Summary: In the early 1930s, Nanami embarks on a business trip to the South, where the Crescent City awaits. His journey begins with new connections and the enticing allure of Southern cuisine. America might not be so bad after all.
Tags: Crack Relationships, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Why Did I Write This?, Fluff, Business Trip, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Drinking & Talking, Comfort No Hurt
a/n: The fan edits got me. My Elsa x Jack Frost shipper is jumping out for this. I have to say... this is easily the most random thing I've ever written, but it helped break my writer's block, so woohoo! Write weird shit more often, y'all. Also posted on AO3.
America was Nanami’s least favorite place to travel.
Work had taken him all over. He’d seen all of Japan, every nook and cranny—old and new. He’d been to China more times than he could count; his Cantonese was better now than before, and he could make his way around without an attendant. Asia was his domain; he’d grown used to recognizing the surnames and affiliations that mattered, what gestures were niceties in one place, and a way to get mowed down in a fit of rage in another.
America was a different beast altogether. It was a wild and enigmatic land that kept Nanami perpetually on edge and consistently uneasy in his own skin. The places were chaotic—New York and San Francisco. Wall Street and Pacific Heights, most often. Two opposing coasts, filled to the brim with people capitalizing most on those with the least.
White-collar crime and cocaine—that was what Nanami knew of the States. It made him wish he hadn’t learned English; he wouldn’t have to live with as much as he knew if he hadn’t.
Despite not liking it, he’d grown used to it though—the coasts and the insanity that happened on each of them.
The South, in contrast, was wholly unfamiliar territory. He’d never been and wasn’t quite sure what to expect as the steamboat continued down the river, churning water and whistling every few minutes as it continued down the path. He'd heard of the common things: the chambermaids and the sharecropping, the stark divide.
Asia had its things, too, though, so he tried not to judge. He was headed to New Orleans for one simple thing: to meet with the sugar baron and solidify a trade deal. His sugar for their textiles.
Simple, tedious. Safer than sorcery.
The ride into the city was surprisingly comfortable. He lounged in a reclined chair on the deck, his eyes hidden behind shades that concealed his exhaustion from the arduous journey across borders—across seas. The sky painted itself in alluring hues of lavender and rose, casting a serene glow over the waters of the Mississippi, like spilled oil paint.
The air hung heavy with the scent of magnolia blossoms, their perfume an intoxicating blend of sweetness and decay. Spanish moss, soft as bundles of silk, swayed languidly from the cypress trees that lined the riverbank, caressed by the gentle breeze.
The Crescent City, that’s what his boss had called it. The birthplace of jazz.
Nanami couldn’t say he wasn’t intrigued by the prospect of it.
"Please collect your belongings, everyone," a petite deckhand announced, dressed in long corduroy trousers and a cute puffed hat. "We'll be docking in port in five minutes."
Nanami adjusted his glasses, straightening out the legs of his slacks as he made his way to the port side of the boat and watched the city come into view along with the sound. The bustling swing of music was expected, but Nanami hadn't anticipated enjoying it so much. The masterful wail of saxophones, the sultry croon of trumpets, and the deep, resonant throb of bass greeted him as he filed off the boat.
Other men exited the boat before him. Some wore business suits, while others wore Navy uniforms, and a few were in Army attire. Most bobbed their heads along to the music, while some outright danced. People lined the port, leaning on the ropes to catch a glimpse of the arrivals they'd come down to the harbor to greet and welcome home.
The city had a vibe reminiscent of New York, perhaps, but it felt more homey. It felt good in his soul.
"Hello, gentlemen. Good to see you all safe and sound!"
Among the welcoming crowd, a young woman stepped forward with a beaming smile, scanning the group until she spotted Nanami, skipping over to him. Her big blue eyes shone as she looked up at him, tilting her body to get a good look at his face. “You must be Kento, right?” Nanami nodded. She must be the daughter. "Wonderful! My name's Charlotte," she introduced herself, coupled with a sweet giggle. "You can call me Lottie, though. Everybody does."
Nanami tipped his head in a subdued bow, a gesture that the American women found charming.
“Pleased to meet you, Lottie.”
She smiled like a young girl, all cherry pink cheeks and tight lips. It was cute, demure in a way that spelled immaturity rather than modesty.
Not Nanami’s type.
“My daddy told me to come ‘round here to collect you. Is this all you brought with you?” She pointed to his briefcase and the small musette bag on his shoulder. He nodded again. “That’s light. Are you hungry? Have you eaten? That Trans-Pacific is a long way’s journey to get here. I bet you’re starving.”
Nanami hummed, acknowledging her observation. "I could eat. It's been a long day."
"A long few months, I reckon." Lottie placed a comforting hand on his back, gently steering him further into the bustling city. "My good friend works at this little ol’ restaurant down on Lafayette Street. It's just a hop, skip this way, and we can get you some good eatin'. Have you had Cajun before?"
Lottie's words tumbled out rapidly, but Nanami managed to keep up. He shook his head, allowing her to guide him through the lively streets.
"Oh, you're in for a treat then. This here is the best food you'll ever have. Just wait until you try a beignet." She playfully wiggled her brows, her enthusiasm infectious.
Though Nanami didn't understand the term "beignet," he took her excitement as a promising sign. "Whatever tastes good, I'll try."
"That's the spirit!" Lottie gave his suit jacket a friendly pat as they weaved through the crowd, exchanging greetings with any familiar faces she spotted.
“Here we are, mister. Hope you brought a loose pair of britches 'cause you’ll need ‘em.”
Nanami looked up at the building, taking off his shades to read the chalk writing fixed onto the side.
Duke’s. Charming.
The ambiance inside was a perfect mirror of the outdoors. People packed in from wall to wall, and the music from just outside the rear of the restaurant wafted inside, adding to the vibrant atmosphere.
“Let’s go sit you down at the bar, get a nice cold one and some grub in that belly. Tiana!”
He sat, slipping off his jacket to drape it across his seat, while his glasses found a home on the bartop. His bag hit the floor with a thud as he dropped it to rest between his feet.
“Hey, Lottie,” a sweet voice floated from the kitchen, followed by the source of it. The woman—slim-figured with rich brown skin—gave Nanami pause. She was beautiful, not unlike many of the women he’d met with her complexion over the years, but she was more, in a way.
Perhaps it was the curls. Nanami had developed a liking for women with thick, coily curls. They framed her face exquisitely.
“Hey, Tia. This is Kento.” Lottie placed a hand on Nanami’s chest as she introduced him. "He's a business friend of Daddy's. Take good care of him for me, will you? I have some business to attend to myself while Daddy’s out at the shooting range."
Lottie winked, and Tiana—Tia, as she called her—responded with a gentle smile.
“Can do,” she assured Lottie before turning her gaze to Nanami. “Give me one second, sugar, and I’ll be right with you.”
Nanami nodded, settling into his seat. A group of soldiers occupied the other end of the bar, rowdy as they sang unfamiliar songs. There was a little curse lazing on the bartop, slumbering against one of the soldier’s arms—surprisingly harmless.
He left it alone.
“Have a nice meal, Mr. Kento. I’ll be ’round to come get you a little later tonight,” Lottie purred with a natural pout, her lips reminiscent of a porcelain doll's. “Don’t have too much fun without me, y’all.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tiana replied with a warm smile, disappearing into the kitchen to retrieve a full round of plates.
She moved through the bustling restaurant with a graceful rhythm, her deft hands skillfully balancing trays filled with tantalizing cuisine—Creole, Nanami assumed from the building sign. He couldn’t quite understand the difference between that and Cajun, but all the food that passed his nose smelled heavenly all the same.
The spice that clung to the food was present in the air, pleasantly familiar, like the hawker centers in Singapore or the night markets in Taiwan. He still harbored dreams of visiting Malaysia, indulging in street food, experiencing Mamak stalls, exploring mosques, and paying his respects to the land.
His boss informed him he was slated to go to Germany next, for what he didn’t yet know. He could dream about Malaysia in the meantime.
He took out his pocket notebook to jot the thought down.
“Order up!”
Nanami followed Tiana's graceful movements with his eyes, catching glimpses of each dish she served, the way she bantered with the other patrons and had every man in the place hanging off of each word. Her presence was striking and commanding—a woman in charge.
That’s what it was—what made her so beautiful. She was a woman. The kind Nanami did like.
The meticulous care she took in plating the food made it as visually inviting as the enticing aroma was to his senses. Her apron bore the telltale signs of ware of a kitchen in perpetual motion, a fragrant cloud carrying the essence of spices and sweetness floating around her.
As she passed by him their eyes met, and a knowing smile graced her lips.
“So, you’re from out of town, huh?” she said, tawny brown eyes looking up at him through wispy lashes. She cleaned a mug, stuck in a constant stream of motion that made it hard for Nanami to look away.
Nanami nodded, and she placed the cup under the beer dispenser, pouring him a tall glass.
“Thank you,” he acknowledged, accepting the beer when she set it in front of him, accompanied by a shaker of flavored salt.
“How far out of town?”
Nanami hummed thoughtfully, trailing his fingers through the condensation dampening the sides of his mug.
“Asia. Here on business.”
“You’re from Asia?” Tiana's eyes sparkled with intrigue as though she were solving a puzzle. “Which part? Can I guess?”
Nanami jerked one shoulder. “Go ahead.”
“Maybe the Philippines?” she ventured, passing around more beers. “Lots of business types love the Philippines. The soldiers never shut up about it.”
Nanami quirked a brow, aware of why soldiers held such fondness for the Philippines. “No,” he replied, hiding a smile behind his cup. “Try again.”
“China?”
“Nope,” Nanami stated before taking another sip. “Been there a lot, mainly Hong Kong. I’m not from there, though.”
“Japan?” she guessed, her eyes squinting, her brow raised.
Nanami thumped his finger against the glass with a soft clink, clink, clink. “Japan.”
Her triumphant smile was indeed beautiful, with pretty teeth providing a striking contrast against the fullness of her lips and the warm tone of her skin.
“Got a wife hidden over there or something?” she teased, a sweet smirk gracing her lips. “How many kids?”
“No kids, no wife,” Nanami responded softly, feeling the tension in his body from the long journey. “My maternal grandfather was half Dutch, half something else. My grandmother was Japanese, and my mom married a European man in Japan. They stayed there my whole life, so… Japanese.”
“Fascinatin’. What business brings you here? If you can tell me. First time?”
“I can,” Nanami said, taking a few more gulps. The beer tasted different than what he’d had before in the States, less malty and a hint sweeter. “It’s my first time in Louisiana, but not America in general. I’m here meeting another businessman—sugar cane.”
“Ah, that explains Charlotte. I thought she’d just taken a liking to you; she’s always good at finding the handsome ones.”
Nanami perked up at that, a hint of a smile gracing his lips, fueled by the warmth of the beer. Tiana, with practiced ease, poured him another glass.
“I’m handsome, then?”
Tiana rolled her eyes. “You know you are, with your dapper suit and those eyes. Women must throw themselves at you.”
Nanami tilted his head, a little maybe present in the motion. He didn’t indulge nearly as often as he could.
“Have you met Big Daddy yet?” Tiana questioned, and Nanami almost spit out his beer.
He knew enough of what American women liked to call men that they fancied. He’d never heard the term out in the wild, though.
“Oh, excuse me. Eli La Bouff,” Tiana clarified with a teasing laugh, her lips even prettier when she smiled. “Lottie’s father. She calls him Big Daddy, usually. You’ll see why when you do meet him.”
Nanami nodded, a soft chuckle passing through his teeth. People in the South were different, then. Lighter, more hospitable.
Tiana leaned in closer to the bar, narrowing the space between them as she addressed Nanami. “You look hungry. What can I get started for you, sugar?”
Nanami met her gaze, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Surprise me," he replied, his voice low and smooth. “I prefer savory, but I’m craving something a little sweet.”
Tiana hummed, tapping her chin. “How about blackened salmon with a sweet bourbon glaze, red beans and rice, and piping hot Andouille sausage and chicken gumbo to get you started? We’ll pair it with zucchini, corn maque choux, slow-cooked collard greens, mac and cheese, with some fresh beignets to top you off for dessert,” she said, leaning over to glance at Nanami's stomach, subtly assessing the fit of his dress shirt against his well-defined physique, “if you have any room, that is. How’s that sound?”
“That sounds divine,” Nanami said, solely because of the silky tone Tiana said every word with, not because he knew what any of the dishes were. “You make everything sound good.”
“I made the recipes, so it will be.” She smiled; Nanami returned it. “Wait here, get comfy. You have a long journey ahead of you.”
Nanami leaned back slightly in his seat, his eyes following as she went to put his order in with the kitchen. It was then that he noticed a little curse on her back, small—the size of a quarter. It was the curse of abundance. Blessed for riches through hardship.
A lucky curse, Geto would have called it.
Nanami left it alone, too, sipping his beer as he waited for his food.
He couldn't help but smirk to himself; Tiana’s words took root in his mind. So did she, it seemed.
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summary: "So, when are you two trying for a second?" shouldn't have caused the freight train of insecurity and imposter syndrome that dawned on Yor Forger, but it did.
Loid fixes that.
warnings; bullying, insecurities, family dynamics, loid... being so soft i love him, Yor's POV, oral (f!receiving), vaginal sex, breeding.
a/n: lmao me? character x character? on tumblr? wild. i wrote this in one big speed run today because i've been obsessed with this show and now the manga since i started it last week. i hope y'all enjoy this! it's my first c x c for a f/m relationship i think... ever lol. huge shout out to @craftycheetah for helping me out throughout writing this. thank you for the sex position website, i don't know what i would've done without it. now... enjoy all 8.8k words of this.
