You didn’t understand the reasoning behind the second rule, but you were okay with them. Seemed fair enough, easy even. And it worked for a couple months. You never saw the minotaurs up close. You knew they were in the field when you were inside, and you left before they came back. Easy job, paid great.

They weren’t mindless beasts, but they couldn’t communicate properly either. Some said they were more bull than human, having incredibly big dicks with such potency that they could shoot their cum as far as three meters away when they came. The size of their dicks was also legendary, and apparently they had some kind of special properties to their come that made it so the receptor could stretch wide enough. Just thinking about getting dicked down by a dick so big magic was needed to accommodate it inside of you made your pussy tingle.

You were a bit sad that you weren’t allowed to interact with them, but it was okay because at some point you could get promoted to bathing-helper, and then you’d be able to assist them while getting cleaned. Which also meant touching the prime beef of their pectorals, and muscular legs, and big biceps... The rumors said the people in that position had to clean their dicks thoroughly, sometimes going as far as having to wear little to nothing because the minotaurs could cum on them. But you didn’t know if that was true. It was only a rumor, right?

Deep down, you hoped it wasn’t. You hoped you had to be naked next to the minotaurs and let them touch you as you cleaned their monster dick, maybe they would even get hard… You had to close your legs hard to try palliate some of the build up tension on your pussy. You were getting so wet thinking about them, you could feel your panties becoming uncomfortable.

So yeah, maybe you had a bit of an obsession with minotaurs and their dick. Maybe you jerked off thinking about how would it feel to be fucked until you passed out… Maybe you wanted to be a mindless minotaur cum-dump. Just maybe. But you weren’t there for any of that. You were supposed to clean up their rooms and refill their water and food. And you did it great. But one day things went south, fast.

You got stuck under one of the mattress support bars. You were cleaning under it, and the back of your shirt got caught. You struggled, trying to get out. But it wasn't happening. How was this your life? You lamented yourself as you kept trying to push back. Your knees hurt after a few minutes, the concrete hard under them. Your chest was pressed down, and your ass up, your back arched in an uncomfortable position. Half your body's blood felt like it was in your head, and you felt dizzy because of the heat. You tried to calm down and get out, but you just couldn’t.

Your heart started to race as a big horn sounded, announcing the return of the minotaurs to their rooms. You struggled harder, but there was no way. You even tried to get off your shirt, but whatever it was stuck was also grabbing your bra. There was no way you could get out by yourself. You started to panic as you cried for help, expecting really hard that somebody was looking at the cameras and could send help. But the sound was muffled by the mattress, and you knew it was a change of shift, so you’ll probably be on your own for at least half an hour.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The hooves approaching the room sounded deafening even from under the mattress. You shuddered, a bit scared, but mostly excited. So many of your late night fantasies started like this. And now... Now something inside of you was awakened by the sound of a big minotaur coming your way. Your poor defenseless body at his mercy... Your pussy was getting soaked at the thought. Anticipation filled your every cell. You weren't better than a slut.

There were steps behind you before it was silent. You shivered under the bed, struggling to get out so you could at least see the minotaur. You didn’t know how they would react to having a human inside their private space. The struggle just made your pants lower a bit, you could feel the air at the top of your ass.

The minotaur didn't give you any indication or heads up before there was a big hand groping your ass. His claws pinched and scratched your skin. It was an exploratory touch, like he wasn't really sure what you were, yet. Maybe he couldn’t see that you were an upside down human, or the lower half of one at least. He probed and poked at you, pinching and twisting and caressing.

Your pants were ripped out, your panties, too. Cold air hitting your vulnerable areas as you whined under the bed. He let out a confused sound, poking his finger in your holes and retracting them, as if he was testing how far he could go. He seemed fascinates at the sight of your holes stretching around the tip of his fingers, pushing two of them inside of your pussy, another two inside of your asshole. You cried out as you felt a gush of juices coating his hand. You were so turned on your brain felt like floating. He pushed his fingers in an out in tandem, twisting them, making you squirm.

You felt the warm caress of his breath before you felt his rough tongue. He made a content noise as he tasted you, eating your pussy and rimming your asshole like a champ. Nobody had ever done that to you, you were seeing stars and couldn’t contain the moans. He seemed to like that. But it didn't last long enough for you to come. You were so close you cried out when he stopped tonguing your openings.

But the emptiness didn’t last long either. Before you knew it, something big was pushed inside of you. His dick, you realized, the head so big it could have been your whole fist. You screamed at the intrusion, it was too big, there was no way that could fit. You tried to remember the magic come, but it hurt, it was so big. He didn't care about your struggle or your pain, you weren't sure he understood what you were even. He pushed and pushed until he was seated completely inside of you. The pain turned into blinding pleasure, his dick so big you could almost feel it in the back of your throat.

But he didn’t stop there. He started fucking your pussy like a piston, making you orgasm in a few thrusts, roaring as your pussy convulsed around him. He fucked you over and over, your orgasms so close together that you didn’t know if you were coming or not anymore. There was just pleasure and more pleasure being ripped out of you, forcing you to keep coming, too overstimulated to comprehend what was happening to you. Your pussy was like an exposed nerve, and his dick was sending electroshock to it.

And then you felt it, a big stretch at the entrance of your pussy, opening you wide, locking you to him. A knot. He knotted you. You didn’t know minotaurs had a knot, but you should have guessed. Fuck.

You were going mad, the dick so big, so good, the knot stretching you so wide. It shouldn't feel good, but you could feel your body going limp and your brain disconnected, the pleasure higher than possible. You couldn't hold it anymore. Something shot out of you like a fountain, you thought you were squirting, but you didn’t even know you could do that. Maybe you needed a minotaur’s dick to make you squirt… You almost laughed at the thought, but it was soon replaced by the feeling of the first shot of his cum deep inside your pussy. (The first creampie of many, even if you didn’t know yet.)

Again and again he came in you. Rope after rope of his release hit your insides, overflowing out of your abused hole. But he just fucked another load into you. He couldn’t move much, barely a couple centimeters in and out, but his hips hit your ass over and over, sending your face to the floor where a pool of your drool was rubbing against your face. You felt filthy. It was the most pleasant torture, to be fucked senseless by a mindless minotaur.

You couldn’t hold your knees up anymore, but he grabbed your hips and held you in place as he rutted his knot inside of you. Each thrust rubbing his big knot against your G-spot making you see stars. You tried to push back to accompany his movements, your mind numb with pleasure.

At some point he lifted you, getting your shirt and bra ripped out of you as he freed you from under the mattress. Once you were out, you shivered and whimpered at the sight in front of you. There were at least ten other minotaurs in front of you, all of them had erections as big as the one inside of you. Your pussy quivered, making the minotaur buried in you grunt and thrust harder against you, another splash of cum hitting your cervix.

At some point he let you go, his dick completely spent after coming in you who knows how many times. You thought that was it, but another set of hooves sounded behind you. Your body was passed to another set of strong arms. Your pussy completely used and abused gave a brave twitch at the thought of another dick. Come was dripping out of you. You didn't have to wait long, two seconds the other minotaur was fucking you deep and hard, bouncing your human body like a fleshlight over his dick. He fucked whatever was dripping down back into you, adding his own seed to the mix. The second one moved you up and down his shaft as your titties bounced. All the others in front of you jerking off.

He knotted you, too. You felt bloated, and when you looked down you saw a distended abdomen, and something moving there… Oh fuck. His dick was so big you could see it hitting deep inside of you, moving the cum they left there. You were being stuffed so full your lower abdomen was bloated. It should be disturbing, but it made your pussy twitch, the minotaur roaring behind you, grabbing one of your tits and pinching your nipple so hard you cried out, some more juices gushing out.

The minotaur kept rutting against your G-spot, your mouth open, your throat raw because of the screaming of pleasure. You didn’t know how many times he filled you, you didn’t know if someone else filled you… Whoever was fucking you tried to pull out, and accidentally pushed your abdomen. And a splash of liquid sounded when the semen inside of you gushed out and hit the floor. It was so filthy, so arousing…

You passed out.

You woke up as your body was moved around, another minotaur taking the place and entering your gaping hole, cum from who knows how many minotaurs oozing out as he pushed in. Your abdomen was still distended, they probably fucked more cum into you while you were out. Your pussy dripping with a mixture of cum and your own juices. You were a mess of babbling words and mindless groans.

“Hey boss, should we stop them?” Some human voice asked behind you, you couldn’t process their words correctly.

