Cherry

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The dorms at night were quiet in a way they never were during the day. Most of Division Three had already turned in, the halls dim but for the faint glow of the wall lights spaced evenly along the corridor. Y/N padded quickly down the row, her phone pressed tight to her ear, her voice lowered to a hush that carried just enough warmth to disguise the tension curling in her stomach.

"I know, baby. Tomorrow's all yours," she murmured, rounding the corner. "Whole day. I promise."

On the other end, her boyfriend chuckled softly, the sound light, affectionate, syrupy. "Finally. I've missed you so much. Can't wait to hold you again."

Her chest pinched. She gave the expected hum, the sweet noise of agreement, but her hand was already reaching for the last door on the right. The knob turned easily beneath her fingers, and the door swung open without resistance.

Inside, Reno was waiting.

The lamplight in his room was warm but low, barely enough to brighten the corners, but it was enough to catch the sharp gleam of silver in his hair and the cool flash of violet when he glanced up. He was stretched across his bed, one arm bent behind his head, the other resting loose at his side. His sweats rode low on his hips, the waistband sitting beneath the dip of his stomach, the fabric pulled tight where his cock already strained against it. His chest was bare, the definition of every muscle thrown into relief by the shallow shadows—broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, abdomen cut into hard planes that shifted each time he breathed.

It was jarring, the difference between the Reno the rest of the Defense Force knew and the one she found here. Outside, he was the golden boy: smiles as easy as breathing, manners polished enough to charm anyone, laughter quick and warm. He looked harmless when he wanted to. Reliable. The type of man anyone would trust at their back. A true platoon leader.

But here, behind the safety of his door, none of that sweetness remained. His grin was sharper, his eyes darker, his body coiled with something she had no illusions about controlling. He looked at her like she was already his, and the faint twitch in his mouth said he knew she wouldn't fight it.

Her boyfriend's voice pulled her back to the call, soft and honeyed. "I'll bring that wine you like, and maybe we can cook together. Doesn't that sound good?"

Reno scoffed, loud enough that she flinched, and dragged his hand down his face in open disbelief. His eyes narrowed, glinting with mock amusement as he pitched his voice into a falsetto, silently mouthing, "Doesn't that sound good?" with an exaggerated bat of his lashes.

Y/N's cheeks burned. She forced a shaky laugh into the receiver, hoping it masked the flush heating her throat. "Mmhm. Perfect. I... I can't wait."

Her boyfriend sighed in contentment, oblivious. "I just want to take care of you. You deserve that."

This time Reno barked out a laugh, low and vicious, and pushed himself up from the mattress. The shift made the muscles in his arms and chest flex, his abs tightening into stark ridges under his skin. His hair caught the lamplight as he moved, strands of silver falling forward to shadow his eyes. In three unhurried strides, he was in front of her, the heat radiating from his bare chest a shock against her skin.

"You hear this shit?" he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain, pitched just for her. He dragged his palm up her thigh, slow and deliberate, pushing her shorts higher until his calloused fingertips brushed bare skin. His touch burned, sharp in contrast to the syrupy words spilling through the phone. "Take care of you," he repeated, sneering. "Sweetheart, you're already here with me. That says it all."

Her breath stuttered, and she covered it with a quick cough. "S-Sorry, long day," she said quickly into the phone.

Her boyfriend softened immediately, voice low with concern. "Poor thing. All the more reason to let me spoil you tomorrow."

Reno's mouth curved into a wolfish grin, mean and delighted, eyes narrowing as he bent to her ear. "Spoil you?" His voice was a rasp, mockery laced through every syllable. His lips brushed her skin as he whispered, "He wouldn't know how to spoil a pussy if you sat on his face."

Her knees nearly buckled, and her thighs pressed together instinctively, but Reno didn't allow it. His hand was already between them, prying them apart with firm pressure. His palm cupped her through the thin fabric. She tipped her hips into his hand — a yes she didn't dare say out loud.

Reno's expression was all satisfaction, his grin pulling higher when she trembled. He rolled his eyes again, mocking her boyfriend's earnest voice as he mouthed, "Poor thing," while pressing harder between her legs, fingers curling with intent.

"You're mine here," he whispered against her cheek, his voice dark and cruel. His breath was hot, his tone threaded with command. "And tomorrow? You better come up with a good excuse for every mark I leave. Not like it's the first time."

Her stomach flipped, panic twisting together with heat until she could barely breathe. On the line, her boyfriend was still blissfully unaware, his voice all sugar. "Goodnight, baby. Sleep well, okay? Sweet dreams."

Reno's teeth sank into her jaw, biting hard enough to make her wince. "Sweet dreams," he echoed, voice full of venom.

Reno's body caged her in—bare chest brushing her shirt, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, the sharp muscles of his arms standing out as his hand worked between her thighs. His fingers dragged slick over her clit, lazy but devastating, each circle drawn with a precision that made her knees threaten to buckle. His other hand pinned her wrist overhead, his grip firm but effortless, like she couldn't move unless he let her. He tilted his head just enough that strands of silver hair fell forward, brushing her cheek, eyes gleaming mean in the dim light. He was close enough for her to see how dark they went when he looked at her like this—hungry, filthy, disgustingly entertained by the fact that her boyfriend's voice was still droning from the phone she held weakly in her free hand.

