ambrose

maya is with her grandmother for the week. you know this. you showed up anyway with some file your mum asked you to drop off, which is transparent even by your standards and rin lets you in with a look that says he knows exactly what you're doing.

you put the folder on the kitchen table.

he leans against the counter with his arms crossed.

"she's not here," he says.

"i know."

a beat.

"you should go home."

"you keep saying that."

"because i keep meaning it."

"do you?"

he exhales hard through his nose, head dropping forward slightly, like he's having an argument with himself. you take a step toward him. then another. and when you stop, you're close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him and he's looking down at you with those careful, restrained teal eyes and his whole body is rigid with the effort of not moving.

"i'm not doing this," he says. barely. his voice has dropped.

"rin."

"you're my mate's daughter."

"i know."

"this is a bad idea."

"i know that too."

his hand comes up and cups your jaw so suddenly you gasp, tilting your face up. his thumb rests against the corner of your mouth. not kissing you. just holding you there, looking at you like you're the worst thing that's ever happened to him.

"tell me to stop," he says. rough and quiet.

you don't. you couldn't anyways.

his mouth comes down on yours and it's nothing like soft. it's the kiss of a man who's been practising restraint for weeks and finally stopped. his hand slides into your hair, tilting your head back further and he kisses you until you make a small broken sound against his mouth and your hands fist in the front of his shirt just to stay upright.

when he pulls back his breathing is unsteady. he rests his forehead against yours.

"i've been trying," he says. almost to himself.

"i know," you say for the third time and you kiss him again before he can reconsider.

he carries you to his room with the same quiet efficiency he does everything, your legs wrapped round his waist, his hands braced under your thighs. he sets you on the bed like he's still trying to be careful with you and you can see the effort it's costing him. the way his hands shake slightly when he reaches for the hem of your shirt.

"rin," you say softly.

"give me a second." he closes his eyes briefly. breathes. opens them. "i'm trying not to—"

"don't try so hard."

his expression breaks open just slightly. and then he strips your shirt over your head in one motion and looks at you and something in him comes loose.

"god," he says, low. his hands slide up your ribcage, thumbs pressing just under your bra, tracing the shape of you. "how long have you been doing this to me."

not a question. more like a confession.

he reaches round and unclasps your bra with steady fingers and when it falls away he just looks at you for a long moment before he leans in and presses his mouth to the top of your breast, your collarbone, the side of your throat. slow. deliberate. like he's memorising the route.

you're already aching. already embarrassingly wet from just that, from the weight of him above you and his mouth on your skin and the weeks of restraint finally snapping.

"please," you say.

"please what." his lips brush the shell of your ear. "use your words."

"rin, please, i need—"

"daddy." his voice has gone somewhere dark and quiet and your whole body clenches. "you call me that, yeah? tonight you do."

oh.

"daddy," you breathe, barely sound, "please—"

he makes a low sound against your throat like you've undone him, and his hand slides down your stomach and under the waistband of your jeans and you gasp, back arching up off the mattress. his fingers find you through the thin fabric of your underwear and press, feeling how soaked you are and he pulls back to look at you with his expression doing something wrecked and wanting.

"this is for me?" he murmurs. pressing again. watching you squirm. "all of this?"

"yes, yes, daddy, please just—"

he pulls your jeans and underwear off in the same movement. no ceremony. and then he's looking at you spread out on his bed and he makes a noise low in his chest and his composure does something irreversible.

he strokes through your folds slowly, carefully, parting you with two fingers and circling your clit with his thumb in small deliberate circles until you're writhing and gripping the sheets and making sounds you've never made before. he's watching your face the whole time. taking notes.

"that's it," he says quietly, working you in slow steady spirals, "there you go. let me hear you."

"daddy, please, i need more—"

two fingers push inside you without warning and you cry out, walls clenching hard around them. he's still wearing his clothes. you think it might actually kill you.

"so tight," he says, something rough in his voice now, the gentleness fraying at the edges. "christ." he curls his fingers, finding the spot inside you that makes your vision blur and fucks them into you slow and deep while his thumb never stops on your clit. your thighs are shaking. your whole body is shaking.

"daddy, daddy, i'm gonna—"

"i know," he says, low, "i've got you, come on."

you fall apart in his hands with his name breaking out of you in fragments, hands fisted in the sheets, back off the mattress, and he works you through every second of it with the focused patience of a man who has been waiting a very long time.

you're still catching your breath when you hear his belt.

