and I’d still want you all to myself.”
You do cry a little this time, tears slipping down your face as you sniffle. That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said and it comforts you enough that you can barely hear the voice in your head nagging at you that something is wrong. You’re so happy that she accepts you, you’d do anything for her.
“Mmhh–” You sniffle out and she soothes you with a peck on the lips. Which leads to another and another, and another, and you’re back to making out again, this time her hands pawing at your shirt and pushing it up to feel the skin underneath.
Her hands are so soft, it feels like magic when she touches you, something soft and feminine that you think you’ve been missing for your entire life. You hover uncertainly with your hands for a moment, unsure where to put them on her. Did you also put them on her waist?
She laughs and pulls back from your waist to move your hands to her chest.
“Just feel.” She murmurs before pressing kisses down your jaw to your neck, nipping and sucking in a way that makes you melt.
You sigh softly and tentatively press your hands against her chest, not squeezing, just mapping her out softly and tracing her through the fabric of her shirt. She’s so soft, soft and pretty and you whimper.
“So gentle. You’re just the sweetest.” She murmurs, sucking down on a spot that makes you whine.
“Mhh– n–not–” You try to protest, but her hands move down to slip under your skirt, the removed stockings giving her direct access to the cute pair of panties you’d put on for the day.
“Oh? Lace? Were you expecting me?” She asks teasingly, flicking her finger up against your folds and making you jerk up.
Why did you put them on? Well, you weren’t sure, but you think it must have just been for her. That you must have wanted her to touch you like this.
“Oh– God–” You whine out rocking your hips against her hand accidentally, your face falls into her neck mewling against her skin.
“Sensitive.” She murmurs, dragging her fingers against your panties from your folds to your clit. Her thumb brushes over your clit in a way that makes you keen and she laughs breathlessly. “And so wet.”
You whimper in embarrassment and paw at her chest again, trying to will her to shut up, but she just presses her fingers against the soaking core of your panties and curls her fingers up into you, pressing your warm cloth into you and you bite into the collar of her shirt when your walls clench around it.
“I bet those men before had no idea what they were doing with you. Poor girl, you needed a woman to show you what you were missing.” She whispers, grabbing the back of your hair and pulling your head up. The slight pain is almost delicious and you gasp out loud.
“Bet they just pull at the ends don’t they? They don’t know how to grab you.” She whispers and you rock your hips against her fingers again in agreement.
“Oh– Makima– I need to– please–” You fumble out.
“I know.” She shushes you. “I’ll take care of you, better than anyone else ever could.”
Her fingers hook into your panties and instead of pulling him down, she rips them directly in half with her fingers. The air hits your exposed cunt and you mewl, pressing your lips onto hers again desperately.
She makes a slightly surprised noise but hums in agreement, her finger slowly pushing into you. You gasp into her mouth as her fingers sink in, plunging slowly into your drooling lips and finally hitting that spot her long fingers reach, the one that makes you wail into her mouth.
Her fingers slowly piston in and out, starting to pick up speed with a wet noise louder than your own muffled noises and you feel somewhat embarrassed. Every time she pulls them out only to plunge back in, the sensation makes a warm coil pull taut within you.
“Fuck– more– please–” You whine against her lips as you break away, wanting to feel more and more of her softness. She obliges with a small smirk a third finger reaching in to stretch you out further.
The sound you make is unlike any sound you’ve made before, halfway between a yelp and a squeal, your eyes rolling back slightly as you feel her fingers all hit that spot that makes you dizzy.
“Ah– Makimaaah–!” You manage to get out, before something in her snaps (possibly the sound of her name on your lips) and all of a sudden you’re getting brutally pounded into, all of her earlier attempts of being gentle flying completely out the window as she has her sights set on making you call out her name again and again.
The sounds of the room are only filled with panting, pitched noises and loud moans, punctuated by the squelching of her thrusting into you over and over again, your eyes only vaguely focused on the beautiful sight of her dark eyes taking you in like a trophy.
You should feel disturbed, but instead you’re drunk with pleasure, your mouth messy and wet and pleading.
“Oh– Maki– Maki– Maki–” You chant as you reach the peak of your pleasure and you nearly sob when she starts slowing down. “Nooo! Makimaaaa!” You whine out, louder than anything you’ve let out before and something in her face twitches.
She curls her fingers then and you let out a breathless scream as you cum violently on her fingers. Your eyes blank for a moment as if refusing to work and you only come too after she’s pulled her fingers back out, inspecting the webbing between them.
An embarrassed whine leaves you, and Makima looks at you dead in the eyes before licking up the essence from her fingers. Your walls flutter weakly in response and you rest against her exhausted and boneless.
“‘S– can’t–” You mumble into her, exhausted.
“Mhm, I know, just rest.” She whispers to you and you doze off, tucked into her neck as she presses a kiss to the top of your head.
—
Makima wasn’t expecting it to be so much work. She thought you’d fall right into her lap, like everyone else. Or for you to just be jealous and simply just despise her.
But you were just so cute, punishing yourself for nothing, keeping friendly to her even when she tried to piss you off on purpose. She thought it might be an act, but you truly were just that sincere, and for it to be wasted on Hayakawa?
And though Makima had no concept of shame herself, she thinks it’d be a shame. Naturally she shredded that stupid little drawing, as cute as it was much like everything you did. You could draw her a new one after all, with something far more appealing as a subject preferably.
If only you weren’t so stubborn about it. She didn’t think she’d have to use so much energy on the matter.
Not that she’d regret it. No, Makima never regretted anything, except maybe the idea that she should have done this sooner.
Denji, how often do you have sex with Jaina until you are satisfied?
"Huh?" Denji replied as he took a gulp of the crystal-clear water, looking at Jaina taking a bath after their weekly sex session that left her dirty, full, and satisfied with his performance.
A cute little make out session in the messy sheets of Denji's bed is quickly escalating when your inexperienced boyfriend doesn't know how to handle himself when you finally wanna take the next step...