“So, Yor… when are you two trying for a second?”
The dark-haired beauty turned her head, spinning on the axis of her heels so fast that she almost lost her balance. Despite her practiced poised nature, Yor couldn’t help but gape helplessly as she scrambled to find her words. Under the weight of Camilla’s gaze, and her line of questioning, Yor was at a loss.
“So, Yor… when are you two trying for a second?”
The dark-haired beauty turned her head, spinning on the axis of her heels so fast that she almost lost her balance. Despite her practiced poised nature, Yor couldn’t help but gape helplessly as she scrambled to find her words. Under the weight of Camilla’s gaze, and her line of questioning, Yor was at a loss.
She stood in the middle of her co-worker's home with a glass of wine, surrounded by people lost in their own little worlds of conversation beneath the warm hue of decor lights and soft jazz-inspired music. She’d had the mind not to come. She knew she shouldn’t have come, but she’d had no choice.
It was Camilla’s engagement party, and she’d never have heard the end of it if she and Loid hadn’t made an appearance. Their whole life together was built on maintaining the perfect image, so not coming would have spelled doom socially for their family in an instant. So, here Yor was again—playing in a den of lions donning ascots and top-dollar balayages.
“A second?” Yor asked, sipping nervously at her drink as her eyes subtly scanned the room.
Loid was speaking with some men a few feet away, looking as cordial as ever as he discussed the details of his casual chocolate-brown suit with an inquisitive friend of Dominic’s. His hair was imperfectly styled, just how he liked. Yor had molded with her own hands at his behest.
He’d made an offhand comment about how nice her hair always looked, not a single lock out of place even with the free-flowing bangs she left out in the front. So, she did his hair for him. After a harrowing mission that left her unable to lift her arms for a week, he began doing her hair in return. Granted, he thought she’d injured herself lifting a box that was too heavy at work, but still. He accepted his role as an interim hairdresser with muted enthusiasm, and eventually, Anya joined the train.
Every morning that they had enough time, they’d sit in the living room and help get one another groomed for the day. This morning was one of those mornings, and he looked every bit the polished handsome husband who knew how to treat his wife and child as a result.
He must have felt the weight of Yor’s eyes on him, even from across the room. He glanced over to meet his wife’s subtle stare, smirking with a slight nod in her direction before he turned his attention back to the man in front of him, listening intently as he droned on about the Eden Academy director’s love of fine suits.
Camilla’s eyes followed Yor’s line of sight over to Loid, and the woman stepped closer into Yor’s space until she was close enough that Yor could easily snap her n—touch her.
“Yes, a second. Well, a first for you, I suppose but a second for Loid. A baby is necessary at this point, don’t you think?” Camilla said, a coy curl at the corner of her lips as she moved her lithe hands animatedly to match her less-than-quiet words. “I assumed, with Loid’s previous entanglement, you’d want to lock things down as soon as possible. Sure, you got a ring and some useless paperwork, but any man who’s had a child with another woman will never truly be yours until you give him something of equal value.”
Yor furrowed her eyebrows, turning her attention to the blonde looking up at her with fire in her eyes as she sipped her wine.
“Equal value?” she said, glancing down into her glass and contemplating the odds of drowning someone in the liquid left in the cup.
“Yes, yes. Equal value. You see, dear Yor, his precious little girl will always take priority over you, and so will the memory of his wife. His real wife, not the placeholder that you’ve allowed yourself to be,” Camilla said, venom laced in the tip of her tongue. “You’re understandably replaceable until you give him something that makes you seem… well, a little less useless. Granted, he could always take the new baby and the old one and leave you by the wayside in the end. But, I’d like to think he would finally care about you if you gave him a child of your own. It's been over a year since you got married, love. Even the dead one would've managed to give him a kid by now. I’d hope you could do better than someone who’s not alive anymore.”
Hot blood rushed into the high points of Yor’s face, bathing her pale skin in a flush that she knew looked embarrassing from Camilla’s pleased expression. She got off on this—seeing Yor uncomfortable—and Yor hated that she’d allowed the woman to pull her in.
“That’s—that isn’t true,” Yor said, though her words lacked conviction, and Camilla jumped on the display of insecurity like a starved rat coming across a fromagerie in the heart of France.
“I’m glad you get to call him your husband, even if it’s just a title. It’s evident that he does not take you seriously if you’re not talking about having more kids. I wonder if he would still want you if his old wife were to walk amongst the living again.”
Yor felt her hand shaking around the stem of her wine glass, threatening to shatter the “shatterproof” glass into pieces. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade rosy red, and her eyes pricked with heat that felt unnatural on her face.
She opened her mouth to speak and no words came, only the beginning of what felt like a wretched sob that felt so jarringly alien in her throat. Yor didn’t cry. Not really, if ever. But still, there the tears were, threatening her with the weight of a loaded gun as they edged closer to spilling out from her eyelids.
“We’ll be going now.”
Yor sighed, releasing a breath she didn’t realize she held as Loid sauntered up to her side, placing one hand on her lower back while he motioned toward the door with the other.
“You were listening?” Yor said, blinking the wetness out of her eyes as she turned her head inward toward Loid’s shoulder. She used his body as a refuge to wipe the remnants of the tear trailing down her cheek in peace away from Camilla’s gaze.
The blonde fixed her stare on Loid instead, a blatant scowl on her face even as her boyfrie—no, fiancé now—walked up defensively behind her.
“Leaving so soon?” she asked, shaking her fiancé’s hand off of her shoulder when he attempted to touch her.
Loid scoffed, helping Yor into a lined faux fur jacket that hugged her nicely where the fabric was sleeker in the middle and accented her beautifully as the fur framed her face. He kept a pleasant smile as he grabbed their things—his wallet and Yor’s purse—from the closet behind them and he took Yor’s hand in his easily as he pulled her toward the door.
“Camilla, it’s truly remarkable to behold what deeply rooted inferiority looks like in human form. You exemplify the word in every way.”
The blonde huffed and Loid slinked past her with Yor tucked close to his side, keeping his eyes trained on the exit as they walked away from the growing scene.
“I only meant,” Camilla said toward their backs, hesitating for only a beat before steeling her resolve and speaking loudly enough that everyone could hear her. “I only meant that any man worth his salt would have already proven his love to his new wife. From what I've seen, you two act like roommates who co-parent. Maybe they’re secretly celibate, and that’s why they aren’t interested in more babies, huh, everyone? Why marry a woman you’re so obviously disgusted by, Loid? I have plenty of friends I’m sure would be willing to give a widower a chance. Anything would be better tha—”
“Camilla,” a voice said so darkly that both Loid and Yor stopped in their tracks. The sound of shaking breath became louder in the still air of the room as they turned around to see Camilla’s fiancé standing behind her with an expression so dark with shame that Yor found it hard to look at.
“I love you, and I’ve always loved you. I don’t think a universe exists where I wouldn’t fall in love with you, over and over, but that was foul, and I’m embarrassed by the way you just spoke to her. Loid, Yor,” he said, his eyes rimmed red as he looked at the couple stopped in shock, “have a good night. I’m sorry that our home hasn’t been a welcome place for you both. I hope you can forgive us.”
Loid nodded his head without a word, keeping Yor close to his body as he opened the door with her in front of him, and off into the night they went.
------------------
The sun shined too brightly in the morning, practically mocking Yor with the promise of a good day that her brain was not inclined to let her have. There was something buzzing within her bones, gnawing against the core of her being with dull teeth that made her feel uneasy. She floated around her home feeling like a stranger despite her year living there—making the space full of more than just a lonely man and his only child.
Making them a family, even if it was only for appearances.
Yor stood over the stove, stirring stew in a large pot, tossing in spices and aromatics she’d learned how to handle well enough over the past few months. The room was warm from the heat of the stovetop coils and bubbling food, while the dish's aroma enticed her stomach as she waited for the broth to thicken.
Anya sat in the living room watching her mid-afternoon morning TV, making little *pew pew* sounds as she watched the spy on screen after the dastardly assassin giving him chase. She sang along with the theme song as the title sequence queued on screen and she couldn’t contain her excitement as the spy showed up again.
Loid sat across from Anya on the home’s reclining chair, relaxing into the furniture with one leg crossed over his other leg’s knee as he scanned his eyes over the morning paper. His eyes drifted from it however to watch Anya watching her shows. His eyes grew soft as he watched the little girl imagine herself in that world of danger, and his voice was even softer as he replied to all of Anya’s comments and constant, “Chi-chi, did you see? Did you see it?” to which he replied yes, even if he hadn’t actually been watching.
His eyes found Yor’s then from her spot in the kitchen’s window panel, sending her a smile and an eye roll that she knew meant “god, this kid.”
Yor placed her hand over her heart, begging the organ to stop beating so violently against the cavity in her chest. It was just a smile. He’d smiled at her a million times, yet the feeling of fluttering in her belly never ceased. When his catlike blue eyes met her’s and he looked at her as if she were made up of everything good in the world, she couldn’t help but feel weak in the knees. That feeling always proceeded the heartache, and the feeling of her heart being crushed came in record time as Loid’s eyes left her own and focused on his daughter again.
The spot in Yor’s stomach that’d built up a lepidopterarium filled with the most beautiful winged beauties caved in then, sinking into a pit that reached her spine. Yor loved Anya, genuinely, as if she were her own. She harbored nothing but care for the child, and her father, but what if Camilla was right? What if Loid did want another child? What if that was something he needed to feel whole, but he hadn’t asked Yor out of… pity? Spite? Disinterest? Would he want to get rid of her when the urge finally bubbled up to the surface?
What did he want?
Then, it dawned on her. What did Yor want? After spending a year legally bound to the man, she and Loid had never consummated their union. There was a strange air of professionalism around their relationship that kept Yor firmly in check. This was for the progression of Anya’s school career, to make her life better. This was also to keep Yor’s brother off of her back and out of her business.
That was all. Right?
So, why did her heart hurt so much at the thought of their future? What was in it? What did they need to do to keep it afloat? To keep up their image? What lies would she need to concoct next? She could say they were trying for a baby, should anyone else be insensitive enough to ask. They’d been married long enough that most couples would at least be having the conversation, Yor supposed. But then Camilla’s words came to the forefront of her mind again.
“Maybe they’re celibate… Why marry a woman you’re so obviously disgusted by Loid? Anything would be better than…”
Me, Yor thought.
The stew bubbled over then, sploshing out in fat drops of boiling soup all over the stovetop and onto Yor’s hand. The yell had just barely breached her lips before Loid was there behind her, holding her waist with one arm will the other supported her wrist and held out her hand. He guided her over to the sink, having turned off the stove in a flash before he was back against her. The tap was flowing with cool water, but it wasn’t cold. Not like Yor needed against the incoming burn that pooled closer and closer to the surface of her skin.
Loid ran to the freezer, taking out ice cubes with his bare hands that he brought over to Yor. He cupped her hands in his own, moving the ice around constantly against her small hands to keep the burn at bay.
“Are you okay my love?” he asked, pressing his nose to the crown of her head as she let her neck relax and her head rest against the firm plane of his chest.
Yor nodded her head, saying yes without words even as tears began to pool in her eyes. She’d never pegged herself as a crier. It never felt necessary to cry in the face of pain. The pain was just an emotion like any other that would eventually pass, so there was no use in falling into it and letting it drag you down and away from yourself. But as she stood there will the prickling heat of a shallow burn on her hand, she realized she’d felt this feeling before in her heart. Every time she questioned if Loid wanted her, if Anya liked her, and if they were really meant to be a family.
She’d felt this deep in her chest a million times.
So, she cried. So restrained that her shoulders shook and her lip felt as though it would tear under the pressure from her teeth, but she cried. Soft little hiccuping sounds came out of her mouth as she brought up her unburned hand to hold on to Loid’s arm that was wrapped around her belly, keeping her close and safe as she let months of feelings come out at once.
“Mama, Anya helps,” the little girl said, stomping her way into the room with an emergency kit she’d seen both of her parents grab and put away in secret many times throughout the months of their employment excursions.
Loid grabbed it from the girl, rubbing her head with his hand before asking her to go to the downstairs neighbor’s house for the afternoon to give Papa some time with Mama, alone. Anya nodded her head eagerly, excited to play with the neighbor woman’s dog that always thought about the sky outside and the birds in the trees.
The front door slammed as Anya left them alone, the house notably quieter since the girl changed the television channel to something less rowdy before she left.
“What’s wrong Yor?” Loid asked, turning the tap down to a trickle. He looked intently at his wife’s hands once the extent of the burn had developed.
Yor shook her head, wiping the tears away roughly before moving to remove herself from Loid’s hold.
“Wait,” he said, pulling her back against him to hold her close.
They didn’t speak for a while. Loid moved Yor’s weight with his own as he guided her to the dining room table without a word, taking out the creams and chilled menthol bandages meant for burns as Yor’s tears subsided. The only sounds shared between them were Loid’s small huffs of concentration and Yor’s sniffles before she found a napkin to blow her nose.
“Sorry,” she said, mumbling the words as Loid finished the bandage around the side of her hand where the stew had gotten her the worst and put one last layer of burn ointment on the top of her hand to keep it from scarring.
He laughed, putting away the first aid utensils where they belonged before standing up to wash off his hands in the now icy cold stream of water in the sink. He walked back to his seat in front of Yor lackadaisically, looking so soft in his cotton t-shirt and loose-fitting dark green sweatpants—the same color as his favorite working suit.