“Nah, let them have their fun with her first.” Someone answered back, a chorus of laughter following.

“I think we should create a new position for her. She seems to enjoy being a minotaur’s slut.” Another voice added, making more laughter erupt. Another dick entered you as you whimpered, dumb with pleasure. “Look at that, she squirted!” A chorus of amazement and amusement followed.

“She’s just a fucktoy.” The degrading words made you shudder and whimper as they made fun of your useless form, being fucked like a toy for the minotaur’s enjoyment. Passed around like a mindless human doll.

When you arrived he was already seated at the bar, his glass half empty and his cheeks already flushed. You sauntered up to him, plopping down at his side and ordering a glass of wine. He wore his usual crisp, gray suit and pink tie, but under the tacky pink lighting in the bar for the occasion, it made him appear a bit more roguish and artfully messy. Maybe it was the way his hair fell against his forehead, knotted from continuously running his hand through it or maybe you just had too much wine coursing through your veins, warming your body and sending you into a spiraling heat, but the mere sight of him had you clenching your thighs together. You tried not to look too excited.

"Hey," Reigen greeted. "Couldn't handle spending tonight alone, could you?" He grinned teasingly.

"I just got bored." You rolled your eyes at him playfully. "And you came."

"I did come." He chuckled gruffly. It took great effort for you to keep your composure, thinking of innuendos in your head but not daring to utter them aloud.

The bartender set your glass of wine before you, and Reigen ordered him to put it on his tab. You smirked as you tipped the glass back, taking a generous sip. You felt a swell of pride, the usually frugal man who wasn't so cheap with you. "Thank you," you breathed.

"No problem." He was trying to remain nonchalant, but his leg bounced next to yours as he downed the rest of his drink.

The two of you talked about generic things, the holiday, work, what shows you were watching, books you were reading, video games you were playing, all of the socially acceptable, boring things. All the while, his leg kept bouncing. It was distracting really.

You laid a hand on his thigh just above his knee to steady it.

Reigen gave you a puzzled look, glancing down at your hand and back up. At the tiniest hint of judgment, you were retracting your hand, cheeks warming shamefully. "Sorry. You were fidgeting," you muttered the lame excuse, nervously drinking more of your wine.

To your surprise, after you had set your glass back down, he grabbed your hand, spreading it back over his thigh, even a little higher this time.

"Can I try some of that?" He nodded towards your wine as if nothing had just happened.

"Ye - yeah." You quickly pushed the glass towards him, your mouth running dry. Now your hand felt heavy on his leg. You watched him carefully as he took a large drink from your glass before pushing it back over your way, licking his lips.

"It's good," he told you after a long moment of staring at each other. "Getting kind of empty. You want another?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe in a bit," you hummed, watching him curiously. You dragged your hand down and off his leg, grinning wickedly, your confidence returning at his encouragement. "Or I can finish it and we can go have some elsewhere?"

"I have some at home." Reigen shrugged. "Let me close my tab."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You were delightedly surprised at how quickly your plans were falling into place. Like a gentleman, Reigen walked you inside his apartment, holding the door open for you and taking your coat and purse. Not so much like a gentleman, his lips were on yours almost instantly, forcing his tongue into your mouth as his hands on your hips held you against him.

You squeaked, a small sound of surprise that made him pull back, looking unsure of himself. "Sorry - is this okay?"

"Yes," you giggled. "I was just a little surprised at how aggressive you're being."

Worry flashed across his features, his hands dropping away from your waist. "Shit, I'm sorry," he muttered again.

"No, no." You grabbed his hands, guiding them back to where they were. "I want you to manhandle me."

A beat passed as your words processed in Reigen's mind. "Oh fuck." His hands went limp on your hips, eyes darkening and jaw going slack. "Fuck," he repeated, looking desperate now.

"Is something wrong?" You teased.

"No," he spoke just loud enough for you to hear. He watched you carefully, eyes darting about your features to search for any sign of hesitation. "You're sure you want this?"

"More than sure." You nodded. He'd see just how sure you were if he got far enough to glimpse your matching underwear.

Your head spun with your wine buzz as Reigen whisked you along to his bedroom. He fell atop his mattress with you on top, straddling his waist. He groaned pathetically while you returned your mouth to its position against his, tongues unceremoniously exploring each other. It was drunken and filthy, the way you practically drooled into his mouth. His hands shamelessly explored your body now, starting at your waist and stopping at your ass, groping and squeezing your plush skin. You shuddered as he lifted the bottom hem of your dress over the curve of your bum to fondle the bare skin, his fingers grazing your clothed pussy.

"Reigen," you gasped into his mouth.

"Yeah?" He laughed cockily. "Is something wrong?" He mocked. It was really a game of push and pull between you two. When one of you lost confidence, the other was there to do enough uplifting for the both of you. When one of you acted more desperate, the other was there to taunt and tease. You enjoyed this game with him, this balance. You liked taking turns, moment by moment, deciding who was the cat and who was the mouse.

"Please - just take it off." You didn't care how desperate you sounded, since he was the one doing the teasing now, and it was getting you even hotter. The heat swirling in your core was becoming unbearable, and you needed him to touch you.

"Oh my God," he mumbled hoarsely. "You're acting so slutty. It's so fucking hot."

"Reigen!" You whined impatiently.

"Alright, alright."

He reluctantly released your bum, taking your dress into his hands and lifting it up and over your body. You sat up to assist him in taking it off, giggling when his jaw dropped at the sight of your matching bra and panties. You reached down to begin undoing his belt, leaning over him to showcase your cleavage as you did so.

"I could cum right now," he sighed. "Did you wear that for me?" He hooked a finger under your panties before pulling back and releasing the fabric, letting it slap against your hip.

"Mhmm." You nodded, yanking his belt from his pants and tossing it aside. "You like it?"

"I love it." He continued to toy with the band of your underwear. "You're beautiful." Reigen's cheeks warmed at the compliment he gave you. The way he could be so cocky and so soft with you simultaneously was driving you mad. A straightforward businessman who was also a little dorky...it got you wet like no other man could.

You unzipped his pants, pressing a kiss to the bit of exposed skin just above the band of his boxers in thanks. He let loose a shaky breath, undoing his tie and beginning to shimmy out of his jacket and unbutton his shirt. You sat up to give him space to undress himself, helping him unbutton his top while he slowly attempted to kick his pants off. It was chaotic and clumsy, the two of you working together to hastily remove his clothing, but you giggled through it with him and didn't stop until he was left in nothing but his boxers. You took your place back on his lap, grinding down against his clothed, hardening cock. The both of you moaned in harmony at the friction.

Reigen's fingers dug into your sides, pulling you down onto him. He panted and watched in awe as you rolled your hips against his, the both of you unabashedly dry humping one another like crazed teenagers. He reconnected your lips, the noises you were making falling into each other's mouths. It was pure bliss until it wasn't, until you needed more. And somehow, without any words being spoken, Reigen knew. He was pulling away from you again with a groan, laying back against his sheets and looking up at you with a deadly serious expression.

"Take your panties off and sit on my face," he demanded.

Your eyes went wide, shocked by the blunt, lewd request. Something inside your stomach churned, making you twitch. "What?" Your face grew hot. His intense gaze made you squirm. Your head was swimming.

"You're gonna act shy now? Like you weren't just rubbing yourself against me?" He laughed meanly. "Come on." He tapped your thigh like it was simple. "Come rub yourself against my mouth instead."

Your brain was short-circuiting. He had beat you at your own game, and it was making you want to run, the balance tipped back in his favor. "I - I don't - I mean, are you sure? I've never done that before."

"First time for everything." He grinned. "Need some encouragement?" He rubbed comforting circles into your skin. You were struggling to process reality, your friend, hard as a rock beneath you, asking you to sit on his face. You took a deep breath.

"What if I like," you searched for the right words, "break your neck?"

"Then I'll die a happy man," Reigen mused.

"I'm being serious!" You pouted.

"You're not going to break my neck," he groaned in frustration. "I've got support." He patted the pillows underneath his head for extra measure.

"I'm nervous," you confessed. "Sorry, I know that's not very sexy."

"You kidding? You're still a bombshell." Reigen smiled. "You can lay down and I can eat it that way if you'd prefer?" The way he talked about eating your pussy so casually made your chest flutter. You gasped at him, throbbing against the damp fabric of his boxers.

"No." You blushed deeply. "It's okay. I can do it."

