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i. ACTS OF SERVICE
You joke that Akira would probably take a bullet for you, and he responds quite seriously.
“Yeah, I would. If it meant saving you, I’d do it. I'd do anything really.”
He’s kneeled before you, from where he dropped down to fix your loose shoelaces, when he makes the declaration. But after catching your surprised expression, he stands to his full height, flashing you a small smile.
"Sorry. That weird to admit?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It's—no it’s not. It’s just so like you to say something like that,” you groan.
He blinks several times. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, genuinely curious.
“It means,” you start, pressing a hand to his chest. You smile at the way his heartbeat stutters under your touch. “I have to avoid putting myself in danger otherwise you’ll throw yourself in front of me like the reckless doofus you are.”
“You know,” Akira says, edging closer to you, pressing your palm into his chest, where you can feel his heart thundering now. His other hand cups your chin, tilting your face up to meet his wry, toothy grin. “Some would call that romantic. Risking it all for the person they love.”
“Fudo, you are not risking your life for me,” you say, exasperated, jerking yourself out of his grasp.
“But babe, I’m a devilman! I’d probably survive a bullet!”
In a way, you can’t blame Akira. You suppose that’s the way he knows how to love: putting himself on the line for others. He did it for Ryo, he did it for Miki, and he would do it for you in a heartbeat.
It’s not just the big things either. From saving you from demons to creeps ogling you on the subway; from whipping up curry for dinner when you're too tired to cook, to offering to rub your shoulders when you're stressed and achy.
While Akira doesn’t neglect to tell you he loves you, his actions practically scream it.
“Just have some kind of sense of self-preservation, alright?” You sigh. “I wouldn’t want to be widowed at such a young age.”
He frowns. “It’s not like I’d leave you on your own—W-wait.” His eyes widen. “Did you just say widow? But we’re not even—”
You turn away swiftly, hoping to hide your own surprise at your declaration. “Ah... forget I said that,” you say, walking away.
“Hey, wait—we’re not done talking here! You can’t just leave!” He runs after you, grabbing your wrist. You glance back, surprised; you nearly forgot how fast his demonic abilities made him.
He calls your name, sickly sweet. “Mind repeating what you said back there, babe?”
“Just ah, throwing that out there, Akira.” You laugh nervously, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as high-pitched to him as it does to your own ear. “You know… metaphors. We’re not actually—I mean, we’ve only been together for what? A year so…”
You hope against all odds that he can’t feel your pulse thundering from his grip, but the way he smirks devilishly has you convinced he can anyways.
“Well now you’ve got ideas in my head,” he says smoothly, pinning you against the closest tree. “And I wouldn’t want to disappoint your expectations.”
ii. PHYSICAL TOUCH
tw: light nsfw at end
Akira's parents were hardly around when he was a kid, busy as they were traveling to different countries to offer their aid. He would never complain about it, knowing that as traveling doctors, they were serving the greater good—but still he yearned for the little things he missed out on: a pat on the head for a job well done, a hug whenever he hurt himself and needed comfort.
It makes sense then, that now that he’s in a relationship, he's almost always missing your touch.
"You’re up way too early,” he grumbles, shuffling into the kitchen. He makes for a hilarious sight, his hair in disarray, black tufts sticking out in every direction. His lean form is swathed in a throw blanket he’d grabbed from your bed, one you distinctly remembered bunching up next to him so he wouldn’t notice you left that morning. Opening his arms wide, he envelops you in a hug from behind. You giggle as your spatula flips the eggs on the pan.
“I was hungry.”
He hums, slotting his chin onto your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist, watching you cook. He doesn't let go even as you attempt to wiggle out of his grasp, reaching for the cupboard.
“Got it,” he says, tightening his grip around you, and—with enviable ease—uses his much longer limbs to open the cupboard and grab a plate. He can’t resist letting out a short laugh when he hears you grumble.
“I could’ve gotten it if someone let me,” you say, sticking your tongue out at him. “But thank you.”
As you serve breakfast onto both of your plates, you make your way to the dining table before Akira coughs meaningfully behind you.
“What?”
He sets your plates down and sits himself, before gesturing onto his lap.
Your jaw drops. “Akira, really?”
“Your seat’s taken,” he points out, gesturing at the other seat, where Taro’s settled himself into. Your attempt to lift him off the seat ends with him hissing at you. You glare at the black cat, and he simply meows back at you.
“Fine. No funny business though, okay?” you tell him, before sitting down on his lap. Akira engulfs you in his blanket fort, wrapping his arms back around you.
“Promise I won’t.”
You’re convinced him and Miki’s cat are conspiring against you. You definitely see him wink at the cat when he thinks you’re not looking.
Akira seems happy however, rubbing your side as he chows down on breakfast. You blink; come to think of it, you’ve never seen him quite this clingy.
“Everything good?” you ask him suddenly.
He sends you a wide-eyed look, a piece of egg hanging comically from his mouth. He swallows. “Yeah? Why?”
“Nothing, you’re just… well, you’re pretty touchy this morning,” you note.
His grip tightens around you. “I was just thinking how lucky I am to have someone to hold. That’s all.”
Heat creeps to your cheeks at the sheer honesty in his words, before turning your attention back to your own plate.
It’s not that you don’t want to be touchy, but… well to be honest, Akira’s thighs are lean and muscled—definitely not the most comfortable seat. You shift this way and that, feeling your boyfriend still behind you, before squirming.