"you okay?" he asks, and there it is, the effort to be gentle. to check.

"i want you," you manage. "rin, i want you right now, please don't make me wait—"

"daddy." a reminder. he sounds strained.

"daddy," you say, soft and wanting, and that's all it takes.

he pushes inside you in one long slow slide that steals every word you have. the stretch of it. the fullness. he's thick enough that your mouth falls open and nothing comes out at first, just a wrecked exhale and he stops halfway and grits out "you with me?" through his teeth.

"yes, yes, don't stop—"

he sinks the rest of the way in and you both go still for a moment. his forehead drops to your temple. his breathing is rough. your walls are fluttering around him, adjusting, and he makes a tight broken sound that you feel more than hear.

"you feel…" he starts, doesn't finish.

he pulls back and pushes forward, slow. then again. finding a rhythm that's controlled and deep and absolutely devastating, hitting somewhere inside you that makes you keen on every thrust, legs wrapping round his waist, trying to pull him closer, deeper.

"yeah?" he murmurs, watching your face. "that good?"

"s'so good, daddy, please, please don't stop—"

his rhythm stutters. just slightly.

"don't say that if you want me to take care of you," he says, strained.

but you say it again anyway. because you want to watch him come apart.

and he does.

the gentleness goes. his hips snap forward hard and you cry out and he does it again, gripping your thigh, hauling it higher up his waist, changing the angle so he's hitting deeper with every thrust and the sound in the room becomes obscene, wet and slapping and your breathless mewling and his low grunts when he bottoms out. no more careful pacing. just rin itoshi finally not holding back, fucking into you with the single-minded intensity he brings to everything, and you are completely wrecked by it.

"god, you're perfect," he grits, "you feel perfect, you've been driving me fucking insane—"

"daddy—"

"say it again."

"daddy, daddy, please, i can't—"

"yes you can." he reaches between you and finds your clit and your whole body seizes up. "you're gonna come for me again. go on."

it hits you like a wave breaking, violent and sudden, and you sob through it with your face pressed into his shoulder, his name falling apart in your mouth, your nails dragging down his back without meaning to. he doesn't stop. he fucks you through both your orgasms and then chases his own with three, four, five hard decisive thrusts before he buries himself deep and groans into your hair, hips shuddering, everything going still.

he takes the empty space next to you on his bed. your thighs are ruined. the sheets are ruined. his careful, quiet bedroom looks nothing like it did an hour ago. he's on his back beside you, arm over his face, his chest rising and falling like he's just finished a match.

you lie there feeling completely unmade. thighs aching, body still buzzing, his warmth seeping into your side.

eventually rin moves his arm. turns his head to look at you. his hair is a mess, those teal eyes tired and dark and something else you can't quite name.

he reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair away from your face. slow. deliberate. the way he does everything.

"maya likes you," he says quietly.

"i know."

"i won't half ass this." he holds your gaze. steady, even now. "if this is something, it's something serious. that's what i'm telling you."

you look at him, this serious, restrained, completely undone man, and something warm settles in your chest alongside the ache.

"okay," you say softly.

and outside his bedroom window, the neighbourhood is quiet, and his sheets smell like both of you, and rin keeps his hand resting against your cheek long after he has any reason to.

Taglist: @inu1gf @143-ilyuu @irethepotato @mikemsmm @bbladie @sky-casino @thetwinkims @elemayooooooo @angelhqlo1111 @chefcorvus @valberryboos

"he's stubborn," kaiser said. "the kind of stupid that loops back into something almost impressive. doesn't know when to stop." a pause. "i find it infuriating."

"sounds like a compliment."

"it isn't."

the way his jaw tightened said otherwise.

"quiet off the pitch?" you pressed.

"quieter than you'd expect. earnest." kaiser said the word like a foreign object in his mouth. "means every word he says. exhausting or admirable, depending on your tolerance for sincerity."

you were already smiling. that was very isagi.

kaiser noticed. of course he did. he'd been noticing everything about you for a while now.

"you like him," he said.

"i was getting there, yeah."

something moved across his expression. not hurt. but adjacent. brief and quickly swallowed and you almost felt bad, except you'd also seen him call a journalist irrelevant to his face and tip his head back laughing about it, so.

he looked you over. slow and deliberate. calculating angles the way he calculated everything, like every situation was a pitch and he was already three moves ahead.

except with you he kept miscalculating.

"i'm standing right here," he said.

"i know where you're standing, kaiser. you've been standing closer and closer for weeks."

a beat.

his eyes went sharp. not offended. something sharper than that.