He looked so handsome like that, Yor thought, sinking into her thoughts more when Loid scooted closer to her, slotting their legs together so he could rest his forearms on her thighs.
“Is this about what Camilla said yesterday?”
Yor’s eyes snapped up to meet stormy blue irises, darker than usual at the mere mention of her coworker’s name. Loid looked… upset. Did that mean Camilla was right? Had he been mad at Yor this whole time for not being “his” enough to have a child? Had he thought their engagement was so meaningless that he couldn’t tell her his dreams for another child? Was he afraid she didn’t love him too— oh.
“It… no,” she said, the lie coming out unconvincingly in a hushed tone between Yor’s clenched teeth. “The stew just hurt a lot. I wasn’t prepared for that type of pain. I don’t like being in pain.”
Loid’s face fell, the little scowl on his brow turning into burning empathy as he looked at his wife. His stare was so heavy she felt herself cower beneath it, not ready to confront her feelings yet as the man searched her face for answers. She wasn’t ready to hear that he still only thought of their marriage as a sham. That only she had developed these feelings and that Loid was using her as a placeholder until he found someone else. Someone who he found worthy of carrying his second child, and sharing his bed, and the rest of his life.
Anything better than… Yor.
“Hey,” Loid said, brushing a stray hair out of Yor’s face and sliding his hand across her cheek to place the hair behind her ear. “Your hair’s falling out of your headband. May I?”
Yor nodded her head, sniffling away the tears she felt bubbling beneath the surface again as the man moved to take care of her further. His hands worked easily as he undid the messy remnants of her hairstyle, removing all the accessories in her hair until the black strands were free-flowing and light as they cascaded down her back and fell into her face.
“You look beautiful with your hair down,” Loid said, running his fingers through her hair to expose her face again. “I think that’s why Camilla is so ugly towards you. She’s jealous, understandably so.”
Yor scoffed, reaching up her hand to wipe away a stray tear before Loid caught her hand in his, wiping the tear away from her cheek with his index finger. The digit lingered against her skin even after the moisture had been wicked away. Yor couldn’t help but lean into the touch as his hand cupped her jaw, and his finger traced the line of bone there beneath her skin.
“No one’s jealous of me. They’re jealous I have you, but they don’t know the truth,” Yor said, the words coming out of her mouth so soft that she hoped Loid wasn’t able to hear her despite the stillness of the apartment.
Loid furrowed his brows, hooking his finger beneath Yor’s chin to make her look into his eyes. The deep blue felt fierce as a storm brewing on the horizon as he tried to read Yor’s expression, so broken in a way she’d never let herself show outwardly. Even now as she tried to reign it in, she couldn’t.
‘What truth Yor? That you’re my wife? That we take care of a child? Are both of those things not the truth?” he asked, his eyes pleading for something that Yor couldn’t understand.
She sighed, running her hand over her face which knocked Loid’s hand away. She sat back in her chair, putting more distance between them even though their legs were still touching, and Yor could see it in Loid’s face that that hurt him.
Why was she hurting him?
“The truth is that I’m your wife. But, we both know what our agreement was. I have set myself up for failure because I—”
“You what?” Loid said, holding his hands on the closest part of Yor’s body that he could touch. His hands rested on the exposed skin of her knees as her dress rode up her leg, making those same little soothing motions with his thumb.
She could see it in the depths of his eyes then. That desire to make her happy. Not only to keep her around for his child, but for more. Despite the distance she could tell they’d both placed into their relationship intentionally, she couldn’t help but allow one of the many walls built up in her mind to crumble as she looked into those pretty blue eyes. They’d grown closer over their year together, there was no way to deny that fact to herself.
Every dinner spent at the table together with Anya talking and laughing and forming their own inside jokes. Every night spent helping Anya with homework and talking over wine after stressful days when the little girl went off to bed. Every time they’d spent soothing Anya down from a crying fit together on the rare occasion that the girl got upset, every outing spent holding hands and swinging the child between them to make her squeal, every polite kiss they’d exchanged in public to hush rumors and whispers. It all led to this.
To Yor accepting that their relationship with Anya wasn’t the only thing that had grown, but each other too. From sharing a bathroom to co-parenting to all the times they’d had alone to learn more about each other. It all felt… right. So achingly right, and he was all she really wanted. She couldn’t stand how badly she wanted…
“You. I’ve set myself up for failure by falling for you, Loid Forger. Despite everything within me screaming not to cross that line, to respect our agreement, and maintain my place in our little arrangement. I screwed up. I did the one thing you aren’t supposed to do and fell in love with you, and it’s killing me because I’ve ruined it all. You can just… go find the woman you’re meant to be with now. The one you’ll want for real. To have more babies with and marry for love, not whatever we’ve agreed to here. And I, I’ll go on my way, and leave you and your daughter be. She deserves a real mother, and you deserve a real wife and a loving, passionate marriage. I’m just… sorry I can’t give you that. I know I’m not what you want.”
Her eyes burned as she looked down at her lap, fiddling incessantly with the skin around her nails as she fought more wretched tears. It shouldn’t have felt so good when Loid’s chilled hand touched the warm skin of her face, shushing the avalanche of words trying to become coherent sentences as they poured out from Yor’s mouth.
He grabbed the legs of her chair beneath her, pulling her in closer to him until she was practically sitting in his lap, balanced on the crack between the chairs as they touched.
“I’m the failure,” he whispered, resting his forehead against Yor’s as she let one last tear fall. “I’m the failure for not making you see how much I care for you ages ago. I was so caught up in my own feelings and desires that I wasn’t even seeing you for the woman you are—who you could be to me if I allowed it. Who I could be to you if you let me. I’m a failure for not showing you how much I want you. Need you, really. You’re all I could ever ask for.”
She squinted her eyes in confusion as she leaned back to look at Loid’s face, searching his features for the slightest hint of insincerity. She found none, and the shattered shards of her heart began to stitch themselves back together. She felt warm all over. So warm as she took in the placement of Loid’s hands on her body, trailing up her thighs and pulling up the fabric of her dress with it.
“You want me?” she asked, looking every bit as insecure as Camilla made her out to be.
Loid’s eyes darkened to navy, filled with a fire she’d never seen directed at her before. He wet his lips with his tongue as he moved his hands to Yor’s knees, hooking them underneath to pull her up and into his lap, holding her flush against his body as he held her tight with his arm secure around her back.
“I want every inch of you, Yor Briar Forger. Inside and out, body and soul, to death do us part. Those were the vows we took, weren’t they?”
Yor nodded her head, too breathless to speak as Loid grabbed hold of her hand and lifted it up to his lips. He kissed every digit, trailing his lips down the line of her arm until he reached her elbow. He pulled her in then, wrapping her arm around his neck so they were impossibly close. Yor breathed in his scent, dizzy from the heady mix of her hair products and his cologne.
He smelled like home, her home. The home they were working on building stronger, together.
“Those vows we said when you were bleeding from the head?” she said, the tease coming easily from her lips as she settled more comfortably in his lap.
He hummed, the sound rich like honey in his throat as his lips touched her skin again, this time against the column of her throat.
“I was of sound mind even though I wasn’t of sound body,” he chuckled, the vibrations tickling Yor as he kissed the sensitive skin across her neck. “I haven’t taken the vows back.”
Yor nodded, arching her back as he found a sweet spot beneath her ear, kissing up to suck the lobe into his mouth with the slightest bite of pressure from his teeth.
“Neither have I,” she said, leaning into his hands as they worked their way around her body.
He grabbed the bottom hem of her dress where it pooled in his lap on one end and draped over his legs on the other. He pushed the fabric up so that all of it was loose and not caught beneath Yor’s body, then his hand snuck behind her back, trailing up the length of her spine until he found the zipper there, then he pulled back down.
“It’s a husband’s duty to make his wife happy. ‘Happy wife happy life’ is what all of the academy husbands say when discussing their wives. Do you want me to make you happy, Yor?”
Yor sighed as the red fabric of her dress fell off of her shoulders, the biting chill from the apartment shocking her system as she caught it before it exposed her chest. She searched his eyes as he looked up at her from below, touching her chin with his nose before he moved up, capturing her lips in a breathtaking kiss that made her hold on to him for balance.
His lips felt soft against her’s as they moved, the moment feeling too slow despite the rush of want coursing through Yor’s system. Everything in the world was pinpointed to him. His hands on her back, his tongue licking into her mouth, his warmth against her as he caged her in. Everything Yor didn’t know she needed was all encased into this moment, with Loid—her husband, in more than just name.
“Make me yours,” she said, her voice sounding more like a whine as she rolled her hips against the hardening length in his lap.
She removed her hands where they’d caught her dress from falling and she let the garment pool down to her waist, exposing her breasts still trapped in the confines of her bra. His eyes trailed down the valley of her cleavage, and that fire in his eyes turned into an inferno.
“Gladly.”
He got up out of his chair with Yor in tow, letting her dress pool onto the floor as Yor wrapped her legs around Loid’s waist to let him carry her. He wrapped one arm underneath her ass, holding her steady in his arms as his fingers played with the thin fabric of her panties that hugged her waist. The other hand held her jaw, pulling her down to meet his lips in kisses interlaced with his tongue.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he carried her through their house, stopping in the living room only because something—no, someone—instantly came to mind as they passed by the floor full of Crayola drawings and Spy Detective merchandise.
“Anya.”
Loid stopped in the living room and sat them both down on the couch, having Yor stand for a moment so he could ogle her ass before having her sit down in his lap again, only this time her back was against his front.
“I’ll call Mrs. Bustelo. You lay there and look beautiful as always, darling,” Loid said, digging his phone out of his pocket to call their neighbor, the sweetest old woman who had grown to look after Anya often, given the sporadic nature of both Loid and Yor’s schedules.
Yor relaxed in Loid’s lap, tilting up her head to nose along his jaw, placing a trail of kisses as she impatiently waited for the phone line to connect. Her hips shifted side to side, causing Loid to bite down on his bottom lip to stifle a groan as a cheerful voice came down the line of the phone he had in a death grip in his hand.
“Hello, Mrs. Bustelo,” he said, his voice pinched as Yor whined her hips in tight circles as she kissed the sensitive point she’d found on Loid’s neck.
He looked down at her, nuzzling their noses against one another as their neighbor rambled on over the phone line. Yor’s eyes were filled with a mischief Loid would have never thought her capable of, but Yor felt as if her insides were on fire. Slick moisture pooled within the folds of her cunt as she inhaled Loid’s scent, kissing every part of his face and neck that her mouth could reach. A year’s worth of yearning brewed in her belly and she no longer felt as if it could be contained.
Loid wanted her too, and she needed to see all that desire brought to life with their bodies.
His cock throbbed against her where she sat in his lap, angling her hips to rut against his length through the thin layers of clothing keeping them apart. His light hold on her jaw tightened, just enough to convey the warning that was reflected in his eyes.
“Quit it,” he mouthed, making asinine conversation with the woman as Yor grew more and more restless in his lap.
She pouted, feigning innocence as she reached her unharmed hand back between their bodies. It’d already been a year, and all at once, it felt like a year too long.
“Or what?” she mouthed back, curling her lips into a smile that made her husband bite back a groan.
His eyes snapped shut as Yor ran her hand along the outline of his cock, applying pressure that made him clench his jaw in an effort not to make any noise. Yor should have felt some shame, toying with him like this with someone able to hear. Maybe the desire within her for someone to know he was indeed her’s—truly and only her’s—spurred on the act of dominance, but she wanted him now. She wanted to touch him and feel him inside of her. She needed him to make her whole in a way her soul hadn’t yet known.
“Please?” she whispered, her voice so light she wasn’t sure if she’d actually made a sound, but Loid understood, He heard her and sought out her lips as he leaned in to kiss her, putting his phone on speaker—and muted—before sitting it down on the back of the couch near his head.
“Anya’s being such a darling this afternoon. She and Bond are having the best time outside catching crickets, I’d hate to break them up. I’m assuming you need me to keep her, yes? Do you both have extra work hours again tonight or—oh! That reminds me. Have I told you two about—”
Both of them blocked out the voice as Loid dipped his head down to kiss Yor’s neck, trailing his kisses up before sucking a deep bruise into that spot beneath her ear. Her mouth fell open, desperate to make noise before Loid’s hand came up to place his thumb against her lips.
“Don’t make a sound,” he said, his voice fighting a tremble as Yor pressed down against him with the heel of her hand.
She kissed the digit keeping her lips closed, then in a spark of mischief she knew her husband noticed, she sucked his finger into her mouth, lapping her tongue across his fingerprint as a deep, maddeningly desperate sound got caught in his chest.
Yor giggled around his finger, pulling it out from the wet cavern of her mouth to intertwine their hands.
“Looks like I should be the one saying be quiet to yo—oh.”
His hand trailed down the tight plane of lean muscle that made up her abdomen, all smooth pale skin that begged to be bitten and marked by his teeth. He kissed her cheek as his hand breeched the lining of her panties, his fingers sliding into her slick folds with ease. He toyed with her clit, rubbing the swollen bud in tight circles as he bucked up against her hand.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” he said, burying his face in her hair as she nuzzled against his neck.
Yor giggled, having never heard the man curse that strongly before since most of their life was spent around a child. The word “baby” coming from his lips was the only thing that could top that little slip-up.