"Wait—before you go," her boyfriend said suddenly, voice bright, eager, oblivious. "I wanted to ask you something. Well—more like bring something up. My mom mentioned it when we were having dinner last night." He chuckled softly on the other end, nervous, fumbling. "She asked if, you know, we'd thought about engagement. I told her it's still early, but... I mean, I don't know, what do you think?"

Her stomach lurched. Her throat went dry. Heat and dread tangled together until she could barely choke down air. Reno froze for half a beat, eyes cutting to hers with a look so sharp it carved her open without a word. Then his grin spread slow, vicious, and his fingers pressed harder, faster, grinding her clit under his calloused touch until her body jolted against the wall.

"What do you think?" Reno whispered against her cheek, his voice dripping with venom and mockery. "Baby, tell him you can't even think straight right now." His breath hit her ear hot, his grin dark. "Tell him mommy better pick another girl, 'cause her sweet little boy's girlfriend is begging for someone else's cock."

Her boyfriend kept rambling on, blissfully unaware. "I know it's a lot, I don't want to pressure you. Just... I can picture it, you know? You and me, maybe moving in together, settling down—"

Reno's laugh cut sharp against her throat, low and brutal. His teeth sank into the soft skin beneath her ear, and his fingers plunged lower, dipping through the soaked mess between her folds before curling up inside her in one rough thrust. She gasped, the phone nearly slipping from her hand. He caught the sound with his mouth, swallowing her noise in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, pulling back just enough to rasp, "You hear this idiot? Talkin' rings while I'm knuckle-deep in you." His thumb found her clit again, circling slow, cruel. "Bet he'd cry if he saw how pretty you look takin' me instead."

Her legs trembled, her pulse hammered, and she could barely process the sugary ramble spilling from the phone anymore. Reno never stopped moving, never stopped mocking, his eyes locked on hers while his fingers worked her closer to breaking.

Her lungs scraped for air, chest rising fast against Reno's bare torso as he pinned her harder to the wall. His hand between her thighs never let up—two fingers buried deep, curling sharp every time her boyfriend said something stupid, his thumb grinding her clit in slow, merciless circles. Reno's other hand kept her wrist stretched above her head, her phone trembling in her grip as her boyfriend's voice buzzed oblivious in her ear.

His voice dropped to a rasp meant only for her, cruel, filthy. "Go on, sweetheart. Tell him what he wants to hear. Tell him you'll think about it." His tongue flicked her ear as his fingers thrust deeper, slick sounds filling the silence between words. "Then hang up and let me fuck that stupid idea right out of your head."

Her thighs shook. She bit her lip, trying to string together something that didn't sound like she was seconds from falling apart. "I—I don't know," she stammered into the phone, words breaking when Reno curled his fingers up and pressed harder against her clit. Her breath hitched; she coughed to cover it. "It's... sudden. Don't you think? We're still young, and marriage—it's a lot. I think I'd need to sleep on it."

Reno's laugh was low, cruel. He nipped at her neck, tongue following to soothe the bite, his breath hot against her ear. "Good girl," he mocked, grinding his thumb tighter, forcing her to squeeze around his fingers. "Buy yourself time while I'm splittin' you open." His hips pressed forward, the hard line of his cock grinding against her thigh through soft sweats. "Tell him you'll talk tomorrow. Tell him you're tired." He bit her shoulder hard, lips wet over the sting. "Tired, my ass—you're quivering on my hand like you'll fall to pieces if I stop."

Her boyfriend sighed on the other end, still syrup-sweet. "No pressure, baby. I just... I think about our future sometimes. We'll talk more tomorrow, okay? Sweet dreams."

Reno's grin burned mean against her throat. His fingers plunged deep one last time, thumb pressing sharp against her clit, making her gasp loud enough she had to cover it with a cough. His voice followed, venomous and amused, pitched low so only she could hear. "Sweet dreams," he echoed, biting her hard enough to leave a mark. "Tell him sweet dreams, sweetheart. Then hang up before I make you moan into the damn phone."

Her pulse thundered. Her hand shook as she forced the words out. "Y-yeah. Sweet dreams." She cut the call, thumb trembling as she hit end.

The call ended, the little beep ringing louder than it should have in her ear before Reno tossed the phone onto the bed. His hand clamped firmer around her throat, pinning her back against the wall. The other never left her cunt—fingers buried deep, knuckles slick with her, thumb grinding her clit in ruthless circles that made her thighs twitch helplessly.

His violet eyes burned into hers, lit with a sharp, mean edge that didn't soften now that they were alone. "You hear yourself?" he rasped, voice low and filthy. "Beggin' me with your body the whole time you were feedin' him excuses. Couldn't even keep your voice steady while I had my fingers in you." His thumb pressed harder, forcing her hips to jerk. His grin cut meaner. "Hopeless idiot. If he had half a brain he'd know his girl was gettin' finger-fucked while he was babblin' about rings."