"Do what?" He raised an eyebrow. "Can I hear you say it?" He was toying with you now, making you say dirty things just for the sake of it.

"You are so-" you huffed. "I'll sit on your face."

"Good girl," he praised teasingly. "Alright, let me see then. Take them off."

You whined but obeyed, lifting up off of him to slide your panties down and off of your legs. You quickly straddled him once again, shuddering when your bare heat caught on the fabric of his boxers.

"Shit." With heavily lidded eyes, Reigen reached forward, running a finger through your folds to gather your essence. You moaned at his gentle touch, trying and failing to keep your composure as you thought of his warm tongue being pressed there instead. "Okay. Come up here," he instructed, beckoning you with the finger coated in your juices.

You reluctantly crawled up his body, stopping when you were positioned above his face. You sank down frantically, not wanting to delay the inevitable any longer, but held yourself up so as not to crush him with your full weight. Reigen hummed against you, grabbing your hips and pulling you down the rest of the way. A shockwave of pleasure racked through your torso as his tongue pressed into you, the vibrations of his groaning tickling your core. You cried out, overwhelmed already, and he had only just begun.

"Fuck!" You held onto his hair, staying still as he licked against you, his hands digging bruises into your ass and thighs. The low, guttural, breathy and slurping noises he was making beneath you had you clenching around nothing, soaking his mouth and chin. You cried and whimpered, trembling as he seemed to know just how to get you going.

Chasing your high as you got more comfortable atop of him, you slowly rolled your hips against his face. Reigen made sounds of approval, repositioning his hand placement to encourage you to keep going, to keep riding and using his face the way you needed to. It was nasty, your face flushed with the realization of how obscene it was, and the realization only made you get hotter, wetter. The coil in your lower stomach kept tightening and tightening, threatening to snap.

You pulled away from him, collapsing at his side.

"What are you doing?" He panted in disbelief, his face glistening with your slick.

"Want to cum on your cock," you mumbled drunkenly, taking off your bra. "Please, fuck me." You tossed your bra aside and spread your legs, batting your lashes up at him tiredly.

"Holy shit," Reigen gasped. He fumbled for his boxers, fighting to quickly pull them down and off his body. You shamelessly watched his hardened length spring free, impatiently spreading your legs even farther apart.

After scrambling for a condom in his nightstand and rolling one on, he crawled over you, dipping his head forward to capture your mouth in a sloppy kiss. You tasted yourself on his lips as he sunk into you, swapping moans. He pulled back to watch himself move slowly in and out of you, eyes wide and glassy. You screwed yours shut, relishing in the feeling of his thick cock stretching your walls. You opened them only when you felt his thumb press against your bundle of nerves, rubbing fast, tight circles as he slowly increased the pace of his thrusts into you.

"Reigen!" You gasped, grabbing his wrist and trying to push him away. With his free hand, he ripped your hand away, pinning it above your head.

"Thought you wanted to be manhandled?" He grunted, his composure wavering in and out as you clamped around him. "Oh my - fuck. S - so tight and warm," he whimpered into your neck as he practically collapsed over you, struggling to keep a steady rhythm on your clit and inside you.

"'S too much!" Tears were prickling in your eyes. You weren't prepared to release just yet, but it seemed you weren't getting much of a choice. You could hardly think or remember how to breathe, forced to take it as he pumped in and out of you. You were squirming beneath him, trying to relieve some of the pressure though it was no use.

"Stay still," he growled, his voice deep, carnal, and almost unlike him. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't obey, back arching and thighs trying to clamp shut to resist the force of his blows.

He was getting frustrated with your refusal to listen, tightening his grip on your wrists. He removed his thumb from you clit and pulled out of you in one quick movement, ignoring your dumbfounded expression as he flipped you over and lifted your hips, re-entering you from behind. It was painful, the way he slammed back into you, but it hurt in a way that sent an extreme wave of pleasure through your core. You were basically screaming now, falling limp underneath him, but he wouldn't allow it, wrapping an arm around your waist and another around your shoulders and neck to hold you upright as he took you from behind. He found your clit again, expertly rubbing his fingers against you while he thrusted into your ruined cunt.

You couldn't make out any coherent words, crying and whining loudly while he muttered praises in between kisses pressed to your temple. "I know, I know," Reigen cooed. "You're okay. It's okay. I've got you. You're almost there."

It didn't take much longer for either of you in this position. Reigen's thrusts were starting to become erratic, his grip on you clumsily faltering and tightening, back and forth. "I'm gonna cum," he told you in a pained tone. "You almost there, baby?"

The innocent pet name in such an indecent setting knocked the wind out of you. All you could do was nod and make a sort of sound of agreement. He was more strategic now about the way he moved, trying to get you there before him. You relaxed into him, trusting him to hold you up as you let that coil inside snap. You shuddered and trembled against him, temporarily going to another place entirely as you he chased his own high, pulling out only moments later after he was finished.

You laid beside him, the two of you panting and coming back down in unison. He gave himself a minute before he moved to clean up, discarding his condom and heading to the bathroom. Without him inside you or near you, you suddenly felt very cold. You waited for him curiously and a bit anxiously, a small bud of worry blossoming in your chest at his absence and his silence. You heard the faucet running for a few moments before he was returning, a wet cloth in his hand.

For all of his obliviousness and goofiness, Reigen was surprisingly attentive and soft, gently bringing the warm cloth in between your thighs to clear up some of the residue that was left behind. You gasped at the feeling of the fabric against your sensitive core, but allowed him to quietly and softly wipe away the remains of your encounter. It all seemed to come together in this moment, to make sense, why you had such an intense crush on this man who was supposed to be your friend.

"Thank you," you croaked tiredly when he was done.

"You need anything?" He asked you hoarsely, sounding just as exhausted as you were. "Water? A snack?"

"I'm okay," you shook your head. You wondered if you were overstaying your welcome, lingering if you weren't going to have a drink or some food. It made you more nervous and uncertain when he left to go grab something for himself. He was still your friend, no matter how much you were enjoying yourself. Your past reminded you that you needed to be realistic. You reluctantly pushed yourself up from the plush confines of his comforter, searching for your undergarments. "I should get going," you explained when he returned with a bottle of water.

Reigen's expression fell. "You're not going to stay?"

"Oh." You softened under his harsh gaze. "I don't know - I guess I just assumed you wouldn't want me to after we-"

"What kind of a guy do you think I am?" He laughed. "You're not going home at this hour by yourself. And I like to cuddle afterwards," he stilled, "unless you don't."

You giggled at him. "Yeah, I do too."

"Good!" He jumped back into bed, pulling your naked body flush against his. You laughed, blushing slightly as you comforted into his embrace. He wanted you here. Could this have been more than a one night thing?

As if reading your mind, "for what it's worth," he hesitated, "I'm really glad you texted me tonight."

You go everywhere together. 

Down the cracked backroads that lead nowhere, to the field where the stars still bother to show up, to the corner store that smells like old gum and dust.

You laugh until your lungs hurt. You fall asleep under the same blanket on the hood of his car, whispering about futures you don’t really believe in.

You sneak out after curfew more times than you can count. 

The streetlights paint everything gold, the pavement warm under your bare feet. You’re running down the street, wind in your hair, calling over your shoulder,

“Come on, Sae!”

He doesn’t move right away. He just watches — eyes tracing you like he’s trying to memorize you. Like if he blinks, you’ll be gone.

“You’ll get us caught,” he mutters when he finally starts walking.

“Then start running !”

And he does. He catches you easily, pulling you into his chest, both of you breathless and laughing. You look up at him, and for once, he’s smiling. Really smiling.

You think that if this is what forever feels like, you wouldn’t mind it.

The morning he leaves for basic, the sky won’t stop crying.

You stand on the train platform, hands gripping his sleeves like you can anchor him here. His uniform feels wrong — too neat, too sharp. Sae’s fingers curl around your wrists, steady, warm.

“You’ll come back, right?”

“Always.”

The word sits heavy in your chest. You believe it because you have to. 

You press your face into his shoulder, trying to memorize the smell of him — laundry detergent and rain.

When the whistle blows, he steps away, and your world tears neatly in half.

He does come back.

Two months later.

He’s bulkier, quieter, sharper around the edges, but he’s still him. 

When you see him walk toward you at the station, everything in you shatters and stitches itself back together in the same breath.

He kisses you before you can say anything. It’s short, clumsy, perfect.

“Told you,” he murmurs. “Always.”

You laugh and cry and hold him like you never want to let go again.

