Discover Top Posts Tagged with #hayakawa

helping aki relax by giving him a handjob him at the hotsprings.

content: 18+ aki x gn!reader. semi public sex (though nobody is around or even mentioned). handjobs. making out. cigarettes. hot spring/hot tub sex.

a/n: my first request! yayayay!

based on this request!

You're surprised you were even able to drag Aki out to the hot springs, but here he was, reclined against the edge of the tub with his hair down to his shoulders, finally taking some time off. The tub is hot, steam curling above the water to float between the two of you, and it reddened your cheeks and chest.

"How is it?" You ask while mindlessly playing with the surface of the water—you're doing just about anything to get your mind off of the fact that both of you were naked in the same hot spring, even if it was a semi-normal thing to do.

#chainsaw man #csm #chainsaw man smut #csm smut #chainsaw man aki #csm aki #aki hayakawa #aki hayakawa smut #aki x reader #aki x you #aki x reader smut #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki x y/n #hayakawa #hayakawa family #hayakawa smut #aki #aki smut

Aki angel shenanigans

#procreate #digital art #illustration #art #artists on tumblr #artwork #my art #art wip #chainsaw man #akiangel #aki hayakawa #hayakawa #angel devil #angelaki

Omg hiiii it’s 🐈‍⬛ anon back at it again >< can I req Aki this time helping reader with poor mental health? I hope this is an alright request!!

Hiii!! I'm SOO sorry for the delay, here you go!

Aki notices before you ever say anything.

He notices the way you move slower, the way you stare at nothing a little too long, the way your responses get shorter. He doesn’t call you out on it or demand explanations. He just starts adjusting himself around you, like he’s making space without making it obvious.

When your mental health dips, Aki becomes quieter too. Not withdrawn- just careful. He lowers his voice, keeps the apartment calmer (aka making sure power and denji stfu), turns the TV down without asking. If you seem overwhelmed, he’ll word things simply. “Do you want to sit?”, “Do you want food?”, “Do you want me here?”

And if you say no, he respects it. If you say yes, he stays.

Aki isn’t as great with words, but he’s good with presence. He’ll sit beside you on the couch, close enough that your shoulders touch, not close enough to feel suffocating. Sometimes he doesn’t speak at all- he just lets the silence be something safe instead of something heavy.

On bad days, he takes over without making you feel useless. He’ll cook, clean, run errands, and when you apologize for it, he shuts that down immediately. “You don’t need to earn rest,” he says, firm but gentle. “You’re allowed to have it.”

If you spiral, Aki grounds you. He’ll guide your breathing quietly, counting under his breath, steady and calm. He never panics when you do. Never raises his voice. He treats your feelings like something fragile but valid- not a problem to solve.

When you open up- even a little- he listens like it matters more than anything else. He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t rush you toward a positive spin. If what you’re feeling is ugly or messy or uncomfortable, he lets it exist. Sometimes all he says is, “That sounds hard,” and somehow that’s enough to make your chest loosen.

He’s careful with physical touch, too. He’ll ask before pulling you into his arms, but once you’re there, he holds you like he’s anchoring you to the earth. His hand at the back of your neck, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles. If you cry, he doesn’t flinch or tell you to stop. He just lets your tears soak into his shirt.

Aki reminds you to eat, to drink water, to sleep- not like a caretaker, but like someone who wants you to stay. He’ll set alarms with you, sit beside you while you take them, reward you with something small afterward like it’s an accomplishment. Because to him, it is.

On days you feel like a burden, Aki looks at you like you’re anything but. He’ll meet your eyes and say, quietly, “You’re not 'too much'. You’re hurting.” And somehow that difference matters.

He doesn’t expect you to get better quickly. He doesn’t put a timeline on healing. He just stays- day after day- choosing you even when you don’t feel lovable.

And when you finally start to feel a little lighter, when you manage a laugh or a smile, Aki notices that too. He won’t comment on it right away. He’ll just let himself relax a bit, like he’s been holding his breath with you this whole time.

Because with Aki, loving you through poor mental health isn’t loud or dramatic.

It’s quiet.

It’s patient.

