#otoya

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soon, she grew a passion for soccer, owning a collection of colorful cleats and jerseys with her name engraved on the fabric. she played for her school's team, winning gold medals and shiny trophies. news spread fast that a new soccer prodigy was evolving, isagi yoichi's daughter. her talent and her dad's fame helped sky rocket her soccer career. it wasn't long until she was playing under expensive leagues, becoming a soccer legend. whenever a soccer fan talked about the player 'isagi', they weren't talking about your husband, but rather your daughter. yup, she was that famous and she LOVED it.

but unfortunately like many, fame got to her head.

she got caught up in dirty scandals, nearly lost her soccer career five times, and showed a personality he never expected to see. but isagi didn't let those stuff change his love for his daughter. he'd watch all her matches, supporting her from the stands or by watching tv in the comfort of your shared home. he'd message her daily, despite not receiving any responses. "did you eat?" "call me later if you have time" "mommy and daddy miss you. come home whenever baby."

isagi never says it, but he misses his little girl every day.

𝄞𝄢 bachira meguru.

like bachira, your daughter was mischievous. he'd whisper in her ear, "lets prank mama", but everytime, she'd refuse with a pout. "no pranking mama!", she'd cry during an attempt to prank you. later when bachira was fast asleep, she'd grab a permanent marker, scribbling itachi lines and other horrendous images all over his face. and when bachira woke up to see the masterpiece, he'd praise his daughter.

"you're better than shakespeare!"

"meguru... shakespeare was a writer", you'd sigh from the side.

when your daughter becomes a teenager, she avoids bachira, keeping her interactions with him minimal. bachira tried to maintain their dad-daughter relationship. he would slip notes into her lunch bag, try to wear matching outfits with her, and invite her to whimsical playdates. each time she'd reply with, "dad, stop, you're being weird." her reasoning for everything would be bachira's "behavior". he would laugh it off, but it stung a lot.

"no i'm not inviting my friends over 'cuz they're gonna think dad's weird."

"dad can you stop making that face. it's ugly."

"you're so embarrassing dad!"

late at night, the door to your daughter's room would be slightly cracked open. when you entered, you saw bachira sitting on her bedside, looking at the floor with a sad smile.

"what's wrong meguru?"

"my daughters all grown up now.. but where did i go wrong?"

𝄞𝄢 chigiri hyoma.

chigiri was beautiful, you were beautiful, so it was no doubt that your daughter would be ethereal.

and also it was no doubt she would love running.

she inherited her dad's fast running abilities. at the age of three, she was zooming past everyone faster than lightning. at six, she already won first place nationwide in running competitions. at ten, she was practically a celebrity, known for being an impressive the best sprinter ever!

chigiri loved his daughter's passion for running. she reminded him of his younger self.

he knew how it felt to almost lose everything. so when she sprinted down fields, pink hair tied into a long ponytail, he'd watch with pride, but also fear.

"careful," he'd constantly remind her, earning sassy eyerolls.

"dad. i'm not fragile."

at sixteen, your daughter tore her ligament.

everything felt too familiar―the hospital room, the doctors saying, "she needs to be careful while running."

during her recovery, she refused to cry. she pushed harder than anyone. she never gave up on running.

your daughter's resilience scared chigiri. what if she got injured again? what would happen to her? what if he wasn't around to protect her? all these thoughts made chigiri so suffocating and protective.

during an argument, your daughter snapped.

"i'm not like you at all!" she shouted, "stop bossing me around because i'm not going to shatter!"

when chigiri realized he was being possessive and projecting his insecurities upon his world, he realized it was too late. his daughter was far into her running career, far from home.

𝄞𝄢 itoshi rin.

showcasing affection to your daughter was one of the greatest struggles for rin. she always wanted hugs, kisses, cuddles. she wanted all his attention and all his love.

when she'd cry after tripping, he never cooed. rin simply handed her a tissue without panicking. "stand on your own," he murmured. "you're a strong girl."

your daughter grew up believing that strength meant silence. she thought to be strong was to refrain from making any noise, even when her chest felt extra tight and she badly wanted to cry.

during elementary, she'd beg her dad to attend all her school's events. "please please please come to my christmas concert!" "daddy come to my award ceremony." "dad it's parent-teacher interview day! want you, mommy next time!!!"

in middle school, she stopped asking. by high school, he was the one who had to start bugging her for information.

one fine night, rin was walking through the hallway after his nightly meditation session, excited to sleep while embracing you. he walked past your daughter's room but overheard muffled crying. he paused outside her door, hand ghosting over the cold door knob.

rin stood their longer than he'd ever admit, contemplating whether he should go inside and comfort her. last time he tried to, she brushed past him coldly.

when your daughter moved out, she didn't cry. she just said, "i'll handle it," the exact same way he did in every part of his life.

it was rin who cried instead.

𝄞𝄢 itoshi sae.

being itoshi sae's daughter meant having to deal with crazy, unwanted expectations from all around the world.

every single person, whether it was a relative or some random fan on the internet, watched your daughter like a hawk. they observed her achievements, her personality, and every little thing about her. if she was itoshi sae's daughter, she had to be exceptional in some sort of way after all.

meanwhile sae wasn't the best father, prioritizing his soccer career over his family. whenever he returned home, your daughter clung to him. she tried her best to show off all her accomplishments, waiting for any hint of approval.

sae only nodded and muttered "good." in his mind, that was praise. he failed to realize how his simple words squeezed your daughter's chest in all the wrong ways, making her feel horribly insecure.

on one particular occasion, she came home with a silver medal, second place engraved onto the material. she looked embarrassed, deeply humiliated than ever. on the internet, heated discourse was unfolding. article headlines said, "unalike her father itoshi sae, she is not the best."

"i'll do better next time," she murmured to you two, keeping her head down. you tried to relax her, but sae said "you should."

sae's blunt words didn't train her into someone unbreakable and disciplined like him. rather, she searched for attention everywhere, seeking for even the tiniest hint of validation. she craved validation.

she did anything for validation, anything. her activities went from staying up at odd times of the night to perfect an assignment or volunteering for things she didn't even enjoy to checking her phone ever few minutes. she read every article about her, refreshed comment sections, and took every hate comment to heart.

she especially read those gossip articles which compared her and her father.

the entire time, sae thought he was building a strong girl who could lift the world up with her bare hands. your daughter was actually being crushed by the world.