Her head knocked back against the wall, breath torn from her chest in short, desperate bursts. Reno's hand on her throat flexed just enough to keep her grounded, just enough to make her whimper.

"That's it," he coaxed, mockery dripping from every word. "Whine for me. You can't help it, can you? Nothin' turns you on more than lyin' to him while I've got you spread and wet for me. You're mine in every way that matters, sweetheart—and the only reason you don't admit it is 'cause you like playin' this dirty little game."

He thrust his fingers harder, curling them until her knees buckled, his body pressing hers to the wall so she couldn't fall. His cock ground against her thigh, straining against soft sweats, leaving a smear of pre where the head dragged over bare skin.

"You think he'd still want you if he saw you like this?" Reno taunted, his grin sharp as he bit the hollow of her throat, teeth sinking deep before licking over the sting. "Shakin' on my hand, tits pressed up, eyes goin' glassy like you'll cry if I stop? No chance. You're only pretty when you're ruined. And that's somethin' only I know how to do."

Her mouth fell open, a half-sob, half-moan slipping past, but he didn't let her catch her breath. His thumb circled her clit faster, relentless, his voice rough against her ear. "Gonna come for me right here, up against the wall, aren't you? So fuckin' needy you can't wait to hit the bed. That's fine, baby. Go on. Make a mess all over my hand and prove what a cheap little liar you are."

Her body bowed under the assault, every muscle straining, trembling against him. Reno's grip on her throat tightened just enough to tilt her head, making her meet his eyes even as her vision blurred.

"Look at me when you do it," he ordered, mean and sharp. "Don't you dare close those eyes. I want you to see who's got you like this. Not him. Me."

His fingers between her thighs pumped slow, then fast, curling at just the right angle until slick poured down the insides of her legs. Every thrust of his hand made the wet sound louder, obscene, impossible to mistake for anything else.

"Laughable, isn't he?" Reno rasped, voice vibrating low against her skin, his lips brushing her jaw. "Momma's boy. Talkin' about puttin' a ring on your finger when he's never even made you scream in his bed. Fuckin' joke. He don't even know how sloppy you get for me—how many times I've had you fallin' apart right under his nose."

His grin cut sharper when she whimpered, thighs clenching around his hand. He didn't slow; his knuckles hammered her clit with every deep curl inside. "Bet he's sittin' there thinkin' you're too sweet for this. Thinkin' you're pure. You're not, are you, baby? Not with me. Not when I've had you cryin' on my cock more times than you can count."

Her voice broke in a half-formed protest, but Reno only growled, "Shut up. Don't even try to lie. I could mark you right now—neck, tits, thighs—leave you so fucked up even that dumb bastard would finally figure it out. Maybe I should. Do all of us a favor."

His teeth sank into her shoulder hard, biting until her knees buckled, then soothing with a slow lick. When he pulled back, his violet eyes burned in the dim light, locked on her trembling face. "Tell me, baby," he murmured, mean and low. "You want me to ruin you for him? Wanna show up to your little date tomorrow with my teeth all over you, so that poor fuck finally knows who you really belong to?"

"Listen to you," Reno muttered against her skin, his breath hot, his tone cruel. "Drippin' like a whore on my fingers while your perfect little boyfriend thinks you're home, all tucked in like some sweet, innocent girl. He don't know shit, does he? Doesn't know you're creamin' on another man's hand—right now, right fuckin' now."

His thumb ground tight circles into her clit, hard enough that she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He laughed, the sound sharp in her ear. "Go on. Bite down. Hold it in. Try real hard to pretend you're not losing it for me."

She tried to stammer something, to tell him to stop, but Reno wasn't listening. He twisted his wrist and shoved deeper, his forearm flexing hard, veins standing out under pale skin. "You think he'd still want to marry you if he saw this? If he saw how messy you are just from my fuckin' fingers? Nah. He'd probably cry. Pathetic little office boy wouldn't know what the hell to do with you. Probably call his mom for advice."

Her cheeks burned, humiliation and arousal tangling until she thought she might choke on both. Reno noticed—he always noticed. His grin cut mean, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he pulled his fingers out just enough to smear the mess down her slit before driving them back in harder.

"You like that thought, don't you?" he mocked, biting her ear, tugging her earlobe between his teeth. "Me markin' you up so bad he can't ignore it. You show up tomorrow all bandaged and bruised, and what'll you tell him, huh? That you tripped? That you scratched yourself in training? Or are you finally gonna tell him how you spread your legs for me every chance you get?"

His free hand slid lower, pushing between their bodies, tugging her panties down in one rough motion. The fabric barely made it past her thighs before he shoved her legs apart with his knee, grinding up against her core with his palm while his fingers never stopped working her.

