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When The Birds Came

I got Persona 5 Royal as a Christmas gift from my husband and you can bet your ass I fell head-over-heels for Iwai Munehisa and Sakamoto Ryuji. In general, I love loud blonde’s and dads. This is also the first time I haven’t made the reader a smoker (yay, good job Sam) when I very well could have.

Anyway, this is my “yay I’m back from a massive hiatus” piece in which you could tell my main focus was being more descriptive with the NSFW portion as well as continuity. I also am now trying to make lengthy playlists on Spotify to encourage myself and my readers. You can find me on Spotify under the name overxhaul.

Title taken from the song “Prey” by The Neighborhood.

And yes, I am very aware I love writing ridiculously stupid long oneshots. Sue me.

➳ Pairing: Reader x Iwai Munehisa

➳ Word count: 16,076

➳ Warnings: language, vague child neglect, daddy issues, mommy issues lack of contraceptives, slight breeding kink, slight daddy kink, slight cum play, overstimulatioin, squirting, obviously nsfw

“Come again soon!” You gave a wave to the young man you’d just handed his boba to. Presumably, he was still in middle school, as made noticeable by the school uniform, but he had been coming every day later in the evening before skulking off to the alley around the corner from your little boba shop in Shibuya. Maybe one day you would remember to ask his name, you muse silently. It was even more amusing to note that he always grabbed two drinks when he did come—maybe his sweetheart was too shy to order their own drink, so this little gentleman always handles it for the both of them?

You were merely speculating the minor details of this boy’s life; a telltale sign that you have entirely too much time on your hands. Flicking your wrist upward, you check your watch and assume it’s alright to close up now. It was nearing nine and while Shibuya was relatively peaceful, there has been whispers of shady business deals passing through and you would rather not get caught up in the mess. After packing up all the toppings and washing all the dishes, you locked up your little shop, waving goodbye to nearby vendors as you shut the door.

The tinkling bells over the door drown out as you take a step back, the familiar noise muting as your focus shifts to the abrupt feeling of your back colliding against a squishy but firm wall. Following it was the sound of an abrupt grunt. Immediately, you whip your head around ready to apologize profusely only to be met with a chest. Cautiously, you tilted your head back to look the man in the face—whether merely to apologize or to subconsciously register his face in your memory system in the event he came back to kill you, you weren’t sure—only to be met with steely grey eyes. “S-sorry,” you manage to stutter out, just to receive a bored grunt in reply. His lackluster response prompts you to take a step back away from the man that towered over you, allowing him to move past you with little to no acknowledgement of your remorse.

Silently, the man stuffs his hands into his coat pockets while the crunching of what sounds like glass shatters between his teeth. Unbeknownst to you, you let out an audible gasp—as if trying to remind yourself to breathe—at the noise before you shut your gaping mouth and clench your jaw. The thirty second exchange had left the impression on you that he was dangerous—the hunter versus the hunted. Predator versus prey.

Him versus you.

Had your mind not been too preoccupied with his broad form skulking away from you, you might have noticed the half-drunken plastic cup in his hand with little black boba pearls settled at the bottom. Instead, you had only thought you had felt those vicious eyes boring into the back of your skull as you walked home to your little apartment in the outskirts of town. As if he were standing in every alleyway waiting for the opportunity to pounce—to the point where you were keeping your head down while peeking out the corner of your eyes to see if anyone else was around.

You figured you were being silly and paranoid—even more so when you had entered your apartment and cautiously flicked on the lights before even removing your shoes. You knew you were being paranoid when you ripped back the curtains to your shower as if some serial killer were going to be behind it. And you knew you were going absolutely overboard when you triple checked all the locks on your front door and made sure to close and lock your bedroom door as if that were going to enough to deter a predator.

It was ridiculous to even think you, a mere insignificant fly, was capable of leaving a lasting impression on the man as he did on you. It wasn’t like you were bound to cross paths with him again, you argued with yourself.

He had no reason to notice you—this dread you felt was ridiculously unfounded. But no matter how much you tried to reason with yourself as you laid down for bed that evening, the racing of your heart did little to slow until the man was nothing but a dull hum at the back of your mind.

By the morning, the previous day’s events were nearly forgotten. Perhaps that had something to do with you being late to class this morning and the way you rushed out of your little Shibuya apartment before dashing off to the train station. Not that sprinting would make you not late for class—the train itself only went a certain speed. But the chances of you missing the next soonest train would mean you wouldn’t be that late for class and at least you can still bear witness to part of the lecture—

If only you had made the train.

A defeated sigh leaves your lips; there was no way you’d make it in time. Even attempting to go to your only class now would be a pointless trip to campus. There was still plenty of time until you were supposed to arrive at your boba shop. Seize the day, you figure, as you pay the fee to hop on the train to Inokashira Park. It was a beautiful morning, may as well enjoy the sunshine and attempt to capture the beauty of the landscape through digital painting.

With headphones in, you let the gentle hum of hip hop beats fade into the background while your hand laid out a gestural drawing of the land. A tree here, shoreline there—there was no reason the grumpy man, long forgotten from yesterday, should have been anywhere outside of the depths of your subconscious. But as the saying goes, the more you think of something—or in this case someone—the more likely you’ll notice it more in the world around you. Like how the trees in the distance stood tall as he did and proud of how the natural striations in far off rock formations reminded you of the strange man’s salt and pepper locks peeking from under his hat.

Speak it into existence, or something like that.

Maybe that was the reason the unnamed man was sitting at the park bench directly across from you on a sunny Tuesday afternoon.

Part of you wanted to get up and leave due to the overwhelming sense of dread that crept up your spine. But, considering he was in the midst of what seemed to be a teeming argument under the guise of a normal day to day conversation, you figured he’d yet to acknowledge your existence. That was what you were hoping for anyway. After having the general layout of your landscape laid out on the drawing application on your tablet, you held up your cellphone to take a reference photo to finish the painting later. Genuinely, you thought nothing of it until you heard a gritty, “hey!” Before your brain could process what was happening, the same man you had bumped into the previous evening was holding your wrist in one hand, the other holding onto your phone. “What do you think you’re doing?” He snarls.

“L-let go of me!” You squeak out, causing his grip to tighten further in reciprocation.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, kid,” sandpaper. His voice reminded you of sandpaper.

“I was just taking a reference photo of my painting so I could work on it at home...” considering there was no canvas or paint, it was no wonder he didn’t believe you. Still, he let go of your wrist but held onto your phone well above your head like a bully holding a child’s toy out of reach. With trembling fingers, you reached into your bag and held open your now unlocked tablet to him, hoping your trepidation didn’t blur the photo. As he studied the drawing, he lowered his hand until it was at his side. Even if it were far from finished, he could see the ripples in the water coming from the love boats on the river and a little family of ducks near the rock formation. He could see the luxurious foliage that seemed to frame him and his not-so-friendly acquaintance.

“Take me out of it,” he grumbles, handing your phone back to you and turning away. If embarrassment was an emotion he was familiar with, then that would have been the best way to describe the awkward feeling bubbling in his chest. Maybe if he had undergone different circumstances, he wouldn’t feel the need to interrogate some poor kid in a park in broad daylight.

There’s no point in regretting the past, he decided this long ago. Nobody can change the actions they had once taken—only live with the consequences of their choices and try to learn to move on.

Iwai Munehisa knew that all too well.

And if you hadn’t yet, you were going to learn real quick.

Your shift at the shop had gone by as usual. The school rush wasn’t particularly bad today despite the sunny weather and cooler temperatures. Yet, without fail, the same mousy boy that had come every day at a quarter to five in his middle school uniform showed up. Before he’s even made it to the counter, you begin prepping everything for his routine beverages: small taro iced milk tea with a little bit of extra boba and a regular sized thai iced coffee with an additional espresso shot poured after the remaining components had been shaken together.

“O-oh,” the boy says, a foreign forlorn look on his face, “I-I’m so sorry. I only needed the taro today—my dad said I needed to stop bringing him all this extra sugar every day,” despite only needing the one, he takes out the usual amount of money that he always does for the two drinks. You purse your lips in a tight line, mentally berating yourself for being so presumptuous.

“It’s on me today, kid,” you push the two cups towards him and hand him the thick plastic straws—a blue one for him and green for the coffee. His eyes always seemed to light up just a bit more when he saw the two colors slide across the counter. “I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m sorry. Tell your dad he can blame me for today’s sugar overdose, okay?” The boy’s face lit up, albeit only for a brief second, before taking the drinks and his hand and thanking you profusely.

The rest of the evening resumed normalcy, crawling along the clock. At one point, you’d sent the rest of your employees home because keeping them at the shop was cruel and unusual punishment.

Even after cleaning all the dirty store equipment and preparing mixes and ingredients for tomorrow, you still had an hour left before you were due to close up shop. The irony of Billie Eilish’s ‘Bored’ playing on the store stereo was not lost you.

As the owner, you decided to remain open for another twenty minutes out of courtesy. But, considering not a soul had come by (you swear you saw a tumbleweed blow across your cafe floor), you had decided to flick the neon light off and lock the door, standing in the doorway and fumbling with the key. At least there was a chance of you getting home and getting to bed early, so as to avoid your train-missing debacle from this morning. Maybe even get a chance to sneak some pampering in with a salt soak in the tub and a face mask or even meal prep a few things so that you wouldn’t have run to Big Bang Burger for the umpteenth time this week because you didn’t have time—

“You again?”