𝄞𝄢 nagi seishiro.

your daughter was nagi's identical twin―the same perfectly tousled white hair, doe grey eyes, and that sleepy pout. her personality was the same as his as well, lazy and aloof. she napped on nagi's chest, played the same games as him, and even wore his big hoodies that drowned her frame.

sometimes you'd go to check up on your daughter late at night, hoping she's sleeping well. instead, you find her in the living room, drooling on top of her dad who's also asleep, the tv displaying a paused, long forgotten video game. when you'd try to pull your daughter off nagi, hoping to tuck her in bed, she'd tightly clutch onto his pajamas and sleepily whine.

as she starts to get older, she gets busier. it's expected though―adulthood takes up all of one's time. but nagi hates it. he misses binging shows with your daughter and getting scolded by you for staying up past 5 am. he misses the very sleepy conversations on video game lore. he misses hearing all of your daughter's theories and yap about favorite characters. he just misses her so much.

late at night, nagi would wait for your daughter to return from wherever, sitting on the living room couch. he would walk to the main entrance when he heard the front door shut, holding two consoles in his hand, one of them being your daughter's childhood one, decorated with peeling stickers.

"let's play", he'd murmur with a small smile, but your daughter ignored him, brushing past him. nagi wouldn't try to follow her. every time he did, the night would end in yelling. nagi's a man of few words, a man who disliked argued.

eventually, nagi gave up. she'd warm up again, right? she'd come back to him so they could play video games, right?

he bought figures of characters she liked, stocked up on video game dvds―heck, he even prepared his own genshin account to pass down to her.

in the end, his efforts were all useless. his daughter did not care one bit.

𝄞𝄢 reo mikage.

the second your daughter was born, she was endlessly SPOILED. she wanted a pretty pink dress with ruffles and bows? when she woke up, it would be displayed on a mannequin in her walk-in closet. all her friends and classmates would stare at her with envy as she yapped about the latest thing reo bought her.

if the world was a kingdom, reo was the king. and your daughter was the crowned jewel.

to reo, your daughter was priceless.

one day, the three of you guys were shopping together after a long time, reo's one hand laced in yours and his other holding onto a bunch of shopping bags. in front of you two, your daughter, much older now, was skipping away, holding onto her own shopping bags. the two of you followed her into another designer store, mentally preparing to see her try on a bunch of dresses and criticize every product. you watched reo grabbing tops, pushing them to your daughter. "you'll look great in this!" "that color suits you." "try this one too!"

your daughter didn't look at him at all. she shoved all the clothes away, muttering "so annoying" under her breath. reo heard her, but he didn't let the ache in his heart spoil everything. he continued to try even when she was constantly walking away from him.

"c'mon princess, try this dress. it's fabulous!"

"dad, can you stop calling me that..?"

reo blinks. your daughter's voice was harsh and cold.

"also that's outdated," she scoffs and heads to another section.

"righttt. i guess trends changed," reo chuckles lightly. he tries to laugh it off, but you can see the genuine hurt in his eyes.

later when he tried to pay for her, bracing himself to swipe that shiny black card, she pushed him aside. only then does reo realize your daughter doesn't need him anymore.

𝄞𝄢 barou shoei.

barou was clean and disciplined. his daughter? she's messy, loud, and eats with her mouth WIDE open. your house was a complete warzone, your daughter was the perpetrator and barou was the cleaner. it was amusing watching the self-proclaimed king chase after a giggling toddler with a poop-drenched diaper on. but barou never complained. not once. even if your daughter threw that dirty poo-stained diaper directly at his face.

he'd just stand their frozen, jaw twitching, vein popping out his forehead and muttering, "unbelievable", while cleaning her mess anyway.

the three of you guys would eat dinner together, a warm meal you cooked up with love. your daughter would be on her high chair, digging in with her hands, food all over face. she grabbed fistfuls of rice and shoved them in her mouth, sauce smeared on her cheeks

barou would scowl, but still abandoned his dinner to clean her cheeks with surprising gentleness.

he remained patient and steadfast, refraining from crashing out each time your daughter pulled some unhygienic bs.

barou loved her chaos. barou loved being needed. barou LOVED fixing what your daughter ruined.

when she grew older, your house became quiet―no more noise and dirt. the toys all over the floor disappeared. your countertop was no longer sticky with traces questionable material.

dinner became proper. your daughter, who severely lacked table manners before, sat properly and chewed with her mouth closed. her politeness shocked you two, barou especially. he couldn't help but miss her disarray.

one evening, barou reached for her across the table, trying to wipe the corner of her mouth out of habit. she leaned back slightly. her face was squished up into something unreadable? perhaps disgust?

"i've got it dad," she said.

barou's hand lingered mid-air in the second before he slowly pulled back.

"good."

but truly, he wasn't feeling good at all.

𝄞𝄢 otoya eita.

when you were pregnant with your daughter, you also learned the news of otoya cheating.

thankfully, you were living in stable conditions, so you divorced him. at first, otoya didn't fight it. but when he figured about your daughter, he begged to co-parent―to be involved in your daughter's life. reluctantly, you accepted his offer, only because he expressed sincerity for once. during the weekdays, your daughter stayed with you, and on the weekends she was at otoya's.

otoya tried his best to keep THAT side of his life away from his daughter. he kept his phone face-down during daddy-daughter dates, blocked all the ladies calling him, and even abandoned his old ways, the old version that thrived on attention. he'd do anything for his daughter, even if it meant letting go of the part of his life which fueled his days (and ego).

his goal was to ensure his daughter would not end up like him.

he failed.

your daughter became the worst player in town. and she was good at messing with people's feelings.

out of curiosity, she went through her dad's belongings as a kid. why was dad always hiding his phone? why did random women always approach him out of nowhere and start yelling at him? it was natural for a kid to wonder what their parent was up to.

she never fully understood why her dad was up at night texting girls or why he was constantly chased and admired. but through him she learned the power of attention.

in middle school, she tested it. she laughed too sweetly, batted her lashes, did the stupid triangle method. in high school, she mastered it. situationships, friendships ending over boys, social media drama; that was the summary of her entire four years in high school.

otoya didn't notice at first. he thought her behavior was normal and harmless. all girls act like that when they have crushes, right?

wrong.

he overheard her gossiping on the phone. "i'm not serious 'bout him at all," she laughed. "he's just a temporary distraction."

his heart panged. that hit too close to home.

the one thing he tried to protect her from was the only thing she became.