"Fuck, baby," Reno groaned, his voice breaking mean into hunger. "You're so goddamn wet. That boyfriend of yours wouldn't last two seconds inside this. He wouldn't even know what to do with you. But me? I'll wreck you, and you'll thank me for it."

Her body betrayed her, hips rolling, mouth falling open on a desperate moan she tried to smother. Reno slammed his hand over her mouth instantly, eyes burning.

"Ah-ah. Quiet," he hissed, pressing his chest tighter to hers. "Don't want the whole building to know, do you? Or maybe you do. Maybe you want 'em to hear what a filthy little thing you are for me."

His hand muffled her sounds as his pace turned brutal, fingers pounding into her, thumb ruthless on her clit until she was shaking against the wall. Her thighs quivered, her nails dug into his arm, and Reno only laughed, low and merciless.

"Look at you. Ruined. And I haven't even put my cock in you yet."

Her nails carved half-moons into his forearm as her body jolted against the wall, every thrust of his fingers striking deep, dragging slick noises out of her she couldn't hide. Reno's palm stayed firm over her mouth, his grip tight enough to bruise her jaw. His eyes locked on her face, hungry and merciless, drinking in every twitch.

"That's it," he muttered, voice sharp with satisfaction. "So fuckin' needy. Your boyfriend ever see you like this? Nah. Bet you just lie there for him, don't you? Sweet little girlfriend, quiet, polite. But for me? You're a fuckin' mess. Cryin' around my fingers like you're made for it."

Her muffled moans grew louder against his hand, hot breath dampening his skin. He pressed harder, stifling every sound, forcing her to feel the humiliation of being silenced while her body gave her away. His thumb punished her clit in relentless circles, slick and swollen, until she was thrashing, toes curling against the floor.

"Pathetic," Reno groaned, grinding his forehead against hers, sweat from his temple streaking into her hairline. "Your pussy's squeezin' me like you're already comin'. And for what? Just my hand? Just a couple of fingers? God, he'd fuckin' die if he saw this. Maybe I should let him. Let him see how easy you break for me."

Her thighs snapped shut on instinct, trapping his wrist, but he just forced them open again, knee digging between her legs until she was spread wide against the wall again. He pumped harder, faster, wrist twisting, the veins on his arm bulging with the effort. Her body couldn't fight it anymore—her climax ripped through her in hot, shuddering waves, soaking his hand, gushing down her thighs.

She screamed into his palm.

"Yeah, that's it," Reno snarled, watching her unravel, eyes wide with filthy pride. "Soakin' me like a fuckin' slut. Bet he's never made you cum like this. Bet he doesn't even know you can."

She trembled as the aftershocks hit, her chest heaving, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes from the intensity. Reno pulled his hand back slow, sticky and shining, his grin sharp as he shoved his soaked fingers into her mouth.

"Taste it," he ordered, pressing past her lips, groaning when her tongue wrapped around him. "That's you, baby. That's what I get outta you. He'll never know how sweet you are like this. Only me."

When she gagged faintly, he pulled his fingers free with a wet pop, wiping the mess across her cheek before grabbing her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"You're done pretendin' for tonight," he said, mean and final. "Now you're mine."

Without waiting, he yanked her off the wall, dragging her by the wrist across the room toward the bed. Reno didn't throw her onto the mattress right away. Instead, he forced her down by the jaw, rough but controlled, until she was kneeling at the edge. Strands of hair clung to her damp face, her chest rising and falling in ragged pulls of air. He loomed above, sweat running down the hard lines of his torso, grey sweats slung low on his hips, the thick outline of his cock straining against the fabric.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband, shoving them down just far enough to free himself. His cock sprang out, flushed dark, heavy, the head already slick with pre that beaded and dripped down the shaft. He gave himself one hard stroke, groaning through clenched teeth, veins standing on his forearm as he aimed the swollen tip toward her mouth.

"Bet he never makes you get on your knees," Reno said, his grin sharp as he tapped the head against her lips, smearing pre across the swell of her mouth. "Bet he's too fuckin' polite for that. Too scared to see his girl on the floor like the cockdrunk slut she really is."

Y/N whimpered, lips parting automatically, tongue darting out to taste him. The first salty smear hit her tastebuds and her eyes fluttered, body swaying forward like she couldn't help herself. Reno's laugh came mean and low.

"Look at you," he rasped, his violet eyes burning down at her, sweat dripping from his temple as he gripped her hair tight at the crown. "Smilin' already. Nothin' goin' on in that pretty little head except my cock. You're so fuckin' high on it you forgot about him already, huh?"

He didn't wait for an answer. With a sharp thrust of his hips, he pushed past her lips, the thick head stretching her mouth wide. She gagged around the intrusion, but his groan rolled deep, shoulders flexing as he held himself there, savoring the wet heat of her throat.

"Fuck, yeah," Reno groaned, pulling back just enough to watch the mess—her spit stringing between her lips and his shaft—before driving forward again. His abs cinched, muscles carving as he drove into her mouth with controlled, brutal precision. "He couldn't handle this for a second. Would've blown the moment you drooled on him. But me? I can go all fucking night."