And it’s unwavering.

dividers by @uzmacchiato

✧Two Pillows✧

Synopsis: You’ve just returned from a brutal mission, your body bruised and bleeding, and Aki is already waiting on the balcony, cigarette between his fingers, carrying the weight of everything he refuses to show. Focus is on emotional intimacy and trust-building between co-workers who survive missions together. Aki’s grief and stoicism are central, with moments of small, intimate gestures that hint at deeper feelings. Pairings: Aki Hayakawa x f!reader Content: ANGST & tender intimacy, post-mission hurt/comfort, slow-burn, stoic Aki letting his guard down, cigarette symbolism, subtle vulnerability, quiet confessions, lingering touches, roommate/coworker slow burn dynamic, deep emotional tension, protective gestures, soft non-verbal communication, grief-laden atmosphere, quiet smoke-filled moments, emotional intimacy without explicit NSFW. Word Count: 1,000~ Author's Note: A/U; Pre-Denji/Power/ Post-early Himeno death; Aki has slowly grown fond of you and realizes it quickly. No explicit NSFW- emphasis on angst, comfort, and mutual care.

The mission was hell.

It always is, but tonight’s left him rattled. He hasn't said a word since you got back at your shared apartment.

He's only just stripped off his bloodstained jacket, the smell of death and dirt clinging to his skin. He sat in the dark vignette of the balcony.

Meanwhile, you're left to clean the wounds that riddle your body like a buckshot. They sting, and bleed, and darken. You're used to it, but don't wanna be.

By the time you return to meet him on the balcony, he's wearing a new shirt: black. An almost dead cigarette burning low between his fingers. The wind leaves goosebumps on your arms. You peer at Aki, taking easy steps to look over at his face. A quick scan of his face tells nothing, but his eyes bear a heavy weight, a deep grief that is evident by the irritated hue of his sclera.

But he hasn’t been crying... Aki Hayakawa doesn’t cry- not where anyone can see.

He motions he's fine with a quick nod of his head, but something’s off.

He doesn’t react when you approach, doesn’t meet your eyes. Doesn't say much.

So you lean against the railing beside him, the silence stretching like a crumbling rubber band left to degrade.

"I thought if I stayed cold enough," he continues, voice hoarse, "if I kept everything buried... I wouldn’t care anymore. That it wouldn’t hurt when people leave. When they die."

He draws slowly, then offers it to you. You take it, balancing the glowing tip between your fingers, your hand curved to shield it from the wind, as if the ember’s life depended on your careful touch. Leaning closer, you tilt your head, eyes fixed on Aki. “But?” You take no draw from the cigarette; letting it rest.

“But I care,” he says, almost like a pained confession. He takes the cigarette back firmly and inhales the plumes of nicotine, “I care too damn much. And it’s ruining me.” The smoke muddies up the view of his face. You watch as he flicks the finished cigarette harshly off the edge of the balcony.

A hesitation in his demeanor. He turns to you then, and the look on his face- torn, exhausted, vulnerable. It's something he’s never shown before.

“I try not to let it show. I try not to pull you into it. Because if I lean on you too much, if I start thinking you’re something I can keep- ” His voice wavers and his jaw clenches to regain something back. Nothing regained.

You wait. Patient. Soft. Glimmering eyes that never falter. You tilt your head a bit to catch a better glimpse of his expression. Poker faced as always...

And then he steps forward and buries his face in your shoulder. He mutters through the fabric of your shirt, “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want more.”

It’s not clean or romantic. His breath is uneven. His hands grip your back like a lifeline. His voice is muffled, but you hear it anyway:

You hold him. All of him.

The sharp edges. The fear. The need.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

You’re here.

. . .

He leads you to his bedroom, a place you've caught glimpses of but have never entered without his permission. The only light that glimmers through is the pale moon light between the curtain blinds. Horizontal stripes of enlightenment.

You can make out the way his clean black shirt drapes over his shoulders. The awkward expression, a cross between worried and shy, stoic and careless.

You take a step forward, between the hall and his room. In the liminal space, he turns back to look at you. A pondering in his deep eyes. The creases of your eyes tell him you're happy to be here. With him.

He looks away and you notice the way his sweat pants fit somewhat big, but you're sure your sweatpants also look just as big.

You smirk and catch his lingering gaze at you as he leads you in. His eyes are open, the glimmer of light still in him but his vision seems unfocused. He looks ahead at the window sill, a blurry view until he blinks and tilts his head at his bed. You sit down on the edge, simple white sheets, grey comforter, and two blue pillows. Two pillows for a hopeless romantic. You blink, and he joins you.