© faeaabi do NOT: plagiarize, copy, translate, upload my work elsewhere + train ai with my work.

Three orgasms in it already you're currently seated on all fours, bent over and stuffed from both ends. Otoya’s fast snapping hips have your mouth drooling around his cock and tears running down your cheeks while Karasu’s slow, filthy grinds have your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your pussy clenching around him so hard you may think she never wants to let him go.

You're close again, the pressure in your stomach coiling tighter and tighter with every second that passes. “Nnnghh…” A muffled incoherable noise escapes your stuffed throat as you try to notify your impending orgasm to the two men that are having their way with you. But it's like they don't even notice you over the lewd squelches of your creamy pussy as they continue to argue.

“...I'm just saying that—fuck—that if you would have passed to me instead, we could have won...” Otoya chimes, tone light-hearted despite the pent up anger that is apparent in the way he grips your hair to keep your head still.

Karasu stops working your insides for a second to click his tongue in annoyance and rolls his eyes at his partner in crime before gripping the plush of your hips with both hands to use you like his personal cock sleeve. “Don't come at me for your shitty positioning. We went over that ten minutes ago already. Hiori was free, so he gets the ball. Stop crying about it.”

They always get like this; like an old married couple that just can't stop provoking the other. And as much fun as you usually have watching them bicker from the sidelines and throwing unhelpful comments to tease and make things worse, in moments like these you hate them for it. It's like they edge you on purpose despite not paying attention to you at all—no synced up rhythm, speeding up and slowing down at the worst times, trying to out do the other or piss them off by ruining their orgasm (and ruining yours in the process as well).

Another muffled attempt to make yourself and your desperation for relief known ends up in a loud schlick schlick schlick as Otoya's hips ram into your constricting airway. He's panting, hips stuttering to a stop as he lodges himself deep inside your throat. “Fuck—Fuck you, stupid crow.” He groans out, head tipping back towards the ceiling when your nose nestles against the tuft of neatly trimmed hair.

Holding onto his thighs for dear life is all you can do and just as you want to tap out from the lack of air, Otoya slowly draws his hips back until only the bulbous head rests against your tongue as you try to breathe around him to the best of your abilities—he likes to push your limits, but always knows when it's too much before you can even signal anything.

A grin spreads on Otoya's face when he locks eyes with your red-rimmed, teary ones for the first time since they had you take up position. He grips the base of his cock, trying to hold back from unloading at the sight of you and starts slapping his dick against your rolled out tongue. You immediately start lapping at it like a desperate dog, completely focusing on the taste of him to forget all about your own orgasm as the pressure from moments ago starts to ebb down unsatisfied.

Karasu meanwhile ignores the rather uncreative insult and stills all movement, his cock perfectly pressed against your cervix to watch the way you blow spit bubbles all over Otoya's cock and balls. He loves the sight. No matter how much Otoya pisses him off sometimes, he wouldn't wanna share your sweet little body with anyone else but him.

“Stop hogging her all to yourself, dumbass. Just play better next time and get the ball for yourself instead of whining like a bitch.” Karasu pulls you even further onto his cock and you swear you can feel him breaching your womb with the sharp pain that travels up your spine and makes you tremble in pleasure, a broken cry slipping past your lips.

"Sorry pretty, not talking about you." Karasu blesses you with a second of appreciation as he pats your ass. "You know I love your bitchy whines." You can't even react properly before Otoya's breathy laugh resonates inside your head and your mouth gets stuffed full again. The room filled with noises of your pathetic gurgles and dripping cunt.

It's too much and too little at the same time. You're trying not to gag as you choke on Otoya's brutal thrusts that hit the depths of your throat—tongue still working to bring him extra pleasure as the salty taste of his precum clouds your senses—and Karasu continues to drill his length into you as if his end goal is rearranging your guts.

You know they're close, experienced it a dozen times before already when the two men drained out their leftover adrenaline from their games with the help of none other than yourself.

It's in the way Otoya’s eyebrows furrow like he's in pain, sweat running down his temple before dripping to his chest. He's panting hard, puffs of air escaping through his nose in quick breath and his vocabulary simmers down to hushed praises instead of dry insults. You feel it when Karasu starts rutting into you at a faster pace instead of pulling out until the head and feeding you his entire length in precise strokes. His focus has shifted as well, he's no longer watching you struggle to take Otoya, now he's mesmerized by the way your ass bounces with every hit of flesh against flesh and licks his lips at the creamy ring of previous orgasms overflowing from your used cunt forming around his shaft and sticking to his pubes.

Closing your eyes, you focus on the pleasure of feeling completely full. You carelessly start humming around Otoya who’s still stuffed deep inside your throat and that does it for him. With both hands clasped behind your head, he fucks your mouth like he owns it before burying himself to the hilt. The sticky warmth of his cum is shooting straight down your esophagus and it has you spluttering all around him again as he keeps grinding up into your mouth to ride out the waves of pleasure.

“Such a good fucking girl. Look at you…” He groans from deep within his chest at the sight of his coughed up cum spilling past your slick lips. “Atta girl, no wasting precious gifts from your favorite football star.”

Otoya crouches down in front of you, a look of faux sympathy on his face as two of his fingers scoop up whatever drool and slick has spilled past onto the soaked sheets. His eyes sparkle with mischief and a fond little smile lights up his features as he holds the same two fingers against your plush swollen lips.

You immediately take them in, eyelids heavy and still trying to recover your bearings, you keep swirling your tongue around the digits. Otoya smears his cum around your tongue, making sure you remember what he tastes like after making sure his dick is imprinted on the inside of your neck. He loves it messy, making you gag just for the fun of it by pushing his fingers a bit too far down for comfort. He's glad he spotted you in the crowd a few months ago. He couldn't imagine his life without you anymore; the messy girl who takes him down her throat and eats his ass like no other.

“Are you two done being in love?” A sudden sharp thrust of Karasu has you seeing stars and lose your balance, sending you head first into the sheets. You haven't even noticed how he slowed down to edge both you and himself and making sure you can calm down first—always putting your comfort before anything else.

But now Karasu was done watching. He's painfully hard, red tip twitching and leaking inside of you for what feels like forever and he just can't wait anymore, not after witnessing the scene in front of him.