“Baby. You called me baby,” she said, a smile on her face as she ran her hand down the length of his cock trapped within his sweats to squeeze the tip. “Loid, I want you in me. I need to feel you, it’s been too long already.”
They moaned softly into each other’s mouths, soft pants and heated kisses making them breathless as they ground against each other’s hands. The months of not engaging with anyone in that way—their needs only being taken care of on their own—had taken its toll. Every nerve in Yor’s body felt raw and exposed beneath Loid’s touch, yearning for him to do something—anything—more to tip her over the edge.
“More. I need more,” Yor said, sucking her own bruise against Loid’s neck. “I need all of you.”
He groaned as he picked her up, the last bit of his sanity snapping as he lifted her out of the seat. He began to walk them back towards his—their—bedroom, but before they could make it even two feet forward they were brought back to Earth in a second.
“Loid? Loid, are you there?”
“Shit,” they said in tandem, falling all over each other as they stood in the middle of their living room and Loid rushed to clear up the situation over the phone, making up some excuse or another about why they needed a babysitter in the middle of the day on a lazy Saturday afternoon.
Yor wrapped her arms around his neck and let him hold her as he spoke, the deep baritone of his voice loud and muffled inside of his chest where Yor rested her head. His chest was so broad, firm yet soft in a way that felt comforting as Yor relaxed in the safety of his arms.
“Yes, thank you for taking her. We appreciate it. I—yes. Hi Anya,” he said, kissing Yor’s hair as he listened to the child speak. “Yes, Mama’s right here. She can hear you now.”
Loid flicked the speaker button on again, letting Yor hear Anya’s excited yelling about all the crickets she and Bond caught and her ‘harmless’ plans for them against one annoying, pig-faced, silver spoon-eating Damian Desmond when she returned to school the following week. All Yor could do was laugh, telling her that the best course of action for revenge is to not get caught.
“If you aren’t confident in your abilities Anya then don’t do it. You need plausible deniability, an escape plan, and you’ve already messed up by telling us the plan before it’s happened. Polish your skills and wait, my love. He’ll get what’s coming to him. Don’t worry.”
Anya sighed, groaning about the crickets before deciding to let them free into the yard again.
That definitely wouldn’t be a problem for their pest control later. Nope, not at all.
“Be good for Mrs. Bustelo, Anya. Mama and Papa will be here when you’re ready to come home in the morning.”
“Okay, Chi-chi. Have fun Mama!” Anya said, hanging up the phone before any of the adults were able to say goodbye.
Loid sighed into Yor’s hair, tossing his phone onto the couch before his cock twitched with interest again as he looked down at his wife’s face.
“You’re so good with her,” he said, scooping her back up into his arms. “I couldn’t have dreamt up a better mother for her to come into our lives.”
She fell into his kisses, letting every gasp and moan she wanted spill from her lips now that they were truly alone. She felt dizzy with lust as her back hit their mattress, seated near the edge as Loid lowered himself down on one knee to kiss down her body.
“I never tell you how grateful I am for you, for all that you do for us,” he said, sliding his hands beneath her back to rid her of her bra. “For me.”
Her breasts dropped out from the material easily, and Loid didn’t hesitate to show his appreciation for her body. His tongue was warm against her nipple, while the other was pinched with just the right pressure between his thumb and forefinger. He sucked, slotting his leg between Yor’s thighs as he flicked her nipple with his tongue.
“So good,” Yor whined, sliding down just enough to press her cunt against the firm muscle of his thigh, grinding down on it in an unabashed chase for her pleasure.
“We never christened our marriage bed. We’re overdue for that, don’t you think… Mrs. Forger?” Loid said, grinding himself against her hip as she chased her first release.
“Yes, please, Mr. Forger. Make me yours.”
Her orgasm bubbled up to the surface soon enough, guided by Loid’s whispers of sweet nothings and his mouth against the sensitive tissue of her breasts. As the high muddled her brain, Yor absentmindedly thought about how Loid might feel about her body if she were pregnant, swollen and full with his child—their child—with breasts developed to provide sustenance for new life.
Camilla’s words came flooding back then, chasing away the pleasure that had managed to momentarily flood out her constantly working mind. The frustration at that must have shown on her face, since not a moment later Loid was back in her space, kissing her cheeks to soothe what felt like incoming tears again.
“Where did you just go?” Loid asked, sliding his hands along the soft fabric of their sheets to grab Yor’s elbows, pushing her arms up above her head so he could get as close to her as he wanted.
She shook her head, her mouth fixed to say “nowhere” before the seriousness of Loid’s gaze crashed down on her. Yor was glad he didn’t give her that look in their day-to-day life, when she was lying to him about other things—more trivial things. But now, she couldn’t lie to him if her life depended on it. She felt naked as she saw herself in the light blue of his eyes.
“I—I let what Camilla said get to me,” Yor said, trying in vain to avert her eyes despite Loid being mere inches from her face. “She—I—god. I don’t know what we are, and when she poked at that, and brought Anya into it and our baby into it I didn’t know what to say I just—”
“Our baby?” he said, a million questions popping up in his eyes as he racked his brain for details of the night before, and then it clicked. “Ah, because she assumed we must be sexless losers who only co-parent? She had no basis at all for assuming that. She just said it to hurt you. So why should what she says matter?”
Yor chuckled, smiling as she pressed a kiss against Loid’s lips that he happily reciprocated. “I just mean that… she made me wonder what it is that I want, and I let her make me assume what you want. That you must want a second baby and that I’m not the woman you want to do it with, because of how this all started. It wasn’t fair to let her put words in your mouth.”
“But?” he said, seeing easily that there was more on his wife’s mind.
“But, I do wonder now if she was wrong. I just… don’t know what you want. You say now that you do want me but what does that look like? Do you only want my body? Do you want more kids? Do you intend for this to last?” she asked, searching his eyes for the answers. “We don’t have to decide anything right now, but what she said made me wonder if I’m what you want, for yourself or Anya or this… hypothetical new child. I’m just confused, at you and myself.”
Loid nodded, taking a moment to process everything Yor said before taking in a deep breath and exhaling it out with renewed energy. He slid his hands down Yor’s legs as he kissed her, dragging her ass as close to the edge of the bed as he could get without her falling off.
“I want you, for as big of a role as you’ll allow me to have in your life,” he said, kissing down her body again but not stopping until he reached his intended destination. “I want you in sickness,” he said, kissing her inner thigh. “I want you in health.” Another kiss. “I want you pregnant and happy with my babies, if that’s what you want. I just want you happy, light of my life. I wouldn’t have the life that I love without you in it, so whatever you want me to be to you is what I am. Your husband, in every sense of the word.”
Yor may have yelled when his mouth made contact with her clit, flicking the sensitive bud with his tongue while his fingers prodded her entrance.
“Please. In! In, in in,” she said, trying to fuck herself down on the digits despite Loid holding her waist down on the bed with his arm.
He listened well, inserting one finger into her tight heat before sliding in another easily with how much natural lubricant was soaking her inner thighs. He groaned when her cunt tightened around his fingers, no doubt feeling that sensation in the depth of his stomach as he longed for her to be around his cock instead. Still, he waited—ignoring the pulsing length smacking impatiently against his thigh. His arousal stained his boxer briefs as he got his wife off again against his tongue, sucking her clit with gentle tugs into his mouth as she rutted against his face.
“Loid, please,” Yor said, near tears for a different reason as her cunt spasmed around his fingers. “Please, I need you in me. Please. I want to cum with you in me.”
Yor tugged his head back with her hand fisted in his hair, crunching up to meet his lips in a sloppy kiss as she dragged him up to lay against her body.
“If you don’t fuck me like you mean it in the next ten seconds I will lose my fucking mind.”
He chuckled at that, standing up to free his cock from the tight material of his boxers. Yor couldn’t help but giggle when she looked at Loid’s hair, noting how messy it looked from Yor’s fingers running through the strands, gripping them for dear life to keep his mouth on her for as long as she needed it, but now she needed something else. More of him—all of him, every inch he had to give.
“Condoms,” Loid said, his eyes growing a size wider than Yor had ever seen them when the word was said out loud.
Yor’s mouth gaped open as she wracked her brain for an answer. They hadn’t done anything so there was no use for them in the home, at least that’s what Yor thought before every time she’d pass by them as she went down the aisle to purchase her own personal items. She mentally thumped herself on the forehead for not having the foresight for this. Now Loid would have to leave, go to the corner store, stand in line, get out their reward number, talk to the cashier, help th—
“We don’t have to use one, really, if you’re okay with that.”
Yor will never understand where the words came from, but once they were out of her mouth and into the air, she couldn’t hope to take them back. Loid looked contemplative, wrestling internally with himself about something before he looked down at Yor’s body. The peachy-pink flushed all over her warm skin, the weight of her breasts, the soft features of her face still relaxed with post-orgasmic bliss, awaiting another one.
Whatever struggle he had inside ended as he fisted his cock, jerking the length only enough to bring him back to full hardness before he leaned over Yor still perched on the edge of their tall bed.
“If it’s too much, you need to tell me. If you change your mind, tell me. I meant every word that I’ve said today. Every word, so whatever comes of this will be okay. I just want to feel you.”
He swept her up in a kiss and she nodded as she licked into his mouth, letting him push her legs up by the knees to rest her ankles on his shoulders as he stood over her on the bed, using the edge as leverage for his hands.
“Make me yours.”
“You already are, and I’m yours.”
There was a sheen of cold sweat on the surface of Yor’s body as Loid pushed into her, bottoming out and filling her to the brim with a groan so deep it sounded wrong coming from him. Her sweet, stoic, hardworking husband was a goner from the moment he entered her cunt, and she knew she looked no better as she fucked herself on his cock.
“I’m fine,” she said, knowing he was waiting for her to say something. “God, you’re perfect. So perfect. Please, Loid, move. Use me, I can take it.”
He nodded, pulling out until just the tip was inside, then he crashed back down. Once they found a rhythm, the deep strokes he was making into her cunt felt like music, the way something melodic and beautiful felt inside of her ears is how his cock felt inside of her body. So perfectly sized, moving with such fluid motion that Yor would have never pegged that the man—her husband—was capable of. The lower muscles of his abs pressed against her clit, sending sparks of pleasure so visceral up her spine that she feared the sensation may never stop.
Part of her hoped that it wouldn’t.
"Tell me,” Yor said, gasping desperately as his cock stroked all the right spots inside and out. She felt so full, delirious with pleasure as his hand went between their bodies to rub at her clit. “Tell me how you feel.”
Loid groaned, one long airy desperate sound as Yor clenched around him so tight, so perfect, as her high neared the tipping point again. Everything in the world felt right for them both at that moment, connected on the most intimate level with someone they’d not only chosen to be with out of circumstance but now by choice. It was everything and so much more than a man like Loid Forger imagined himself to be capable of. To feel, to want, to yearn for.
And it all came to a head just as they did.
“I love you, Yor Forger. I am blessed to have you as my wife and the mother of my child. I’d be honored to father your babies if you’ll have me. I—fuck. I love you. Yor, I love you. I—”
“Me too. I love you too. I want more, with you and for—our kids. Please, I want you to make me all yours.”
They came in quick succession after each other. Who came first? Yor couldn’t tell. All that mattered was the overwhelming joy she felt as Loid came inside her, joining them together as he reached his arms around her body to hug her with no intention of letting her go.
For as long as they both shall live.
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so what'd you think? lmk. tyty for reading! see you in the next one || crossposted on ao3 — here || taglist — here ||
[minor squid game plot point mention, no spoilers] warnings: dubcon ~
so, im watching squid game at the moment and i cant get over the scene where minyeo (the super loudmouthed "mother" character) goes into the bathroom to take out the condom pack she used to smuggle in some cigarettes. if you've ever been properly stimulated and had to wear a condom package inside of you, then you already know (or could at least imagine) how arousing it can be. it's almost impossible not to get soaking wet around the thick little parcel stashed inside your body, especially when you're being forced to move around.
i just had a little thought, about getting caught in the games with it still inside of you.
you get caught because you can't sit still.
in the midst of trying and failing horribly to complete a simple game, you can't stop writhing around. you sat back on your heels on the mystery location's dust-covered floor, the room around you filled with items and games from your childhood.
you feel yourself rocking back and forth, rotating your hips in tight frantic circles to get the package to move around inside, rubbing incessantly at that special spot connected by nerves to your clit. a handsome man beneath a triangle-shaped mask would come over to snatch you up aggressively, taking you down the labyrinth of colorful hallways until you reached the bathrooms that were intended for the myriad of worker bees.
he'd turn you around, pushing you harshly up against the pristinely white sink, forcing you to bend over a far as you can on top of the appliance. he'd hold you firmly by your hair, removing your turquoise blue track pants to reveal your white cotton panties underneath.
you'd try to yell, screaming at the mystery man that you'd sue him. that when you were rich and free from this prison, you'd sue him for every dime he was worth. slapping your ass with all the strength he could muster in his dominant right arm, yanking down your panties to meet your discarded pants on the linoleum floor.
he's spread your ass cheeks apart with both hands, inspecting your holes with his eyes. your leaking wet slit would immediately draw his attention
"what turned you on so much?" he'd say with his mask-muffled voice, using two gloved fingers to explore your fluttering hole "is it the adrenaline? is the thrill of winning and losing at the cost of your life that enticing for you?"
you can feel it when his fingers hit the end of the condom, the two digits swirling around in your slick to grab on to the twisted knot on the end. you expect for him to pull it out with ease, but he doesn't.
instead, you hear the sound of his jumpsuit unzipping, the frantic sound of latex against skin sounding throughout the quiet bathroom as he frees his cock from it's confines within his clothes.