If you'd ask most people, they would describe Denji as repulsive, dense and maybe a little too desperate. With how he grew up, he's so unaware and naive around every topic life has to offer that it's almost endearing. That statement becomes especially true whenever it comes to the opposite sex.
Girls never interacted much with him and after receiving a bunch of panicked screams for help and a handful of police calls whenever he tried to approach one, Denji has learned to solely rely on his absolute filthy imagination when it comes to women.
That is until you stepped into his life. He really wanted to touch and grope at Power’s big tits and he couldn't help the twitch of his cock and the whimper spilling past his lips every time Makima gave him that stern look, but you…with you it was different. The first thing he noticed about you were the soft features of your face and how hard it was to not stare into your beautiful eyes. He found himself wanting to tug the strands of hair behind your ears, hold your hand in his and whenever he thought of you, it was your bright laughter ringing in his head instead of the curves of your body.
He doesn't know how he did it or what a girl like you sees in someone like him, but Denji can proudly say that you're his first ever girlfriend. There is nothing he wouldn't do for you, always trying his best to figure out how things are supposed to work in normal relationships and going onto Aki’s very last nerve with the barrage of questions he has every day, only to still fuck something up in the end.
Despite, Denji really tries hard to be affectionate with you, to stop being such a pervert and give you all the attention you need—which means he obeys and listens blindly to everything you have to say. But it's not like you don't find it cute.
An inexperienced boy like him sweats buckets just by kissing your lips and he's sure he wouldn't survive anything more than that. Just the mental image of seeing you like the pin-up models from those magazines he hides underneath his bed or the thought of touching what lies beneath your clothes is enough to make his cheeks comically crimson and his heart feel like it's going to explode.
But here he is; in his dirty ass room, on his messy sheets and panting like a dog. What started out with an innocent movie marathon while the apartment emptied out—something about Power being a nuisance downtown and Aki having to go over to pick up the pieces—quickly escalated into some sweet little kisses and ended up with you on top of him, straddling his waist as you press him into the mattress with your weight.
A full blown make out session, Denji's first, and he has no idea how he ended up here or what to do next. His lips hang agape as he stares up at you with wide eyes, flushed and sweaty as your hands start to explore his body over the thin shirt he's wearing and his hands grip and flex into the sheets when he doesn't know where else to put them.
It's kinda disgusting, really. Sloppy kisses with too much tongue and saliva—teeth constantly clashing, both your chins glistening in a mix of spit and faces red from the lack of oxygen. Denji came into his pants twice already. He wanted you badly, but he was afraid of doing something wrong, panicking about you laughing at him before running away as soon as you see what a pathetic loser he really is and why girls usually keep their distance.
"Wait..." Denji whispers against your eager lips, his voice trembling as he reluctantly pulls back. But your lips only leave Denji's in favor of sucking marks and bruises along his neckline and he shivers when your hands move under his shirt, feeling completely flustered now as a whimper escapes his trembling, kiss bitten lips.
Your hands are still making their way up over his lean abs, resting against his skin just underneath his ribcage when you make contact with the chainsaw cord. “Want you…today…no more waiting, okay?” You breathe between kisses along his jawline, placing a last little peck against his spit slicked lips before pulling back completely to look down at him.
He looks so cute that you can't help but smile as Denji keeps shaking underneath you with sheer want and desperation, a flush to his cheeks and glossy eyes. He sounds so beautiful as well, all breathless and high pitched whines. You will never make him understand how much you actually love him. His clumsy attempts to handle daily life, the charming smiles over the smallest things, how strong he is during fights and how he looks out for others without even realizing… He will never get the deeply rooted feelings you hold towards him and how you adore him exactly like he is—boyish charm mixed with a peanut sized brain that only belongs to you.
You remove your hands from underneath his shirt to slowly pry his fingers out of the sheets, guiding them to your hips. The reaction is instant; a sharp inhale from Denji before his hips buck up into the air and his fingers dig into your flesh with more pressure than he wanted to.
“Want you to touch me, Denji.” Your eyes meet his with vulnerability, one hand steadying yourself on his waist and with the other you carefully trace over the scars on his torso—old, ugly marks from fights he picked when he was desperate for money.
He swallows hard as your hand keeps sliding up, up, up until your fingers brush the soft underside of his pecs and Denji nearly chokes. His knuckles whitening as he fights not to squirm under your touch and a whimper slips out before he can stop it. A high, broken little sound and he squeezes his eyes shut like that’ll hide how wrecked he already is.
Again his hips jerk up instinctively at the feeling of your small hands finding his nipples, and oh god… there's no hiding the wet stain spreading in his sweatpants anymore. Denji's brain short-circuits. He wants to cry and he wants to beg you not to change your mind once you see how bad he’ll be at this.
“I-I…” He has to swallow hard, throat bobbing nervously. “Y-You want me? Y-you really mean it? N-not just messin’ around?” His voice cracks on the last word. He can’t believe this is happening—can’t believe you’re still here with him, someone who stammers like an idiot, sweats too much and cums in his pants like a middle schooler. “B-But I don’t know how! W-What if I hurt you?! Or, or worse, I just pass out or somethin’! What if my stupid dick doesn't even work right?!” Denji chokes out, voice breaking like a kid about to cry. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes—not from sadness, but from sheer overwhelm: love so deep it scares him, a desire so hot it burns and the fear that one wrong move will ruin everything between you forever.
Your thumb brushes over his nipples again and a raw, embarrassingly high-pitched moan rips through his chest once again and his head falls back against the pillows. You can feel his dick twitching for release underneath you where it is pressed right into your core and you have to chuckle at his stupid insecurities showing again.