One of his hands leaves your hips to press down between your shoulder blades, pressing your face even more into the wet mess of spit, cum and sweat on the sheets. The position has your back bowed into the perfect arch to hit the spongy spots that Karasu knows will make you spray more than the fancy hotel fountain in the lobby.

His pace picks up speed again—switching between harsh, sharp thrusts into your cervix that has your vision whitening and slow, deep rolls of his hips into the sensitive spot that makes you whimper every time. He leans down, sweaty chest pressing into your back and his low, mocking voice right against your ear with his teeth catching the lobe.

“Gonna scribble my signature all over your insides again. So everyone knows you're ours...” He's kissing down your neck, placing a last fleeting one right against your shoulder with his tongue darting out to lick up the sweat that has gathered there and he makes sure to catch Otoya's gaze with a smirk. "You'll take it all, right? No spilling. Like the number one fan you are, hm?”

You wanna nod your head, scream out at the way your stomach churns and your pussy basically strangles Karasu’s dick, but you can only hiccup a few pathetic pleas over the resonating sound of spilling wetness and skin on skin slapping.

The last straw are Otoya's slender fingers finding your neglected clit and rubbing tiny circles with expert precision. It has you crying out, noises muffled into the fabric and pussy clamping down in surging waves of unimaginable pleasure. Your eyes are crossing into the back of your head, the sheets getting even wetter and some of your squirt lands onto Karasu's abdomen as he drills into you. It triggers his release as well and you can feel himself unloading deep inside you—his cum settles thick and heavy beside the loads already emptied inside you tonight as it fills you up in hot spurts.

When he pulls out slowly, watching the way your spent pussy tries to pull him back in despite the onslaught it just underwent, he almost wants to take up another round. But he knows you're exhausted, knows he is as well after a full day of drills and games and whatever sane people might call what happened over the past hours between the three of you.

You collapse onto the sheets, whining so pitifully at the loss of contact and take him down with you in the process. Immediately you curl up against him to try and keep as much warmth and contact as possible while Otoya is busy with getting some water and fresh towels.

All cleaned up, dressed into a new pair of pajamas and wrapped into thick blankets without even lifting a finger makes you feel content. Otoya is gently stroking your hair, still whispering sweet nothings into the crown of your head as you rest against him. Your limbs feel heavy, you're exhausted to the point of blacking out and you know for a fact that your voice will sound funny for the rest of the week. The last bits your scrambled mind picks up on is Karasu sliding open the bathroom door and Otoya starting up another argument on formations and gameplay before you drift away.

@missyonmission

TODAY

is a completely regular day of fun outings. Shidou had (in)formally organised a beach trip, something you decided would be a good idea. The NEL has been stressful on all of you, whether it be you and the other managers, the players, or even coaches—taking a good day off seemed to be a good idea.

So, you were heading to the beach.

The place where women can wear skimpy bikinis without being called promiscuous names (it would happen anyway—but in a perfect world everybody would mind their own business) and the place where strange men (some of those men may happen to be named Otoya and Aiku) would check out the local fauna dressed in said skimpy bikinis.

It was a fun day of splashing around in the waves, ignoring all problems present in your life, and unwinding in the grainy sand. You miss it. That is why, even though you're sure this will happen to end up in disaster, you agreed. 

So, this is what got you in this predicament now—thirty minutes before you had to get there with a ten minute trip driving—that was all that was left for you to remember everything.

Swimming outfit. A change of clothes. Sandals that won't trap sand. What else...

You ponder as you stare down at your duffel bag, filled with everything you need. Money—food stalls at the beach were always ridiculously expensive for no apparent reason, Floaties—you never know when somebody might just need some abrupt saving. Towels—plenty of towels, A robe—you'll probably be a little chilly when you get out of the water.

Apart from the obvious essentials like hair ties, deodorant, sunscreen, keys and whatever other odd things you need whenever you go out—you think you're good to go. 

You take a good look at your swimsuit. You haven't worn it in a while. A simple black two-piece with each front piece of fabric being held together with two silver rings—it's a little smaller than you would've liked, but you don't own any other kind, so you decide to just go with it.

You roll up your towel nicely and tuck it into your bag, then zip it up. You stare down at the fat duffel bag that is practically bursting at the seams. You are ready to take on the final boss—the beach.

You stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom, pulling at the tight elastic band of your bikini. It digs into your skin slightly. Hissing through your teeth—you decide it's nothing, and quickly make your way outside.

With your bag under your arm, you walk out and look around. Two of the other manager girls said they'd saved a spot underneath a bright purple umbrella. It takes little effort to spot it in all its neon glory.

They both sit atop a beach towel, with odd things like sunscreen, keys, and waterproof mascara all scattered around them. You wave a little before you sit down on a part of the towel, taking in the sight of the beautiful beach.

Children running around, adults chasing after them—some guy was even getting told off in the middle of the waves for losing his swim trunks. All in all, the beach was positively bursting with rich energy.

You missed this. You haven't felt this calm in a good while. Dealing with all those rowdy boys vying for your attention—it took a toll on you.

Too bad this peace would not last for too long.

Your phone dings. You pick it up and press on the notification—it's a snap from Shidou. You hesitantly click on the picture and it's a closeup of his left eye—but in the background, you can see the side of the building you had just changed inside, and a shirtless Otoya is trying to kick at somebody.

You don't even have the chance to properly react when a loud yell interrupts your thoughts. You snap your head towards the sound so fast your neck aches—the source was Rin on the floor while, even though a second ago a phone should've been in his hand, Shidou is jumping him.

A smart, sassy quip and loud groans erupts from both you and the other manager girls—you slap your phone down and squeeze your face in your hands.

Perhaps this is the start of doomsday, you think as the overly massive group starts making their way towards you and your blaring purple target of a neon umbrella.

"[name]!!" Bachira crashes into you—with the way he knocks you both to the sandy ground, he should be playing rugby instead of soccer—and rubs his cheek against yours like a loving cat. "I'm so excited to see you again! You never come by our stratum!!"

He's flat on top of you and the stares you're receiving start to grow uncomfortable. You push back at his chest but he simply opts to sneak his arms around your shoulders, "Bachira...!! Let me... get up..."

It takes the brute force of Barou King Shoei to remove his figure from latching onto yours. With a twitching brow and eyes that could stab daggers into Bachira—a small laugh unintentionally escapes your lips when he talks, "You're all sandy, you disgusting bug. If you get all that sand on the towel, I'll seriously kill you."