He stays for a week before his first deployment. You don’t waste a second. 

You walk to the diner every morning, watch old movies on his couch, fall asleep in his arms with his heartbeat against your ear.

He tells you it’s only nine months this time.

Nine months. And then he’ll be home for Christmas.

“You’ll see,” he says. “You’ll complain about my ugly sweater again.” “It is ugly.” “And everyone but you loves it.”

You do love it, you just never told him. You love everything that has to do with Sae.

You love him more than anything you’ve ever known.

The waiting becomes a second life.

You write him letters every week, filling them with small things — the weather, your classes, how Rin’s growing taller and grumpier. You pretend he reads every word.

You laugh with your friends even when it feels wrong. You smile in pictures, you go to class, you live. But underneath, everything is him.

You’re made up of Sae — heart, bones, and breath.

There’s no part of you that doesn’t ache in his absence.

When December comes, you go home for break.

The Itoshi house looks the same — warm light spilling from the windows, Rin shouting from upstairs, Mrs. Itoshi setting the table like she always does.

You spend your days there, waiting. 

You help Rin with homework, tease him when he rolls his eyes, tell yourself that soon, the door will open and Sae will step inside, brushing snow from his hair, saying, “Told you I’d make it.”

Every night, you check the news, the clock, your phone. You keep his texts unread just so you can pretend they’re new.

Christmas Eve morning arrives quiet and cold.

You wake up before everyone else, staring out the window, watching snow gather on the fence.

Your heart feels like it’s already running toward the door.

Then…a knock.

You don’t think.

You just run.

Your socks slide across the hardwood. You call out his name, half laughing, half crying.

“Sae?”

It has to be him. It’s Christmas Eve. He promised. 

He always keeps his promises.

You pull open the door, breathless —

and stop.

It’s not him.

There’s a man in uniform, but not Sae. His hair is darker, his eyes older. There’s a folded flag in his hands.

You laugh, small and nervous.

“Oh…are you, um is Sae-?”

The man’s mouth moves. His voice is steady, practiced. You catch pieces 

‘Itoshi Sae’, ‘combat zone’, ‘didn’t suffer’, ‘hero’.

But you can’t hear him.

The world goes fuzzy. 

The snow is too bright. 

Your knees hit the floor before you realize you’ve fallen. 

You can’t feel your hands. You can’t breathe. 

Someone is screaming — maybe Rin, maybe you.

When the officer leaves, the house is silent. 

The air smells like pine and iron and something unholy.

You don’t remember much after that.

You remember hands holding you down when you tried to run. 

You remember your mother’s voice on the phone. 

You remember Rin’s sobs from somewhere far away.

And then — nothing.

Just the quiet.

Just the ache.

Days pass, or maybe weeks. You stop marking them.

You sit by the window sometimes, staring at the snow until it blurs. You trace the frost with your finger and whisper,

“You said always.”

It becomes a prayer.

It becomes a curse.

Spring comes. The snow melts. The world forgets.

You go back to class. You learn to smile again, to eat, to sleep. 

You live, because that’s what you’re supposed to do.

But every year, when December rolls around and the lights go up, your chest tightens. The air smells like him again — cold and clean and gone.

You go back to the Itoshi house, sit on the porch steps, and look out at the street where you once ran barefoot, laughing. You can almost see him there, standing under the lamplight, eyes soft, saying,

“You’ll get us caught.”“Then run faster.”

You close your eyes and pretend.

Pretend that you’ll open them and he’ll be standing there, in his stupid sweater, snow in his hair, saying,

“Told you I’d come back.”

But when you do, it’s just the snow, falling soft and soundless, the world too quiet to hold him.

You whisper into the dark,

“Always.”

And the wind answers, faint and far away,

Always.

The snow outside your window glows faintly under the streetlights. 

It’s quiet tonight — the kind of quiet that feels holy. The kind that used to mean Christmas.

You’re older now. Your hair has gone gray in places, your hands tremble when you hold the teacup. 

The world has changed around you, outgrown you, but that little house on the corner hasn’t. It still smells like pinewood and cinnamon. It still hums when the heater turns on.

Some nights, you still set two plates out of habit. 

You still hum the song Sae used to whistle while waiting for the kettle to boil. 

You still dream of him — though lately, it’s getting harder to remember where the dream begins and where it ends.

You never married. Not because no one asked, but because every time you tried, you’d hear him in the back of your mind, laughing softly, telling you to stop overthinking.

You could never learn how to live without that sound.

It’s late when you finally drift to sleep, the glow of the streetlight painting soft gold against your walls.

And in your dream, it’s snowing again.

You’re standing in the middle of that old street — the one where you once ran barefoot, breathless, calling for him to catch up. You’re young again, happy.

The lights above you flicker gently, scattering halos of color across the fresh snow. Everything feels untouched, suspended in time.

You turn.

He’s there.

Just as you remember him — hair a little too long, eyes soft as dusk, that faint, knowing smile that never needed words. 

The years fall away in a heartbeat. The ache in your chest breaks open and blooms.

You don’t speak at first. You just run to him. The snow crunches under your feet, your breath catches, and when you finally collide, it’s like gravity finding its center again. 

His arms are warm. Real. Home.

You want to tell him everything — the birthdays he missed, the nights you waited by the window, the decades of learning how to breathe without him — but when he cups your face, all the words scatter like dust.

“I told you I’d come back,” he whispers.

Your eyes sting. You nod, choking on a sound that could’ve been a laugh or a sob. “You took your time.”

He smiles, just a little. “You waited.”

You press your forehead to his chest, and it’s like every winter before this one — the warmth of the lights, the smell of pine, the sound of his heart steady against your ear.

The world around you glows brighter. 

The snow falls slower. 

The air feels like promise.

He takes your hand, the same way he did at the train station all those years ago , and when you look up, there’s nothing but light ahead.

Not blinding. Not cold.

Just warm. Peaceful.

The kind of warmth that feels like coming home.

And as you step into it, you finally understand that he never really left.

He was only waiting for you to find your way back.

જ⁀* ©airybcby ❋ masterlists

**************************************************************************

You burst through the doors of your house hoping to find your twin older brothers, Atsumu and Osamu. You just ran two miles home in freezing rain after you walked in on your shitty boyfriend making out with some girl from your physics lecture. You may or may not have gotten into a screaming match with him, shredding your vocal cords raw and crying so hard that you now feel dizzy.

All you want is to collapse onto the couch and tell your big brothers how miserable you feel because they always know how to make you laugh. 

But as you make your way downstairs, you don’t hear the usual bickering and loud music. Just quiet with the faint sound of videos playing on a phone. You walk in.

“Samu? Sumu?” You whimper into the dark room. Someone shuffles on the couch, a head peeks up. Dark floppy hair framing two green, half lidded eyes. Not Atsumu or Osamu. Suna Rintaro. 

“Oh.” You sniff, “Sorry I’m looking for my brothers.” 

—

You’ve known Suna for what feels like forever. He played on the same volleyball team as your brothers in high school and since then he’s been a constant in your life. Always over at your house—stealing snacks, beating you at video games, hogging the hot water when he stays the night. You would probably classify him as a third brother if it weren’t for the fact that you’ve had a giant thinly veiled crush on him for as long as you’ve known him.

The twins would always tease you for it—whispering to ‘wipe the drool off your chin’ when Suna would be around shirtless, or snickering to themselves every time you somehow got seated next to each other on the couch. It definitely wasn’t a secret that you found him cute. 

But as far as everything goes, it was harmless, and Suna certainly never said anything about it, so you just assumed he was either cool with it or still miraculously oblivious. Besides, it’s not like anything would ever come of it. You knew that. Your brothers knew that. So there was no point thinking about it too hard.

—

Suna sets his phone down and sits up, turning to face you head on. You bite down on your lip to keep from dissolving into a puddle of tears. He’s definitely seen you cry before. Once when your prom date canceled last minute and he offered to go in his place, another time when Atsumu accidentally broke your favorite trinket and Suna tackled him just to make you laugh. 

“They went out to grab some pizza.” He stares you down, assessing the soaked clothes, messy hair, puffy eyes, petal pink cheeks. “Are you crying?” 

Maybe under different circumstances you would have been able to lie. To choke down your sobs, and force a smile, and say that everything was fine. But you had just discovered your now ex’s infidelity. And the mix of embarrassment and anger was still so fresh. You had no choice. 

Your chin trembles as fat tears begin to roll down your cheeks. 