Awkwardness as dense as a neutron star. But you two begin to ease up when you catch that exhausted glitter of worry reflecting in his eyes again, heavy and hollow, as deep as his grave. Your eyes dart back and forth to soak in his low-casted expression.

His worry reflects into you. This line of work makes everyday inconceivable. It makes your long lasting odds impossible. Suffering and exhaustion tonight, suffering and exhaustion tomorrow. Peace is temporary...

And in turn, he scans your thinking eyes, your concerned face, your scratched up neck, your crisp shirt, and your dainty bruised hands that cross over each other. He memorizes every detail about you in seconds... a reminder that you've been in harms way. A reminder that you deserve better...

Still, you notice his hesitation and blink softly. He breathes in roughly before putting his hand on yours. Not what he wanted to do, but it works... You slide from under his grip and hug above his shoulders. Two rigid boards, tense and stiff as the 2x4's that were snapped in half when you were tossed around like a wrecking ball in this last mission...

It’s silent for a long time. He leans into you, cautious at first, like he's afraid to touch you. But slowly, your cheek brushes his shoulder as you both lax under the mutual-found safe haven. Then, tightening. Warm tightening like two pythons... His arms ghost over your sides, hesitant, as though he’s still unsure if he has the right.

You turn slightly, quickly nuzzling your warm forehead to his firm upper arm.

He exhales unevenly. The corners of his mouth curling ever-so gently.

His hand comes to rest against the back of your head, fingers carding through your hair with the softest care, like he’s touching something fragile. Something holy. Something that has both of you wincing from the pain of being in harms way...

"I still... You scared me," he says at last, voice barely a whisper. "I couldn't tell if you were alive... You looked.. dead. Really... dead..."

You want to say something... To remind him you know how to take care of yourself, to tell him it's okay now, to tell him it won't happen again. But you were scared too. His voice shaking with the fear that would slip out of you too if you spoke.

“I don’t think I could’ve handled it,” he admits, “if you weren't okay.”

You nuzzle against his arm, your fingers curling to grab his shirt and you mumble softly; an ache that seeps from your lips, "Me too..."

That’s when Aki sighs louder. His other hand pulls you in, quick and firm, until you're pressed against his chest. The heat between you two swirls in waves. His heartbeat is hammering. His jaw is tight, and he’s holding you like you’re the only thing grounding him to this world. Without you, he would crumble back into the layers of the Earth; every mantle soaked with blood and anguish.

Eventually, he murmurs, pressing an everlasting kiss to your forehead, “I’ve got you, okay?”

And for once, he doesn’t let go first.

(dividers by @cafekitsune)

he honestly didn't understand why the two of you broke up, but aki hayakawa could care less. or so he'd tell himself every night when he missed your presence that was often wrapped in his cotton t-shirts and lotion that faintly smelled like strawberries. "i need my hoodie back." aki said, the gruff tone in his voice indicating something much more distinct than nonchalance. perhaps it was the way you currently carried yourself after three weeks of being broken up, or maybe it was his stupidity barging into the closed door of his mind, but it felt like he physically could not not be attracted to you.

the indifference on your face was uncanny, considering how often you used to look up at him with sweet, doe eyes and a soft smile. the expression you wore was completely different than to what it usually was; eyes now tired and considerably deadpan.

"busy." the word sounded more like 'shoo' than two syllables that were likely a lie as you tried to shut the door on him. with the reflexes of an intensely trained devil hunter, his arm shot up to block the hard mahogany wood of your door, and as much as you tried to close in, he was just too strong. his hair was out of the topknot he usually wore in public, giving him a more... vulnerable look. you took that much in. "i'm not playing right now, (reader). let me in, and get my hoodie for me." that tone, laced with firmness and slight frustration, made you fold under no (immense) pressure. with an all too calculated sidestep, you reluctantly made way for him to come in as he toed his shoes off. when he shut the door behind him, you padded your way to your room - the room you used to share with him on free weekends - silently, no more words spoken other than an annoyed 'wait here'. aki took in his surroundings, the sight all too familiar for the ravenette. in the corner was the lamp you'd tried to fix up after somehow knocking it over, but in the end it was he who made it work again. next to it, the couch the two of you had done... things that would substantially be named 'too bizarre' if ever muttered in public. he'd snapped out of his trance when you returned, shoving the folded black hoodie in his chest. instinctively, his hands took the fabric. "... thanks." oddly insincere, the thanks was. should he have said it that way? was a full thank you perhaps better? ah, why should he care? you dumped him over using the katana again. foolish, really. a "bye." left your lips in a tone all too cold, once again shooing him away as if he were a fox slyly looking to steal food. with a heavy heart, and heavy footsteps, he made his way out your house once again, and maybe for the last time ever. ... nah. he's texting you again, everybody knows it.