Bachira is being held up by the scruff of his water suit like a cat. He dangles in the air and flings himself at Barou next—"Fight me, king!"

"YOU—!!!"

Ignoring the upcoming brawl on the ground, you step over the two and you find your way towards...

"Hello, Isagi." 

Your voice seems to make him jump—his eyes widen in surprise at the sight of your face and he looks far too nervous to be speaking to you. "O—Oh... Hello, [name]...! It's good to see you again..."

He's trembling and making such intense eye contact that you wonder if he's okay. His fists are clenched hard beside his body and you think he might just about have a heart attack. "Are you... okay?"

He answers a little too quickly, "Yes! I'm fine, haha, why would you worry about me? I'm totally good! Best I've ever been! Why would you ask? I look okay, right? Well, I gotta go now! I'll see you later, [name]!"

He runs off like he's a high school girl who's just had her first conversation with her senior crush. I can't tell if he's insecure about how he looks or worried about being disrespectful to me.

Maybe it's a mix of both. Isagi is on the slimmer side, compared to guys like Barou. Even though I know he's not, he looks like he's on steroids. 

And Isagi's always been worried about being disrespectful to you—worried about overstepping boundaries and making you uncomfortable—at least when he's in his usual, clear state of mind. There's no telling what he's thinking when he stares down at you late at night after a good game with that overconfident, egotistical smirk.

Anyways—he's rushed away by now, and you're just standing here looking all stupid. Oh well. At least you're not alone for too long, because your attention is quickly stolen away by a certain trio. 

Karasu, Otoya, and Yukimiya all come up to you—only one bothers to wave or even smile (there's no surprise he's a model—he's seriously gorgeous, you note when glancing down at his torso).

"Hey." The sneaky ninja is not so sneaky anymore, because he doesn't even try and disguise the way he's staring at your chest. He gives you a thumbs up, to which you scowl, "Lookin' good."

"Get your eyes off my chest."

"Sicko." Karasu shakes his head with a disappointed expression. You deadpan.

"You too, stupid crow."

"Did your mothers not teach you respect?" Yukimiya clicks his tongue—eyes fluttering closed as he shakes his head. He soon turns his head towards you and he actually does make eye contact with you—a step above his two friends. "It's nice to see you, [name]. You look very nice. Ignore these two."

You promptly ignore the offended looks shot at the model—you opt to just stare, perhaps a little too dreamily (but you couldn't care less, really), and smile back, "It's nice to see you too, Yukki. Thank you, you look handsome today, too. I was planning on ignoring those two, anyways."

"Woah, that is seriously hurtful." Karasu places a hand over his bare chest where his heart would be. "Too bad I don't care."

You roll your eyes. "Of course you don't, stupid crow."

"Would you stop calling me that?"

"Would you stop staring at my boobs?"

He pauses. "Point taken."

Having Nagi cling to you during your time at Blue Lock is pretty hard already. Believe it or not, he's 6'2, and believe it or not, having a grown 6'2 man hanging off your side makes it pretty hard to get around. 

Having a shirtless, messy-haired Nagi plant himself right on top of you and having his face smushed against the top of your chest is a little worse.

You can feel a burning stare at the back of your head. You're not sure if the stare Reo is giving you is directed at you or the snow-haired boy. (Perhaps it is both and he's just conflicted—you would understand).

"Nagi..." You push back at his head and slowly intertwine your fingers in the white locks. They're softer than you imagined, but the ends are unmistakably dead. You should cut it for him later. "Go swim or something."

You are disappointed (yet, not the slightest bit surprised) when he promptly shakes his head no and proceeds to dig his nose even deeper into your exposed skin. His voice is slightly muffled, but still plausibly understandable, "Nuh-uh. Dun' wanna."

Your eyes twitch. Perhaps you have been spoiling him a little too much—so much so he refuses to leave you be. 

"'Cause I didn't wanna go, but then mmmm... uh—Reo told me you were gonna come... and it wouldn't be too much of a hassle if you stayed with me. Hadn't seen you in so long. Missed you."

Right. You forgot he told you that before, too. Perhaps you had been a bit too doting on Nagi—he's clingy-er than you remember. Or perhaps it had been similar to that saying, distance makes the heart grow fonder.

A loud shriek (it sounds far too girly to have come out of Nagi's mouth, but go figure) alerts you and you see Nagi has been grabbed backwards into a headlock by Barou King Shoei. Perhaps he had turned away from the villainous side since your last meeting with him, because right now, he's saved you twice, like a hero.

Nagi doesn't even fight the King's death grip—he flops like a dead fish and it looks rather funny seeing it so closely. Nagi is taller, yet much lankier than Barou, who looks like a bodybuilder compared to the lazy snowhead.

"You're kicking sand all over the towel, Mr Hassleman." Barou snarls and jerks Nagi's head back. The boy doesn't react other than wearing his little :x face. "Go swim it off. Now."

Nagi does not make any visible effort to move. Barou still holds him like a ragdoll in his grip when he turns to look at you—you laugh a little and move your sunhat out of your eyes. "Hi, Barou. It's nice to see that you came. I didn't think you'd like the beach."

He looks a lot different with his hair down, you note. But in a good way. Fallen beneath his shoulders—you wonder why he does not wear it this way more often. He still holds his signature forever pissed-off expression, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You think I'm incapable of having fun?"

You pause, with a small grin. "Yeah, kinda."

He gives you a deadpan expression. "You're the same as always, you shit manager."

"I thought our relationship had progressed to the point we'd gotten past these mean names." You place a hand over your chest, a cheeky smile on your lips with a faux-hurt expression. You didn't usually joke around like this—it wasn't really your thing—but he was just far too easy of a target to tease. "I'm hurt, King."

He cocks a brow—you see Nagi trying to wriggle around now, and it's good to know he didn't actually die—"Seriously? Didn't think you were the type of person to care."

"Doesn't matter now. You're gonna swim, right?" With a nod of his head, you break away from his sharp stare and give him a small wave with a closed-eye smile. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Oh yeah—by the way, you look good with your hair down. You should do it more often. Anyways, see you later."

You do not catch the half-hearted wave Nagi sends you—which was just him flopping his arm up in the air—nor do you catch the look Barou throws over his shoulder at you, "... Not too bad yourself."

He says, but you do not catch it.