“Hey, uh…” He grips your waist meaningfully, and you still. “I know you said no funny business, but keep that up, and these aren’t the only eggs getting scrambled.”
Your jaw drops. “Akira.”
He shrugs unapologetically. “You know what you do to me.”
iii. QUALITY TIME
“Wanna go for a ride on my bike?”
“I saw this new romcom on Netflix. Wanna watch with me?”
“Hey, what was that video you wanted me to watch with you?”
...
Akira huffs, slouching onto the couch next to you. When you glance up from your phone, he takes the opportunity to pounce, planting his head onto your lap.
“Can I help you?” you ask, raising a brow.
He stares at you pointedly with his sharp rimmed gaze, and you get the sense that he is none too pleased about you shooting down his attempts to grab your attention.
“Nah, I’m fine. Just settling in,” he says casually, before whipping out his own phone. Two could play at this game. He adjusts himself, propping his legs onto the arm of the couch, burrowing into your lap. Catching your eye and sends you a smirk.
“What’s wrong?” he says, smug and borderline mocking. “Thought you were busy. Just trying to entertain myself here.”
You snort, attention returning back to your phone as well.
He nudges your hand with his head a few times, and you get the message, and your fingers curl into his unruly locks. He hums.
You can’t resist glancing over a few times. You know Akira hates spending time on his phone; he says it makes him restless. Has the old man finally figured out what Tiktok is? You lean over to see what he’s watching. His front camera is on, and it flashes, taking a picture of the both of you.
“Seriously?”
He glances up. “I’m documenting my favorite program here.”
You groan, grabbing a pillow nearby and throwing it at him. He catches it with ease.
“Delete that,” you whine. “I look awful.”
“How else am I supposed to remember this exciting time we spent together?”
“Couldn’t you be normal and just—just go on social media or something?”
He blinks at you innocently—or as innocent as his perpetually devious face could manage. “Why don’t you show me what that is?”
Akira certainly has ways of demanding your attention.
iv. WORDS OF AFFIRMATION
tw: nsfw
“I love you,” Akira groans, trailing sloppy kisses down your neck.
“You feel so good,” he mutters, his hips rocking against yours, his hands pinning yours to the bedframe. He’s frenzied, his hands roaming the soft give of you, wanting to feel every part of you.
“Wanna—wanna make you mine,” he grunts, sealing his fate with a kiss, stilling as he spills his warmth inside you. You’re locked together, your legs tangled for what seems an eternity.
Akira finally reclines back, and you shift with him.
These nights always seem infinite. When Akira murmurs sweet nothings and your body latches onto them, the heat of his promises diffusing into your skin until the morning comes.
“I wanna get stronger for you,” he tells you, gripping your hand in his. “I need to.”’
“You’re already strong.” You squeeze his hand in yours, and his lips twitch upwards.
He props himself up on his elbow, staring at you intently. Then he’s caging your body into the bed, pressing his forehead into your shoulder, the warmth of his breath coming in a rush against your skin.
“Not strong enough to handle the thought of losing you.”
v. GIFTS
tw: also gets lightly nsfw
Akira’s tried and true method is flowers. Whenever you’re mad at him, or whenever you’ve had a bad day at work, he’ll show up with a bouquet, just for you. Maybe it’s something he picked up from watching too many cliché romance movies, or maybe it’s a method he learned from watching Miki’s parents’ disputes.
He clicks his tongue, setting down his phone. He’s not sure how every single flower shop in the area is closed, but they’re not an option at the moment. He peers at the neighbor’s house, at the array of flowers blooming across her lawn. Maybe he could ask nicely…
When you get home earlier than usual, you’re surprised to see a box of chocolates on the counter, along with a note.
Sorry for being an idiot.
You snort, popping the lid open and a chocolate into your mouth, humming as the sweet taste spreads across your tongue. The door opens and shuts behind you, along with a rushed exclamation.
“Y-you’re back early.”
Akira’s covered in dirt, a bundle of flowers clenched in his hands.
“This is—this is for you,” he says, holding out the flowers to you. “Shit, I don’t have a vase or anything…”
“What happened to you?” you ask, biting back your mirth.
“The old woman across the street said I could take these if I helped her with gardening, but it took way longer than I thought. And then she kept trying to invite me in, or or ask if I wanted to get dinner with her, but...”
You laugh, plucking the flowers from him. “I think we have a vase somewhere.”
“Wait,” he says, gripping your wrist. “Are you still—are we—” You raise a brow. “I’m sorry!”
“I’m not mad, you know that, right?”
He stares at you, baffled. “But you wouldn’t even talk to me this morning.”
“I was running late. In a rush. Besides…” You step closer to him, rubbing at a splotch of dirt on his cheek. “Seeing how far you went for these? How could I stay mad?”
He entwines his arms around you, resting his chin on your head. “I’m glad.” He sniffles. The two of you stay like that for several beats, until you tug at his shirt.
“We need to get you out of this.”
He looks down at you, raising a brow. “Because it’s filthy,” you clarify.
“Why?” He smirks. “Don’t want me to rub off on you?” he asks, nudging his hips against yours.
“Looks like I already did,” he notes, eyeing your stained white shirt. “Why don’t we both clean up in the shower?” He waggles his brow.
As expected, the two of you end up getting down and even dirtier in the shower.