You weren’t even thinking about him, you swear. How the hell did the same grumpy man from the park this morning manifest before you?! “Hehehe,” you chuckle in clear discomfort, “w-we gotta stop meeting like this?”

“Actually, I just came by to say thanks for the drink,” the grey-haired man looks down to the half drunken beverage in his left hand for clarity, “but don’t let Kaoru bring stuff for me anymore.” That answered another question that you’d had for a while—you finally knew the boy’s name. But knowing that this man was his father opened a different can of worms entirely.

“Right, gotta watch your figure?” You joked. The man before you looked entirely unamused, only letting out a simple grunt as a form of acknowledgement of your silly question. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your figure—“

“I run Untouchable,” he interrupts, not caring much for your ramble, “sometimes I have questionable patrons that I don’t need ‘im seeing,” your face drops momentarily as you’re met in a deadlock with the man. Being the daughter of a shop owner at one point led you to empathize with the child. And regardless of his reasoning, that didn’t mean that his son didn’t miss him from time to time. From what you knew about this Kaoru boy, he probably used the boba as an excuse to see his dad, even if just for five minutes.

“You know,” you started off slowly, “Kaoru prolly just misses you. And you not allowing him to even bring you a coffee while you’re working denies him the opportunity of seeing his dad on his own terms.” A scowl replaces his blasé features. Wrong move, [name]. Wrong move.

“And what do you know about parenting, kid?” He spits out.

“My names not ‘kid’, asshole,” you bite back, “and we were all kids once. Some of us just choose to live with consequences of our parents actions a lot longer than others.” With that, you storm away.

Well, you try to.

But the grip this man has on your wrist is dangerous, as if trying to let you know you were meeting the end of your life by his hand. “Be careful who you mouth off to, kid—“

“It’s [surname],” you snip once again as you puff out your chest. It was clear to the both of you that you were not backing down. While this surly man was somewhat taken aback, impressed even, by your tenacity, you had figured there was no point backing down now. Even with your posture standing just a bit taller, the man gripping your wrist held it above his own head, pressing both of your chests together.

“A pleasure to meet you, [surname],” he drawls sarcastically, “I’m Iwai. Now stay out of my fucking business,” letting you go, Iwai grumbles to himself before walking away from you with an audible crunch of the sucker between his teeth. When he was no longer in eyesight and ear shot, you let out an audible gasp to replenish the breath you’d been holding. Maybe he was right—there was no reason for you to meddle or to say the things that you had. But at the same time, you knew those morose looks on Kaoru’s face all too well—being an only child with absent parents is a language that only those who suffer can speak.

So maybe you wouldn’t encourage Kaoru to bring nice treats for Iwai, but you made it your mission to make sure Kaoru didn’t go home every night wishing he could see his dad for more than ten minutes.

One of the downsides to being an owner of a shop, or a good one anyway, was dedicating seven days a week to running your business. Sure, you had a few part timers here and there that could easily handle the shop, but they were students who needed to keep up with their studies and wanted to have social lives. Rather than dealing with the hassle of finding someone reliable enough, you made it a point to shoulder the burden on your own. Being slow enough most nights did allow you to work on your own coursework in between—the perks of being in college merely for the sake of learning rather than emphasizing the importance of securing a degree. It also allowed you to tackle administrative work while engaging with your customers.

Including a young boy who still looked so downtrodden as he ordered his small taro boba tea on ice. “It’s Kaoru, right?” You ask him casually as you hand him his drink. The boy offers you a look of surprise.

“Y-yeah?”

“It’s nice to officially meet you, I’m [surname].” He smiles bashfully to replace his stupefied look. Handing off his tea, you notice the way he lingers, as if contemplating whether or not he wants to stay or flit off elsewhere. “You’re more than welcome to hang around here and do homework or something, Kaoru-kun,” you add, noticing the way his eyes flicker back and forth between the alley where you now know his father is.

“O-Okay,” the boy responds meekly before taking a two-top table by the window. It gave him the best view of said alley, and part of you wonders if he did that intentionally. Deciding to leave it be for now, you occasionally peek out the corners of your eye to see Kaoru flipping through what you assumed to be pages of homework. Every few minutes, he was looking up out the window before mindlessly fingering the pages again.

When your line had died down and all customers had been serviced, you walked out from behind the counter with a towel in hand. Using the guise of sanitizing the tables, you approached the boy, clearing your throat so as to pardon your presence. “Looks like entrance exams, am I right?” Kaoru looks up at you again, boyish eyes gleaming as if he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner. “How are your studies going?”

“Uh...not very good,” he admits sheepishly. “Sometimes my dad helps me study, but he hasn’t been home lately before I go to bed.”

Ah.

Why did it feel like you were looking in a mirror every time you talked to this boy?

“Well, I’m sure your dad has his reasons. If you don’t mind, I could always help you study?” Perhaps it was spite that drove your actions. After all, Iwai had told you to stay out of his business, yet here you were, offering to tutor his son just because he refused to be present. Maybe it was remorse because you had meant what you said—Iwai had his reasons. Just like your father did back when you were Kaoru’s age.

That didn’t mean that your father’s absence didn’t hurt you or manifest itself as the young boy sitting at one of your tables.

“R-really?!” The boy’s excited voice pulled you from your inner monologue. You offer a soft smile instead, reaching over to turn his notebook towards you.

Comprehension comes easy enough for you to show him, as well as the various portions of Japanese and English grammar and vocabulary. Math was only slightly more difficult, but not by much considering it was still relatively basic formulas that had just been reworked for the current generation’s curriculum.

Science at this age was something you hadn’t even faced until your second or third year of high school.

“Why the heck,” you emphasize your censorship, despite strongly wishing to drop an f-bomb, “are they teaching you physics in middle school?!”

“They aren’t,” Kaoru all but cries. It’s apparent that this subject has been frustrating him immensely—perhaps that was why he was also desperate for his father’s attention? “I haven’t learned any of this yet, but I really want to make it into this academy but it’s one of the top schools in the prefecture and I’m worried I’m too dumb to get in.” The boy had split every last ounce of anxiety, his words coming a garbled mess as he refused to take a breath as he spoke while teems of hot tears threatened to spill past his eyes.

“Hey, Kaoru-chan?” You say gently as you close his notebook. “You are not dumb,” you murmur firmly while looking him in his wet eyes, “you haven’t learned this stuff yet so of course it’s going to be difficult. That doesn’t mean you can’t learn it.” Kaoru is quiet for a moment, slight sniffles sounding from his face.

“But if we aren’t learning this in school, how am I supposed to learn how to do any of this?” Pausing, you check your watch for the time as you realize how late it must’ve gotten. It was already closing time, and the streets of Shibuya were starting to run thin.

“Tell you what, Kaoru-chan. Give me two days. Two days, I’ll come up with a study guide for you with formulas and units you’ll need to know to learn just basic physics. Does that sound good?” As you shut off the neon ‘Open’ sign, the boy takes this as a signal to begin packing his belongings into his knapsack.

“O-okay,” he hesitates, “but I-I don’t wanna be a bother, [surname]-san. I can always ask my dad, though he’s not much of a help usually,” the last part is mumbled almost unintelligibly.

Almost.

Your chest constricts again because you swear this child, however short of a time you’ve known him, is too much like you to be a mere coincidence. It was more like whatever omniscient being up above sent you this child to help.

“You’re no bother, Kaoru-chan. I’ll see you tomorrow, and I will let you know right away when I have your study guide ready, but you should probably head on home before your dad starts worrying about you.” The boy agrees, the slick appearance of tears dissipating until they were replaced with some semblance of hope. Maybe he could get into the academy—maybe he’s not dumb and his dad doesn’t want to be around him, he thinks.

“Thanks again, [surname]-san!”

“Kaoru, why are you still out right now?” The boy in question whips his head around, meeting the steely grey eyes of his father. “And you, I thought I told you stay out of my business? That includes my son!” Iwai was angry. The lower lid of his left eye shook, and the corners of his mouth trembled as if ready to snarl. He wasn’t just angry.

Iwai Munehisa was livid.

“D-dad, I’m sorry. We lost track of time a-and [surname]-san was helping me—“

“Go home and go to bed, Kaoru. I’ll meet you there shortly.”

“O-okay...” despite not wanting to, Kaoru takes his leave down the streets of Shibuya. Occasionally his gaze would flicker back to the sight of you staring at his father with your arms crossed over his chest and him returning the look with venom.

“What do you want, [surname]? Is it money? Who sent you?” The way your family name leaves his lip is entirely satirical. There’s malice painting his tone, as if trying to submerge his very obvious threatening posture with extra ammunition. “I meant it when I said stay out of my business.”

“I have no problem with that, but your kid might.”

“And what do you know about him? Besides the fact that he keeps bringing you business?” Between the both of you, the volume of your voices is beginning to transcend the quiet streets of Shibuya. And considering the privacy that Iwai clearly strived for, you let out a sigh before turning around to unlock the door to your shop. The disgruntled man raises a brow, teeth clicking against the sucker between his lips as he grunts in confusion. “What, you runnin’ away now, kid?”