"Your dick works just fine, Denji. Maybe a little too well, don't you think?" You ask with that smile still playing around your lips, teasingly lifting an eyebrow as you stare at the wet patch of cum oozing from his sweatpants. "And you won't hurt me... We'll take this slow. I don't expect or want you to do perfect with this... I want you. Just you. Denji, the idiot who talks about motorboating my boobs every chance he gets but never follows through and who whimpers so prettily when I place kisses all over his sensitive spots..."
Just to tease him even further, you lean down to breathe the hint of a kiss against his neck just beneath his earlobe. “P-please don’t laugh… I’ll try my best! I swear I will!” Denji whisper shouts desperately, eyes still squeezed shut as the first tears slip down over his cheeks. He nods his head frantically. “I-I wanna be good for ya… please tell me what t’do…”
He feels pathetic for not knowing what to do—after everything he’s seen in porn, he thought he would at least be able to satisfy you without making a complete fool of himself. But this isn't just sex anymore, it never would have been just sex with you, this feels more real than he ever could have imagined. It feels like giving himself completely to someone who actually loves him back after years of loneliness, being ridiculed and taken advantage of.
To finally take things further, your fingers are retreating from under his shirt to take off your own and Denji's breath comes in ragged, wet gasps as his eyes lock onto your chest. It wasn't sexy lingerie or anything fancy. It wasn't lace or silk with straps meant for seduction. It was simple cotton with little pearl buttons down the front. Innocent-looking, yet somehow more intimate than anything else ever worn by any girl in these magazines or movies he secretly peeked at online when you weren't around.
Denji feels dizzy. His mouth goes dry and he doesn’t even think—just acts—palms sliding up your bare sides with desperate reverence before clumsily groping at the soft cotton of your bra as he stares without blinking, completely mesmerized. His fingers twitch where they hover over the fabric, trembling like he’s touching something sacred. And maybe it is. To him at least, this is holy ground. You’re holy. Especially your fucking perfect tits that fit perfectly in his palms like they were made for him.
He squeezes gently at first, then bolder when no scolding comes from you. Thumbs brushing over the sensitive mounts through fabric until one accidentally grazes a stiff nipple and another whimper escapes him when you arch into his touch.
“F-Fuck…” He croaks into his throat, voice cracking when another wave of arousal hits hard enough that precum leaks more visibly now. "Y-You're...so pretty..." He chokes out on a broken whisper, pupils blown wide as saucers despite how red-faced and teary-eyed he still is.
His fingers fumble over the clasp. What is this thing?! Why won’t it open?! Panic flares in his eyes when he realizes how dumb he must look trying to unhook something so simple. “C-Can I…” His throat locks tight around words stuck somewhere between fear and hope as he stares up at you still seated over his middle. “C-can I take it off?”
"Hmm..." You murmur absent-mindedly, too busy looking down at him lying beneath you.
His hands are shaking when he finally undoes your bra and all he can think about is how badly he wants to touch you. How he wants to bury his face between your tits, lick and suck until you’re gasping like the girls do in porn, he wants to feel your skin under his palms—every inch—and wants to learn how to make you feel good. So good. Because that's what you deserve. But Denji is terrified of disappointing you. He feels unworthy of the sight in front of him.
You help him slide the cotton down your body when you notice him lock up and just stare, not even breathing at the first peek of skin he's never got to witness before, and when the second strap falls down your arm, you carefully leave the fabric to fall down somewhere on the ground beside the bed. You are completely exposed, but with Denji you don't feel vulnerable in this position at all.
Denji meanwhile feels like he just got knocked right in the head—no, right down to his very soul. This is like seeing a god for the first time, like walking right into the gates of heaven when you’ve spent your entire life in hell. Is this what absolution feels like? He can't believe all of this perfection is real. You're... you're…
"Oh God, you're beautiful." He manages in a shaky whisper and his tongue instinctively darts out to wet his dry lips, gaze fixed on how much softer your skin looks there and how the fat jiggles slightly when you chuckle at his compliment. "Can I… can I touch you?”
He almost chokes on his own spit when you guide his palm over your skin, bare this time around with no fabric separating the sensation. His fingers flex instinctively, gentle at first before squeezing just a little tighter in awe. He’s fantasized about this exact moment a thousand times (okay, maybe ten thousand) but nothing, nothing, could have prepared him for how overwhelming it actually is. They’re so…soft. Like clouds, like warm dough fresh from the oven, and he can’t stop staring, can’t stop his thumb from rubbing slow circles around the peak just to watch it stiffen further under his touch.
Denji is pretty used to losing control. There are lots of things he loses control over. His temper. His hormones. His stupid mouth that just says whatever he thinks without any filter. Hell, he can’t even control his own heart when it comes to you, and his body? Is clearly not an exception. It’s too much. Way too much. The warmth of your skin, the way you arch just slightly into his touch, the faint scent of your perfume mixed with sweat and that barely audible gasp falling from your kiss swollen lips—it overwhelms him completely.
His mouth falls open in a silent scream before a pathetic, high-pitched and choked-off whimper finally escapes him. "Ngh—!!!" His vision whites out completely as heat surges through him, burning white and hot from his stomach down to his thighs, before—Oh. Oh no.
One hand stays to hold himself steady against your breast, the other falls down to grip your hips, fingers digging in desperately and nails biting skin while his back arches off the bed. “Oh, f-fuck—!” His hips stutter upward violently, pressing into you with helpless desperation as his cock throbs and spills right then and there—another hot, sticky load soaking through his sweatpants before he even got to do anything for you.
His sweatpants are absolutely ruined, soaked through with wet heat and his entire body trembles like a leaf in a storm when he's melting back onto the mattress with a weak, shuddering exhale. His chest heaves like he just ran a marathon, mouth hanging open in a silent gasp as his hips jerk through the aftershocks, his cock pulsing pathetically against his thigh. He looks destroyed. His lips are swollen, neck littered with marks, eyes glazed and wet—staring up at you wide and devastated.