Suna’s eyes widen ever so slightly before falling back to their half lidded state. You wipe at your eyes, sniffling, feeling pathetic. 

“I um…my boyfriend was…we’re done. It’s over.” Your voice falters on the last word and you shut your eyes tight. Like maybe you’ll open them and you won’t be a sniveling mess in front of your childhood crush. But before you can test your wish out, his low voice echos across the room.

“C’mere.” You look up as he nods to the cushion next to him, and before you can even think it over, you’ve already moved across the entire room to the small, old couch he sits on. Your knees knock into his as you sit and to your surprise neither you nor him pulls away. He reaches for something in his pocket, bringing out a small gray blunt, lighting it, and taking one quick puff.  It’s then that you notice how hazy the basement is. 

“You’ve been smoking?” You sniff as the wall of fresh haze engulfs you and mixes with the smell of rain coming off your skin. He runs his tongue over the inside of his bottom lip.

“Yeah, sorry. I wouldn’t have if I knew that—“ He looks at you—still cold, still wet, still crying. Suna’s expression has always been unreadable, but you swear you see something like curiosity flicker through his features. “Want some?” He extends the blunt over to you. You were never much of a smoker, but the thought of pressing your lips to the same place Suna just did is definitely enticing. 

Your ex never liked Suna. He used to accuse you of staring at him for too long, claiming you were “pining”. Shit, maybe you were. But who cares now? That guy isn’t your boyfriend anymore. 

“I don’t know…I’ve never—“ 

“Smoked. Yeah I figured. You’re a good girl.” You scoff. Suna had always liked to tease you for how much of a rule follower you were. But the thought triggers your memory to about an hour ago, right after your breakup when you might have keyed your ex boyfriend’s car in the thick of the fight. Suddenly you feel nauseous, the sting of the breakup and your subsequent freak out still gripping you.

“I’m not that good Rin, trust me.” Another wave of tears threatens to fall, you quickly choke them down, but the stress is etched into your face.

“Yeah? Then how about—” The tips of his fingers reach out, barely caressing the underside of your jaw and pulling your attention to where he’s bringing the blunt to your lips, “you prove it.” You meet his eyes right as the lighted paper rests atop your bottom lip. It’s not hard to give in to him. Not when the soft touch of his fingertips is warming your chilled skin.

He's never touched you like this.

“Suck in slowly.” He directs, voice soft and low. Sultry green eyes fixed on your mouth. Transfixed, you do as your told, not letting the smoke past your throat, “Now try to take a normal breath.” Keeping your eyes focused on his, you let your lungs inflate—the sultry drug, filling your tired lungs, “Hold it there.” You hold your breath for as long as you can— though it’s not long considering the violent cough that rips out of you. Suna chuckles and leans back further into the couch, watching your failed attempt. “Not bad for your first try.”

Through your coughs, you find yourself smiling, “That shit’s—ACK—terrible!” 

“You won’t be saying that in 5 minutes when you start feeling it. Try again.” He lifts the blunt to you again, the pad of his thumb parting your bottom lip from the top. This time you’re able to get it down—the smoke swirling around your lungs just long enough for you to feel a subtle buzz. “Exhale, that's it.” He whispers as he tilts your head back slightly, the perfect angle to release the smoke into the air.

He takes a hit for himself, "Why were you ever with that jerk anyways?” Smoke billows out his mouth as he speaks. The smoke hits your nose. It’s sharp and earthy and makes your skin tingle. You can feel the beginning of the weed’s effect on you. Like a weighted blanket anchoring you to the couch, dulling your nerves and slowing your heart rate. 

You shrug, “I don’t even think I liked him that much. It was just better than being alone.” You aren’t sure why you’re telling him this, but at the same time, he’s just so easy to talk to. Or maybe it’s the drugs. He hands you the blunt, you take another puff, longer and more drawn out this time. You can feel the smoke hit your chest. Your eyes shut and head falls back as you exhale.

“There you go.” He coos, taking back the glowing blunt. You both go like that for some time, passing the thing back and forth. Each taking turns holding it between your lips and blowing the silky smoke away. At some point, your tears stopped coming, now leaving your cheeks feeling cold and tight. You fall deeper and deeper into the high. It’s not as scary as you once thought it to be. Actually, it’s the opposite. With every second that passes you find it harder to remember why you were upset.

It’s just you, the blunt, a dark room, and a hot guy. You understand why Suna smokes so much. 

It’s relaxing. 

So relaxing that somehow you don’t notice when you’ve rested your head onto his shoulder. Or when his hand finds its home on your thigh, thumb absentmindedly stroking the soft skin. 

“How strong is this stuff?” You whisper, your body seemingly sinking into the couch. 

“Pretty strong. Probably should’ve started you out on something easier.” He looks over to you, your eyes half lidded and glazed over, head lolled over his arm, “Your brothers are gonna kill me when they see what I’ve done to you.” He laughs.

Fuck, that laugh. He couldn't get hotter if he lit himself on fire.

Maybe his charm distracted you or maybe the weed makes you brave, but you find yourself reaching out to brush the hair from his eyes, "What have you done to me, Rintaro?"

The air between you is charged static. His lips fall open just slightly. Enough to let you know that you've taken him off guard. Hell, you've taken yourself off guard. Your heart pounds, but your muscles feel heavy from smoking. You couldn't run off if you tried. You have to let the moment play out. God, you want it to play the fuck out.

"You tell me." He mutters, barely audible.

You lift your head from his shoulder and turn to face him. He moves too, grabbing your arm and guiding you closer. So close that you have to lift yourself up and over until you are sitting in his lap. Holy shit, you're sitting in his lap.

"This ok?" He asks. You nod as he brushes the hair behind your shoulders. The air is quiet. All you hear is the sound of the AC running and distant thunder, muffled by the basement walls. Suna holds you gently on your lower back. It seems neither of you quite know what to do next, but somehow it still feels natural.

"So what made you finally come to your senses? Why the breakup?" He asks it innocently enough. After an awkwardly long pause, you decide to just tell him.

"He cheated. Found out today." The words come out like bitter poison. A fresh wave of post breakup sting comes over you. Your chin trembles. Suna stares quietly, his hands move to your waist as if holding you steady. It's almost...protective. "You probably think I'm a loser." You sniff.

"I think I could kill him." He says dryly. You wish you had it in you to laugh.

“It hurts, Rin.” 

“Shh baby. I know.” One hand comes up to wipe away your tears as the other grips your waist tighter, “M’gonna make you forget all about it, k?”

You nod, falling forward onto his chest with exhaustion and let him position you. Tired legs straddle his lap, your aching center rests directly on his shorts. Those rock hard, muscular thighs graze your core with the upmost care. Like all those years of training and gym sessions were done just so you could have a comfortable seat.

"Wanna feel good." You whine against his collarbone. Your heart jumps as you wait for his response. You might be high, but even now you recognize that him pulling you onto his lap means something. There's something between you, something that crosses the boundary of friendship. And fuck you want it bad. All those years of pining after him suddenly rush back into you like you never stopped. Maybe you never did.

He drags your hips in, "I've got you."

Something hard and long presses against your clothed core. A short, but audible moan is expelled from your open lips which only encourages him further. Using your hips as leverage, he presses you down as his hips grind up to meet you. Over and over you feel the sweet pressure of his covered cock coming up to kiss your aching center.

You try to sit up, but you can only manage a few inches up his chest, until your face reaches his. Instantly he takes you up, smoke stained lips brushing over yours. He kisses soft and methodical, like you always thought he would. And you've thought about this so much.

His tongue slips behind your lips, flirting with your own tongue masterfully. He tastes like weed obviously, but also spearmint. It's instantly your new favorite taste.

He grinds up harder. You can feel the outline of his cock perfectly. A small noise escapes you and he takes notice.

“Bet he never made you feel like this.” He whispers, grinding up against your shorts and drawing a ragged breath from you.

“Since when do you care?” You say it like a joke, but mean every word. To you, Rin has always seemed indifferent when it came to those things. Every new partner was met with the same expressionless greeting and lackluster conversation. Eventually you had just come to the conclusion that he truly didn’t care who you dated.

But something fiery ignites behind those green eyes of his at your insinuation. You’re almost taken aback by the way he pulls you down sharply, dragging your hips across his length and eliciting an embarrassing whimper from your lips.