“I just don’t think you or your son would appreciate this conversation taking place in such a public space.” You huff with a roll of your eyes before holding the door open for him. Weary, Iwai scuffles in, his clunky boots thumping along the linoleum of your storefront. His caution made you roll your eyes before you locked the door once again behind him. “I offered to tutor Kaoru because he’s having anxiety about his entrance exams.” You bite out. Iwai, now pausing his gawking at your frilly, all white and gold boba shop, snaps his neck towards you. It seems you had his attention now.

“I already told him I would get him a tutor, so leave him alone.”

“Dude,” you huff once again, dropping all formalities along with your patience, “he almost started crying in front of me. He thinks he’s dumb and you’ve apparently put off finding a tutor for long enough that he is freaking out and nearly having public meltdowns.”

For a moment, Iwai is silent. There’s no noise in the shop, save for the incessant clacking of that damned lollipop.

“He’s not dumb,” is all his father grits out, the hardened sugar finally cracking underneath his molars.

“No, he’s not. He actually kept up with my little impromptu lessons. He can pass those exams; he just needs a little help.” With a newfound resolve, Iwai turns around to stand at his full figure, eyes narrowing down towards you.

“Let’s meet somewhere and talk this over. Not tonight obviously, I gotta fix a couple o’ things at home,” he grumbles, much like his son had earlier that evening.

“What, like an interview?” You balk incredulously. What, did he think you were trying to kidnap his kid or something?! Kaoru was nearly your height and you ran a little freakin’ boba shop—what the hell could you possibly do that would be even remotely threatening?!

“Yeah, like an interview. I’ll reach out to ya in a couple days. Later,” with finality, Iwai brushes past your smaller frame, unlocks the door and exits the shop, leaving you to your confused, dumbfounded solitude.

Rest did not find you easy that night.

No matter what tactics you had resorted to in an attempt to find sleep, nothing seemed to work. Guided relaxation and meditation, one of your typical go-to methods, had only left you with even more tense muscles. You tried turning on quiet, gentle music while continuing the digital painting you had started a couple weeks ago. The whole hour you had tried, your eyes had subconsciously flitted back and forth between the area you were painting and the two men conversing on the bench in your reference photo.

Just take me out of it, his voice had gnawed at the back of your mind.

And slowly, the two conversing men had been exchanged with silhouettes of the aforementioned man and a much shorter figure sitting shoulder to shoulder by his side. While it made for decent artwork, the thought of having to paint such a tender moment, as opposed to witnessing it firsthand, had left you full with guilt. The poor boy you were so determined to help—the boy so desperate for his father’s attention. Where was his mother? Couldn’t she help him out?

Then again, it wasn’t like your own mom did much for you either. If anything, she merely stood idly by while your father barked instructions on how to live your life.

Go to college for business.

Earn nothing less than perfection.

Open your own shop.

Be successful.

But also, friendships are unnecessary, and you should sever ties should you make them.

Get a job without help, but also pay for your own transportation said job.

Live independently—do everything on your own so that your success is yours.

These were your guiding principles of life. The only reason you turned out the way you did was out of sheer rebellion, doing everything your parents asked and more in your own way. And when you finally did achieve your rendition of success, you cut all ties with them.

You didn’t want Kaoru to turn into the bitter human you had by following some unwritten code like you had, especially if he didn’t have to.

But thinking of the boy leads you back to his irritated father and the initial reason you couldn’t sleep. The immediate flip in personality of Iwai had left you all sorts of jumbled. At first, he was so adamant and insistent that you stay far away from the Iwai family—to stay out of his business. Was he merely humoring you? Something in those grey eyes told you no. Rather, it told you of a more insidious reason that, even if he wasn’t physically standing before you, made your spine run cold. The type of chill that travelled from the base of your neck down your core.

The more you dwelled on the thought, the more you wondered about how he would get in contact with you. Would he call you? He didn’t have your number, but some inkling in the back of your head told you that wasn’t going to stop him. Would he just come by after work again? Maybe you should make sure your security cameras were working so that he didn’t kill you inside your own shop. The idea didn’t seem farfetched, you attempted to rationalize. Considering the death grip he had on your wrist twice now, he could have easily broken a bone or two. Iwai could easily slam his big hands on your throat and break your hyoid bone, crushing your windpipe. He could bind and gag you—

Okay, [name], time for bed.

Despite all the tossing and turning from the previous night, you had managed to make it to your digital design class early enough to grab a coffee on the way. Lord knows you needed it.

Much like the night before, the hour-long course had dragged on with every second stretching the minutes. Since your mind and presence were practically nonexistent, you had opted to head to a cafe nearby in Kichijoji. It was a short, half-hour walk that seemed to tick by much faster than your morning had. Sitting outside, enjoying a beautifully crafted latte and a light lunch while working on your digital painting had been the reset you’d needed. It seemed to ebb away the sleepless night. Maybe work wouldn’t be so daunting later.

But that feeling of dread is pokes its head once again upon receiving a text message from an unknown number.

Where are you.

Part of you becomes weary of your surroundings, scoping out for any suspicious characters that might be looking your way. Another part of you scoffs at the message—why on earth would you reveal your location to an unknown number? However, ignoring the text as you thought you should, proved to be ineffective as the unfamiliar number flashes again in the form of a call not once, but twice. When you refused to pick up the second time, another message is sent.

What, you scared of a job interview, kid?

Before colorful words can be muttered under your breath, you answer the phone as it rings for a third time. “How the fuck did you get my number?” You bite out between ground teeth. On the other end of the line, Iwai Munehisa lets out a chuckle before merely stating that he has his connections.

“Seriously though, where are you? I got time before the shop opens.” For a moment, you’re quiet, contemplating on whether or not you should tell him. On the plus side, you were in a public space at the moment. He couldn’t kill you behind closed doors like he was so clearly capable of. Though maybe a small part of you wouldn’t mind feeling that delicious grip on your throat, even if for a second—“Earth to [surname],” the voice chimes on the line. Pulling you from your boundless thoughts, you absently spew off your location as if you were talking with an old friend as opposed to the man you’d been continuously butting heads with. “Kichijoji? It’ll take me a few, but I’ll be there within the hour. Later.”

With that, Iwai hangs up, leaving you to your train wreck of thoughts.

Shit.

He was coming to interview you to be a tutor—which, that part was the least of your worries—but you hadn’t prepared a damn thing for Kaoru yet. Considering how yesterday’s events played out, you figured you had a bit more time. Not that you didn’t perform well under pressure, no. It was more of the fact that the Untouchable owner made your skin crawl and your blood boil and triggered your fight-or-flight response with a single look.

Exiting out of the digital painting program, you pull up a blank note page in your tablet before creating a rough draft of Kaoru’s lesson plans. While you were initially just helping him with science, you figured it would be helpful to refine other subjects of the entrance exams just for Kaoru’s peace of mind.

Still awaiting his father, you begin writing out a formula sheet to be used with his study guides for both the math section and the science section. Even only glancing at the boy’s workbook briefly, you had a rough idea of the material content—acceleration due to gravity, formulas for mass, Planck’s constant, conversions between Fahrenheit to Celsius to Kelvin—

“Huh. I didn’t expect you to take this so seriously.” Iwai has a hand on the back of your chair, leaning his weight on the furniture as he looks over what you have written so far. Much of the letters and symbols looked like a whole lot of mumbo jumbo to him—a foreign language that he didn’t expect a girl like you to be so well-versed in.

“Oh!” You squeak out, startled by his sudden presence. “Jesus, give a girl a warning next time, would ya?” Iwai gives a roll of his grey eyes before taking the seat across the table from him. The waitress swings by upon seeing a new guest, grabbing his order for a basic drip coffee with cream and sugar on the side.

“It looks like you know what you’re doing. You just pull these outta your ass?” His roundabout phrasing isn’t as effective as he thinks, you muse. Not that you blame him for his suspicions—you ran a little boba shop that probably didn’t net much profit or had relatively simple supply systems with no need for knowledge of these types of formulas.

“No,” you huff out a small tuft of air in a scoff, “I graduated with a degree in astrophysics.” Iwai quirks a brow, clearly not hiding the confusion at the drastic dichotomy of your current occupation and your area of specialization. Even more than the confusion, he was clearly skeptical of this being true.

“Is that so? Say I believe you,” this man was very good at pushing your buttons, you note, “why waste your degree tutoring my boy?” The question grit against your thin nerves.

“Well, considering I’m running a tea shop instead of finding more habitable planets on the International Space Station right now, I would say that at least tutoring offers me a small, singular use of my degree.” You balk, simultaneously propping your elbow on the table and cradling your head to further emphasize your irritation. Beneath his breath, you swear you hear the man mutter, ‘brat’.

“Fine, next question.” Iwai pauses momentarily, sipping his coffee and setting down the mug a little less than gracefully before slumping back into his chair. His arms and knees are crossed, the telltale signs of one keeping their cards close to their chest. “Who are you?”

Huh?

Iwai repeats his questioning, adding pressure to the first word as if he were indirectly prying for a specific answer.

“Uh, I’m [surname] [name]. I’m 29, Toho graduate in astrophysics, as I mentioned, as well as a double major in business, while currently taking a digital design course for shits and giggles?”