Denji's cheeks burn hot and he buries his face with his elbow, desperate to hide his embarrassment. He hiccups wetly, tears welling up despite himself. His cock twitches weakly in his ruined pants, still half-hard from how painfully turned on he is, even after cumming like some fucking middle schooler who couldn’t last two seconds and he tries to keep his legs together instinctively as if that’ll hide the sticky mess.
“I-I didn’t—!” His voice cracks pathetically. "I-I'm... sorry… m’so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to! It—it just happened. I—” He whimpers softly, voice muffled by his own skin and gasping for air like he’s drowning.
It’s embarrassing. It’s pathetic. He actually came just from touching you. No thrusting, no grinding, just—just skin under his palms. He wants to curl up and die.
“P-Please don’t hate me…” He whispers, voice small and shaky. “I-I’ll do better next time… I promise! I-I'll clean it up and, and—” He sounds so hopeful it’s pitiful. It really is, with his throat tight as he sniffles pathetically, half-expecting laughter or rejection. But when he peeks at you from under his elbow, all he sees is the soft look you are giving him right now, your own cheeks dusted pink and that little glint in your eyes.
His hands fly up to wipe frantically at his teary face with trembling fingers. “C-Can we pretend that didn’t happen…?” He whimpers—cheeks puffed out in a pout—before burying his face against your chest with a miserable groan. “Y’feel so good… s’not fair…” His voice is muffled against your skin, breath hot and wet against your chest as his lips brush over the soft flesh and he nuzzles into you like a puppy seeking comfort.
"Y-You didn't even—! I-I didn't even got to do anything yet!" He wailed miserably. “…Y-You’re just too pretty.” His arms wrap around your waist anyway, clinging like you might vanish if he lets go and when you gently cradle his face—bring it out of the warm space between your tits to make him look up at you—Denji can feel his cock stir to live again, twitching against your thigh. That look that you're giving him…you really deserve the world.
“…C-Can I… t-touch them again?” He asks meekly. “J-Just gimme a sec and I—I’ll make sure this time…you feel good too, yeah? I'll last. I know I'll do…”
He won't. He absolutely will not do any better next time and he will certainly won't last longer. Denji is, and forever will be, a drooling, overeager mess when it comes to you. And honestly? You wouldn't have him any other way.
@missyonmission
This work is entirely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, places, organizations, or events is purely coincidental. No factual representations are intended.
You’re sure, when you see the precise fold of Aki Hayakawa’s shirt sleeve, that one day he will die of the amount of tension inside him. Wound so tight that you’re sure something will give, either a strained vein or the implosion of his own heart. You watch him from the corner of the office as he paces, back turned to you as he pretends to look through files. His morning mug is fused to his palm. He clocks the way you cross your legs, the glimmer of sleep still crowning your lashes. This, he files away for later.
It’s meant to unsettle you, but you know how to play surveillance into rapport.
“Hayakawa-san,” you say, feigning innocence, “did you know you grind your teeth when you file reports?”
The office snickers in your mind. In reality, it’s near-empty considering most of Public Safety had fucked off for most of the day. Today’s mission involved all hands on deck, and for once, Makima was generous. Despite this, you stayed along with Aki, invading his space in his own office. He doesn’t know why. When he looks at you, his knuckles blanch, but his lips barely part, flickering at the corners.
“Focus on your work.” His command lands with all the affection of a slammed door. “Reports aren’t gonna write themselves.”
“I’m done,” you snort. You’re tired of papers, the staleness of the office. Even the smell of toner is starting to poison your sinuses, you think.
“Then why are you still here?” he snaps. You raise a brow.
“What’s crawled up your ass, Captain? You should be thankful I even decided to help with the paperwork.”
“I didn’t need your help,” he scoffs.
“Oh, right. You would’ve done it all by yourself because you’re more than willing to do anything Makima says. You’re basically her bitch.”
You toss your head toward the window and watch the sun lower through the sad office glass. The orange rays are already getting obscured by every skyscraper. You blink back at him and find his cheeks pink, teeth gritted for a rebuttal. You beat him to it before he opens his mouth.
“It’s not a crime to want approval. You shouldn’t make it everyone else’s problem, though.” You let the words marinate in the air. He clicks his tongue with irritation.
Aki sets his coffee down with mechanical care, then aligns the rim to the edge of his paperwork before looking at you again. His eyes are bleak, almost nuclear in their concentration.
“You’re insubordinate,” he says flatly.
“So fire me.” You lean back until your chair shrieks, stretching your arms out. “Or are you so desperate for company?”
Aki’s jaw spasms. You want to see if he’ll punch something. Instead, he withdraws into silence like he always does. Most people would drop it. You make it an art to keep poking, to see how far a man like him can bend before he breaks.
You watch him make three passes through the room, never facing you head-on. He collates, scans, scans again, page edges bristling. It’s thrilling how easy it is to set his nerves singing. You start narrating his steps in your head, imagining what could force that mask to slip. The nascent thought is seductive: if you keep prodding, maybe he’ll shatter into a spectacular mess.
“Do you want to fire me?” Your voice is modulated. Cruelty only simmers under the surface, but you decide to be more merciful about it. You know you’re poking the bear. You’ve mastered the art of it ever since you joined Public Safety.
“I’m not HR,” Aki mutters bitterly and waves you off. “Just go home. Or do whatever you want.”
You do. You stand, spine stretching, and make a leisurely show of collecting your papers in a heap, ignoring the stutter in his gaze as you approach his desk. Aki lifts his eyes only when he can’t avoid them, and you can feel the challenge there, a simmer he refuses to name. You plant your palms on Aki’s table, leaning in just so.
If you were at a bar with him, had a shot or two, you’d probably be showing off, cleavage on display just to taunt him. Being around him for the past ten hours or so forced you to behave for most of the day. Your necktie is loosened against your collar, along with an open button. Casual enough, not too indecent, you think. The way his eyes scan your form says otherwise. It almost makes you giddy.
“You’re lousy at hiding it, you know,” you murmur.