"i won't tell if you won't tell," he says, removing his fingers from your tight walls, only to place his own member against your slippery wet entrance.
he rocks back and forth slightly, only enough to insert his length into you by a half of an inch. you can feel his cock kissing at your entrance, the medium weight parcel within you pressing firmly on the sensitive spot within you.
"i won't tell if you won't tell," you whispered, repeating the guard's words.
you rocked back onto his cock, pushing your hips backward until your ass was flush against his waist.
he moaned, a beautifully breathy thing behind his mask that you had no desire to remove. he stood still for a moment, savoring the firm grip of your walls tightening around him.
"what'd you come here for? hm?" you asked, moving your hips to force the man to move inside of you, "never got pussy in your life outside or something so you came here?"
you heard the man scoff behind the black mask. before you could move, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, gripping his other hand on your hip as he began fucking into you at a breakneck pace. the condom package moved inside of you like a perfectly molded jade egg with his untrained thrusts, pushing it in and out of you to add an extra few inches of length towards the already well-endowed man's efforts.
the walls echo the sounds of your skin slapping against skin, his voice carrying the sounds of his deep grunts within the space, while you're sure your moans were loud enough to be heard should someone be looking for the two of you outside.
the little parcel nestled it's way beside the man's cock, reaching deep enough inside of you to cause unparalleled pleasure.
"fuck, keep going," you yelled, feeling the guard's hips thrusts growing erratic.
he reached his gloved hand around your waist, while also using one of his combat boot heavy feet to slide your feet even further apart. he rubbed the surface of your sex, aiming to pull you under the same waves of pleasure about to overtake his own body.
you came with a cry, begging the guard to cum anywhere but inside of you as he reached his release as well.
you don't speak much when the man finally pulls himself out of you, messily grabbing a handful of paper towels from the dispenser by your head to wipe the evidence of his release off of your back.
"there, now it's in there nice and deep," he said, tapping at your entrance with his fingers, "do well in your game. i would hate to have to carry your body out of here after that."
you scoffed, pulling up your own underwear and track pants, adjusting this and that to look presentable once more.
"well, now that i've got my focus back, i can win this round easy-peasy. if you really want to keep me around though," you teased, putting your body flush against the guard's, grabbing his manhood in your firm grasp, "you could just tell me the rules for the next game. i could make it worth your while."
the man stood still, seemingly contemplating behind the shield for his face.
"i'll only tell you if you don't tell anyone else," he whispered, coming in as close to your ear as he could.
you smirked, your face not visible to him beside the lining of his mask.
"i won't tell if you won't tell."
hehehee ty for reading! you can find (most of) my other works under #kk.writes or on my pinned masterlist if you're interested in more content from me ♡ my requests are OPEN ~ this will be crossposted onto ao3 here || taglist request ||
It starts with a bet: whoever scores higher on their upcoming midterm gets whatever they want from the other person.
Angel knows what he wants, and now he has the perfect opportunity to ask.
aka: a college!au fic where Angel is a touch-starved virgin who doesn't know how to tell his boyfriend he's ready for more.
CW: no warnings (yet) but Angel is a touch-repulsed virgin. If that characterization bothers you, don't read it. No smut yet but Angel is horn-ee.
a/n: This fic was inspired by this lovely art [sfw; nsfw] by @lazynico. I loved the concept of "Angel has all these fantasies but can't (or, in my AU, doesn't know how to) act on them," so I had to write something for it. They can touch and not die, yay! I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it 🌟
[pinterest inspo/vision board] also on ao3 ~ enjoy! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
It’s been one month since Aki officially asked Angel to be his boyfriend, and the pint-sized sophomore hasn’t stopped staring at him since. They’re sitting on the greens—the large lawn mowed to perfection and cultivated with robust patches of flowers in the center of campus. Angel lazes in the grass, his head pillowed on Aki’s lap, while the older man leans against a stout ginkgo tree. Thin clouds filter across the clear blue sky, and the air smells like the warmth that comes with spring.
Angel twists a straw wrapper around his fingers, listening to the junior spout off fact after fact from the study guide their teacher’s assistant gave them before their lecture ended earlier. Midterms are coming up, and Aki has been adamant about studying the content. He looks beautiful with his hair up in its typical topknot and nails painted a color that matches his eyes. He’s in a fitted black t-shirt with a light forest-green jacket layered on top. A gold pendant dangles from his neck, and he could only look prettier than he does now, Angel thinks, if one of his signature menthol cigarettes was balanced between his teeth. Angel grins without meaning to as he soaks in the sight of the man above him.
“Angel baby,” Aki says, stopping his reading mid-sentence, “you’re doing it again.”
Angel scoffs, ripping his eyes away from their persistent focus on Aki’s face. He drops the straw wrapper, now rolled into a slowly unfurling ball, and plucks one of the pages from the small stack in Aki’s hand.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Angel says dryly. He scans over the remainder of the content Aki hasn’t read aloud yet and drops the sheet onto his chest with a sigh. “Is this actually helping? Reading repetitive, boring bullshit, I mean.”
Aki chuckles, replacing the paper with his hand on Angel’s chest as he slides the study guide back into his school bag. He reaches into the small front pocket and plucks out a cigarette, looking around for a moment before lighting it under the cover of the fruitful tree branches around them.
“Our coursework is not boring, Angel. It’s essential,” Aki says seriously, mumbling around the cigarette. “Maybe if you studied more, you’d see how useful it is to actually review the content before taking the test instead of just winging it. Imagine how much better your test scores would be, babe. I know you’re smart—really fucking smart—but why not shoot for… more?”
Angel rolls his eyes with a smile, stretching like a cat to relax his joints before settling against Aki’s lap again. “I’m fine where I am, Aki. I managed to make it into a senior-level research lab just fine—with Makima’s recommendation, at that—and I’m on track to graduate early. I appreciate your concern, though, baby,” he says, mimicking Aki’s tone when he says the word. “I know you only bug me about it because you care.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Aki says, putting his cigarette in front of Angel’s face to let him take a slow drag. “I’m not concerned, really. I just—I know you could be even better than you already are. You have so much potential, Angel. It feels like a bit of a waste, you know? You could easily replace Kobeni as Professor Kishibe’s TA next semester if you apply yourself a little bit more.”
Despite knowing Aki’s intentions are good, Angel scoffs, and the older man speaks before Angel can express his feelings any which way about that.
“I guess I’ll just have to outrank you—again—and get that TA spot,” Aki smirks. “Show you how much hard work pays off.”
“Oh?” Angel says, looking up at Aki with an impish glint in his eyes. “Someone’s jumping the gun a bit. How about we start with midterms first, hm? That alone will prove whose study methods…”
“Or lack thereof.”
“...work better,” Angel says, taking the cigarette from Aki completely. “You’re brilliant, Aki, and yeah, you work way harder than me. But, I’m gifted—at least, that’s what every teacher I’ve ever had has told me. I’m pretty lazy, though,” he grins. “Guess this test will prove which of the two is superior. Going with the flow, or working yourself to the bone.” Angel pokes his own ribs, visible from how his stomach sinks in when he’s lying down.
Aki chuckles, lowering his arm to drape it across Angel’s slim waist. It moves with Angel’s inhales as he smokes, and Aki traces the joints of Angel’s empty hand with lithe fingers. Aki fiddles with the small angel-wing charm on Angel’s keychain, right next to the bedazzled devil horns, and Angel finds it distracting. He feels the sudden urge to kiss Aki despite his mouth and lungs being occupied by smoke.
The charms are two of many that dangle from the clamp attached to a belt loop on his loose-fitting cargo pants, and it feels so intimate. The wing is Aki’s favorite, he’d told Angel, and he plays with it any chance that he gets. Aki’s palm grazes the soft skin on the inner side of Angel’s wrist as he does it, and it sends shivers down Angel’s spine. It all feels symbolic, in a way—a promise, maybe—and it makes Angel’s blood burn.
Aki’s touch is a physical reminder of their journey together. How they’d gone from begrudging partners in their research labs—initially not getting along due to the extreme discrepancies in their work ethic—to somewhat friends due to their time together in their shared extracurricular clubs, to boyfriends, eventually, after spending so much time getting to know each other. Now, they touch freely, though not as often as Angel is sure Aki might like. They’ve done very little, and part of Angel wants to fix that—to explore and try to do more—but kisses are the only thing they regularly exchange, and Aki seems okay with that. He’s never complained, at least.
Aki knows how Angel feels about touching. The first time Angel met Denji—almost a year ago at their weekly Public Safety Association club meeting—he nearly bit the boy’s head off. Denji sauntered in, uninvited and unannounced, because he smelled the free food and tried to hug Angel. It was the first (and unfortunately not the last) time that Aki had seen Angel be visibly angry. They hadn’t known each other long at the time, only a few months, but Angel’s dislike for physical touch was something very apparent from the get-go.
Angel feels frustrated, though, as he lets Aki touch him over his clothing in the pleasantness of the springtime afternoon. Angel has never enjoyed being touched—ever, by anyone, for as long as he can remember, with no reason in mind—but when he looks up into Aki’s deep blue eyes, hears the baritone of his voice in his ears, and digests all of the intellect and passion he laces into each and every one of his words, Angel desires so badly. For the first time in his life, he wants to be taken apart, cherished, caressed, and kissed until all of the air dissipates from his lungs. He doesn’t know what to do with it all or how to tell his boyfriend what he wants. He just needs an opening, and of course, Aki gives it to him.
“Hey. I have an idea,” Aki says, leaning his body forward to loom over Angel. He’s eyeing the half-smoked cigarette in Angel’s hand and tries to pluck it from the younger man’s fingers. Angel shakes his head, popping the cigarette between his lips and extending his arm to push Aki away. They grapple for it, laughing earnestly as Angel makes a valiant effort to keep the too-tall man’s long limbs away from him. He relents when Aki ducks his head down and kisses Angel’s cheek.
Angel is aware now of how close—too close— his boyfriend is, and he feels his mouth run dry. Aki’s eyes flick back and forth between Angel’s eyes, thinking out loud with no words before moving away to give his boyfriend some space. Angel feels breathless when Aki leans against the tree again, and his hand returns to its place on Angel’s belly. He’s so close—only shielded from Angel’s tepid skin by a well-worn Aerosmith t-shirt. Aki takes a deep drag of his reacquired cigarette and clears his throat after he exhales the smoke.
“So,” Angel drawls, fingers fidgeting as he fights the blush he knows is surfacing on his cheeks. “What was your idea?”
Aki startles, confusion clear on his face before clarity takes its place. “Oh, I, uh. I was going to ask if you want to make a bet out of that whole thing. You know, with midterms.”
Angel’s eyes narrow, and he tries not to swoon as he watches Aki take another drag from the cigarette. “Maybe. What are the conditions?”
“No conditions,” Aki says, “only terms. Whoever scores the highest on the midterms gets an I.O.U. So whatever that person wants, the other person gives. What do you think?”
Anything that he wants from Aki? He thinks, yes. Angel knows what he wants. He wants Aki so badly it hurts. In the deepest darkest hour of the night, when he’s alone in bed inside his dingy student housing, or when he’s in the shower, hot and bothered after a night out with his boyfriend in the city square. After Aki’s spoiled him with barely-there touches of skin against skin and kisses so fleeting that Angel sometimes thinks he’s imagined them. He wants him. He wants Aki to hold and kiss him until he can’t breathe. He truthfully, most of all, really wants Aki to… god, he wants Aki to…
“There it is again. That look,” Aki smirks, trailing his long fingers against the hem of Angel’s shirt. “What are you thinking about?”
Aki grazes the sliver of skin exposed where Angel’s top has risen up a little too far, and Angel springs out of his lap. It takes him by surprise how fast the shiver of heat flows from the nape of his neck down to the base of his spine, but the feeling is unmistakable. He wants more, now, but it’s not the right time. Embarrassment creeps into his bones as thoughts he should not be having in public flood into his mind, and he knows that his ears are bright red beneath the cover of his hair.
“Studying,” Angel says, a little frantic as he picks up his thoroughly worn, pin-covered backpack. “You should go study. I’m going to get ice cream.”
Aki nods, and there’s something in his eyes Angel isn’t in the right mind to decipher when he starts to back away. Angel isn’t paying attention, and Aki catches him by the sleeve of his t-shirt before he goes. Aki leans in and kisses him gently, soft and warm, then Angel feels the gentlest push of his tongue, and he runs.
Angel has never walked away from someone so fast in his life.
Concept: Sex worker Angel Devil; frequent patron and full-time devil hunter Aki Hayakawa. Angel “I do not dream of labor” Devil makes money for "easy" work by entertaining human desires for cash. Aki finds solace in Angel’s embrace.
aka: an AU where Aki’s coping mechanisms are slightly more maladaptive, and Angel isn’t a devil hunter.
Warnings: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Arguing, Angst & Smut, Hurt/comfort, Survivors Guilt, Healing, Semi-public sex, Actual Public Sex.
tw: pistachio ice cream & denji being the voice of reason
a/n: I tried to keep explicit spoilers to a minimum, but there is (1) pretty major spoiler from the Katana Man arc, so anime-onlys… beware. This ch starts off with a pretty intense argument, but things get better.
rough vision board/mood board: here; also on ao3 (this just hit 100 kudos there, yay) ~ [part one (7k words); part two (8k words)] enjoy! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
Six months after Aki met Angel, something happened to Aki that was very bad.