"you noticed."

"i always notice." you smiled at him. not unkind. "but you're not my type."

silence.

"excuse me."

"stunning, obviously. the eyeliner alone. but i tend to go for dark hair. softer voice." you tilted your head at him in a way you knew made him slightly insane. "no offence to the accent."

kaiser stared at you.

he blinked. slowly. the words taking time to process in a way they clearly never did, because kaiser didn't get told he was the wrong option, not anymore. he's never the wrong option and he'd spent three weeks building something with you specifically and now you were asking him about someone else and looking up at him like that, like you knew exactly what you were doing.

he laughed. short and involuntary.

"you are unbelievable," he said.

"you're going to help me though." you stepped into the space between you, the space that had been shrinking for weeks. "does he have practice tomorrow? what time does he usually leave?"

kaiser looked at the ceiling. breathed out through his nose.

something about you standing that close was doing what it always did. making him stupid. he'd been furious about that for a while now.

"five," he said. flatly. against his better judgement.

"thank you." you held his gaze and the air between you changed the way it always did when you got close enough. tight and warm. "that deserves a proper thank you, doesn't it."

kaiser looked down at you. the corner of his mouth pulled.

"does it."

not a question. he'd stopped asking you questions weeks ago, stopped pretending he didn't know what was happening. you held his gaze and something in the corridor thinned out into something charged and still.

you dropped to your knees.

kaiser went completely still.

you looked up at him from the floor, the late light catching the ink on his neck and you watched something cross his face he definitely hadn't planned for. for all his calculating. for all his three moves ahead.

"what," he said, low, "are you doing."

"thanking you." you reached for his waistband. "do you want me to stop?"

a long silence. his chest rose and fell.

"no," he said. quiet. clipped. the same voice he used when he was trying to sound like he was still in control of something.

you got his shorts down and took him in your hand, already half-hard and thickening fast. when your tongue dragged slow up the underside of his cock he made a sound through his nose like he was fighting it. like he'd decided to lose with as much dignity as possible.

big. properly big, warm in your palm, the skin soft over the heat of him. when you wrapped your lips around the head and sucked he went fully hard in your mouth, a sharp breath leaving him that he didn't quite manage to swallow.

"god," he breathed. low german, not meant for you.

you took him deeper. one hand at the base, the other braced against his thigh, his muscle tensing under your palm. wet and slow, pulling off to swirl your tongue around the tip, the taste of him settling on your tongue. the sounds were filthy in the empty corridor. soft and wet and obscene. his breathing kept changing, a rough exhale every time you took him to the back of your throat, his composure cracking in small clean pieces.

"don't stop," he said, and it came out thicker than he meant. his hand moved to your hair. not forcing. just resting there, fingers curling against your scalp like he'd been thinking about touching you for a long time and this was what he got. "don't."

you hummed around him and his hips twitched forward. small and helpless. like his body had decided it was done waiting.

faster. suction tight. hollowing your cheeks on every pull back, working him until his thighs were shaking and his breath had given up any pretence of steadiness.

"fuck," he said. barely audible. "fuck, i'm going to—"

you took him deep and swallowed around him and that was it.

he came with his head tipped back against the wall, biting down on his own knuckle, hips stuttering forward through it, spilling hot down your throat in long pulses. you held him there. worked him through every one until he was twitching and oversensitive, his hand still loose in your hair.

you pulled back. wiped the corner of your mouth.

looked up at him.

kaiser was staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, the blue roses on his neck flushed dark. slowly his eyes dropped to you and his expression was something you'd probably never see on his face again. not from him. not in a corridor. not about this.

"isagi," he said eventually, "is going to waste you."

"maybe." you stood. brushed off your knees, easy as anything. "five o'clock though. got it."

kaiser closed his eyes.

"i hate you," he said. without heat. like he'd been rehearsing it and it still wasn't landing.

"no you don't."

you left him there against the wall.

he spent the next ten minutes staring at the middle distance, jaw tight, the taste of the situation sitting somewhere between annoyed and something warmer he absolutely refused to name.

three weeks, he thought.

dark hair. soft voice. earnest.

infuriating.

Taglist: @inu1gf @143-ilyuu @irethepotato @mikemsmm @bbladie @sky-casino @thetwinkims @elemayooooooo @angelhqlo1111 @chefcorvus @valberryboos

an: thinking of a pt 2 where reader/isagi get bored of each other and y'all rebound to kaiser :p