“Hiding what?”
“You want something to take the edge off.” The corner of your mouth quirks. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
Aki’s eyes go sharp, slitting, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, the tension ratchets between your bodies.
“I want you to do your job.”
Your thumb finds the seam of his paperwork and deliberately cocks the neat stack askew. “You sure?” you ask. “There’s more you could ask of me, Captain. Unless you’re scared you’ll owe me.”
Now the mask fractures. Ever so slightly, Aki’s composure shifts: a flare in the nostrils, a dilation in the pupils. His hands curl around the mug. You nearly expect it to shatter in his grip.
“If you’re done with your work, you can go,” he says blankly.
There are a dozen ways you can escalate, and you pick the meanest, most juvenile: sliding into his space, a little too close, until the surface tension of your nearness draws a subtle, involuntary recoil in his posture.
“I could go home, sure,” you murmur, following him, “or I could stay until you tell me to my face what you want.”
Aki’s mouth stiffens. You can see his shoulders tense from behind. For a moment, it seems he’ll try the silent treatment again, choke you with indifference, but then his gaze returns to yours, unwavering, and for once he doesn’t bother to look away.
“I don’t want anything,” he says, voice stripped raw. You know that his walls are crumbling, but his stare remains calculated. It’s something you’ve always admired about him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You snort. “Seriously? You’re more pent up than a horned-up priest. It’s sad, honestly.”
It scrapes the nerve. He puts his pen down with an audible click and stands, looming by the desk corner, his height a failed intimidation since you remain unmoved. The gap between your bodies is just a dare now.
“What do you want from me, huh?” he hisses. “To see how far you can push me, how much you can get away with?”
You smile, slow and indulgent, chin tipped up. You take a step closer to him.
“I want you to stop pretending you’re not attracted to me,” you drawl. The gamble lands heavy between you, and for a moment, even the clack of traffic outside seems to hush. You think that if it weren’t for the air conditioning blasting, you might be able to hear the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat.
His gaze is brighter than the sun, somehow. Hot in anger, though there’s a warmth in his blue iris that gives away something else. He’s never easy to read, but you know he’s affected, at least a little bit. Something about this knowledge makes your pulse behave badly. You’ve always wanted to know what he’d be like without all the protocol. How much of himself he’d let in if you shone a light on him.
“I’m not,” he seethes, voice thin, “attracted to you. You’re fucking delusional.”
You make a sound that’s not quite a laugh. More like a scoff, but it’s cruel regardless.
“That’s a good answer to save face. You really care about this job, huh?”
He doesn’t answer. He still won’t look at you.
“It’s too bad, though. What if I said I wanted you too, Captain?”
He flinches at that. It’s the most overt form of emotion he’s shown in regards to you, which makes you drunk on possibility. The silence is thick as marrow.
“You don’t seem to have many attachments,” you continue, your voice low and lilting. “Disciplined to a fault. It’s admirable, really. But it’s also extremely lonely. I’ve noticed that about you.”
He sets his jaw, but he’s shaky on the next inhale. You catch his eyes, keep them with an honest edge. He rolls his eyes.
“What, you’re trying to seduce me now? Your superior?”
“I’m suggesting that you should take a break, Hayakawa.” You murmur it right at the hollow of his tension, close enough that he could count your lashes if he tried. You lean in, reckless, feeling the heat off his face — the way he’s holding still, even as his breath has gone ragged.
“I don’t need a break,” he asserts. The softness in his gait says otherwise. His lack of resistance surprises you, given the tension. You settle a hand on his chest and lift yourself to brush his ear.
“C’mon. You scared of me?”
His laugh is short, dry bark. “Worried you’ll get yourself in trouble,” he rasps, “Or is that what you want?”
You let your lips skim the place right above his shirt collar, intoxicating yourself on the clean musk of his scent. “You can punish me if I do, Hayakawa-san.”
You tug at his tie the same time you press your mouth chastely to his jaw. The restraint in him snaps. In a flash, Aki’s mouth is on yours. His hand is rough at your jaw as he angles it, as if he’s terrified you’ll peel away if not properly secured. The force of his mouth is almost an apology for how long he’s starved himself of this, and you let yourself taste the bitterness from his morning coffee, now gone cold on his tongue. You sink your teeth into his lower lip and feel the full-body shudder it drags from him.
Your hands tangle in his shirt, yanking him in by the collar so hard it creases the fabric. His control is gone, emotional architecture razed, and a gasp muffles against your neck. You brace against the desk, shoving his paperwork to the floor with a sweep and vault yourself onto the edge. His thigh slots intuitively between yours.
He kisses you the way he hates, with all that pent-up vitriol from his teeth-grinding and his sleeplessness. The pragmatic rhythm of routine replaced with something elemental. You feel in the tremble of his hands.
“You’re making a mess,” you tease, breaking away just long enough to see the raw cut of his cheekbones and the shaken state of his tie. “Not very professional.”
“Not on duty,” he breathes, already pressing greedy, open kisses to your throat, the curve of your jaw. Frantic with teeth. You choke out a laugh, ecstatic.
The slapdash pile of files hits the floor beside your heel. You don’t stop him as his hands chase up your thighs, clumsily rucking your skirt up. There’s no mistaking how badly he wanted an excuse to fold you in half and wreck the careful increment of his routine right here in the middle of the drab, yellow-lit office.
Aki makes a low noise as he takes inventory of the territory you’re offering him, all boundaries warped. His tongue flicks at the line of your jaw, and one palm traces the frantic shiver under your shirt, flat against your ribs.
“You love baiting me,” he accuses, and you think maybe you do, if this is the result.
It goes wet and heated fast. You hook your ankles behind his knees, pulling him against the press of you, grinding his thigh where you want friction most. He bites the thin skin under your earlobe until you gasp, and then he soothes it with his tongue.
“I could have you written up for this,” you pant, head tipping back as his mouth works its way lower.