Nagi stares up at the man with a blank expression, "Who knew you were all sweet on our manager, huh, King?"

The King in question growls like an animal and tosses Nagi into the ocean like a ragdoll, "Shut the fuck up!"

"Beach volleyball?" Chigiri stares with confusion in his bright pink eyes as Kurona sits on Gagamaru's shoulders—setting up the tall net. His hair is tied up in a high ponytail, and his bangs fall over his eyes. "Are you serious?"

His head turns to yours when you shrug, "Why not? Beach volleyball is super fun. It's not like you guys can play soccer on the sand."

Chigiri pauses to think your words over for a second. You give him the most empty stare you can muster before you speak, "You really can't play soccer on the sand, Chigiri."

"Well, still. Are you gonna play?"

You shake your head and spare him a small smile. "No, I think I'll pass on this one. I'd like to see you play, though. You seem like you'd be really good at volleyball."

He gives you a pretty smile and shakes his head. "Oh, I don't know. I wasn't really planning to play either. I was honestly just thinking of sitting down with you and just relaxing."

"Oh, but I really would like to see you play. I bet you'd be better than anybody else out there, Hyoma." Not to be brass or anything, but you like to think you know a good amount about Chigiri—including how to get him to do what you'd like: Fan his ego. Or to put it in better words, praise him. "I think you'd look pretty cool."

You give him the nicest smile you can muster, and you're sure that's what seals the deal. He turns his head away from yours—yet you can practically sense the smirk he now holds—"Well, if you really think so, why not?"

You laugh a little as he walks onto the court, and each side with six players—even if in official beach volleyball, there were only two on each side, this was the most unofficial game you've ever really witnessed.

Otoya and Karasu are jumping on each other's shoulders in an effort to block the spikes—it only ends in the one on top tumbling to the ground and Yukimiya shaking his head in an I'm not mad, just disappointed motion.

Bachira is using his feet to play, kicking the ball up even when his hands were a completely more viable option—you think this is illegal, but who are you to judge—and Shidou is doing the same thing, except he... is hogging the ball. You aren't even sure how you hog the ball in volleyball, but he's managing it.

Rin is the one who manages to get it away from him but it only ends up in another tussle—something you do not bother to stop because one of the manager are already running toward them with a can of hairspray (which, if you were not previously aware, has the same effect as pepper spray if directed into the eyes).

You loll your head back and let out a heavy sigh. This beach day was going better than you had expected—still, your group by far had gained the most traction from how loud you all ended up being. You've gotten countless stink-eyes from old people, especially when Shidou yells out profanities in the vicinity of little children. 

You wonder if the police may get called on you all. Maybe you should pretend you're not in their group as a last-ditch effort if it does end up happening.

You are broken out of your thoughts by a small, almost nervous greeting, "Um... hey, [name]." 

You look to where the source of the sound came from—you get an eyeful of Isagi's bare torso before you see his face. He's looking off to the side awkwardly as if the mere action of looking at you would be purgatory, and he looks like he doesn't know what to do with his hands so he grips the end of his swimming shorts awkwardly. It's cute.

"Hi, Isagi." You smile. You shuffle over to create a little more room on the towel you are sitting on. You pat the free spot beside you and nudge your head towards him, "Come sit."

Obediently—you didn't expect him to move so fast—he sits beside you. He still looks stiff and nervous, so you ask him what's up. He responds, quickly but much quieter than his usual calm tone, "I was... um... ah, this is so stupid..."

He sucks in a deep breath of air and turns his back towards you. It's a little more built than you imagined. "I was... just gonna ask if you could put sunscreen on my back... I can't reach, and I trust you more than the... others."

You can practically feel the way his face burns up from how his voice cracks and grows more hushed with every word. To save him from the embarrassment, you decide to spare him from teasing words. "Sure. I don't mind. I'm glad you trust me, Isagi."

The words come out a little more sultry than you intended as you test the waters and place your fingertips on his bare shoulders. He shivers. You can feel it.

You spread the sunscreen all over his back—he places his face in his hands as you work your hands a little lower. When your fingertips brush against the waistband of his shorts he has to bite back a small groan. This was utterly humiliating for him—seriously, this was sad.

You're not completely oblivious to this fact, so in a menial act of pity for the poor guy, you try and finish up as quickly as possible—if only to save him from the embarrassment. 

It feels far too intimate to be just a friendly gesture. He wonders if you feel that way too. You lightly rest your palms on his tense shoulders when you are done, sitting on your knees and leaning your face near his own, "Done."

He'd be lying if he said his heart didn't skip a beat. He swallows thickly, blunt nails digging into his palms as he shuffles around so he faces you. The words that come out of his mouth are a little shakier than he would've liked, "T... Thanks... [name]."

The smile you have plastered on your face is nothing short of pretty, he thinks. "No problem. You can come to me if you need anything, okay?"

Why do you have to say things like that, [name]?

Isagi gives you a small nod, and practically forces a wavy smile onto his lips. "Yeah... You're really helpful, you know that?"

You laugh. "I know."

The mood between you two is calm and the strange tension from before has dissipated. You're smiling from ear to ear, about to say something—when Isagi's demeanour changes completely. You're not too sure why, but he seems to spot something behind you and his eyes completely shift.

Gone is the meek and shy boy, and in his place is a coy, smiling man. He places a hand on your upper arm—it makes you jolt and look at him in surprise. A second ago, he couldn't even look you in the eye, and now, he was shuffling closer towards you like it was the most natural thing ever.

"Anything, right?" He finally speaks, and he moves his hand up, away from your arm and it lightly traces underneath your jaw. He looks deeply into your eyes, but still keeps glancing behind you. "Can I do this?"

You do not get a chance to ask what this happens to be—although, it does not take a genius to figure it out, and you are no genius—or even spare him an answer before he grabs your hardcover novel and holds it up in front of where the two of your lips meet—covering your kiss from the other players that surround you all.

He doesn't dare take this further than a small kiss—yet, it wouldn't be considered a simple peck either. His hand holds the underside of your jaw lightly and tilts your head up so he can easily feel you and the back of the hard-cover book feels cool against your cheek. 

You'd like to believe the reason your cheeks are on fire is from the blaring heat of the sun shining down on you—even though you are underneath the shade of that purple umbrella. His lips taste sweet, like a fruity drink. You think a stall nearby is serving something similar to that.