He never really told Angel all of the details, not even now, but from what he did tell the devil, Angel could tell the event had been capital-B bad. Nearly an entire division of the Public Safety Devil Hunters was gone; more blood spilled and lives lost than Aki could have ever begun to summarize, and the devil hunter was spiraling. It happened so fast, so out of left field, that Angel obviously didn’t know what to do. Aki knew he had no real context to understand, and he was cruel anyway.
“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong, Taiyo,” Angel said, trailing behind Aki as he went down to the basement two steps at a time.
Angel panted as he followed, Aki’s height a welcome advantage as the devil fell behind. Aki couldn’t stand hearing his brother's name at that moment. It was another reminder, another dig of the knife in the wound that he’d allowed to grow—to carve him hollow and make room for more pain he didn’t know how to cope with. He felt sick. He wanted to answer Angel, to explain and stop that look from being etched into the devil’s face, but he couldn’t. Not when the devil kept saying a name that wasn’t his with that tone of concern. Not when the name was of a loved one he had lost. Not when all he wanted was to not feel anything.
“Taiyo,” Angel called again, looking around the boxes housed in the basement. He found Aki sooner than later, running over to stand in front of the devil hunter. “Taiyo. You… what’s wrong?”
Aki huffed, trying and failing to keep his breath steady before the dam burst.
“That’s not my fucking name!” Aki yelled, grabbing Angel by the sleeves of his shirt. The tremble in his hands shook the devil, and his expression must have been miserable if Angel’s reflecting back at him was any indication. Aki walked forward, crowding into the smaller man’s space as he pushed him against one of the many sticker-covered walls. He slapped his hand against the wall next to Angel’s head, his voice thick as he fought to say the words that had been lodged in his chest for weeks. “It’s Aki. My name is Aki. Don’t… don’t call me Taiyo anymore. It’s not my name.”
Angel looked at him with an expression that Aki couldn’t decipher, his body rigid and his halo dim before he relaxed, just enough to get out his words. Aki knew the devil could hurt him—kill him, even—if he was scared, and part of him deflated when the devil didn’t do anything to push him away.
“Well, hello, Aki. It’s a nice name. It suits you.” Angel’s face softened, though his body was still stiff as he covered his hand with his sleeve to touch Aki’s face.
Aki wanted so badly to melt into it, to enjoy Angel’s touch, but he couldn’t. The guilt crept up his throat like acid after a heavy meal, and he couldn’t help the venom that came out of his mouth as a result. He huffed out a laugh, dry and vacant in the middle where sincerity should be as he stared at the devil.
“Fuckin’ devil complimenting my name. A devil I’ve been basically fucking; using my dead brother’s name. Why are you pretending to care? Devils don’t care,” Aki said, roughly rubbing his hands down his face as he paced. “What the fuck am I doing? Why the fuck am I—you! What the fuck are you doing to me, huh? You, Denji, Power, and all the other devils that have wormed their sick, fucked up little hands into my life.”
He stomped toward Angel, pressing closer to the devil until his back was against the wall. Angel lowered his head, though his fists were clenched at his sides. Angel felt his resolve crumble as Angel looked up at him with nothing, not even anger, in his eyes. He just saw hurt. He was the one hurting the devil, not the other way around.
“I,” Aki said, tripping over his words. “Angel, I just need to feel anything else. Anything else, please? Help me. Touch me and tell me if I deserve to be here or not. I don’t think I deserve it. I don’t deserve to be here when they aren’t. I don’t deserve to be here when everyone else is already gone. I can’t do this alone.”
Angel shushed him, letting the man cage him in, careful not to let him touch when the tears began to run down the devil hunter’s cheeks.
“You aren’t alone, Aki,” Angel said, his voice thick as he dried Aki’s tears. “I’m sorry for your loss, but you know this won’t help. You know it.”
After the tears slowed, Aki looked down at Angel, angry and heartbroken and so—so—frustrated, and he leaned in to kiss him. Angel moved, slipping away from the devil hunter before he could trap him against the wall with his body. Angel knew well what Aki intended to do; he could see it in his face, in the dimness of his sapphire-blue eyes.
“No,” Angel said firmly, backing away when Aki tried to enter his space again. “Aki, I said no.”
Aki stared at Angel, the devil’s face flickering back and forth from confusion to anger to sadness, over and over again in seconds. Angel sighed, frustration clear in his tone.
“If you want to kill yourself, fine. You can’t use me to do it. I refuse—from here on,” Angel said, his voice wavering. “You feel guilty. Okay. I get that, but for what? For living? Why? How is it selfish to be alive, Aki? Doing this with me—letting me take your life away—it’s… it’s wrong. It’s wrong, and it won’t bring anyone that you’ve lost back, okay? We have to be stronger than that. We need to do better. To live, okay?”
Aki settled on an emotion: anger. Seething, unbridled, uncontrolled anger as he processed what Angel was saying. He closed the space again, towering over Angel as the devil held contact with his eyes. Aki ignored how dewy Angel’s eyes looked.
“What the fuck do you know?” he said, spitting the word out with malice. “You steal people’s lifespans away without a care in the world. Your kind kills, maims, and destroys every single goddamn thing they touch. What the hell would you know about what it means to be alive? About guilt or empathy or anything else that requires a human heart to feel? You don’t know shit.”
Angel looked up at Aki through wet lashes, swallowing thickly before clearing his throat.
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
Aki paced around the room, simmering eventually as Angel refused to indulge him or entertain the outburst. He turned, looking at the devil picking anxiously at his fingernails, and all he could wonder was, what the fuck am I doing?
“Fuck. Fuck. I am such an asshole,” he said, knocking his clasped hands against his forehead as he found a seat on the stairwell steps below Angel, between his legs, where the devil had chosen to sit down. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of that, Angel, I swear.”
The devil looked at him so coldly, visually calculating something in his head in the moments of silence that passed before his expression cleared.
“I know. You didn’t mean it, and yeah, you are an asshole. I’m glad you’re aware now,” Angel said, visually pleased with himself when he coaxed out a smile from the devil hunter. There was still pain laced into his grin, but it was there. That was something.
“Yes. I know. I’m so sorry. I’m just… hurting, but I’m sorry.”
“I don’t forgive you,” Angel said dryly, roughly tugging a piece of shorter hair near the crown of Aki’s head. “You’ll have to be extra sweet to me to get back in my good graces. Starting with ice cream, maybe.”
Aki hummed, softening up at the touch as he leaned his head toward the devil’s hand, still not directly touching.
“Okay. I can do that. The ice cream, and doing better.”
Aki hummed. “You better.”
They sat in cumbersome silence for a while, looking at anything but each other before Aki eventually had to leave for the evening. He brought three pints of ice cream with him when he went to the bar the next day.
xx
The wall between them began to crumble after Aki told Angel his real name, and it only broke further as the two spent more time together. They indulged in untapped secrets and details about their lives outside of the four walls they’d grown accustomed to at the bar, and Aki found himself craving Angel’s touch, albeit in a different way.
“I think… you want to fuck me, and you’re being really coy about it for some reason,” Aki said, sinking a striped ball into a hole in the pool table they’d taken ownership of for the hour. Angel laughed, using his hand to knock a pool ball against one of Aki’s, pushing it further away from the hole than it’d been.
“I think… you’re delusional, or maybe just projecting. If you ask me really nicely, I might think about entertaining your desires.”
Aki chuckled, maneuvering a ball past Angel’s hand, only for the devil to catch it anyway, pushing himself further onto the pool table.
Aki gave Angel a look, rounding the table to slide one long leg between Angel’s spread ones, looking down at the devil where he sat on the edge of the pool table.
“You’re a cheater, and a tease.”
“I am not. You’re just… so annoying, ” Angel said halfheartedly, taking Aki’s pool cue out of his hand before jumping down from the table. He turned, pushing his ass against Aki as he sank a solid-colored ball in the hole. He glanced over his shoulder, sauntering off to hit his next one on the other side of the pool table.
“I prefer the term charming,” Aki said, following the devil.
Angel rolled his eyes, dragging his hand across the fuzzy billiard cloth before positioning for another play.
“I would prefer not to kill you by accident.”
Aki smirked. “As opposed to on purpose?”
Angel rolled his eyes harder, sinking the eight ball after a string of successful plays.
“No more death touches—we promised. Guess you’ll have to figure something out.”
Aki bought his first pair of gloves a few weeks after that, custom fit to the shape of his large hands.
“What are those for?” Angel asked, sipping Aki’s brand of beer when the devil hunter slipped on the pair. They were in their own little bubble in a half-hidden corner of the bar, shielded a bit by tall fake foliage and away from the crowd near the stairwell that led to the bottom level.
“These are so I can touch you all over,” he replied, practically purring.
Angel stared at him, dumbfounded, as he continued sipping at his now empty drink cup.
“What?”
Aki met his gaze, pausing for a moment before checking the stretch of the gloves.
“Yeah. Your abilities don’t work through clothing, right?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“I mean… no. I just didn’t think that you… you know, meant all of that.”
“Well, I did,” Aki said teasingly, caressing Angel’s cheek with his now-covered thumb. “I love watching you, but I want to touch you, too, as intimately as I can. You’ve done all you can to make me feel good, to help me feel better. I want you to feel good too, Angel. An equal exchange, remember?”
Angel stared at him, his eyes flicking back and forth from Aki’s eyes to his lips.
“How long have you been thinking about this?”
Aki slipped his thumb into his mouth. The devil lapped at the digit with his tongue, letting Aki caress his tongue and teeth before removing his finger; spreading some of Angel’s spit against his lips.
“Way too long to just now be doing something about it.”
If anyone ever asked Aki if he started that night with the intention of giving Angel a handjob in public, he’d say no, because he didn’t. Did it happen anyway? Yes, and if you confronted him about it, he wouldn’t even pretend to feel a lick of shame.
“We could go downstairs,” Angel said, biting his lip to keep his noises at bay. Aki had moved to sit next to him, caressing his cock through the fabric of his skirt—straining against the black stockings he’d put on underneath.
Angel wasn’t what Aki would define as traditionally feminine, not necessarily. Still, the devil was gorgeous and often seemed confused by the rigidity of human ideology when it came to what gender should wear what clothing. It was so stupid, he’d told Aki, how ridiculous humans could be about self-expression. They’d had that talk the night the devil hunter punched a guy in the bar over Angel when the guy called him a very human slur. Angel let Aki play with the sensitive feathers on his wings until he came after that.
“You want to go downstairs? You look so pretty trying to keep quiet, though.”
Aki nuzzled his nose against Angel’s hair, careful not to touch his scalp as he tapped his finger against the wet spot of precum dripping from the devil’s slit. He pinched the head through the fabric, pushing his palm firmly back and forth to move the thin skin covering Angel’s length. The teasing didn’t last very long, given how hopelessly turned on the whole ordeal made Aki. He wanted Angel so badly, more than he’d ever wanted anything else in his life. The devil made Makima feel like a schoolyard crush; this was real. He’d never felt something more real.
“Can you come like this, baby?” Aki asked, pushing up Angel’s skirt just enough to slide him out of the confining fabric beneath.
Suppose anyone came around to sit in front of them at their table or looked over from a high enough vantage point at the bar. In that case, they’d easily notice Aki’s hand working beneath the fabric, his shoulder moving with an unmistakable motion. They’d see Angel trying and failing to contain the small noises spilling from his mouth as his head rested on Aki’s shirt, only concealed by the music coming from the overhead speakers and the loud chatter of patrons pouring in. Aki watched Angel peek over his shoulder, shutting his eyes as he ducked his head against Aki’s chest before he came, covering the inside of his skirt in sloppy wet come.
Once the high came down and Angel chugged a beer, he turned back toward Aki.
“Your turn,” the devil said, moving faster than Aki had ever seen as he headed towards the stairwell, dragging Aki along in his haste to get out of sight.
They didn’t even make it to the bathroom before Angel was bending himself over a stack of boxes in the basement, pushing his skirt up over his hips as he presented himself to Aki.
“God, you’re such a slut. How does a devil even get like that, huh?” Aki said, two seconds before ripping a hole in Angel’s tights.
He marveled at the devil’s hole on display for him, puckered and pink in a beautiful contrast to the dark fabric protecting his skin around it. He fumbled with the lube he’d stashed in his pocket before pressing one lubed finger, then two, into Angel.
“Fuck,” the devil said, eliciting a little chuckle from Aki.
“Fuck? It feels that good baby?” Aki teased, hooking his finger to press against Angel’s prostate.
The devil moaned, surprisingly loud in the isolated space. He started subconsciously fluttering his wings, arching his back further against the boxes as his cock slowly progressed toward full hardness again.
“Stop teasing,” the devil whined, pushing his hips back against Aki’s hand.
Aki didn’t prolong things—too on edge and too lustful to delay it any longer. It’d been months—months—that he’d thought about doing this with the devil. Every time Angel wore a skirt, pretty and frilly even when they were black; every time the devil looked him in the eyes and read him like he’d been given the blueprint to Aki’s soul; every time they shared a nearly there touch or watched each other get off since they’d decided to do things a better way, without indulging Aki in hurting—punishing—himself. He wanted so badly. He needed Angel so badly.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he said, hastily putting on a condom that he’d had stashed in his wallet for far too long.