Y/N's nails dug into his thighs, her throat working around him as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. But there was no protest in her—only the slack, hazy smile curling at the edges of her spit-slick lips when he pulled out far enough to let her breathe. Reno saw it, saw the dazed bliss written across her face, and it drove him wild.

"Goddamn," he muttered, shoving back in with a groan, hips snapping harder this time. "You're fuckin' smilin' with my cock down your throat. You know how hot that is? Dumb little thing, sittin' here happy to gag on me while your perfect little boyfriend's prob'ly thinkin' about buyin' you flowers."

He thrust harder, his grip tightening in her hair, forcing her head to take him deeper. Her throat convulsed around him, spit spilling from the corners of her mouth, sliding down her chin to drip onto her now bare chest. Reno's breath came ragged, his jaw clenched, his abs taut with every sharp movement of his hips.

"You hear that?" he hissed, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, groaning when her throat swallowed him. "That wet fuckin' choke? That's mine. He'll never get that from you. You'll never look at him the way you look at me right now."

Her eyes rolled back, her lips stretched raw around him, drool dripping freely as she let him use her. When he pulled out again, her smile was hazy, fucked-out, her tongue lolling a little as if begging for more. Reno grinned down at her, mean and hungry.

"Yeah, that's it," he said, dragging the wet head across her cheek, smearing spit and pre until her skin shone. "You look so fuckin' pretty like this. All dumb, all messy, just mine. Not his. Never his."

He guided her down again, groaning deep when she swallowed him to the base this time, her nose pressed to his pelvis, her throat stretched tight around him. He held her there, hips grinding slow, forcing her to take every inch. Her nails clawed at his thighs, but she didn't pull away. Her eyes fluttered shut, tears spilling, but her smile never faded.

Reno's head tipped back, a guttural sound ripping from his chest. His abs clenched, every cut muscle on display as his hips stuttered forward. When he finally yanked her off, strings of spit snapped between her lips and his cock, her chest heaving as she gasped for air.

"Fuckin' perfect," he rasped, his voice shredded, eyes locked on the sight of her ruined face. His thumb swiped across her swollen lips, smearing spit and pre over the curve of her mouth. "My perfect little princess."

He dragged her up by the jaw, lips crashing down over her spit-slick mouth, groaning into the kiss like he was starving.  His grin burned hotter, crueler.

"Gonna fuck you now," he growled, eyes dark, hungry. "Gonna fuck you so good you'll forget his fuckin' name."

Reno shoved her back onto the bed before she could blink, her bare spine hitting the sheets with a bounce. He climbed over her in one smooth, brutal move, his knees bracketing her thighs, his cock dragging wet across her stomach, smearing her skin with spit and pre. His eyes locked on her, sharp even in the dim light, silver hair falling into his face as he leaned down, chest heaving.

His mouth claimed hers again—sloppy, spit-slick, all teeth and tongue—like he wanted to erase every word her boyfriend had ever put there. He groaned into it, low and guttural, grinding his cock against her belly until she whined into his mouth. When he pulled back, her lips were red, swollen, her chest rising fast.

"You're so fuckin' ready for me," he rasped, his voice cracked raw, one hand dragging down her stomach, rough palm cupping between her thighs. His fingers parted her folds easily, soaking wet heat greeting him.

Her body jerked when he pushed two fingers inside, curling deep until her back arched off the bed. He fucked her with his hand like it was nothing, his abs flexing as he leaned over her, the veins in his forearm standing out from the pressure. His cock dragged heavy against her thigh, smearing more slick, the head flushed and angry.

"Bet he's never even touched you like this," Reno muttered, his grin curving meaner as he watched her tremble. He bent low, biting her throat hard, sucking until the skin flushed dark under his lips. "Bet he thinks you're all sweet, all innocent. If only he could see you now—spread open for me, beggin' like a whore."

She gasped, legs twitching, hips bucking into his hand. His grin widened, sharp and cruel. "Yeah, that's it. That's the truth of you. Not his good little girlfriend. My dirty fuckin' slut."

He pulled his fingers out just to hear the wet drag, smearing her slick over the head of his cock before lining himself up. The blunt head pushed against her entrance, stretching her open inch by inch.

"Fuck, you're tight," he growled, driving deeper with one sharp thrust that made her cry out. He didn't pause—he shoved the rest of himself in with a guttural groan, his hips slamming flush against hers, cock buried to the base. His jaw locked, every vein in his neck standing out as he fought for control.

"Fuck," Reno hissed, pulling back slow just to slam forward again, the slap of his hips against hers echoing in the room. "You're squeezin' me so good, sweetheart. You know how fuckin' wrong this is, but you love it anyway. Can feel it. Can hear it."

Her moans broke out with every thrust, sharp and needy, and Reno's grin cut crueler, his abs clenching as he fucked her harder. He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear.

"Say it," he snarled, his thrusts rough, relentless. "Say you're mine. Say you'll never let him fuck you like this. Not when you've got me."