“You think it doesn’t kill me to watch my best friend’s little sister date guys like that?” He thrusts harder. The thick bulge rubbing right against your clit. You suck in another breath. “You think I like knowing that you’re not being treated right? Or that those guys might be thinking all the wrong things about you. That they get to touch you like this?” His hands slip to the hem of your soaked shirt, skin still cold from the rain. He lifts the fabric up and over your head, leaving you shivering, but only for a second. The palms of his hands which come to cup your ribs, instantly sends waves of warmth up your spine.

“Rin—“

“I know how guys think, y/n. Maybe I didn’t want to be nice to any of them because I know what they were thinking about you.” He drags your hips up again, slower this time like he’s cooling off from his mini rant. Your head tilts to the side and a deep breath fills your lungs. 

Is he jealous?

“What do you think about me, Rin?”

“I think you’re my best friend’s little sister.”

“Then why—hhah—are you letting me fuck myself on your lap?” 

“Because I’m not a very good friend.” He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, “And maybe I know all about your little crush on me.”

Your shoulders jolt up, “I—“

“Don’t worry, I think it’s cute. You’re cute.” You wonder if the heat in your cheeks looks as red as it feels. Of course he knows, it’s not like you’re subtle and you’re also pretty sure Atsumu read your diary, (you’ll be sure to yell at him later). But it feels so much more embarrassing when he addresses it so plainly. 

“You think I’m cute?” You squeak, as if you couldn’t be more embarrassing. He lets out a lazed, raspy laugh as he pulls you in tighter. Those muscular legs of his flexing beneath you.

“I think you're a lot of things. Cute is definitely one of them." You grind down on him, taking over control of the pace.

“Fuck.” His hands fly to his head as he lays back, watching you, “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble. If your brothers knew—“

“They’ll never know.” You grab his face in your hands, “Please Rin, don’t stop.” You roll your hips against his bulge—the pressure feels insane against your clothed pussy. He grinds up to meet you,“Fffuuuuuck.”

“Who said anything about stopping?” He smirks, grabbing your hips and taking back control, “I’m not done until you’re satisfied.”

He presses into you as his teeth suck the skin on your neck, leaving behind a trail of hickies that you’re sure will raise suspicion from your brothers. You can’t be bothered to care though. Not when it’s Suna. Not when it feels this amazing.

Your skin feels hot as he knocks into you at the perfect angle over and over again. So many layers of clothing separates you two but it doesn't even matter. You think about how good his cock feels raw and unrestrained. You wonder what he fucks like. Does he fuck like he kisses—slow and sweet, or like he's moving now—quick and hard.

You'd take it either way. As long as it was him.

“Shit—nngh, Rin, I th-think I’m close.”

“That’s it. Just let go baby, I’ve got you.” You hump him like a helpless bunny and he lets you, holding you just tight enough to keep you steady on him. When you come it’s with a saccharine whine in his ear. He grinds you through it, each bump of his clothed cock making you shudder against him. He lets out a low moan as well. Not from finishing, just from how sweet and innocent you sound. 

The one girl in the entire world that he shouldn’t want. Shouldn’t touch. Shouldn’t think about. But here you are, high off his weed and coming over his aching cock without even being really touched.

It’s not his fault. How could he refuse when you all but ran to him for reassurance? When you sniffed and batted your beautiful eyes at him like you always do when you need something. How could he not be so accommodating when your rain soaked clothes are clinging to your skin like something out of a magazine? Suna’s always been stoic, but he’s still human and you’re definitely a weak spot for him. Not quite a friend, but definitely not a sisterly relationship. No, you’re the girl he wants but can never have. 

But tonight—with the smell of winter rain mixing with your shampoo and how delicate you looked standing under the dim basement lighting, he knew that there was no stopping it. And shit, Suna isn’t sure if anything could ever stop it again. Not now that he finally knows what you taste like. Feel like.

You’ve just made it off his lap when you hear the front door open upstairs, your brother’s voices ringing throughout the house. Your head whips to meet Rin’s gaze.

“Rin—“

“I won’t say anything.” 

You nod, but something still lurks deep in your subconscious. Almost a feeling of…disappointment? Maybe that it’s over and you don’t know if it will ever happen again. You want it to happen again. You want him again.

The twins start coming down the stairs. You adjust your hair and clothes to make sure they don’t catch on, covering the fresh bruises on your neck. Their voices come closer. You try to catch your breath. They’re almost in the room—

Two familiar hands reach out and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. His tongue envelops yours for a moment, swirling around like a sensual dance—he tastes smoky and minty, and earth-like. Addictive. He kisses with slow passion, like he’s savoring this just as much as you are. He pulls away, and right before the twins turn the corner into the room, he leans in and whispers against the shell of your ear.

“Just relax.” Your cheeks heat to an insane level just as your brothers enter in.

“We’re back—oh hey y/n.” Osamu says obliviously. Atsumu rounds the corner as well, carrying two large pizzas that smell amazing.

“Thought you were at your boyfriend’s house.” Atsumu questions, one eyebrow raised. 

“We uh—we broke up.” You say, suddenly realizing that you don’t feel that sad about it anymore. Especially not when your lips still tingle from the weed and you can still taste Suna on your tongue. 

“Shit, when? Wait is that why it smells like weed in here? Rintaro did you give our sister weed?” Osamu rounds the couch and looks into your misty, red eyes. Pupils dilated and unfocused. 

“She walked in crying, I’m not gonna deny a sad woman weed.” 

“You got our sister high?” Atsumu gasps, setting the pizza down and joining Osamu in inspecting you. 

“I asked for some.” You lie. There’s no need for your older brothers to know anything about the last hour. Not now anyways. You barely know what just went down yourself. Anyways, you’re an adult, you don’t need permission to smoke.

The twins look at you for a moment—suspecting, pondering, and then that identical expression that tells you that they’ll drop it. Your shoulders sag with relief. A brief glance at Suna reveals he also seems to relax a bit. 

You’re in the clear. For now. Everyone digs into the pizza. Suna offers to bring you some, resuming his place next to you on the couch after.

“Nice’ve yuh to take care’ve her while we were gone, Rin.” Osamu says through a full mouth of pepperoni. Atsumu hums in agreement. Suna waves them off, letting his hand land right above your knee. Low enough to not raise suspicion, but intentional enough to still raise the hairs on your skin. 

“Anytime.”

You bite down on your lower lip. 

Rin walks into the kitchen looking like he has only been conscious for approximately thirty seconds. His black shirt is hanging loosely on his frame, his hair is a complete mess and his eyes are narrowed against the morning light.

Then he sees you, the children and something in his expression immediately softens.

It happens every single time.

No matter how exhausted he is, no matter how hard training was, no matter how stressful life gets, one look at his family and all those sharp edges disappear.

"Papa!"

Aoi immediately reaches for him.Rin sighs dramatically.

"You just woke up."

"Carry."

"You have legs."

"Carry."

Rin loses the battle instantly, as usual.

He takes her from your arms despite pretending to complain.

The second she's in his embrace, Aoi grabs both his cheeks and squishes them together.

Rin allows it, without resistance, like a man accepting his fate.

Aoi giggles."Papa pretty."

Rin freezes.

You physically watch his soul leave his body.

Aoi has always had that effect on him. She could probably convince him to hand over his World Cup trophy if she asked nicely enough.

Before he can recover, Ren starts tugging on his shirt.

"Papa, me too."

Rin looks down and then without a word he scoops Ren up with his free arm.

The result is ridiculous.

One child hanging from each side while Rin stands there pretending he isn't completely wrapped around their little fingers.

"Heavy," he mutters.

Ren immediately hugs his neck. "Papa strong."

Rin stares at him and just like that, he's defeated again.

A little later, Rin finds himself standing in the bathroom doorway watching Ren brush his teeth.

Or at least attempt to.

Most of the toothpaste is somehow ending up everywhere except his mouth.

"Ren, that's not how you brush."

"It is."

Rin sighs as he crouches beside him, and instead of scolding him, he gently adjusts the toothbrush in his hand.

"Like this."

Ren watches carefully, his eyes never leave his father's face.

When Rin explains something, Ren listens as though every word is important.

Whether it's brushing teeth, tying shoelaces, kicking a football, or understanding why it's okay to cry when something hurts— Rin never rushes him.

He never mocks him, never tells him to stop feeling things because somewhere deep down, Rin remembers what it felt like to be a little boy carrying emotions too big for himself.

And he refuses to let Ren go through that alone.

A little later, Aoi discovers a different mission entirely. Unfortunately for Rin, that mission is making him do her hair.