He pushed forward, sinking into Angel with a groan when his hips met the subtle curve of Angel’s ass. They were protected through maybe too many layers of clothing, but Aki loved it. It felt so dirty like that. They were so desperate for each other that they couldn’t even get their clothes off in the neon lighting of the bar basement. Part of him ached to feel Angel’s skin as he gripped his hips, fucking into him so hard with the missing resounding sound of skin against skin, but it was good—so good—inside of the devil’s tight heat. Aki couldn’t be blamed for how long he lasted.
“I’m gonna come, Angel,” he said, reaching beneath Angel to grab his cock, jerking the devil in time with his thrusts.
His voice was deep and gruff as he came, groaning as he emptied himself inside of Angel, his cock twitching as he poured more and more come into the condom separating them. The devil followed close behind, fucking himself into Aki’s hand as his second orgasm came crashing down on him.
They held their position for a while, even after Aki moved to slide his cock out; Angel held him in place, looking over his shoulder to smile at the devil hunter. Aki hunched over the devil, putting them at eye level and just looked at him for a while. Their stares lingered for a breath too long, and Aki kissed him, holding the back of Angel’s head steady when he started to push Aki away. He let it continue for one more moment, and when the kiss was over, Aki rested his head against the crown of Angel’s head, protected by the thick tendrils of hair.
“Don’t tell me how long that was. I don’t want to know. I just needed to feel you this way, one last time.”
Angel closed his eyes, soaking in the thinly veiled touch.
“Okay. That was the last time.”
xx
“If those two idiots don’t get their shit together, I’m going to lose my mind.”
Angel chuckled, plucking away the cigarette hanging out of Aki’s mouth. They were sitting on the rooftop of the bar, a small makeshift area for smoking that doubled as an unkempt garden. It’d been eight months, give or take a few weeks, and things in Aki’s life had been okay for the most part—minus one aspect of it.
“Just tell them to leave then,” Angel said, taking a long drag. “I know your boss is intense or whatever, but if it’s that bad, then maybe she’ll put them on someone else; give you a break for once. They’ve been living with you for almost a year now.”
Aki groaned, turning Angel’s face towards his with his sleeve-covered wrist. It was a weekend, and he wore a simple long-sleeve black shirt, oversized on his lean frame, and black jeans. His earrings were some dangly number Power harassed him into wearing, and his shoes were some fancy brand that Himeno bought.
“You wouldn’t get it,” he said, breathing in Angel’s air when he blew out the cigarette smoke. Angel turned it toward him, letting him get a good hit before commandeering it again. Aki let him; he had more. “I have to do this—hunt devils. I can’t find him if I don’t, and I can only gather enough intel and resources to do that in public safety. It’s a lose-lose situation.”
Angel scoffed, tugging a strand of Aki’s hair that was blowing into his face from the light breeze. Aki groaned, scratching his fingernails lightly over Angel’s wings, laughing with the devil when they retracted inward from the ticklish sensation. They both let the laughter fade, drinking sips from a shared beer and whittling down Aki’s pack of cigarettes.
“You know, for someone who swore up and down that they don’t like devils, you sure do seem to have a lot of them around—me included. I think you’re pretending.”
Aki chuckled, bitter and dry.
“No, I meant it. I just don’t mean it about you. I mean… those kinds—the ones who cause chaos just because and kill for the thrill of it. The kind who murdered my family. They’re what I hate. Not you.”
Angel blinked at Aki, taking another drag of the cigarette before giving it back.
“That sounds a little racist, actually, but I get it. I’ll let it slide.”
Aki snorted, choking on a mouthful of smoke.
“Raci—. That’s not—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. That’s not how you meant it,” Angel said, smirking. “Aki, if these roommates of yours died tomorrow, how would you feel?”
Aki’s smile waned as he pondered it, sitting with the thought for a moment as he imagined his apartment empty. No Denji, no Power, and no other life within the space except for the thriving Parlor Palm plant on his living room balcony. There was a hollowness in his chest and his stomach when he let the thought linger too long. That if they were to die, that emptiness would never go away. It would fester like an untreated wound that sunk down to the bone.
“I don’t know. It would hurt, I guess,” he admitted, taking the new cigarette Angel had fished from his pocket out of the devil’s hand. “It would hurt a lot. I don’t think I could do this anymore without them around.”
Angel smiled softly, kicking his feet where they hung far from the ground on the rooftop’s edge. “If I died, how would you feel about it?”
Aki turned, looking at Angel’s face as the devil stared at the city in front of them. He looked beautiful, and Aki’s chest ached at the thought of never seeing him again—of never getting to speak to him again. Another hole would be left in his life; carving him out until nothing was left.
“Honestly?” he said, taking a deep drag. “My wallet would feel pretty grateful. I’ve never spent so much on booze in my life.” Aki chuckled, dodging the swat of Angel’s hand when it came for him.
“I’m serious,” Angel said, a hint of a whine present in his tone. He knocked his elbow against Aki’s arm, scooting a bit closer when a chill came through with the breeze. “How would you feel?”
Aki looked at him seriously, digging into his pocket to take out one of his gloves. He balanced the cigarette in his mouth as he slid it on, sucking on it like one of those thick sickly-sweet ice cream shakes that Angel loved, and he took the devil’s hand.
“It would hurt. It would hurt like hell. Don’t really know what I’d do with myself,” he said, smoking the cigarette down to the filter, “but don’t let that get to your head. I just… feel a lot of things sometimes. It doesn’t mean I like you.”
Angel chuckled, rubbing his fingers against the rough texture of Aki’s glove.
“Oh, of course not. Don’t worry, I don’t have the wrong idea,” Angel said, a smile cemented onto his face. “Well then, I’ll take that. Life’s all about the little things, after all.”
xx
One consequence of old bars is their bizarre love of theme nights. Fridays at Aki’s bar were—unfortunately—couples’ nights. The specials advertised half-price off spirits and brews for the lucky duos. He’d heard murmurs before that it was a good time, even for singles, but Aki normally skipped Fridays. It was his day to compile his reports and deliver them to Makima before the weekend. His hands were always cramped by the end of it, and he could literally feel the week wearing down on his joints. That Friday had been an off day, though.
His reports were short, simple, and quick to fill out, with minimal casualties to report. Denji and Power informed him that they were going out for the night, safe within the public safety-sanctioned boundaries that the knuckleheads were allowed to venture freely in. It felt weird being the only one at home. He’d grown used to the constant chaos within his abode and felt bizarre without the constant flow of bickering, laughing, and microwave sounds. So, he decided to go out.
Ignoring the calendar and the time on his phone, he left his house, dressed in a casual ensemble that he was actually proud of putting together. It was nice to be out of his work clothing, free of the second skin that built up the bulk of who he was. It felt strangely right as he walked out of his apartment block, his hair blowing with the flow of the wind as he headed to the bar for the first time in fourteen days.
“Wow,” the bartender said when he stepped into her domain, giving Aki a little clap as she came to his side of the bar. “Damn, baby. You clean up really nice.”
Aki chuckled, ducking his head to hide the blush creeping onto his face. His hair covered the red tint on his ears.
“So you’re saying I don’t look this good every day?” he said teasingly, tapering into a laugh as he lit a cigarette. The bartender gave him a beer to go with it, and all felt right as he melted into the bar stool. The relaxation was short-lived as a small commotion from the main area of the bar caught his attention, as well as everyone else sitting around him. When he saw a halo standing out in the crowd, he jumped out of his seat—his cigarette and drink abandoned on the bar. He shuffled through the group of people gathered around the dance floor and stopped in his tracks next to Angel—who was safe and sound—as they both looked at the sight.
A couple was in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by at least half of the bar as they danced. It wasn’t poise or sophisticated or anything special, but it was so visceral how much fun the two were having. They had total trust in each other as they spun around, twirling each other and swaying to the beat of some rock song that Aki didn’t know the name of. They were looking into each other’s eyes, dancing like nothing else in the world mattered.
Angel looked up at Aki, bumping into the devil hunter with his hip as they watched the couples around them start dancing, too.
“Do you dance?” Angel asked, getting a little closer to Aki as the dance floor got a little more crowded. They shuffled themselves a bit further away from the herd as they talked, despite Angel wearing long sleeves; they didn’t want any accidents.
“I can’t say it’s ever really been my thing,” Aki said, visibly shrinking in on himself as he watched the crowd. They were having fun, he thought, despite all the horrors of the world.
Angel swayed side to side a bit, laughing when Aki looked down at him like he’d grown a third head.
“What?” he said, snapping his fingers a little in time with the music. When the song instructed the crowd to clap, he clapped.
“Are devils secretly into dancing or something?” Aki said, thinking back on the little dances he’d frequently seen Power and Denji making up in their free time, even when there was no music to dance to.
Angel shrugged, his closed-mouth smile turning into an open one as he pushed some hair back behind his ear. He did it when he was either too hot—temperature and aesthetics-wise—or when he was feeling shy. The Cheshire cat couldn’t have rivaled how big Aki smiled when he realized it was the latter.
“Just shut up and dance with me,” Angel grumbled, pulling his sleeves down over his hands before he grabbed Aki’s wrists. “It won’t kill your cool guy persona to dance a little. No one here’s gonna judge you.”
Aki squinted, glancing over at the bar where their bartender was absolutely looking over at them, playful judgment plentiful and prepared on her tongue for when they came back to the bar. Angel looked back over his shoulder and saw her too, and his cheeks tinted pink from how hard he laughed.
“Okay, okay. Touche, maybe one person will judge you, but only a little.”
Aki felt his resolve crumble like sand, loose and shapeless beneath his feet. Like it, the effects of that night would linger on him for a long time. Every time he put on that outfit again, or heard that song, or saw Angel smile; he would think of that night with him, dancing at the bar, holding each other’s wrists as they swayed to the music.
“See? Living isn’t really that bad.”
xx
Aki walked into the bar midday on a Wednesday, eleven months after meeting Angel. He kicked snow off of his boots as he entered the familiar establishment. Makima suggested that he take the rest of the day off, and it would be remiss for him to decline such a kind offer. He separated from his division as they stood at a crime scene. Blood and snow mixed in the street, white mixed with bright splotches of red after a devil terrorized a small neighborhood.
Aki felt fine as he left, unsure of what exactly everyone was staring at him for, but he couldn’t concern himself with it. He was given the day off, blissfully able to occupy his apartment without the unwanted additions as they dealt with the fallout, and he was going to enjoy it.
Aki entered his apartment ready to indulge in his kitchen without hungry puppies nipping at his ankles for a bite. He was going to clean and shower in his bathroom without banging interrupting him or the sound of something breaking in the living room, making him get out early. He was going to watch what he wanted on TV, and smoke cigarettes on his balcony without having to peek inside every two minutes to ensure nothing was burning down. He was going to relax. He wasn’t going to think about the day’s date. He wasn’t going to fixate on what it signified, and he’d be damned if he cried.
He made it halfway through making an omelette before throwing the half-cooked eggs in the trash and heading out the door to the bar. He sat in his usual spot, the space around him nearly vacant as he drank alone with the day shift bartender hovering nearby, paying him little attention as the man read a thick book.
Aki made it through five beers before his skin started aching for Angel. He missed the devil’s touch—the sweet salvation that the devil’s abilities gave his mind. He wanted to feel his life siphoned away. He couldn’t handle the pain of his family being gone for another year. He needed to even the score, to honor them by bringing himself closer to them. Hunting devils wasn’t enough. He had to atone for his own sin of living when their lives had been lost—stolen, by that devil. He needed Angel to come to the bar and do that for him, so he waited.
Angel wasn’t in the bar when Aki first came, and he doesn’t show up when Aki is still there during the night shift. Part of him is grateful for it, too drunk to see straight and sobbing softly in the corner of the bar by himself. He would regret it if he let himself backslide. Things with Angel were different now; better. Using the devil felt wrong. It was wrong. He had to learn how to heal on his own. To better deal with his trauma and guilt on his own.
He went home, beer filled to the brim in his body, and he slept instead. He could talk it through with Angel later. As long as nothing happened between now and the next time he saw Angel, then things would be okay. Everything was going to be okay.
xx
Aki feels awful. It’s only a few days after the first anniversary of his year with Angel, and he’s lying alone in his bedroom, chain-smoking cigarettes despite the smell soaking into his sheets. The argument they’d had the previous evening was bad for a lot of reasons; it was made worse when Aki realized that the day was meant to be special. He’d spent a year of his life getting to know Angel; learning to love not only him but all of the devils in his life. He’d spent that same amount of time learning—trying—to love himself, to love life, with the devil at his side; he’d fucked it up in a night.
His family is gone, and he’d been right to be sad about that. Then, Himeno was gone—right after the anniversary—and he was right to be sad about that, too. He knew even Angel would agree with that, but something inside of him broke when he recalled how he had talked to Angel the night prior. He wasn’t justified in that. Even thinking about using sex—something so meaningful to the person he loved, someone who could hardly be touched—against him, trying to use it as his escape… he couldn’t look at himself. He couldn’t lie to himself convincingly and say he was justified in doing that.
They say the road of grief is not a linear one; Aki knew that. It is a road full of curves and bumps and maybe even a few potholes. There are sections where the road is newly paved, with a silky black finish from freshly dried asphalt, but there are also long stretches that are ragged and disjointed, with weeds popping up in the crescent-shaped cracks. If someone were to walk up to Aki and ask him to put into words how he feels, it would be like the long stretches of county road that have been scorched by the sun, cracked under the weight of too many things running over the surface for too long.
He’s just… tired. He wants Angel, and the devil is nowhere to be found.