“And?” You narrow your eyes at him, blood constricting and your pupils turning to pinpricks out of sheer annoyance.

“And what?”

“That’s all there is to ya? No tricks, no hidden agendas; It’s that simple?” The question coming from his lips seems to be more to himself rather than directed at you. His body is no longer scrunched—however difficult that may be for someone of his hulking stature—with his legs spread out a bit more comfortably and his arms relaxed in a looser cross. With him stretching out, his feet just barely brush yours, but neither of you make the motion to recede them.

“Simple? You sure know how to make a girl feel special.” Feeling the slightly laxer attitude, you mirror his posture. Despite leaving your hand on the table and cradling your chin, the action is more fueled by intrigue rather than annoyance as it had earlier.

“What can I say? I like ‘em simple. Better than dealing with dramatics and feeling like a babysitter.” You aren’t totally sure if he was aiming for a joke—from the blasé look on his face, you would say no—but you can’t help but laugh. Despite his scary appearance that had rattled every vertebrae in your spine from a single look, Iwai was no better than a grumpy old man yelling at the neighborhood kids for playing too loud in the middle of the day. Or at least, from that tiny interaction he did. The bubble of laughter, however, grates at his nerves. “Alright, last question. You get oddly protective when it comes to my son. Why?”

Protective.

Huh?

Is that how he viewed it? Your initial reaction was to offer a rebuttal—to outright deny his claim. “I-I’m not—“

“[name],” the vowels and consonants strung together like honey straight from the dripper when he spoke your name, rather than the malice that his tone held. “Just spit it out.”

“I’m not protective, I’m preventative.” Well, he did tell you to spit it out. So your words come out unrefined like a rough draft to a thesis while the two of you stare at each other. Grey on [eyecolor]. “My parents used to run a little shop in Sendai—spent all their time there and left me to just do whatever. I always lived by their rule, always tried to be perfect so maybe they would come celebrate my achievements with me.”

But they never did. Student council president? Big whoop.

Valedictorian? You’re only in high school.

Got a perfect in your entrance exams to Toho? So what.

Graduated summa cum laude with a double major? They didn’t even come to your graduation.

“It hurts a kid. A lot. I saw all the same signs in Kaoru, I just don’t want another kid to grow up like me.” For a moment, Iwai is quiet. He’s contemplating his words, careful and cautious of what to say. On the one hand, he understands what you’re saying. Truly, he does. He understands it isn’t fair to his son—it’s not fair to constantly leave him alone and in the dark and all to hide his past. Kaoru never asked for that.

Hell, Kaoru never asked to be born, let alone sold and left on Iwai’s front porch.

At the same time, Iwai Munehisa takes a long look at you. While he acknowledges the tired, nearly empty gaze in your eyes and your gaunt, frail body that clearly lacks some form of nourishment, he also sees the raw intelligence. He sees drive and passion and guts and part of him thinks if his kid turned out half the person you did, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.

However, he also realizes that he’s wrong for thinking that. You are a product of poor upbringing, and you were trying to break the cycle.

“Personally,” the grey-haired man starts off slowly, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. You’re a gutsy woman that’s standing up for what she believes in.” Iwai can tell you’re ready to fire a rebuttal immediately, to which he holds his hand up. “But I get what you’re saying. Kaoru shouldn’t have to take the same journey just to achieve the same results—so you have my permission.”

You close your lips back together as you clench your jaw. This should have felt like a victory for you—you get to help this poor boy feel validated in his efforts. But you know it doesn’t come solely from you, a stranger that just happened to hear his pleas.

“I need more than that, Iwai. You need to start being there for him too, otherwise this is all moot.”

The man in question licks the dry plains of his lips before pursing them together. How was he going to justify leaving the shop? That would mean his part-timer would have to close up shop for him. What if Tsuda or Masa end up at the shop—

It doesn’t matter, Iwai realizes. This is for his son, his literal fucking world. He would be no better than Kaoru’s birth mom if he couldn’t even be there for his boy.

“Okay,” the weapons dealer agrees after a minute, “whatever he needs. But the tutoring sessions happen in my home and nowhere else. Understood?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you hold your hand out to shake on the deal, not even registering the fact that you were going to be inside the Iwai home or picking up on how adamant he was with this request.

While Iwai Munehisa was a relatively strict man, you were grateful that he showed some flexibility to your own personal schedule. Sure, it was something that any normal, decent human would do, but for some reason you just hadn’t expected that courtesy from him.

Your tutoring sessions started at six in the evening which gave everyone ample time to take care of their own needs. You had time to complete your own coursework and manage your shop, Iwai was able to teach his part-timer how to close up shop for the evening, and Kaoru would be able to take care of assignments due the following day or attend cram school. Each day that you had tutoring sessions, Munehisa would pick you up from your own store, walking with you side by side back to his shared apartment. Some days, he would be silent. Others, he would indulge you with mundane conversations.

“Wait so you’re back in school, just for the hell of it?” The gun shop owner had asked when you presented him with the painting. The one of him and Masa in Inokashira Park, though the latter was no longer in the photo. Instead, the silhouette had been exchanged for a much shorter one, paying homage to Kaoru instead.

“Yeah, I told you that during my interview,” you remind him casually, looking anywhere but his direction as the photo was being zoomed in and out from all sorts of directions under his scrutinizing eye. “I wanted to get better at art, so I took some local classes.”

“Huh,” he hums thoughtfully, handing you back your tablet, “pretty impressive, kid.”

You’ve learned not to take offense to him calling you that. In a sense, he was almost old enough to be your dad (or at least that was what he kept telling you, but you had your doubts)—essentially everyone is a kid in his eyes. If anything, it was more of a term of endearment at this point.

After he opens the doorway to the apartment, you take your shoes off before calling out his son’s name. In the short three weeks that you’ve been at this routine, you’ve found yourself already familiar with the space and easily make yourself at home. Kaoru is in the living room, hunched over a coffee table with his notes scattered everywhere. The boy is muttering formulas to himself as he punches numbers into a calculator, followed by anguished wails before noticing your presence. “[name]-san, help,” he whimpers.

Another normality that’s been created is that Kaoru has dropped the formalities with you per your request. Iwai holds his hands up in defeat, knowing the two of you were going to be busy by the frustrated look on his son’s face. “I’ll get dinner started,” he adds as he saunters off to the kitchen. He knows better than attempt to help in the math or science department—that’s your area of expertise after all.

“Alright kiddo, let’s take a look.” Immediately you get to work, assessing his problem—physics, which had been a real struggle for the boy—step by step while his dad observes from the half-wall in the kitchen. You look entirely at ease, patient and productive as you sit shoulder to shoulder with his son. Iwai can hear your simple explanations for why certain numbers do and don’t work in the formula that the question calls for. “...this is why you gotta make sure that you’re always very specific with your units. It’ll lead to context clues later...” you may be a brat, Munehisa muses, but you were an absolute natural with his boy.

As promised, Munehisa was present for your tutoring sessions and often checked in on Kaoru’s progress. Not just by being there either, but pulling out questions from his study guides, changing the numbers, and having the boy solve them so that he could apply what he learned. On top of that, Munehisa made dinner for the three of you each night as well as prepped his son’s lunches for the next day. It was strangely domestic, but also filled a part of his heart he hadn’t known was missing. “Come eat, you two,” he called out from the kitchen as he finished setting the table. When he hears no response, the grey-haired man pokes his head into the living room to see you and Kaoru engrossed in a very serious conversation fueled by hushed whispers. Focusing his hearing on words rather than the gentle pitter patter of rain hitting the window, he can make out a couple sentences.

“...what if I don’t pass the exams?”

“Hey, you’re gonna do amazing, Kao-chan. You’re already figurin’ out most of these problems on your own, you could get into any school in the prefecture. And we’ve still got a couple months to go, and you’re doing so well, you don’t need to be so hard on yourself.” A small part of Munehisa’s heart aches. Where did he go wrong as a dad for his son to be this hard on himself?

“You’re going to ace it, Kaoru,” he says without thinking, causing the two of you to snap your heads in his direction. Iwai’s expression is soft—a juxtaposition to how it usually is—as he locks eyes with his son. For a moment, the boy looks as if he’s going to cry while having the ability to light up the entire apartment with how bright he’s smiling. Such a soft, tender moment between father and son that you can’t help but think you shouldn’t be here. “Now c’mon, let’s have dinner.” Iwai offers you a hand to pull you off the floor while his son is already setting off to the small dining room at Mach speed. Even after hoisting yourself off the tatami mats, however, Iwai’s hand is still loosely gripping yours. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Uh, y-yeah, no problem!” Your hand retracts from his immediately, as if his skin were made of fire rather than flesh, before you flit off to take the empty seat across from Kaoru to gush over how wonderful your meal looked.

That softness never left Iwai Munehisa’s face, even as he took the seat between you and his son at the little circular table designed for four. The three of you say grace before digging in, with a small reminder to have Kaoru eat his veggies. Since you had started tutoring him over the last couple weeks, the environment in the Iwai household had shifted to something more domesticated—homier—than Munehisa was used to.

And he would be a fucking liar if he said he didn’t like it.