"Papa."

"No."

"Please?"

Rin closes his eyes because he already knows he's lost.

Ten minutes later, he's sitting on the couch armed with a brush, three hair ties and with absolutely no idea what he's doing.

Aoi sits patiently in front of him, for approximately seven seconds.

Then she starts talking, turning around, moving, then giggling.

The final hairstyle resembles something created during a natural disaster.

You walk into the living room and stop.

"What happened?"

"I followed the instructions."

"There were instructions?"

"No."

Aoi proudly shows off the disaster on her head. "Papa made me pretty."

Rin immediately looks offended.

You end up fixing it while Aoi chatters happily between you both.

The entire time Rin watches with a look that makes your chest ache.

Because he genuinely tries, every single day.

Not because he's naturally good at these things, not because it comes easily.

But because his children ask for him— and that alone is enough reason.

By night, the house settles into a comfortable quiet.

Ren is asleep across your lap, one arm wrapped around his dinosaur plushie. His dark hair falls across his forehead exactly the way Rin's does.

Aoi is curled against Rin's chest, clutching the edge of his shirt while she sleeps. One tiny hand remains fisted in the fabric as if she's afraid he'll disappear if she lets go.

Rin keeps an arm around her automatically.

You glance toward him, and he is already looking at you.

For a moment neither of you speak.

Then Rin leans closer, close enough that his forehead brushes yours.

His eyes drift toward the children and when he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"I still can't believe this is my life."

You smile softly.

He watches Ren sleeping peacefully, then Aoi tucked safely against him. The corners of his eyes soften.

"You know..." he murmurs, "when I was younger, I thought football was everything." His hand gently smooths Aoi's hair. "I thought winning would be enough."

You stay quiet.

Because moments like this don't happen often. Rin isn't someone who opens his heart easily. But when he does, every word matters.

"They're everything now."

His gaze lingers on the children.The look on his face is almost overwhelming, filled with pure love and devotion.

The kind that has no conditions attached to it.

"They deserve a good father," Rin lowers his eyes for a second. "and I'm trying."

You reach up and cup his cheek.

The same cheek Aoi squished earlier, the same face your children search for whenever they're scared, excited, proud, or hurt.

"Rin," you say softly, "they already have one."

Something vulnerable flashes through his eyes, gone almost immediately.

But you catch it, the relief, the gratitude, the quiet happiness.

Rin leans forward and presses a kiss against your forehead as his hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers, holding tightly.

Later that night, after both children are tucked into bed, Rin pauses in the doorway of their room.

Moonlight filters through the curtains as Ren sleeps curled around his dinosaur plushie and Aoi hugs a doll to her chest, her tiny face completely peaceful.

The sight makes him stand there longer than necessary.

Just watching, memorizing, loving.

His expression softens into something almost painfully tender, something few people ever get to see.

Then, so quietly that only the darkness hears him, he whispers,"If I ever lose my way... remind me I have them." His gaze shifts toward you waiting for him. "And you."

For another moment he simply stands there, taking in the sight of his children sleeping safely.

Then he turns off the light and quietly closes the door.

And as the two of you walk away together through the quiet house, Rin squeezes your fingers just a little tighter than necessary.

Not because he's afraid you'll disappear.

Saitama & Genos & Speed-o'-Sound Sonic

Garou & Metal Bat & Amai Mask

Flashy Flash & Zombieman & King

And Michael Kaiser was a bomb with a famously malfunctioning timer.

The locker room door didn't just open; it was shoved, hitting the rubberized wall stop with a violent crack. Kaiser stormed in, his cleats slamming against the linoleum. He was practically vibrating with rage, the blue rose tattooed on his neck flushed pink at the edges from exertion and fury.

"Where is he?" Kaiser spat in rapid-fire German, pushing past a flinching Alexis Ness. His icy blue eyes snapped onto one of Bastard München’s Japanese wingers, Kurona Ranze, who was currently shrinking onto a bench, trying to catch his breath.

Kaiser didn't hesitate. He stalked forward, throwing his water bottle into an empty locker. "You," he barked, rounding on Kurona, but turning his head just enough to bring Y/N into his peripheral vision. "Translate this exactly, Y/N."

Y/N stepped forward, pen ready, expression deliberately blank. "Go ahead."

Kaiser took a lungful of air, leaning over the seated Kurona until his shadow entirely swallowed the smaller player. When he spoke, the German was dripping with a theatrical, acidic venom. "Tell this shark-toothed little freak that if he hesitates on the right flank to check his footing one more time, he is less useful to me than a dead dog rotting in a ditch. Tell him I will personally ensure his pathetic excuse for a career ends right here, and he will never see a blade of grass on a professional pitch again."

The room went dead silent. Ness didn't look entirely too pleased. Kurona couldn't understand the words, but the sheer, oppressive malice in Kaiser’s tone made the winger’s shoulders hike up to his ears. Panic was a frantic, visible pulse at Kurona’s throat.

Y/N looked at Kaiser. Underneath the arrogance, beneath the Emperor's mask, Y/N saw the frantic, obsessive perfectionism of a boy who had fought his way out of the gutter with nothing but his own two feet. Kaiser used cruelty as a shield and a whip, but right now, a panicked winger would only cost them the match. Fear narrowed vision. Bastard München didn't need a terrified player; they needed a fast one.

Y/N made a split-second decision. They turned to Kurona. The Japanese they spoke was smooth, calm, and effortlessly reassuring.

"Kaiser says that your positioning is flawless, but you’re hesitating a half-second too long on the right flank," Y/N translated, their voice ringing clearly in the quiet room. "He needs you to trust your speed. Don't look at your feet. Keep your eyes up, overlap faster, and trust that he will find you. He is depending on you to break their defensive line."

Kurona blinked. The terror drained from his face, replaced by a sudden, brilliant spark of determination. He looked past Y/N to Kaiser, nodding firmly. "Understood. I'll be faster."

Kaiser narrowed his eyes at the sudden shift in the winger's demeanor, glancing suspiciously at Y/N. "What did he say?"

"He said he understands, and he will execute the play to your standards," Y/N lied smoothly in German.

Kaiser huffed, standing up straight and rolling his shoulders. "See that he does."

Twenty minutes into the second half, the game broke open. Kurona received a brutally fast pass on the right flank. He didn't hesitate. He didn't check his feet. He drove the ball forward with terrifying pace, drawing two Ubers defenders before sending a flawless, sweeping cross into the penalty area.

Kaiser leaped, twisting his body mid-air with impossible grace, meeting the ball with a thunderous bicycle kick. The net buckled. The stadium erupted.

Bastard München won 1-0.

Two hours later, the post-match adrenaline had faded into an exhausted, aching quiet in the Blue Lock facility’s residential wing. Y/N was pouring a black coffee in the communal kitchenette, the only sound the hum of the fluorescent lights and the sputtering of the espresso machine.

"You speak German, English, and Japanese flawlessly."

Y/N didn't jump, though the sudden voice in the doorway made the hair on their arms stand up. Michael Kaiser leaned against the doorframe, freshly showered. He wore a loose black t-shirt, sweatpants, and an expression that could cut glass. In his hand, he held a sleek Blue Lock tablet.

Y/N took a sip of the coffee. "It’s on my resume, yes."

Kaiser pushed off the doorframe, stalking slowly into the kitchenette. He dropped the tablet onto the counter. The screen was paused on a tactical feed of the locker room from half-time. Blue Lock's surveillance was notoriously thorough. They recorded everything.

Kaiser tapped the screen. An automated text-to-speech AI played a clip. “He needs you to trust your speed. Don't look at your feet.”

Kaiser tilted his head, the damp strands of his blonde and blue hair casting sharp shadows over his eyes. "I ran the audio through the translation software Ego provides us. Care to explain to me, my little mockingbird, since when does 'dead dog rotting in a ditch' translate to 'trust your speed'?"

Y/N met his gaze evenly. There was no escape; the kitchenette was small, and Kaiser was intentionally crowding their space, projecting the physical dominance he weaponized on the pitch. The scent of his expensive cedarwood body wash mixed with the bitter smell of roasted coffee beans.

"It doesn't," Y/N said softly.

Kaiser planted his hands on the counter on either side of Y/N, trapping them. His eyes were dark, a storm brewing in the frost. "You censored me. You softened my words. You undermined my authority in front of my own team."