Her head tossed back, her mouth spilling his name instead of her boyfriend's. Reno groaned deep, his grin splitting meaner as he bit her shoulder hard, his hips slamming harder, cock driving her into the mattress like he was trying to fuck her straight through it.

"Yeah," he growled, sweat dripping from his temple as his eyes burned into hers. "That's what I fuckin' thought."

Reno fucked her hard into the mattress, hips snapping sharp, his cock driving in and out of her with obscene, wet sounds. Every thrust had his abs locking, his arms caging her in, silver hair sticking damp against his forehead as he worked her open. His gaze never left her face—hungry, sharp, watching every twitch, every gasp, every helpless clench around him.

Then he bent lower, lips dragging hot over her throat. She shuddered, expecting a kiss, maybe a bite. But Reno's mouth latched down hard, teeth sinking into soft skin before his tongue soothed the sting, sucking until the blood rose under the surface. The mark bloomed dark, undeniable.

Her eyes snapped open, panic slicing through the haze of heat. "Reno—fuck, wait—you can't—" Her hands fluttered against his shoulders, weak with pleasure but frantic all the same. "He'll see—he'll—"

"Good," he muttered, his voice a low growl against her skin. His hips rolled deep, grinding his cock right against her sweetest spot until her words broke into a moan. "Let him fuckin' see. Let him know you're not his sweet little girlfriend anymore. You're mine when it counts."

She shook her head, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she tried again to protest, to argue, but the words fell apart when he drove into her harder, his cock slamming her back down against the mattress. He kissed the corner of her mouth, messy and hot, his grin brushing her lips as he whispered against them.

"You've got a whole night to think of an excuse," he teased, cruel and soft at once. "But by the time I'm done with you, sweetheart? You won't be able to fuckin' think at all."

He thrust harder, his abs tightening, the muscles in his arms flexing as he held her in place. Sweat glistened on his skin, catching the dim light, and the sight of him above her—silver hair wild, eyes sharp and greedy, mouth stained red from marking her up—burned into her mind.

She moaned helplessly, her body betraying her panic, her hips rolling up to meet him without thought. Reno groaned low in his throat, watching the way she moved for him even when she wanted to deny it. His grin curved meaner, biting at her neck again, harder this time, until another hickey bloomed under his mouth.

"Fuckin' perfect," he growled, hips slamming into hers, cock driving her closer to the edge with every thrust. "Mine tonight. Mine tomorrow. Hell, mine even when you're sittin' across from him, pretendin' like he's enough."

Her breath broke on a sob that turned into a moan, her nails digging into his back. Reno only laughed under his breath, cruel and hungry, before kissing her again, swallowing every sound she tried to make.

Reno's grin curved sharper as he dragged his cock out slow, leaving her empty for one brutal heartbeat. She gasped, trying to catch him back with her hips.

"Turn over," he rasped. No room for argument. He flipped her easily, his grip rough on her hip as he hauled her onto her knees. The mattress dipped under their weight, her cheek brushing the sheets while he pushed her spine down, arching her just how he wanted.

He slid back in without mercy, one hard thrust that had his cock bottoming out, thick and deep, the stretch making her cry out. "Fuck—" His hand fisted in her hair, dragging her head up so she had no choice but to meet his eyes in the mirror across the room. "Look at you. Bent over like this for me while that dumbass office boy's probably snorin' in bed."

Her face burned, her hands clenching into the sheets as his thrusts set a bruising pace. Reno's muscles flexed with every move—biceps tightening as he pulled her back into him, veins standing in his forearms, sweat slicking down his temple as his hips slammed against the curve of her ass. His breath came harsh, but his voice stayed steady, sharp and cruel against her ear.

"You know what I fuckin' hate?" he growled, dragging his cock out slow before snapping back in so hard she jolted forward. "I hate hearin' that idiot call you baby. Hate hearin' him talk about a future with you when he doesn't even know how to make you come." His hand spread wide over her hip, fingers digging into the softness, guiding her back onto him again and again. "You let him think he's got somethin' worth keepin' while you're in my bed takin' cock like this."

She moaned helplessly, her thighs shaking as he drove into her, her body clenching tight around him with every hard thrust. Reno groaned, deep and broken, his eyes locked on the way she writhed for him.

"Miserable little fucker," Reno spat, yanking her hair harder to keep her face up. "Bet he can't even last long enough to get you wet. Bet the second you try somethin' fun, he backs out like the poster boy he is." He leaned over her back, biting down on her shoulder hard enough to sting, his teeth dragging over her skin before sucking another mark to join the ones already blooming on her throat.

Her whimper turned into a muffled scream against the sheets, and Reno's smirk cut sharper. "Yeah, that's it. Moan for me. Let me hear the sounds you'd never make for him." His hips rolled deeper, grinding against her sweet spot until her body shook.

He slammed into her harder, his cock dragging deep, his voice breaking rough. "Hell, maybe I should leave you bruised all over—hips, thighs, ass—so you can remember me with every damn step you take."