“Aki. Aki, open the door.” Aki looks over at the door, pointedly ignoring it as he inhales another lungful of smoke. Denji and Power knew he was feeling bad today, and Power nearly killed them all with a “metal soup can in the microwave” situation trying to make Aki feel better that morning. He was over it.
“Aki, I will have Power come home and bust this door down. I’ll go Chainsaw mode right now, and you’ll have to buy a whole new one! We can do this the easy way or the hard way, old man.”
Aki rolls his eyes, getting up to reluctantly open the door.
“I’m not fucking old, dipshit.”
“Potato, po-ta-to, senior citizen Hayakawa. Why are you holed up in here like a stinky hermit crab? The neighbors thought we had a fire in here or something.”
Aki groans, plopping back onto his bed.
“Leave me alone, Denji.”
“Nope!” the hybrid says, plopping down next to Aki. He plucks the cigarette from his mouth, taking an experimental puff before coughing; shoving it back at the senior devil hunter. “Gross.”
Aki rolls his eyes again, tapping his foot against the floor where his legs hang off the bed.
“What do you want?”
Denji sets his hands on his stomach, intertwining them and playing with his fingers.
“Nothing, just coming to see what you’re so depressed over. You haven’t worked in two days, and you love work! Are you just playing hooky to go see whatever fine piece has been keeping you out at night for… forever now? What’s her name? What’s her ass look like? Is it big or small? Are you an ass guy or a boob guy, anyway? I could never get a good read on that about you.”
Aki groans, pressing his cigarette into the ashtray he’d sat on his bed.
“Denji, shut up.”
“I can’t be silenced,” Denji says, a touch too seriously for such a weird statement, “unless you spill the beans. Who is she? I know it’s not Himeno—RIP—and Makima’s too good for that. Power is… well, Power, and I would’ve heard you two at home by now. You always come home at night smelling like beer and sweet cream, but you’re still somehow awake on time for work. You don’t have that pissy look on your face all the time anymore. Well, except for right now, and you like… smile, sometimes. So, what gives? Girlfriend dump you? Did you have the crushing realization that she was just part of your imagination the whole time? I’ve had that dream, and when I’m done being sad about it, I just beat my d—”
“Jesus… enough!” Aki groans, his throat sore and slightly hoarse from abusing at least four packs of cigarettes in the last forty-eight hours. He sits up in the bed, looking down at Denji, who’s still lounging against the smoke-scented sheets. “I don’t have a girlfriend. He’s…” he pauses, “he’s not my girlfriend.”
Denji looks like the cat that got the cream.
“So there is someone? Tell me everything.”
Aki’s eyes ache from how hard he throws them toward the back of his skull. He gets out of bed and walks into the living room to clean the few things scattered around that the devils didn’t pick up for themselves. The apartment is surprisingly clean otherwise, Aki notes as he meanders into the kitchen with Denji hot on his trail. The devils did learn something in their time with him, after all.
“What are we? High school girls? Ladies at the salon?” Aki says, pouring himself a tall glass of water. “I don’t have to tell you shit, garden tool. Mind the business that pays you.”
“You being in top form does pay me. Well, it benefits me, I guess. We all have to be in top form; that’s what you said, right? So, what has you all bent out of shape? Who’s the mystery man? Is it Kishibe?”
Aki chokes on his water, dripping over the sink as he blows out the liquid trapped in his nose.
“Denji, fuck off.”
“I already said no!” he says, handing Aki some tissues. “Spill it! Spill it! Spill it! Spill it!”
“Okay! Fine, fuck. If it’ll make you stop talking,” Aki says, pulling the devil hybrid over to the couch. He pushes Denji onto the furniture while he floats around the space to water the few plants they’ve accumulated over the past year. He groans when he finds teeth marks in some of the leaves where Meowy has gotten too curious.
“His name is Angel. We met in a bar. I’ve been seeing him for about a year.”
Denji perks up, gripping his knees in excitement like a kindergartener.
“Okay? And…”
“And,” Aki says, gritting his teeth, “I like him a lot. He’s beautiful. He’s funny in that dry kind of way that makes you take a second to process it. He’s actually very kind, even if he acts like he’s not. He looks at the world in black and white but simultaneously sees some of the greys. Like, he calls it how he sees it but can acknowledge the bits he could be missing if there are any. He likes to dance. He makes life feel simple; much smaller but in a good way. He makes me feel like there’s more to life than this.”
Aki leaves out the devil in the details, despite other people in Public Safety being in bed with multiple fiends. Aki just… didn’t want to deal with the drama of that, for him or Angel, especially not from being outed by Denji. He would tackle that when it needed to be shared. Until then, it was his business.
“So, I’m missing where the problem comes in. Does he not want to put out? Do you not want to put out? Is he a bad kisser? It sounds like all the heart stuff is right, so what’s wrong?”
Aki sighs, dumping the leftover plant water in the flowerbed on the balcony, leaving the door open to let the air and his voice carry inside as he sits in his chair to smoke. Denji follows, sitting on the floor in the entryway to watch Aki settle in.
“The problem is me,” Aki says frankly, smoking the first cigarette halfway down in one inhale. He only has two left; he’ll have to go and buy more later.
Denji gasps, covering his mouth with his hand. “Aki. Are you… infertile?” he whispers, subtly (his version of it) pointing at Aki’s dick.
“Denji, even if I were infertile, that wouldn’t mean anything with the man I’m dating. Second of all, no! I’m pretty sure you’re trying to say impotent, anyway.”
“Well, yeah, you’re important, Aki. I can admit that,” Denji says, looking very proud of himself for the compliment. “Well, what exactly is your fault then if it’s not your dick or his dick? What else is there?”
Aki wipes his hand over his face, very much feeling like a father having the sex talk with a very education-deficient child.
“I’m fucked up,” he says plainly, popping a new cigarette out of the pack. “I lost my family, and I thought I was fine; I wasn’t. I’ve lost more colleagues than I can count at this job. I thought I was fine; I am not. I wanted to run away from it all so badly that I really—really—hurt his feelings. I went back on what we agreed to do, what I said I would do. I said I’d be better for myself and him, and I wasn’t, so he’s done, and I can’t blame him. He doesn’t deserve this shit.”
A beat of silence passed between them, filled with the sounds of the streets below them and the air whipping past from how high up in the building they were. He smoked the new cigarette down to the filter, plucking out the last one with a sigh before lighting it up.
“Why don’t you just retire then?”
Aki looks over at Denji like the boy just told him his mother was the second coming of the Virgin Mary. What he said felt just as unbelievable to the devil hunter.
“Excuse me?”
Denji looks at him with that characteristically dopey look on his face, flicking one of Aki’s lighters on and off. Aki does not know where he got it from; he also doesn’t tell him off about wasting the lighter fluid.
“I said quit. If it’s ruining your life so much, then quit. Kobeni resigned, and so did that survivor dude from Division One. Just… quit. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Aki stares blankly at him, cursing when his cigarette burns his thigh where he let his hand relax too much.
“I can’t quit, dumbass. They’d kill you and Power. Do you not remember the conditions of your being hired? Power too?”
“Dude, do you remember the conditions of us being hired? We were an experimental unit, sure, but Divison Four is merging with us soon. Makima will make concessions for you to leave. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it mattered yet, but I’m not shadowing you anymore. I’m a hunter, in my own right. So, don’t fuck up your relationship anymore on my behalf. If you’re tired, quit! Life’s too short to be miserable, man.”
Aki’s face hadn’t moved an inch since Denji started speaking. What happened to the horny teenage idiot that came into his house all those months ago, covered in dirt and smelling like the underside of a garbage container? His face looked as punchable as ever, but he was… different, more mature now, in some ways more than others. What the fuck.
“When the hell did you start making sense?”
“I’m very insightful when I try. Makima says so”
Aki rolls his eyes, stamping out the last of his cigarette. He couldn’t just… quit. He had too many opportunities before for an out, and he didn’t take them. It was too late to take them now. Wasn’t this his fate? For his family? For his pride?
“Aki, I can hear you thinking,” Denji says, a weird half smile on his face like he could actually hear Aki’s thoughts. “Look, Himeno told you to quit, and now she’s dead. I think now is a good time to finally take her advice, don’t you think?”
Aki opens his mouth to reply, but closes it just as quickly when he realizes he doesn’t know what to say. Denji comes out onto the balcony and squats in front of Aki, holding on to the senior devil hunter’s knees.
“Do you believe in me? Makima, the rest of Divison 4… everyone? Do you trust me to avenge your family? You’ve held on to the burden of it for way too long. You’ve done your dues, and I know I didn’t know them, but I’m sure your family would be proud of you. You can be done.”
Aki’s eyes feel wet when he looks down at the devil hybrid, brimming hot and fast with a reservoir of tears he’d held in for too long. God, he’d been holding it in for so damn long.
“Thank you Denji,” Aki says, pulling the younger man into a vice-like hug. Denji pats his back a little roughly, but it feels good. It lets Aki know that he’s there.
“You’re welcome. Now, go get your man. There are only so many places someone brooding enough for you could be hiding in this city.”
xx
Aki sits outside of an ice cream parlor after dark, still early but unlit apart from the business signs due to the time change. The cherry red bench makes him think of Angel’s eyes, and it reminds him of their first indirect kiss. It was cheesy, but after their first time, they left the bar to get ice cream. Angel wanted to try two flavors, so they got two flavors. He licked Aki’s ice cream cone, and Aki tasted his, and he knew then—deep down inside—that he was in for something deeper. The parlor had become the one place he and Angel frequented besides the bar, a hidden gem in the sea of the city that served the only ice cream that Aki had ever liked as an adult. He felt like a kid again when they went, untainted by the horrors of life as he ate his pretty pistachio ice cream cone.
He sits with a serving of the gilded flavor in his gloved hand, barely tasting it as he glances around the exterior, peaking his head into the building every few minutes to see if anyone has walked in through the back entrance. After two hours of sitting, he’s ready to call it quits when all of a sudden, he looks up, and the light around him is eclipsed by ethereal snow-white wings.
“What are you doing here?” Angel asks, glancing around at the sparse crowd of patrons a good distance away from them. His hands are shoved into the pockets of the oversized winter coat Aki gave him, and his wings are compacted small enough to be hidden within the fabric, though Aki can still see their outline pretty clearly.
“Hoping to run into you,” Aki says, having the good sense to look sad about it. “I just want to talk, please. Can we please talk?”
Angel huffs, slightly stomping his foot as he looks at anything but Aki.
“Only if you promise to stop pretending, then I’ll let you talk to me.”
Aki squints, confusion clear on his face as he looks up at the devil.
“What am I pretending about Angel? What do you mean?”
Angel scoffs, his eyes finding Aki’s in an instant. They’re brimmed with fire that matches the vermilion red of his hair.
“I don’t know, Aki. Like everything is okay. Like you aren’t hurting. Like you fucking hate me, maybe.”
Aki holds out his hand, looking at Angel’s face to decode the expression there. He doesn’t really need to, though. Angel is hurt, and Aki hurt him. He knows it’s on him to fix that.
“I don’t hate you, baby. I could never ever hate you.”
“You used to! You used to spout off all the time about how you didn’t like devils. Anytime I did anything that even remotely resembled humanity, you looked at me like I’d grown a second halo or something,” the devil says, his voice raising enough to draw the attention of one patron beside them.
“I know you’re in pain, Aki. I don’t really fully understand it, but I know how I would feel if I lost you. It would hurt like hell—literally! I would feel like a piece of my heart had been cut away. But, you’re here, and I’m here, and you had no right—none—to treat me like an indispensable fucking… devil. Like the devils that you said you hate. The kind that you keep around because they’re useful and nothing else.”
“I know,” Aki says, sighing as he tries to soothe Angel. “I agree. You’re right. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, and I know it’s on me now to fix it. I know you’re right an—”
“I’m right? Then why the fuck don’t you act like it? Huh?” Angel said, fire still burning in his doe-like eyes. “I know I’m a devil, but you’ve been such an asshole. I understand it now—the grief. I get it. I felt like a piece of my chest unraveled when I walked away from you; I can’t imagine that being permanent. I just… don’t take it out on me. Never again. Promise!”
“I promise. I swear to you, Angel,” Aki says, coaxing Angel into sitting down. The devil looks pissed; if they weren’t having such a serious conversation, Aki would swoon over it. “I’ve lost too much. I’ve lost so much and so many people. I didn’t know how to just… be. I didn't know how to live simply, but I want to try. I want to prove to you that I care—that I cherish you. I want to live, and I want to do it with you if you’ll let me. Can we?”
Angel stares at him, his anger still palpable but noticeably waning.
“Prove it to me how?” Angel says, his voice characteristically dry but also childishly snooty.
Aki reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small paper-clipped stack of forms. Angel takes them hesitantly, and Aki tears up when he sees the expression fully change on the devil’s face.
“You’re quitting?”
“I already quit,” Aki says, sniffling as Angel grabs his hand tight, pulling him into a hug.
There are too many layers between them again, and Aki aches to kiss Angel, but this is okay. He’s holding the man he’s grown to love, and there’s nothing but opportunity ahead of them both. Aki shares his ice cream with Angel, partially melted and a little crushed from how tightly he’d been holding it, and he feels at peace, for the first time in god knows how long. He doesn’t quite know where they’ll go from here, but he has newfound security in knowing they’ll figure it out together, for the rest of their lives.
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𖨆♡𖨆 the end! what'd you think? reblog, reply, or send me an ask to lmk 𖨆♡𖨆
╰┈➤ pt. one; full fic on ao3; thank you for reading!