#aki #hayakawa #aki hayakawa #aki chainsaw man #aki csm #csm #chainsaw man #x reader #csm x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #hayakawa x reader #aki x reader

Smoke Break

✩ Aki Hayakawa

contains smut, teasing, mutual pining, rough sex, office setting, light dom/sub vibes, tension release

You’d been lighting his cigarettes for months.

Every time the two of you ended a mission together—whether bloodied, bruised, or just tired—you’d reach into your jacket, flick your lighter, and hold the flame out without a word. And Aki would just lean in, eyes sharp, lips brushing the filter like he didn’t even notice the way your breath always hitched.

But you knew he did. Because Aki Hayakawa didn’t miss things. He just didn’t act on them.

Until tonight.

#chainsaw man #csm smut #smut #fanfic #aki hayakawa #hayakawa #smutstuff #spicy chainsawman #smoking #hotfictionalmen #headcanon #spicyoneshot #oneshot #aki x reader #hayakawa x reader #y/n x character

Loving Aki Hayakawa feels like loving something already halfway gone.

I watch him the same way you watch a candle burn down—quietly, helplessly, knowing it’s beautiful but knowing it’s killing itself just to give off a little light.

He smells like cigarettes and cold mornings. Like cheap coffee that’s gone bitter because he forgot to drink it.

Every day starts the same: tie the topknot, check the sword, light a cigarette he barely smokes, and leave before the apartment feels too much like something worth staying in.

He never lets anyone take care of him. Not really.

He’ll accept help if it’s tactical, if it’s efficient, if it doesn’t look like concern. But the moment it feels like someone is trying to soften him, he shuts the door. Puts the mask back on. Acts like he’s fine.

If I reach for the bandages, he says he’s fine.

If I offer to cook, he says it’s a waste of time.

If I tell him to rest, he looks at me like rest is a luxury meant for people who still expect to live long enough to need it.

And the worst part is that he isn’t fine—he just doesn’t think he deserves to be.

I’ve seen him come back from missions bleeding through his clothes, face calm like nothing happened. I’ve watched him stitch himself up with hands that tremble only after he thinks no one’s looking. He trades years of his life like loose change, makes contracts like they’re errands, gives pieces of himself away so easily it makes my chest ache.

The contracts etched into him like invisible scars. The Curse Devil taking years from his life with every use. The Future Devil laughing in his eye, whispering about how he’s going to die. And still—still—he walks into every fight like it’s his responsibility to pay for everyone else’s survival.

And for what?

For people who barely say thank you.

For a world that only notices him when he’s useful.

Aki protects everyone like it’s his job to disappear for them.

Sometimes I think he believes that if he keeps sacrificing enough, the universe will finally decide he’s paid his debt. Like one day it’ll look at him and say, Okay. You’ve suffered enough. You can rest now.

But it never does.

And I hate that I can’t stop him.

I hate that when I reach for him, he gently moves my hand away—not harshly, not unkindly, just… firmly. Like he’s afraid if he lets me care for him, I’ll get hurt too. Or worse—he’ll want it.

Sometimes I catch him staring at nothing, like he’s already halfway gone. Like the Future Devil is whispering again, showing him the shape of his ending. I want to grab his face and tell him he doesn’t have to be brave anymore. That he doesn’t have to die right to be worth something.

I want to be the one who makes him sit down and eat until he’s full.

The one who washes the blood off his hands instead of pretending not to see it.

The one who tells him that he’s allowed to want a future that isn’t paid for in years shaved off his life.

I want to take care of him the way he takes care of everyone else—quietly, constantly, without keeping score.

But Aki doesn’t know how to be held without bracing for impact.

So I stay beside him instead.

Close enough to notice every new scar.

Close enough to feel the weight of everything he carries.

And every time he walks ahead of me into danger, I wonder how many pieces of himself he has left to give before there’s nothing left at all.

Maybe that’s selfish. Maybe loving Aki Hayakawa means loving someone who’s already chosen to burn out for the sake of others.

But if he’s going to disappear one day—

I want him to know he was loved while he was still here.