Reno drove into her again, cock buried to the hilt, his hips snapping hard enough to rock the mattress against the wall. His chest bowed over her back, muscles drawn tight, the heat of him searing through her skin as he dragged her hair back to keep her face lifted. Her reflection in the mirror was flushed, mouth open, eyes glazed—everything about her screaming wrecked.

"Christ," he rasped, breath hot against her ear, "look at you takin' me so good. Every time I push in, this pussy just pulls me deeper, like it fuckin' belongs to me. You hear that? That's the sound of someone who knows what they're doin'—somethin' that dumb bastard you're with could never give you."

His hand slid from her hair down to her throat, curling tight, just enough to feel her pulse hammer against his palm. He grinned when her body clamped around him harder at the pressure, his cock twitching inside her. "Oh, you like that, don't you? My good girl, squeezin' me tighter just 'cause I'm holdin' you where you belong." He thrust in deep again, groaning when her walls clenched helpless around him. "So good, sweetheart. Too fuckin' good for him. He doesn't deserve to hear you moan like this—don't even deserve to know how sweet you taste when you break."

Her voice came out a whimper, high and wrecked, and Reno laughed low, cruel. His hips slammed forward again, balls smacking against her soaked folds, obscene sounds filling the room. Sweat gathered at the hollow of his throat, sliding down over the cut of his chest as he fucked her harder, violet eyes fixed on the mess he was making of her.

"Shit—look at you," he groaned, his grip on her throat tightening just enough to make her gasp. "So fuckin' pretty like this, takin' me like you were made for it. Tell me—he ever fuck you like this? Ever make you drip all over his cock the way you're drippin' down mine right now?"

Her only answer was a strangled moan, her nails clawing into the sheets. Reno bent low, biting the curve of her shoulder hard enough to make her jolt.

"Didn't think so. That's 'cause he's a fuckin' loser. You could give that boy a hundred chances and he'd never fuckin' earn the right to see you like this. But me?" His cock dragged deep, hard, his abs flexing with every brutal snap of his hips. "I make you sing for me. I make you forget your own damn name. That's the difference, sweetheart. That's why you're mine when you're here."

Her body broke around him, walls clamping down so hard it nearly stole the breath from his chest. She cried out, his name spilling from her lips again and again, babbled like a prayer she couldn't stop even if she tried.

Reno's cock twitched inside her, the tight squeeze dragging a guttural groan out of him. His abs flexed with the force of his thrusts, sweat sliding down the ridges of his torso as he pushed her through it, refusing to let her collapse just yet. His grin was sharp, cruel, eyes burning as he watched her fall apart.

"That's it," he growled, voice low and raw, "say my fuckin' name—louder. Let me hear it." His hand on her throat squeezed just a fraction tighter, forcing her head back, making sure every moan poured out into the room. "You don't sound like that for him, do you? Nah—you save it for me. You fall apart beggin' for Reno."

Her hips jerked, trembling under him, and he slammed forward harder, groaning as her cunt milked him. His mouth was at her ear, hot and relentless, every word branded into her skin. "Fuckin' perfect, sweetheart. So good for me. You're not thinkin' about him, not about anyone—just me."

She sobbed his name again, broken, and his smirk curved cruel against her shoulder. "That's it. That's all I wanna hear. My name, over and over, till it's the only thing in that pretty little head."

Her body shook, every muscle quivering under his weight, but he didn't let up. His arms flexed tight around her, forearms veined, biceps standing out with every thrust as he drove her deeper into the mattress. He was lost in it now—the sight of her trembling, the sound of his name wrecked on her lips, the feel of her clenching down like she couldn't let him go even if she tried.

"God," he groaned, rutting hard into her soaked heat, his voice a wrecked snarl, "you make me fuckin' feral when you say it like that."

Reno slammed her face-first into the mattress with one rough shove, his palm pressed flat against the back of her head to keep her there. Her cheek ground into the sheets, muffling the sounds she couldn't hold back.

His hips snapped forward, cock driving into her with hard, merciless thrusts that made the bed frame groan in protest. Every movement forced her up the mattress an inch, only for him to drag her back by the hips and do it all over again. His abs clenched tight with the effort, the muscles of his arms bulging as he pinned her down. Sweat slicked his chest, catching in the pale lines of his scars, dripping down to mark her skin as his.

"Look at you," he snarled, voice ragged, teeth bared in a mean grin as he bent over her, still holding her head down. "Bent over like a fuckin' whore, takin' me so deep you can't even breathe right." His thrusts got rougher, angling to hit that sweet spot inside her until she cried out, muffled into the sheets. He groaned low at the sound, rutting harder. "That's all you're good for, isn't it? Drippin' and spreadin' for me, lettin' me use you however the fuck I want."

Her thighs trembled under him, slick smearing down her skin where their bodies met, and his cock twitched at the sheer mess of it. He leaned back just enough to watch it, eyes locked on the obscene slide of his length disappearing into her over and over, glistening with her slick. His free hand came down sharp on her ass, the crack echoing before he gripped hard, kneading the flesh until she whined.