"I managed your asset," Y/N corrected, not breaking eye contact. "Kurona responds to technical feedback, not threats. If I had translated your exact words, his sympathetic nervous system would have triggered a fight-or-flight response. He would have played defensively, lost the ball, and you wouldn't have scored the game-winner." Y/N took another calm sip of coffee. "I didn't undermine you, Michael. I made sure you won."

Kaiser stared. His jaw flexed. He was so used to people either screaming back at him or cowering in absolute terror. He demanded worship or hatred; he didn't know how to process calm, unflinching logic. He searched Y/N's face for pity or mockery, finding neither. Just a quiet, unshakeable competence.

For a wild, fleeting second, Y/N saw the ghost of the boy Kaiser used to be,someone who screamed to make sure he was heard, someone who drew blood so nobody could draw his first.

Kaiser exhaled heavily, his breath ruffling Y/N's hair. He pushed back from the counter, grabbed his tablet, and turned toward the door.

"If you ever misquote me to the press, I’ll have you fired and blacklisted," he threw over his shoulder.

"Understood," Y/N called back to the empty room.

They weren't fired. In fact, nothing was officially said about the incident. But the dynamic shifted, fundamentally and inexplicably, like the shifting of tectonic plates beneath the ocean. It was invisible on the surface, but it altered the entire landscape.

It started subtly on the training pitch two days later.

Isagi yoichi had intercepted a pass meant for Kaiser during an eleven-on-eleven scrimmage. Kaiser stopped dead, his posture going terrifyingly rigid. He spun around, eyes blazing, marching toward Isagi like an executioner approaching the block.

Ness was already hovering, looking gleeful at the prospect of Isagi’s verbal dismemberment. Isagi braced himself, sweating slightly as Kaiser stopped inches from his face.

Kaiser opened his mouth, drawing a breath to deliver what would undoubtedly be a barrage of career-ending insults.

But then, Kaiser paused.

He didn't look at Isagi. His icy blue eyes flicked over Isagi’s shoulder, scanning the sidelines until he found Y/N standing by the water coolers, clipboard in hand.

Y/N, reading the situation perfectly, gave a slow, barely perceptible shake of their head. Don't do it. Not worth it.

Kaiser’s mouth stayed open for a fraction of a second. He closed it. He swallowed the insult hard enough that Y/N could see his throat work from twenty yards away. He clicked his tongue, glaring back down at the heavily confused Isagi.

"You..." Kaiser started, his German losing its venom, tapering off into aggressive frustration. "...need to check your blindspot before you try to hijack my airspace, you idiot."

With that, Kaiser spun on his heel and jogged back to his position.

Isagi stood frozen, blinking rapidly. He turned to Kurona. "Did... did he just give me actual, constructive criticism?"

Kurona looked equally horrified. "I think so. Beware. It might be a trap."

On the sidelines, Y/N hid a smile behind the edge of the clipboard.

It didn't stop there. Over the next three weeks, a secret language blossomed between the star striker and the live interpreter. It became a bizarre, highly functional crutch for Kaiser's volatile temper. He was still arrogant, still theatrical, still an absolute nightmare to defend against, but he had installed a safety catch. And he had handed the trigger entirely to Y/N.

During a highly televised press conference, an arrogant Spanish reporter asked Kaiser if he thought the German stratum was losing its edge to the Japanese players. Kaiser leaned toward the microphone, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. He glanced off-camera, catching Y/N’s eye.

Y/N shook their head. Too mean.

Kaiser’s smirk flattened. He adjusted his collar, looking back to Y/N. He raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

Y/N gave a single, firm nod. Give them the PR answer.

Kaiser sighed, a theatrical puff of air that rustled the mic, and delivered a flawlessly boring, media-trained answer about "team synergy" and "growth margins." The reporter looked disappointed. Ness, sitting beside Kaiser, looked like he was having an aneurysm, his eyes darting frantically between Kaiser and the corner of the room where Y/N stood.

It became a comedic routine to the rest of the Bastard München regulars. An attack dog checking with its handler before sinking its teeth in.

If a teammate missed a pass, Kaiser would whip around, glare at Y/N, and wait. A nod? Kaiser would unleash holy hell in German, letting Y/N translate the absolute verbal thrashing. A shake of the head? Kaiser would groan, roll his eyes toward the stadium rafters, and somehow force out a gritted-teeth piece of actual team communication.

He trusted Y/N’s judgment implicitly, far more than he trusted his own impulse control. He didn't understand why, and he refused to analyze it. All he knew was that when the red haze of his past,the ghost of the violent, volatile men who had raised him,threatened to spill out and sabotage everything he had built, Y/N was there. A steady anchor in his stormy sea. Y/N didn’t try to change him, didn’t judge him, didn’t look at him with the disgust he often felt for himself. They just kept him from burning his own house down.

And slowly, that trust began to morph. It bled out of the professional boundaries and spilled over into the quiet moments, changing the very air between them.

The transition culminated on a rainy Tuesday evening, heavily casting shadows across the Bastard München residential wing. The team had a rest day, and the facility was eerily quiet. Y/N was in the small library, catching up on translation logs, the soft patter of rain against the thick glass the only accompaniment to their typing.

The door swung entirely silently this time. Kaiser walked in. He wasn't projecting his Emperor persona. The theatricality was gone, leaving him looking startlingly young and deeply exhausted. He was wearing an oversized sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing the intricate vines of his tattoos.

He didn't announce himself, simply pulling out the heavy leather chair across from Y/N and sinking into it. He rested his chin in his hand, his blue eyes tracing the movement of Y/N’s fingers on the keyboard.

Y/N finished the sentence they were typing before pausing. "Need something translated, Michael?"

"Yes," Kaiser murmured. His voice was unusually soft, the sharp edges completely filed down.

Y/N reached for the clipboard. "Who is the recipient?"

"Me."

Y/N’s hands stilled. They looked up, meeting his gaze. He wasn't glaring. The intensity in his eyes was something entirely different,something vulnerable, heavily hooded by his thick eyelashes.

Kaiser leaned forward slowly, bridging the distance across the small reading table. He reached out, his long, heavily tattooed fingers gently catching the edge of Y/N’s clipboard, lowering it down to the table so there was absolutely nothing between them.

"I need you to translate something for me," Kaiser repeated, his German carrying a low, rumbling cadence that made Y/N’s heart kick against their ribs. "Because I don't think I understand the language I'm speaking anymore."

Y/N swallowed past a sudden tightness in their throat. "What is it?"

Kaiser shifted, his fingertips sliding off the clipboard to lightly, tentatively trace the back of Y/N’s hand. The touch was feather-light, almost hesitant, so wildly out of character for the Emperor of Bastard München that Y/N almost forgot to breathe.

"I look at you before I speak," Kaiser confessed quietly, the arrogance entirely stripped away. "Because if I don't, I ruin things. I ruin everything I touch. You know that. You saw it on day one." His thumb stroked the knuckle of Y/N’s index finger. "But when I look at you, I don't want to break anything. I just want to... be whatever it is you see when you nod at me."

Y/N looked at the way his hand enveloped theirs, so large and capable of violence, yet holding them with reverent care.

"You don't ruin things, Michael," Y/N said softly, slipping seamlessly into German, matching his intimate tone. "You're just so used to fighting for your life that you forgot you're allowed to stop."

Kaiser’s breath hitched. A profound, stark relief washed over his features, loosening the perpetual tension in his jaw. He moved his hand, sliding his palm up Y/N’s forearm, feeling the steady warmth of their skin, before his fingers gently cupped their jaw.

Y/N didn't pull away. They leaned into the touch, a silent permission.

Kaiser’s eyes darkened, the blue swirling with a quiet, desperate affection. "And if I tell you right now that I am dangerously, entirely in love with you... how would you translate that?"

Y/N smiled, a soft, rare thing that made Kaiser’s heart stagger in his chest. They reached up, their hand covering his where it rested against their cheek, their thumb lightly brushing the lowest petal of the blue rose on his neck.

"I wouldn't soften a single word," Y/N whispered. "I'd tell you to say it exactly as you mean it."

Kaiser let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, the sound vibrating with pure, uncomplicated joy. He leaned across the table, closing the final inch between them, pressing his lips to Y/N’s.

It wasn't a demanding kiss, nor was it theatrical. It was slow, grounding, and deeply human. For the first time in his life, Michael Kaiser didn't need to scream to prove he existed. He didn't need a nod or a shake of the head. He just needed this,the quiet, perfect certainty of being understood perfectly, without needing translation at all.