You can feel his smile against your lips, and he seems to be all too happy to have you like this. He tilts your face forward and your body has to follow—to the point you practically collapse into his lap. It feels much more intimate now that you can feel his bare skin against your own.

Isagi moves his hand down from your jaw down toward your waist, holding you taut against him and letting his fingertips rest in the dip of your back. 

You finally end up moving backwards, and your sunhat almost falls off your head—Isagi quickly readjusts it when he pulls away. He gives you a sweet smile—though, it grows more cocky when he glances behind you again—and says, "You really are helpful, [name]."

You blush a little but still retain that same smile when his hands trace down your spine gently, romantically. "I know."

Isagi joins in on the beach volleyball fun with Nagi after Rin and Shidou leave in favour of taking a dip in the sea (you think you hear Shidou saying something about skinny-dipping, and you pray to every god imaginable you heard wrong), so you are left to yourself once more.

You are perfectly content. Your sunhat lay on the towel beside you and your legs are peeked out in the sun—reading your book where you last left off.

Your life is perfectly calm until it is not.

Hands suddenly cover your vision and all you see is darkness. You jerk your head up and are about to say something when a heavily accented voice suddenly rings out throughout your ears, "Guess who?"

You could recognise that voice in your sleep from how often it haunts your dreams. You recognise that voice even before you hear it. You slump down where you sit, letting out a heavy, almost tired sigh. "Kaiser..."

"Ah! How did you guess it so easily, hübsches Mädchen?" He removes the hands blocking your vision and he suddenly plops himself down, right in front of you—of course, his little guard dog is right by his side, sporting his usual guileless expression. "Perhaps you think of me far too often, hm? Also, I told you to call me Michael. We are closer than that, no?"

You shake your head, eyes slightly squinted at him. "I don't know about that. Hello, Ness."

The puppy-dog boy waves his hand at you, clearly delighted. "Hello, [name]!"

Kaiser looks annoyed at this interaction. He scoffs, rolling his electric blue eyes and waving you off mindlessly, lashes fluttering closed, "Whatever. I cannot believe you're just reading at the beach."

You raise a brow. "What's wrong with that?"

He picks up the book by its spine and tosses it nonchalantly on the towel beside you, lips curled downwards into a sneer, "It's terribly dorky. You look like a huge dork."

"You sound like you care about that more than me."

"I don't want my love interest to look like a huge geek. Appearances matter a lot, you know." Yeah, you make that really clear. He abruptly stands up—Ness scrambles to get up as well—and looks down at you, finger curling upwards towards you like he's beckoning you to follow him. "Come on."

You blink with your nose scrunched up. "Excuse me?"

He coughs into a closed fist, looking up at the bright blue sky so he doesn't have to meet your gaze. He still holds a hand out to you, "Come on. Don't keep me waiting."

You're so shocked that you actually find yourself following after him—though, you do not take his outstretched hand and it is left hanging awkwardly. Ness would've taken it.

Your sandals flop on the sand as you walk down the beach, past families and couples and people simply wanting to tan—you follow behind Kaiser in silence while Ness walks beside you. You hope people don't think of you three as a throuple. That would absolutely not be good for your image whatsoever.

You pause as soon as you realise exactly where he is leading you. He's stepped halfway into the water when you halt your movements right before the splash of a wave hits your toes.

"Yeah, no thanks." You abruptly turn on your heel and proceed to try and make a getaway—you don't get too far until Ness grabs your wrist and tugs you backwards. You tumble into him—somehow, he doesn't fall over and only grabs your upper arms in his hands with a frantic expression.

"Please, [name]! Kaiser really wants to swim with you!"

Kaiser hisses through his teeth lowly and stares at Ness like he's just cursed out his mother, "What the hell, Ness?! I never said that!"

The small boy does not make it very subtle when he gasps in shock. Ness slaps his hands over his mouth and shakes his head—his voice is muffled when he speaks, but you can still understand slightly, "I—I never said that! Nobody said that!"

He's so embarrassed the poor boy rushes into the water and disappears beneath the waves. You wonder if he has become one with the sea. In the distance, you can see Kurona and Hiori chilling on a large unicorn floatie—with drinks and colourful straws—that should've only been able to fit one person.

You and Kaiser are now just staring at each other in very much awkward silence. You take a languid step back. "Well... If you don't want to swim..."

Once again, you do not get the chance to dash away because he's grabbed you and pulled you into his grasp before you could even react. You look at him with wide eyes—but you're practically putty in his hands when he bends down and clasps his arms over the back of your thighs, throwing you over his shoulder like a menial sack of potatoes.

Your sandals fall off your feet as soon as you find yourself tucked over him—you let out a very loud, very offended, very embarrassed gasp of shock, "What the hell... ?! Kaiser—put me down! Sick bastard!"

Your words have no visible effect on him. Your head slumps down when you feel him walking, and your hair hangs over your head. You get a good eyeful of his back. He's also more muscular than you imagined. Makes sense why he could even do this. That doesn't mean you're not pissed, though.

You can't see his face, but you can practically envision his signature cocky smirk and how it paints his stupidly handsome features, "I'm all fine, hübsches Mädchen. Are you ready?"

Huh? Ready for what—!!!

You feel so indiscriminately stupid for even asking this question—you should've already known the answer—because you suddenly find yourself collapsing into the water, salt filling each of your senses and the loud noises of children screaming around you fading to muffled nothingness. 

You jump up as fast as you can—you're just tall enough so you can stand with your chest above the waves. You start coughing to try and get the small amount of water you happened to swallow out of your system—your hair is now wet with the water and is suddenly heavier, and you're shivering cold.

Kaiser, the asshole he is, is laughing wildly at your expression. You push your hair away from your vision and you receive an earful of his—stupidly charming—laughter. His hands clamp over his mouth in a last-ditch effort to muffle himself, which only makes your face flush hotter with anger and your chest tightens.

You want to yell and scream into his face, but you choose the better way out. You puff your cheeks out and hold your breath as you dive back under, swimming behind him and slamming your foot into the back of his knees so that he tumbles forward, face-first into the water.

You've never felt prouder of yourself.

You bob your head back up and start to laugh wickedly now—it was his turn to look like a drowned rat. When his head comes above water, you can't help the tears of laughter that brim across your waterline when he gives you a deadpan, silently fuming glare.