A part of him wonders if this could have been his life from the get-go had Kaoru been born his son; if Kaoru had you as his mom, would this be what life would be like?

Full stop, Munehisa, he grumbles internally.

This was a contract deal. You tutor his son for entrance exams in exchange for meals because he knows for a fact now all you eat is garbage, as well as ensuring that Kaoru is receiving the care that a lonely only child needs. Yet, despite this whole contract set-up, you found yourself seeing the boys even on the days you didn’t have tutoring sessions. There were days when Akira, the part-time employee at Untouchable, would watch the store and both the Iwai men would pay you a visit at the shop, staying until you had finished up your shift for the day. Other times, you and Munehisa would subconsciously meet outside your shopfront and walk together towards his apartment before realizing it was a Sunday or a Thursday—two days you always had off from tutoring.

You were at his apartment almost as much as you were at your own.

Conversation flowed between you and Kaoru so easily, ranging from school to local sports to art. “Oh! I forgot to show you something Kao-chan! Pardon me,” you abruptly stood up, skipping to the living room to grab your tablet from your work bag. Unlocking it and pulling up the painting, you flip the screen over to show Kaoru the completed artwork. For a moment, the boy is marveled as he recognizes his father’s coat and his school uniform on the figures facing the water. The striations in the rock formations, the shadows of the trees—everything is mesmerizing.

“Don’t forget to print a copy for us so we can hang it up,” Iwai reminds you. Though, it’s the first you’re hearing of this. You shoot Iwai a sheepish half-grin before clearing off your plate. Of the three of you, you’re the last one to finish, so Kaoru takes his time clearing the table while Munehisa grabs you a glass of red wine to accompany his own neat whiskey. “I’ll take care of the dishes—“

“Wait, no you cooked. Let me—“ you tried to offer, but the weapon’s dealer just shooed you away with a nonchalant flick of his wrist.

“You kids finish studying before it gets too late, I’ll take care of it.” While Kaoru has already sputtered his gratitude towards his dad and flees back to the living room, you’re still standing in the small kitchen slash dining area, collecting the remaining dishes for Iwai. “What did I just say?” He balks, drying his hands on the towel draped over his shoulder. Before you have a chance to respond, he grabs your wine that’s perched on the counter in one hand, the other gingerly placed on the small of your back as nudges you towards the living room, mumbling something along the lines of, “you never listen, ya brat.” Without another protest, you pluck the glass from his fingers, pretending the heat from his large hand on your back didn’t cause your flesh to erupt into flames.

“Alrighty, where did we leave off, Kao-chan?”

“We were working on phenotypes and genetics.” Easy enough—first year biology, you think to yourself. You go through explaining alleles to Kaoru and dominant and recessive traits with him, and how recessive traits can end up becoming more prominent in offspring.

“So if I was actually my dad’s son, there’s a chance I would have had grey eyes?”

Huh?

“Kao-chan—“

“It’s okay. I’ve always known he wasn’t my real dad.” Oh. Oh. Well that makes this ten thousand times more difficult. From your own experience, it was already hard enough being the only child and never being enough for your biological parents. In theory, they should love you unconditionally—they brought you into this world. However, this circumstance is entirely foreign to you. “My parents died when I was a baby, and he took me in because he was close to them. But sometimes, I wonder if he did that just because he was close to them, ya know? Sometimes I wonder if he even views me as his son.”

Your heart broke—shattered into thousands of tiny little shards that stuck to the muscle fibers in your body. It probably didn’t help at all that Iwai was initially so focused on running his stupid shop to the point where his own son—biological or not—needed to make excuses to see him. But at the same time, Iwai Munehisa was so overly protective of Kaoru that there was no way he didn’t view him as his child.

“Maybe,” you start off slowly, thinking back to the final question of your interview with Munehisa. “His own example of parenting is a little skewed, so he’s trying his best to do the opposite of how he was raised so that he does better with you.”

“Yeah, but you’re much better at it, [name]-san,” you frown slightly at this. In the month or so that you’ve known the Iwai family, you have to commend the fact that Munehisa has been doing much better than when you met him. His guard was still up, of course, but he was home much more with Kaoru and he was absolutely trying. But there are still parts of the boy that are filled with uncertainty and doubt—parts of him that still long for being coddled like a child because he was still one underneath it all. Subconsciously, you wrap an arm around his shoulder, offering him a loose hug that he was free to back out from at any moment.

He didn’t.

“You know what one of the first things I ever said to your dad was?” Kaoru stiffens slightly but doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, he buries himself further into the hug because he can’t remember the last time that he was given a crumb of parental affection. “‘We were all kids at some point. Some of us just choose to live with the consequences of our parents’ actions longer than others’. I told him that because every choice I make is a direct result of how I responded to my upbringing.” And now that you think about it, maybe Iwai Munehisa has seen more than you realize. In fact, you’re almost certain he has by the way he lives and raises his own child.

He was also still living with the consequences of how he was raised.

It seems his son resonates with the sentiment, as Kaoru sniffles while sitting up, but remains quiet while he still leans shoulder to shoulder with you. Despite textbooks and notebooks still being open and scattered across the living room, it was clear that he just needed a moment to be—to exist and sit and stew on his own thoughts. Once again, you reach to wrap an arm around Kaoru’s shoulder while your free hand reaches for the stemless wine glass, both of you watching the drips of the rain creating streaks on the glass of the balcony door.

From the kitchen, Iwai shuts off the water when he’s cleaned off the all the dishes. The only noises that can be heard from the living room is the water hitting glass and the occasional setting down of glass on wood, but there’s no talking. No praise from solved equations and gentle goading to finding the right answer. There’s nothing at all. There’s an intimate stillness that Iwai almost feels guilty for looking in on that creates an ache in his chest.

How the fuck were you so much better at handling his son than him?

Iwai swallows the contents of his glass in one gulp before pouring him another shot of whiskey that he will hopefully sip on as intended.

Looking outside the balcony door himself, Munehisa realizes the rain isn’t going to let up any time soon. Kaoru also likes a nice, hot mug of cocoa on rainy nights like this. While turning to heat milk on the stove, the weapons dealer wracks his brain as to if he even owns an umbrella so that you don’t have to walk home in this storm without one. He should have one, right? There’s no way he’s that shitty of a father that he doesn’t have an umbrella for his kid when it rains.

His extra one is still at Untouchable, where he usually keeps it in the event someone else needs one or if he’s got business to tend to. Upon this realization, Iwai groans before bringing the cocoa to the living room for his son.

“Kaoru, ya got an extra umbrella somewhere?” Munehisa asks gently, ignoring the panic that spreads across both Kaoru’s and your faces while the two of you pry yourselves apart. The boy thanks his dad, shamelessly sipping at the treat before turning to face away from the window.

“Actually I think I left it in my locker at school, sorry dad.”

“S’all right,” he says nonchalantly as you begin helping Kaoru pack up his notes and study guides, “maybe [name]-san can have her husband come bring by an umbrella so she don’t get sick—“ you sputter out a distinguished laugh, grateful you hadn’t been drinking the rest of your wine or you surely would have spit it all over Kaoru.

“Husband? The only thing I’m married to is the idea of getting to work for the International Space Station.” Munehisa doesn’t receive the opportunity to comment on the fact that you’re nearly thirty and not married, thanks to his son who lights up like a start at the mention of the ISS.

“Woah, is that your dream job, [name]-san?! That’s so cool!” Kaoru begins rattling off a few facts he knows about the solar system and a few accomplishments of NASA and where water can be found on Mars. Feeding his enthusiasm, you explain why water can be found on Mars in the first place and how, despite this discovery, we can’t necessarily just up and move to that planet. While the two of you geek out slightly over the stars and planets, Iwai has replenished your now empty glass of Cabernet. “Dad, why doesn’t [name]-san just stay the night until the storm stops?”

“Kaoru, that’s inappropriate.” He would be lying if he said that thought hadn’t crossed his mind. At first, he immediately banished it because he just assumed your spouse would come and get you. Then knowing there was nobody waiting at home, Iwai just didn’t want to admit that he liked the idea of you staying a little more than he should.

“B-but It’s worse to let her go home in this weather cause she’ll get sick and you’ll get sick from walking her home!” Coward, his subconscious screamed. Coward coward coward, you’re a fucking coward Munehisa. His own son has to scold him into what is clearly a smarter choice for everybody’s health merely because he’s too fucking chicken to deal with potential situations that would arise from you staying over for a night. Wait, his mind argues, nothing would even happen because you would have to have some semblance of interest in him for any of those scenarios and there was no way—

“Kao-chan, your father’s right. I couldn’t put you guys out like that. Besides, it’s not that far of a walk, I’ll be alright—“

“What? No, you’re not putting us out,” Iwai combats, feeling the need to squash the idea that your presence is a burden on the family. If anything, your presence was a necessity.

“It’s not that big of a deal—“

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight; you take my bed.” The grey-haired man is adamant now, while Kaoru is slightly pleased with himself. It’s been a long time since they’ve had company, let alone someone stay at their house. In fact, he doesn’t think anyone has since he’d been adopted. And Kaoru likes having you around, and it’s clear as day to him that his dad doesn’t mind either. So what if his umbrella was in his closet?