“You’d have to report it first. You’re the one who put your mouth on me.” He rasps against your collarbone, and the simmering violence in it practically splits you in two.
His thumb traces circles on the inside of your knee, just shy of where you’re aching most, and you squirm, needy, until he props your leg onto his hip. He angles his hand up, testing how wet you are over your underwear.
“I knew you wanted it,” he grits out. “From the beginning. Showing off in front of everyone. Acting innocent. Figured you were bluffing, but you’re just begging for it, huh?”
“Says the most repressed person I’ve ever met,” you mutter, and then you sob a laugh because he’s already obliging, shifting cotton aside and pressing the heel of his palm right up against your clit, tight and good and not enough.
You arch. Fluorescent lights fracture against the ceiling. You drag him by the tie so your mouths meet, teeth clanging. You wonder if anyone would come in right now, whether the frosted glass in the door is enough to blur out what you’re doing, and then you decide you don’t give a shit, because Aki scissoring his fingers inside you like this is worth every single second of exposure.
He works you methodically, alternating the pressure on your clit. You want him to claw his way into you, make a home of your body. You shiver as his hips subtly grind against your own. When you gasp into the sharp bones of his shoulder, he crooks his fingers just so, and you’re shaking, desperate not to come apart too quickly.
“You like it here?” His voice is a razor near your ear. “Making a mess in my office?”
You roll your hips shamelessly onto his hand, chasing the high and whimpering.
You answer with your body rather than words; the slumping roll of your hips, the grind that smears desperate heat across his knuckles. Aki doesn’t let up, won’t accept a single inch of slack between you. Every movement says, This is what you wanted. This is what happens when you taunt me. A slipstream of obscene noises spills from where his fingers disappear beneath your skirt, the squelch and catch only punctuated by the sound of his breath in your ear.
He slides a second finger in, stretching you in exquisite tandem with callused pressure at your clit. It’s almost violent, the way he moves. Clockwork tight. You feel yourself crest helplessly, so close you could claw yourself apart. Your nails leave neat little crescents in his shirt, and you know he’ll find them later, tiny punctures in his pressed exterior.
“Shit, you’re soaking my fucking hand–”
“Aki,” you gasp, and he flinches. His name sounds good on your tongue, with none of the barbs you usually lace through your voice. You meet his eyes, and in them is a scorched, hungry wonder. He’s transfixed, like he wants to memorize the exact cadence of your falling apart.
“Say it again,” he mutters.
Instead, you whimper it: “Aki — fuck, Aki — please.”
That breaks him. He captures your mouth, swallowing your moans as his hand doubles its rhythm. You ride his palm, starving for friction until your orgasm detonates.
You clamp down around him with a sharp gasp, and suddenly you’re arching off the desk. You never heard yourself make a sound like that before, and by the look of awe on his face, neither has he.
It would be perfect to go limp, to bask. But Aki doesn’t give you time. He yanks you upright, arms steel-hard in their grip, and pivots to press you spine-first against the bookshelf, scattering records and training manuals to the floor. His hips are flush against your own, and you feel the punishing line of his cock underneath his pants, rutting against you in a way that’s as angry as it is needy.
Your hands fumble at his belt with zero finesse, managing to drag the zipper down just enough to free him. He’s hard and angry and leaking in your palm, and you can’t resist stroking him, just for the smug jolt it sends through his frame. He nips your lower lip in retaliation, dragging your wrist away to pin it above your head with one twist of his hand.
“Don’t – wait –”
“What,” you huff, impatient.
“We can’t – I don’t have a condom, you fucking idiot–”
“I don’t care.”
He scowls, but does nothing as you hike your skirt higher and grasp his dick, leading it towards you until it slides home in one bruising thrust. He chokes out, his hips slamming yours, grinding you into the splintering wood of the shelf. There’s no time for gentleness.
“Jesus,” he grits out. “You feel—”
You gasp, the air gone from your lungs with the force of it. A brutal, beautiful fullness, far thicker than you’d braced for, and you struggle against the hold that pins your wrist overhead, trying to reclaim some modicum of control. To grab at him. But Aki’s got your entire center of gravity in his palm and a knee anchoring you open, and when he reels back to thrust again, your vision whites out at the edges.
You feel the head of his cock batter your sweet spot, relentless. He doesn’t pace himself, doesn’t try for finesse: the rhythm is punishing, jackhammer desperate, Captain Hayakawa forcibly reacquainting himself with the animal disasters he’s hidden inside of him.
“God, you’re tight,” he mutters, voice so unlike his normal register you barely process that it’s him. “So fucking—” He doesn’t finish, bites off his own words as your free hand yanks his hair, nails scraping the sweat-prickled nape of his neck.
“Big,” you whimper. He hisses an expletive under his breath in reaction. The stretch feels amazing – more than you’d imagined. You angle his face toward yours and catch him in a kiss, filthy, teeth colliding.
You brace your heels on either side of his hips and ride him back, rolling your pelvis so the shelf behind you shudders against the partition wall. He likes it messy, apparently, likes the sound of your body clapping raw against his. Somewhere in the blizzard of friction and heat, his hand abandons your wrist only to seize your throat, thumb pressed under the line of your jaw, holding you in place while he rams himself deeper, deeper, forcing every ounce of his weight into you.
“Captain,” you gasp, as a particularly vicious stroke has your toes curling, “Oh, fuck–”
You expect a snarl, another denial, but what comes out of him is dangerously close to a moan. His eyes are half-lidded, grown glassy and wild.
“Should have– hah,” he grates, punctuating the words with a thrust so deep you lose them entirely in your next gasp, “done this the first time you talked back.”
“Would’ve made it easier to listen,” you pant, hand trying to grip at the edge of the shelf for purchase but finding only space.