His wet bangs cling to his face (somehow, it suited him—the mere thought made you feel a little angry, in the way that your stomach started to feel all weird and your heart skipped a beat or two) and his red eyeliner is smeared down his cheek. He pushes his blonde hair back, so that his damp bangs fall over his left eye and his hair is parted strangely to the side.

"Hmph." He looks away from your figure—you have to cling onto his shoulder to stop yourself from falling over, and your chest heaves up and down wildly to breathe. "I don't know what you find so funny."

You look up at him from your slumped position, eyes squinted upwards and you're practically sparkling with joy, "You... you look hilarious! Ahahaha—look at you! I can't—" Your words are cut off by your gasps for air.

Kaiser does not look the least bit impressed. He stares down at where your cheek is planted on the side of his neck, right where the blue rose lies. His hands stabilise you by falling into the small of your back—right where Isagi's fingertips once touched.

You finally regain your composure and move away from how you were practically pressed up against him—your cheeks are starting to hurt from how hard you were smiling, and you now sport a much calmer sort of grin when you stare up at him. "Ah... I'm sorry—don't look so mad—"

He rolls his eyes, which makes you chuckle, hands resting on his shoulders, "Oh come on... don't look at me like that... I'm sorry..." Your tone is far too playful to sound apologetic. He is slightly enjoying the attention you bestow upon him, but the thought makes his head hurt so he chooses not to reflect on it. "Michael..."

Fuck. His name sounds so nice coming out of your mouth.

He still keeps up the annoyed act, however, even when you grin up at him with that stupidly pretty, stupidly knowing look, "Don't be like that... I'm sorry, okay? What do you want me to do to make it up to you?"

The blonde pauses, blinking owlishly and looking down at you. You are still smiling, and he can feel your heart beating loudly in your chest. You almost look dazed, probably from your previous session of full-blown laughter.

His hands still rest lowly on your hips. He moves one and tilts your chin up with his thumb, "Hm." A smirk coils onto his lips and in an instant you can see the happiness that practically radiates off his being. "I think this will suffice, for now."

He leans forward, and suddenly, he is kissing you. Unlike Isagi—he wastes not a second to slip his tongue between your lips and kisses you as deeply and passionately as he can muster—it's so Kaiser, so him that it makes your stomach twist within itself.

His hands run down the side of your body—the places where his rough fingertips meet the skin that you usually cover with clothing make you jolt and goosebumps form on your wet skin.

His bangs tickle your cheek and despite how wet they are, they are soft. His left, tattooed hand finds itself on the side of your stomach and his blunt nails sink into the soft flesh—he grabs at whatever he can get his hands on. It's lowly and desperate and so unbefitting, so uncharacteristic of him—but in this moment, he can hardly find it within himself to care.

The hot sun beams down on you both and it causes your head to grow all hot and fuzzy—Kaiser's natural warm body heat is not helping either. You're feeling so much all at once that your hands unconsciously place themselves on his bare chest in a small attempt to create a sliver of distance between you two. 

It does not work. Your torso leaves no room or gap as you're sunken into his arms—it makes him groan into your mouth and god, you almost feel sick to your stomach when you realise your first thought after hearing it is that you really want him to do it again.

You're not underwater anymore, but you might as well be. Every sense is muffled—the children screaming, the cool, glittery water that surrounds your bodies, even the blackness that clouds your closed-lidded vision—all you can feel is him, his tongue in your mouth and his hands running all over the smoothness of your skin.

Suddenly, you feel your lungs aching, and you realise you need air. You try to pull away—but his face follows yours like he's a mindless dog, and you could've laughed at it if you had not been so stripped of oxygen. You need air and yet he's kissing you like you are his air—it's a fact that makes your cheeks flush red hot.

The only option you can think of is the next action you take—you squeeze your hand out of where he presses your chests impossibly close and entangle them within his damp, blonde locks—tugging backwards and forcing him to leave the slightest amount of space between your mouths, so you can gasp for air.

Your hand tugging at Kaiser's long hair, hard, and you hotly panting into his mouth—he'd rather be caught dead than admit this aloud, but it doesn't feel half bad.

Your eyes crack open slightly, and you have to choke down a laugh when staring at his expression. His face is flushed bright red—compared to his usual pale complexion—and his squinted cerulean eyes are clouded with unmistakable desirable passionate lust.

"Scheiße, hübsches Mädchen." He curses lowly, chest rising and falling erratically as he pulls you in even closer—if that were possible. You can feel every ridge and bump of his hard torso against you and the smirk that pulls across his lips makes your heart pound. "You make my heart race."

When your breathing starts to even, he closes the gap between you both once more, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down—you whine into him and he kisses you softly as some sort of minor apology—you'd never hear the word sorry come out of his lips, after all. His hand dips down to trace up and down your spine, while the other rests below your ass.

He slides his lips away from yours, down your neck and he rests his face in the crook between your neck and shoulders—pressing languid, open-mouthed kisses against the salty skin. His hair falls over his shoulder and trickles into the water like molten honey—it flutters around in the sea and he looks stupidly gorgeous like this.

Now that he's not blocking your vision nor taking over each of your senses, you can see now see the distant figures of your friends all playing together in the sea, including that of Isagi. He's talking together with the others and having fun while you're over here, making out with one of his most hated rivals.

Still, you can't find it within yourself to give it a second thought when his teeth sink into your neck, and his hands tighten around your upper thighs. He lifts his head after you whimper a little and push him back—he follows where your eyes lead and you're sure he also happens to see the head of your dear friend.

The smile that curls across his lips is nothing short of dangerous. "Oh, is that Yoichi? Are you worried about him seeing us?" You do not give him a verbal answer, but the way you look down and the way your lips tremble gives him everything he needs. "How cute. No worries."

He lifts his face and all you can see is him. His hair falls over his shoulder and his bangs tickle your cheek once more. His touch is undeniably soft despite the carnal look he sports in his sharp, angled eyes. "Why don't we give him a show, hübsches Mädchen?"

He whispers so delicately—you do not have the mind to shake your head no, nor do you protest when he slips his tongue between your obediently open lips once more, hands tucked around your hips.

Your heart will not stop pounding. Kaiser smiles at the fact that he is doing this to you. He smiles at the fact you are like mindless putty in his hands, and he smiles at the fact that he can feel bright blue eyes staring holes into him—there's nothing wrong with showing off, right?

© KENYUMMY 2024