After it had been decided that you would crash the Iwai home, Kaoru had finished his cocoa while continuing to ask about other things about space. It was a pleasant surprise, being able to talk about these things with another person who was just as interested. Who knows, maybe one day Kaoru would grow up and want to study galaxies too?

When the boy had said his good nights, Iwai lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. “You’re both a pain in my ass, ya know that?” His arms are draped over the back of the couch, one hand cradling what had to be his fifth glass of straight whiskey. You turn to face him from where you’re still perched on the floor, your back resting along his right leg with your torso still facing the storm.

“Hey, I said I could go home—“

“Yeah, you could. But Kaoru would never let me hear th’ end of it.” The two of you lapse into silence once again, letting both of your minds wander.

“He’s a good kid, ya know,” you start off slowly, “and I know it’s none of my business, but whether he’s biologically your son or not, he’s still your son.” A stifled laugh rolls off of Iwai’s chest in delicate waves before it’s washed down with more whiskey.

“He’s my son, that’s for sure. I just don’t want him to turn into a good-for-nothing scumbag like me,” your eyes peel away from the lightning lighting up the streets of Shibuya, setting your glass down with a scowl crossing your face as you turn to face the weapons dealer. “Maybe he’s lucky that he doesn’t share any of my genetics. Otherwise he would be doomed from the start.”

“Iwai, children are a product of their environment. Look at how much happier he’s been since you started coming around more often. If he hears how lowly you think of yourself, he’ll start to reflect that behavior—“

“What good does it do him to have a thug for a dad?” The grey-haired man snaps, grabbing ahold of your wrist much like he had the very first time you confronted him, though definitely not as tight. His grey eyes are locked with yours once again, hulking body causing yours to pale in comparison.

Prey.

Him versus you.

But this time, you don’t feel fear tingle down your spine. You don’t feel the need to shrink away from him because you know he could hurt you like a predator hunts. Iwai Munehisa wouldn’t do that to you. “That scare you, kid? Knowing sweet little Kao-chan’s dad is a thug? Is former Yakuza? That daddy’s got people coming after him and Kaoru left and right because of shit I did in the past?”

Iwai Munehisa wouldn’t hurt you.

“Sounds like you’re more scared about him knowing that than I am. Why would your past bother me? It’s in the past.” A growl tears at his lips before he throws your wrist towards the couch. It’s not enough force to hurt you in the slightest, just enough to pull you away from him so he can bury his shamed face in his hands with his rocks glass long forgotten on the tatami mats.

“I’m a fucking coward,” he admits, taking a long pause before continuing, “ever since he was a baby and his mother tried to sell him for drug money, I was so hellbent on making sure he never found out the truth about himself or me—that anyone found out the truth about us. Otherwise people would prolly just attach a stigma to his name like they did to me when I was a kid.” Still listening intently, you fix yourself on the couch properly so that you aren’t kneeling on the tatami mats anymore, but rather sitting beside Iwai. He’s not crying, but you can hear the caged and choked breaths trying to escape his lungs. It’s deafening, even with the flooding rain outside, Munehisa drowns out all noise, including the sound of small footsteps approaching.

“Sell me?” Both you and Iwai snap your heads towards the hallway where Kaoru stands in his pajamas, alarm painting the sclerae of his eyes. “W-what are you talking about, dad?” The man in question curses under his breath, once again cradling his face in his hands. This was not how he pictured telling his son the truth—in fact he never even planned on it. He always pictured Kaoru doing something great with his life like finding a cure for cancer and settling down with a nice girl, maybe giving him grandchildren. Everything opposite of Munehisa’s own life.

“Just tell him, Mune,” you whisper, placing a hand on his shoulder. Under the skin you could feel knots that had been long built from years of carrying his burdens. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t shirk off your touch, nor react to the use of his shortened name. In an attempt to calm down, he takes in a deep breath that you can feel inflating his lungs to their full capacity, slowly deflating as he lets it out.

“W-When you were a baby, your mother tried to sell you to me for quick drug money. I told her no, but she just left you on my doorstep. At the time, I was Yakuza, but I took you in and left the life behind,” Iwai’s fingers are laced loosely over each other as he stares at the tatami mats. It feels like his world is collapsing—like you and his son were judging him much like everyone else had when they learned who his mother was. Who knows, maybe Kaoru would rather go stay with you and have you raise him instead. He would probably do better with you anyway—you could actually help him with his education and his livelihood. What good is a dropout-turned-yakuza thug anyway?

“Even if that’s the truth, that doesn’t change the fact that you, Iwai Munehisa, are my dad. And I’m your son.”

Wow. You really felt like you shouldn’t be here at this moment—you’re ruining it. Quietly, you try (and fail miserably) to sneak off to the kitchen to grab more wine because stars above know that you need it. There are hushed words shared between the two of them, low enough that even straining your hearing doesn’t permit you to distinguish anything. Their much-needed talk goes on for quite some time, allowing you to inadvertently snoop through your surroundings. There are a few pictures of him and Kaoru on the fridge from fishing trips and school events, as well as a math exam that has a red one hundred one circled. It’s clear to you that whatever had been weighing down on Munehisa never stopped him from loving his son, just chucked the boy away in a vault to be safe from the dangers of his past.

Voices are still indistinguishable, that is, until you hear Iwai’s voice raising nearly to the volume of the thunder outside. “Don’t make me ground you, kid,” but the threat seems empty to you as Kaoru walks away laughing.

“Goodnight, mom-san!” You spit the Cabernet you were holding in your mouth back into your glass—a gross visual and even grosser to actually do.

“Kaoru!” Munehisa stands up in a half-assed attempt to chase his son. He stops in front of the kitchen, drooping his head before looking at the embarrassment creeping up your neck. “Sorry about that.”

“I-I should go, shouldn’t I?” The weapons dealer just shakes his head.

“I’s fine,” he mumbles, “let me get ya some clothes to sleep in.” Iwai disappears temporarily, leaving you alone in the kitchen with your now nearly empty glass of red wine while he shuffles about in his room. He’s not gone for long, not nearly long enough as you would’ve liked to attempt to compose yourself.

“Thank you,” you mumble quietly as he sets the clothes on the counter.

“I should be thanking you,” Munehisa replies, grey eyes locked on yours. He looks like he wants to say something more, a giveaway from the way he licks his lips. “So it really doesn’t bother you, huh?” Absentmindedly, you pick the clothes off the counter, holding them between your hands while you finger a loose thread on the oversized tee. Anything to avoid the intense gaze in his normally stone-cold eyes.

Lava felt cooler than his gaze.

“Why should it? It’s not who you are anymore, right?” You can’t bring yourself to look at him right now. He’s too intense, too wild and free from the chains of his past. Iwai Munehisa is a loose cannon now, no longer needing to hide any part of himself.

“So then what’s got you so scared you can’t look me in the eye?” When you say nothing in response, he bounds closer to you until he’s towering over you much like he did during your first meeting. Long, surly digits wrap around your chin and jaw until you’re met with his steely eyes. Though, maybe steel isn’t a proper comparison. Steel is typically cold, and his irises are anything but. The man before you had just had a catharsis, like coal had been heated and pressurized and revealing the birth of brand-new diamonds. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not scared,” his voice is husky, thicker than his usually brusque tone.

“I’m not scared,” your words barely pass your lips, but do not waver with trepidation. There was no reason to be scared, not of Munehisa. Scared of the fact that he’s standing so close to you while he cradled your jaw? Absolutely. Frightened slightly by the way his face cautiously edges closer and closer to yours until the overwhelming scent of gun powder and alcohol floods your senses? Check. Terrified of the fact that you are incredibly turned on knowing he could probably snap your neck in a heartbeat?

Hell yes.

“I’m not scared, Mune,” you repeat, reprising the use of his shorter name. It sounds different coming from your mouth, he subconsciously notes. Back in his yakuza days, that name was sinful—a reminder of his reputation. But from your lips, it sounded heavenly.

“I am,” is all he responds with before slotting his lips over yours. Warm and pliable, is the first thought that comes to your mind, much like modeling clay that had been worked between your fingers. Contrary to everything that screams ‘Iwai Munehisa’, his kiss is gentle—experimenting to feel every layer of fragile skin of your lips against his own. Shy, tender, and tentative, Iwai moves his fingers from your chin to wrap an arm around your waist.

Delicate was never a word that you think of to describe Iwai Munehisa. Or maybe delicate wasn't the right word—fragile? It made sense in your train wreck of a mind from the way he sucked in his breath through is nose as your fingers cupped his cheeks. So fragile, as if he were going to break from such a gentle action that he needed to pull away before he crumbled.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Iwai breathes, taking three steps back like you’d suddenly come down with the plague.

“Wha—no it’s—“

“You should get some sleep kid,” before you can say anything else, the weapons dealer has already fled down the hallway and locking the door to the bathroom and leaving you to your own devices. Between pursed lips, you grab the empty glasses that you shared and washed them quickly before grabbing the clothes you carelessly tossed on the floor. From the bathroom, you hear the water running accompanied by wordless grumbles.

Munehisa’s room is exactly how you pictured it. Simple and clean with no superlatives. The bed is made nearly hotel style—like the room hadn’t been lived in for years. Considering the catharsis that he had gone through tonight, part of you wonders just how many of his days he had spent watching every second like it was going to be his last, rather than being in the moment.