He fucks you harder at that, hips slapping, the wood behind you creaking, the muscles in his biceps flexing as he wrings your waist with both hands like he could snap you in two. You feel reduced, atomized: nerve endings all down your thighs and up your spine singed by friction, pressure, bliss. You want him to use you, just a little.
You mumble, “Harder,” and he obliges, teeth bared, each slick slam obliterating whatever vestige of shame you might have left. You’re a smear, wet and blooming. He has free rein to ram every repressed longing into the way he fucks you against this wall. There’s nothing staid or managerial left: only a pressure, a piston as the world flickers around your vision.
“Is this what it takes?” Aki pants. “This what I have to do to get you to behave?”
You mewl. “Mmm– keep going– I’ll be good, just keep going, please–”
He lets out a sharp huff of a laugh. “You’re actually begging.”
He lets go of your throat to brace both arms against either side of the shelf, caging you completely. The smell of him is sharp. Sweat mixed with cordite, trigger-happy. All the neatness he strives for is gone; his shirt rumpled and untucked, his tie dangling like a leash between your chests. His hair falls in his eyes, sweat-ankled, and he stares at the place your bodies join like he wants to watch you fuse into one mass.
Every time he thrusts, you flex your thighs, grind yourself closer, force him to bottom out, make him see the greedy, shameless mess he’s made you. You never expected to want him like this. Now, you could die of it.
“Your cock feels so good,” you mumble.
He groans, forehead to your collar. The sound almost tapers into a whine. “Don’t say shit like that to me.”
He’s panting, rhythm unbroken, driving you up and up and up. Then he reaches between you to thumb your clit, punishing and precise, and your head knocks back against the wall so hard you hear your pulse in your ears. You’re barely coherent; you cuss, unspeakable, and Aki just snarls in response, focusing all his frustrated affection into the way he works you on his cock.
It hits you all at once — a release that crunches every vertebrae, makes your arms and legs a storm of spasms. You come a second time, messy, the proof of it slick on his hand and dripping down your thighs. He lets out a low, shocked noise at the way you clamp down, the way your body bears down on him, milking every inch.
“God, fuck—” His control crumbles. He pulls out just as he comes, hot and sudden, splattering your thigh and skirt and maybe three ruined files on the carpet. He sags against you, forehead pressed to yours, jaw slack, the two of you locked there with every illusion of decorum gone.
You both stay like that, panting, heights of your bodies trembling, the overhead lights flickering against the wreckage. Every muscle in your body sings. You take inventory: the shredded underwear, the agony-ecstasy ache in your cunt, the rucked skirt and canted hips. Good. You want to remember all of it.
When Aki finally releases your waist, he’s careful. He doesn’t summon the usual sharpness, not even as he blots at your thigh with the inside of his ruined cuff. You laugh at the futility of it and watch his face color up to his hairline.
You fumble yourself back together, graceless.
You feel hungover and high, as if every nerve were firing fresh instructions. Aki fastidiously restricts himself to straightening his shirt and surveying the carnage; you, on the other hand, have the animal confidence of someone who just smudged their DNA across the entire precinct. The musk of it turns subatomic, baked into every fiber of your skin.
You move, slightly, your pelvis a dull, throbbing bruise. There’s an ache between your legs, and you love it. It’s proof. Evidence against Aki’s permanent record, right beside the discreet glisten painting your thigh. The room is too bright for the debris you’ve left. You tuck the thought into your chest, add it to the collection of things you never tell anyone.
It should be awkward. It is, technically: your panties gone or at least functionally destroyed, a puddle staining the carpet tiles where the old, dog-eared code of conduct landed face-down. You half-remember a time when rules ever meant shit to you. Judging by the way Aki is policing the floor for spatters, you suspect he feels differently.
He regathers his voice before you. “We’re never doing this again,” he intones, still breath-flayed, “Not in this office, not—” You don’t buy it. The caution lines in his tone set something reckless stirring in you. You plop into his chair, legs splayed and skirt bunched, and snatch his mug; whatever is left in it is tepid, bitter, but it makes your pulse jolt when you tongue the rim, knowing it’s been where he just was.
“I don’t know,” you counter, “Wasn’t so bad.”
He glances at you, then away. You wonder whether he wants to shove you through the wall or fold you into the desk drawers and keep you in there, neat and flat. He seems paralyzed by the range of options.
You rest your chin on your fist, shoot him a look that says, Unclench, Hayakawa-san. He is, of course, immediately re-clenching, the line at the corner of his mouth as precise as a knife wound. If anyone walked in now, you’d both be dead or demoted — all the more reason to linger.
The tension shifts. Aki sidles past you, probably aiming for the photocopier, but you intercept him with a foot hooked around his knee. He stops, the residual flush on his neck involuntarily deepening.
“You’re real good at aftercare, aren’t you?
His eyes widen a fraction. “Oh. Did I, uh, hurt you? Was I too rough?”
“No.” You smile coyly. “I liked it.”
He hangs in the moment, uncertainty radiating off him, so unlike any version of Aki you’ve seen before. He almost fumbles his next words.
“Good. I didn’t want to—” He aborts the sentence. The steel in his jaw slackens and he shakes his head, breaking eye contact, fingers raking hair off his forehead.
You don’t let him slink off, not now when he’s finally unspooled. You pull your foot back, tilting it so the toe of your shoe trails up his shin before you drop it.
“You look like you want to pretend it never happened,” you say, voice velveted with afterglow. “But I don’t.”
“You never do,” he says, milder than you expect. He half-smiles, but it’s a sad thing.
“Don’t look so tragic, Captain,” you say, propping your chin again. You want to reach for him, so you do, snagging two fingers in his loosened tie. “You liked it too.”
Aki’s mouth opens and closes. He shifts, circling the desk rather than approaching directly, like a cat who can’t decide if it wants to be affectionate or if it wants to bite. When he speaks, it’s with all the cautiousness of someone unwrapping a bomb.
He circles once, twice, as if buying time for a decision to calcify.