Alive and a life are two very different things.

As expected, you drown in the fabric he’s given you—expected from someone twice your height and overall size. They’re comfy, you note, the warmth of the masses combating the springtime storms. Robotically, you check your phone for the time—the clock inching towards midnight to Sunday. From routine alone, you knew that Kaoru didn’t have school tomorrow and you and Munehisa had a later start to your day thanks to your part-timers’ availability.

Before you have the chance to think twice, you’re back on your bare feet, all but stomping towards the living room to where Munehisa lays facing towards the sliding door, staring at the rain. He heard you—he had to have. There’s no way he can’t hear the deafening silence of your own revelation; he has to know. “Go to bed, [name],” he bites with no fire.

“No.”

“Then go home.”

“No.”

Iwai throws the thin blanket he has on himself off as he thrusts his legs off the couch. Every movement is silently violent until he’s hunched over you for the second time tonight. Despite every intention of holding malice in his eyes, he can’t when it comes to you. Not when you’re wearing his clothes and looking up at him with a resolve stronger than his self-loathing. “What do ya want then, [name]?” He asks quietly, echoing the question he had for you three weeks ago.

“Honestly?” You start off, unraveling your arms that were wound around your chest. “I would like for you to let go.”

For a moment, Iwai is taken aback—literally, as signified by the half step he takes towards the couch and away from you. It’s not quite a moment of fear in his eyes; more of an amalgam of questioning and begging—of longing.

The hunter has become the hunted.

“Just let it go, Mune. Your son already forgives you for your past, you need to do the same.” Much to your surprise, a laugh jumbled with a grunt heaves off his chest. The trepidation from earlier is gone, evident by the way his shoulders and chin straighten up from standing erect.

“Let go, huh? You sure you want that?” The double meaning isn’t lost on you, and you’re ready for whatever he throws your way. You’d been ready, you realize, from the moment your fear took a back seat to wanting to aid Kaoru in any way that you could. You’d been ready since the moment you picked up the phone and had him meet you in Kichijouji. Or maybe, you had forgiven him already—not that you necessarily had a place to do so—the moment he had started shifting his focus into being there for his son. It was all you had ever wanted from your family, maybe it wasn’t too late to save other kids from the pain.

Maybe your unresolved daddy issues run much deeper than you thought.

However, Iwai wasn’t much better. He had been so vehemently adamant that if he pretended to be a questioningly upstanding citizen, Kaoru would have a better chance at making it in the world. The grotesque nature of his own upbringing had left him longing for someone—anyone—to unconditionally accept him. No matter how much he told himself the yakuza had welcomed him with open arms, he knows that it was their opportunity to thread his marionette strings. And the society he was surrounded in had blockaded him so long ago, he clutched and grasped at broken straws.

But not you, no. Despite him easily being able to snap your neck and hide your body, you stood toe to toe with him, always ready to fight back without a moment’s hesitation. With you, there was no stigma attached to his name, only knowledge and understanding and an empathy that transcended and smashed through every wall of his.

An unconditional acceptance.

An unconditional love.

Iwai’s mommy issues ran deep, maybe even a little steeper than yours.

“I’m not scared, Mune,” you repeated, pulling him from his reverie that blasted at meters per second. “I have no reason to be.” With large strides, as one would expect of his size, Iwai crosses through the distance he had out between the two of you before grasping at your jaw with finesse and hunger all at once to lock his lips with yours once again. It had been a long time since the weapons dealer had actively sought out the object of his affections; his own desires had taken a back seat for the well-being of his son.

All that was left of him now was depravity and desperation.

Even those two elements to his core were not going to last long. Not with the way you were clutching onto him so tightly with your arms wound around his neck. Despite the flames of hunger constantly being stoked by mere touch, Iwai’s lips are just as gentle and hesitant as they had been before you changed your clothing. It was clear to you that you were going to need to guide the weapons dealer—much as you had been the last month or so. Your tongue cautiously snakes out from your mouth, gingerly running along the seam of his lips to ask for gentle permission.

Things may be moving fast, but you didn’t want to rush this. Not with Munehisa. Not with the man who was so foreign to genuine affection.

Tentatively, Iwai parts his lips ever so slightly, allowing you access to the first layer of him. Candy. He tastes like the cherry sucker he had in his mouth just after dinner to accompany his whiskey. A mixture of smoke and sweetness with a lasting bitterness sounded as if Iwai had decomposed and turned into mere flavor receptors of the tongue. But it’s a taste you find yourself wanting more of as your tongue dances alongside his.

At a snail’s pace, Iwai releases your cheeks and jaw, sliding his palms down the goose bumps on your neck and soft expanse of your arms until they find purchase on your hips. The gesture is cautious, even as he coaxes your body towards him until he falls back onto the couch, bringing you with until you’re left to straddle him.

“Scared, Mune?” You ask in a whisper when you come up for air. Disregarding the need for oxygen, you make it a point to keep your lips ghosting over his, showing the desire to remain connected to him. His eyes are half-open, heavy lids drooping and the crinkles of his crow’s feet are settling in as he attempts to catch his breath—all with the faintest twinge of a grin.

“Should I be?”

“That’s for you to decide.” One of his hands maneuvers its way from your waist, back up to your cheek to cup the skin in full. Perhaps you were more aware from the intimacy of the fact that his hand nearly could hold an entire half of your face or the calcification of hardened skin on his palms, or perhaps your body had slowly come to tune itself to the man beneath you.

“I think I’ve been alone for long enough.” The distance between the both of you closes once again, Iwai’s movements renewed by fire followed by another clash of lightning. His grip on your waist tightens as he sinks you further into him, grinding his pelvis into yours as if granting permission to touch him more. Planting your hands on his chest, you take a moment to graze the backs of your nails gingerly along the openings of his tank top.

You think back to your joke about him watching his figure when you first met him, and silently berate yourself.

Iwai Munehisa didn’t need to watch his figure—he’s a literal statue of Adonis come to life.

Hard muscle twitches under every touch of yours in conjunction with the occasional throaty groan that rumbles along your lips. His tongue is somehow both rushing to explore every nook and cranny and crooked edge of your teeth while simultaneously attempting to commit every inch of your mouth to memory. Despite the loss of his hands on your waist, the sudden cold rush of air swirling around your midriff is a welcome sensation as his calloused digits working their up your body from under the shirt. Your entire body erupts with need—it was no longer a want or a mere whim. You needed this man in every way.

In hopes to urge Iwai further, you break apart momentarily to remove the borrowed clothing from the upper half of your body, leaving you bare chested in front of the weapons dealer. “Fuck,” he mumbles, pupils turning to pinpricks as he drinks in the sight of your slightly erect nipples. Like a man hypnotized, his lips latch on to your left breast, licking and sucking at the flesh as your head tosses back. The motion causes you to grind further into his lap, greeting his clothed erection with a welcome reminder of your presence.

You had never been one for a ton of oral attention, but there was something so damn mesmerizing about Iwai holding a nipple between his teeth while he rolled the nub with his expert tongue. Part of you wonders if it has something to do with the suckers. Another part of you only thinks to let out a sharp hiss of breath as he tends to your right nipple next. “M-Mune,” you whimper, earning another grind of his covered cock against your damp folds, “l-lemme touch you.”

“Hold on a sec, baby, I’m a little busy.”

Your brain goes into overdrive as he frees a hand from holding you up to dipping into the front of your borrowed pajamas bottoms, nails scraping along the waistband of your panties. The thought of Iwai getting closer and closer still coaxed a moan from your lips; or maybe it was the way he goaded your nipple to complete erection. Maybe it was both—maybe it was the way he made it a point to tease by inspecting the wet spot in your panties with two fingers.

“M-Mune, please.”

“All nice an’ wet for me, baby? Lemme just double check.” Even with you still straddling and trying force yourself closer to him, Iwai managed to sneak his fingers past your knickers until he’s met with a sloppy, slick cunt. His half-lidded gaze up at you was laser-focused—as if he couldn’t look anywhere else but your own lust-laden eyes. The pads of his fingers glide along your slit before slightly nudging apart your opening to get a real feel for you. The mere thought of touching you, rubbing your clit until you screamed, cumming and gushing around his fingers—Iwai can’t even remember the last time such thoughts crossed his mind, let alone turned him on so much.

He wants to take his time, he realizes,

Iwai’s touch sends a thousand volts up your spine, causing the tension in your neck to throw your head back as you hissed in pleasure. His middle finger searches every nook and cranny of your nether regions, smearing your excitement all around until no area is left untouched. While he’s preoccupied with exploring you, you reciprocate the treatment with dizzy kisses, unabashedly sliding your tongue against his while your fingers tugged at his tank top. He’s only slightly annoyed that the two of you have to pause so that you can pull the fabric off—a small sacrifice to further progress. The second he’s freed from one of his prisons, his brittle lips latch onto your left collarbone, teeth sinking in to be chased by his tongue while leaving reminders of the moment. At the same time, his ring and middle finger circle your clit in a steady, languid rhythm, coaxing more of your wetness to come forth until you’re absolutely drenched. “O-oh, f-fuck Munehisa!”

Hearing his name made his groin throb beneath you, the pulsing wet, hot warmth tantalizing and torturing you both. Giving your clit one last swirl, his fingers travel further downward, pushing apart your lips until he slowly nestles his middle finger inside your sopping wet hole. His digits are much larger than your own, you noted immediately—his longest finger alone already stretching you more deliciously than your tiny infantile hands. “Ohh, fuck yeah, baby. I’on’t even gotta stretch you out with how fuckn’ wet ya are for me.”

“But I want you to,” Iwai lets out his signature gruff laugh before jamming his finger deep into you with no warning. The lone digit is roaming, exploring your deepest caverns to figure out the fastest way to make you go from zero to hundred. “Mune, it feels so good.” All the praise goes from his ears straight to his dick, the flesh between the two of you now painfully straining against his thin boxers.

After a few twists and turns, Iwai brings his pointer finger to the party, the duo now on the hunt for that squishy tissue to send you over the edge. He refused to fuck you until you came at least once—he couldn’t disappoint you. Not now, not after all the progress you two had overcome together. Crooking both digits, his nails finally find their target, scraping along your g-spot that makes you tremble and your muscles spasm. “You’re mine now, baby girl,” he croons.

You wished he gave you a better warning—a sufficient warning for the relentless attack his fingers had on your g-spot or the way the angle of his wrist was shamelessly scrubbing at your clit. The muscles in your legs can no longer maintain their terse nature, dropping the suspension you had in his lap slightly to give better access to your nether regions. Even still, Iwai couldn’t stop now. “Oh fuck, oh fuck Mune, fuck fuck fuck fuck holy shit I’m gonna—“

“Just let go, baby,” his voice is sardonically sweet despite his damn near malicious actions. A third finger joins the rest of the digits mercilessly pounding away at your insides, stretching you beyond what you were used, while your abused clit cried for him to stop. That cry coming in the form of your walls squeezing around his fingers until a gush of fluid secretes itself onto his palm. Thanks to the breakneck speed of his movements and the sheer force of your orgasm, your release sprays all onto his bare chest and the waistband of his boxers, even parts of his face. “God damn, woman,” he pants out, a new hunger forming in the pit of his belly. Despite you trying to catch your breath, Iwai pulls his fingers from your core and wraps his soaked hand behind your neck and crushes your lips to his.

Tasting yourself on him is a strangely delightful experience. The slight saltiness of your emission mixed with the signature musk of his skin and sweetness from an overdose of suckers has you groaning throatily into the kiss. Shamelessly your pelvis grinds into his, rubbing his proud, protruding covered cock along your tingling slit. His hands move from where they are holding you against your neck and hips, hooking into the waistband of your borrowed bottoms before pulling them off of your lower half. It’s tricky to maneuver with the way he refuses to stop kissing you—he can’t stop, he learns—but he manages to guide the clothing off of you somehow.

The only thing separating the two of you now was thin, soaked boxers and your last chance to walk away from one another.

Not that you would.

Instead, you hook your claws into the elastic of his boxers, suspending yourself above his lap momentarily to slide the fabric past his knees. Your soaked entrance slides along the length of him, greeting him with lubricant. Iwai grits his teeth as you do so, throwing his head back before he pulls your head down to rest your forehead against his sweaty skin. His grey eyes bore straight into yours, electricity sparking between the two of you. “Y-ya sure, [name]?”

Rather than answer, you swivel your hips to slide his cock in before slamming the entirety of his girth inside you in one fell swoop. In hindsight, that was probably a bad idea with the way you can feel the mushroom head of his weeping cock knocking at your cervix or the way the width of his cock stretches you even further than three of his massive fingers. “Jesus fucking Christ!” You howl and sob, head thrown back as you nearly sob from the intrusion. Through heavy pants, Munehisa anchors your hips in place so that you can’t pull away, no matter how torturous for the both of you.

“Just stay still, baby, don’t move.”

“M-Mune, it hurts.”

“Well nobody told ya to shove my whole dick in at once, idiot,” the two of you share a laugh for a moment before he guides you to rest on his chest while your cunt stretched and acclimated to his dick.

“I-I wanted to,” you whimper as he shifts ever so slightly, the curls of his pubis scraping along your thighs.

“Yeah, baby? You wanted to? That why you started hanging around my kid—to try to get daddy’s dick?” His salacious words cause your walls to pulsate around him, squeezing him further in and making him groan at the contraction. “That’s it, isn’t it? Naughty lil girl, you don’t deserve my mercy.” His large hands, wrapping every square centimeter of your hips, began to jostle you in a way to rub your skin together before they start lifting you up in his lap. It’s a reprieve, almost, having his large cock begin to withdraw until his hands force your pelvis back down onto him.

“M-Mune,” you whine, “still hurts.” But the curses and cries do nothing to slow down his rhythm. If anything, Munehisa plants his feet on the tatami mats below him to thrust himself further up into you every time he brought your hips back down. The lightning and thunder painting the sky past the sliding door is merely a full thought, each violent thrust of his cock much more noticeable than nature’s storm.

“Tell me the truth and maybe I’ll go a little easier on you!” He howls, no longer giving a shit if Kaoru heard the lewd slapping of his heavy ballsack against your skin or the breathless cries leaving your lungs. Okay, that was a lie, he did care. But it was more of a subconscious thought buried at the back of his mind that was drowned out by the mere thought of stuffing you full of his cum. The idea alone was enough to drown out the wordless babbles leaving your mouth in accompaniment to the drool dripping from the seam of your lips. “Gonna take my cum like a good girl, baby?”

“Y-yes, please! Please!” You warble, squeezing your walls around his thick cock like a vice. His thrusts are relentless, his hips skyrocketing towards your limp body that can no longer stand his brutality. Iwai’s head is thrown back once again as you collapse forward, your body too numb as your second orgasm begins to wrack through, allowing you to nestle into his bare throat. “‘M so close, Mune.” Your bones are turning to jelly, you notice, as you snake your hands towards your clit for the final push.

Well, attempt to anyway.

Iwai smacks your hand away with blinding speed, thrusts slowing down a fraction as he does so before his hand replaces yours on your nub. “Only I get to make you cum from now on, got it?”

“Then hurry up and fucking do it!” You howl, sinking your teeth into whatever parts of his flesh you can reach. The pads of three of his fingers are relentlessly scrubbing away at your clit, a mixture of both of your slop spraying over the both of you. “Oh god yes, right there! Right there!”

“Fuck!” Iwai sobs as his balls tighten before flooding your pussy with his cum, his thrusts becoming languid as he sees his release all the way through. At the same time, the throbbing of his dick while he cums resonates within your walls, amplifying the rush of him attacking your clit. “Mm, come on, baby, I can feel it. Cum for me, fucking cum for me.” You aren’t sure what exactly does you over—if it’s his gently softening, massive cock still twitching inside you or the way his digits know just how to play with your bundles of nerves or the way he called you “baby”— but your body tenses one last time as the blue hue of lightning fills the living room.

“Munehisa,” your voice comes as a broken trill, though his name is clear as day, as you release one last time, a waterfall running and soaking his fingers. Proud of his work, Iwai slows his pace down until his fingers are moving dully to bring you down from your overstimulation. The both of you are panting and sweating, nearly half-dead from the exhaustion.

“C’mere, baby,” he purrs in your ear after god knows how many minutes passed. You hiss when he carefully removes his flaccid length from within you, globs of cum dripping from your walls. Without thinking, Iwai takes two fingers to catch the loose emission and stuffs it back inside you for good measure. He never asked if you were on any form of contraceptive—part of him almost hopes that you aren’t. “Lemme clean ya up a lil.”

“Mm, can’t move.” Munehisa chuckles, wrapping his large hands around your thighs before hoisting the both of you up. Despite the action being chaste, your whole abused body tingles at the movement. He carries the both of you towards the bathroom, setting you down on the narrow space of the vanity before untangling your koala-like limbs from his body. Without saying anything, he grabs a washcloth, running it under the tap and wipes away the loose cum that’s already starting to dry and crust over.

It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, the way his grey eyes have grown cold, and it seems he’s hyper focused on cleaning your skin as best he can. You elect to ignore the fact that he’s making damn sure not to let any cum that’s sitting in your pussy out. Even after he’s cleaned you and himself off, the two of you are lingering in the bathroom in silence, unsure of who should speak first. It seemed it would have to be you. Again.

Finally finding strength in your gelatinous state, you hop off the vanity, grabbing one of Munehisa’s large hands and lead him back out to his room.

“I should sleep on the couch,” he says quietly, though he makes no motion to get up from where both of your naked bodies are pressed on the tops of the sheets. You only shake your head in reply, holding onto his hand even tighter.

“I don’t care if it was dirty talk or what,” you start, recalling the salacious title Munehisa granted himself, “but I have no ill intention towards Kaoru or you. So as long as you let me keep coming around you both, I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.” He’s quiet for a moment, eyes darkening at he stares at the floor in contemplation. When he says nothing, you try again. “Will you let me stay, Mune?” The weapons dealer’s head snaps towards you. How the fuck had just his name come to have such a bewitching hold on him? Had it always sounded so pretty? So loved?

It was it just because it was from your lips?

“If I let you stay, I might not let you go.”

“I never said to let me go.”

#iwai x reader

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#iwai x reader