“What happens next?” Aki’s voice is soft. A sanded-down version of his usual. “You’ll talk shit about it in the smoking area? Tell Denji I lost it and took it out on you?” It’s not an accusation so much as panic peeking out from him.
You laugh, deliberately snarky, because you want to see what it stirs. “You think I’d let you off that easy? C’mon. This—” you wave at the carnage of your mutual undoing, “—is leverage. I’ve got you now, Hayakawa.”
He looks up, and you feel something shift in him — a tremor as he realizes you’re not going to erase what just happened. That you will carry it, parade it, god, maybe even ask for seconds. You watch his lips move, hesitating on the ledge of resolve.
“I’ll meet you tomorrow,” he says, each word a careful grenade. It’s so shy you almost laugh again. “Somewhere outside of work. If you want.”
“Buy me a drink and maybe I’ll let you fuck me someplace people can’t see through the glass,” you say, savoring the taste of possibility. He registers it with a minute twitch at the eyelid — a betrayal, if you didn’t already know his body’s every little tell.
He scoffs, but there’s a wry grin on his face. “We’ll see.”
You moaned softly as his hands grasped your now bare breasts, his fingers light as he grazed over your nipples peaked against the air.
Your shirt was gone, thrown off somewhere in the kitchen as his lips dragged against your bare skin, seemingly mapping your flesh as he scooped you up in his arms, despite his smaller stature, and carried you over to the couch, still warm from where he was lying previously.
“A-Angel,” you stammered, gut curling with heat as his tongue grazed your collarbones.
“Hmmm?” He hummed against your skin.
“We've gotta stop,” you said, “Aki and I are together, remember?”
“And?” He asked, his gold eyes half lidded as he looked up at you, his fingers gripping your sides to keep you still.
Your breath hitched at the feeling of him holding you so firmly, the feeling of his individual fingers locking in, a steel grip that threatened to melt beneath your skin.
“And…” You echoed, words failing you as he nuzzled the skin between your breasts, his nose warm with the exhale against your soft skin, “I-I love him”. It was the first time you had said out loud to anyone other than Aki that one night, drunk after work.
“You love me too,” He said as if it were the simplest thing in the world, “I know you do”.
You swallowed thickly, unable to think of how to respond because it wasn’t untrue.
Angel sat up suddenly, a serious expression clouding his usually delicate features as his eyes locked with yours.
“We don’t ever have to speak about this night again,” He whispered, his nose bumping yours softly.
His hand came up to caress your cheek, thumb grazing your cheekbone as you leaned into his palm. How could you say no to him?
“Just let me touch you”.
It felt as if your heart skipped in your chest the moment his lips met yours, pressing firm and warm against your own. Inexperience bleeding through as he whimpered, body shaking as you grazed your tongue against his bottom lip.
His hands were everywhere again, gripping your ribs, your hips, up your back to your shoulders as his tongue tangled with yours.
You could feel his heart hammering in his chest like yours, the skin of his throat warm under your fingertips.
He moved his hands down to work your pants off your hips, then your underwear, to finally pull them all the way off and discard them with your shirt.
You tugged at his shirt, running your fingers around the bottom hem until he got the message.
“Oh yeah, right,” he mumbled, his cheeks dusting pink. He pulled his shirt off carefully, taking an extra moment to fix it around his wings before throwing it off, fluffing the feathers out comfortably.
It was as if electricity were passing through your bodies as you pressed together once his clothes were gone, skin to skin. Arms and legs tangled together, lips bruising, sweat prickling along your brow from the heat of his wings cradling around you as he pressed you into the couch to feel you, all of you.
Feeling him rut his hips against you had heat curling in your gut again, your clit pulsing as the leaking head of his cock nudged between your legs.
It had escalated so quickly, one minute you thought contact would kill you, and just over an hour later, you were lying beneath him, one of his hands cupping your breast to his mouth and the other hand propping up your thigh to grind against you fully.
“We-We can stay like this, just like this,” He panted, his cheeks flushed as he rutted his hips against you, the slick from your pussy making the glide that much more pleasurable as you both moaned into each other's mouths.
From the angle and how wet you were, it only took one miscalculated grind for his head to slip in, both of you freezing as his breath caught in his chest.
His golden eyes were nearly blacked out from the dilation of his pupils, his heart thrumming like a bird's wings in his chest.
Angel waited for you to say something, push him away, reject him, but you didn’t. You looked at him almost expectantly, your lips swollen from his onslaught of kissing, and parted as you panted softly. He leaned in, unsure of himself as he skimmed his nose along your cheekbone.
“It’s okay, Angel,” You said, your hand coming up to push his hair away and kiss up the column of his throat.
Sinking into you fully nearly had him cumming, a strangled whimper escaping as your warmth squeezed around him.
“Oh- fuck” He groaned. No chance he was letting you go now. He’d kill himself and everyone else first.
His face was buried in your throat, arms wrapped around you tightly, and legs caging you in as you both whimpered and moaned and sweated against each other.
Until you heard keys in the door.
You both froze, staring at each other but unable to move off the couch. You tipped your head back to see the door opening, Aki’s tall frame coming through the door with take-out in bags, slipping off his shoes in the entrance.
With the door shut, you and Angel looked at Aki in your very compromising position. Aki looked back at you. You couldn’t read his face. Was he angry? Hurt? Sad and regretful? His blue eyes were questioning, a little concerned.
“You’re still alive, right?” He asked, setting the bags on your island.
You nodded, your throat dry.
He sighed, undoing his tie, evidence that he had just come from work.
“That’s good,” He said, his tie dropping to the floor, his long fingers going to the delicate buttons on his shirt, where it soon joined the tie. His belt was next, the buckle clattering a bit as it hit the ground. Angel and you both looked at each other and then back at Aki as he discarded his pants, leaving himself in only his undershirt and underwear. “Could’ve called me when you made this little discovery though, I would’ve gotten home a lot sooner.”