"Fucking mess," he spat, pumping into her with brutal rhythm, the muscles in his thighs straining with each snap of his hips. "Cryin' into the sheets while I fuck you stupid. You think that boring piece of shit you're playin' house with could ever do this to you? Fuck no."

His grip on her hip tightened, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh as he pounded her harder, rough groans ripping out of his chest. "Bet he's never even seen you like this—face down, ass up, drippin' all over my cock like the needy whore you are. You keep takin' it 'cause you love it. 'Cause you know I'm the only one who can fuck you this good."

The mattress creaked with every brutal thrust, his body flexing over hers, muscles pulled taut, veins raised in his arms from holding her down and fucking her raw at the same time. His voice dropped lower, meaner, every word meant to brand itself into her mind.

"Gonna fuck you 'til you can't even think about him. Gonna pound it into you so deep, the only thing left in that pretty little head is me. My cock. My voice. My fuckin' name."

Reno didn't let up. If anything, the way she sobbed into the sheets only drove him harder. His cock slammed into her with bruising rhythm, the slick slide obscene, every thrust forcing a broken cry out of her.

"Fuck—just look at you," he growled, voice rasping against her ear even as he shoved her deeper into the mattress. "Soaking me, begging without a single word."

"Pathetic," he spat, smacking her ass hard enough to make her jolt. His hand squeezed the reddened flesh, kneading it meanly before shoving her down again. "Lettin' me split you open like this while your idiot boyfriend probably thinks you're curled up in bed with his fuckin' goodnight texts. If he could see you now—fuck, if he heard the way you're sobbin' on my cock—he'd lose his mind."

Her walls clenched hard around him, fluttering with every filthy word, and Reno's grin curved cruel. He slammed into her deeper, grinding at the end of each thrust until she cried out into the sheets. "Oh, you like that, huh? You like me remindin' you what a dumb fuck your boyfriend is while I'm balls-deep inside you? Knew it. Knew you were my dirty little whore the second you spread for me the first time."

The burn in his thighs was nothing compared to the tight heat milking his cock, and his groans grew rougher, louder, chest rumbling with the effort to keep himself steady. He bent over her again, pressing his weight into her back, his hand tangling in her hair to yank her head back. Her mouth fell open on a strangled cry, tears streaking her cheeks as he shoved deeper.

"That's it," he snarled into her ear, teeth scraping her jaw. "Cry for me. Squeeze my cock 'til I fuckin' lose it. Gonna paint your cunt, make a fuckin' mess in you, and you'll still beg for more. Won't you?"

She babbled something into the sheets, broken syllables of his name and please, and Reno groaned low, pounding her through it until her body shook around him. The flutter of her walls dragged him over the edge, his thrusts turning frantic, brutal. He yanked her hips back against him with both hands, burying himself to the hilt as his orgasm tore through him.

"Fuck—take it," he growled, rutting through the release, his cock twitching hard as he spilled into her. Hot, thick spurts painted her walls, mixing instantly with her slick, leaking out around the base of his cock to drip messily down her thighs. He groaned again, hips jerking shallowly, refusing to pull out, grinding her into the mattress until every last drop was inside her.

When he finally slowed, chest heaving, he didn't let go. His cock was still buried, twitching inside her, the mess between them obscene. He bent low, lips brushing her ear, voice still sharp with cruelty.

"Look at you," he whispered, mocking and reverent all at once. "Full of my cum. That dumb bastard of yours couldn't fuckin' dream of makin' you look this wrecked."

He gave one last, sharp thrust, groaning at the squelch of their combined slick dripping free. "Pathetic little whore. You're mine. Every inch of this mess proves it."

Reno finally pulled out with a groan, rolling his hips once more just to hear the broken sound she made. Their mess smeared hot across her thighs and the sheets beneath, but he barely cared—his eyes were locked on the blooming constellation of marks he'd left along her throat and chest. Purple-red bites, swelling love bruises, sharp crescents where his teeth had pressed too hard.

He let out a low whistle, dragging his thumb across one of the darker spots, watching her flinch at the sting. "Fuck," he muttered, violet eyes flicking between the map of bruises and her half-lidded stare. "Look at you. Ruined, covered in me. Pretty little canvas." His grin spread, sharp and mean, but his touch gentled as he swept damp hair off her forehead. "Better hope you're good at makin' excuses, sweetheart. Not like I'm stoppin' anytime soon."

She hummed weakly, the sound closer to a whimper than an answer, already too far gone to keep up. Reno sighed like it amused him, pushing off the bed to fetch a rag from the bathroom. He came back with steam still clinging to his skin, silver hair mussed from running a hand through it, a fresh towel slung over his shoulder.

"Don't pass out on me yet," he said, dropping to one knee by the bed. He pressed the warm cloth to her stomach, dragging it slow across the slick and sweat, cleaning every mark of what they'd done. His brows furrowed as he worked—concentrated, deliberate, nothing careless in the way he swept between her thighs, wiping away the mess he'd left there. He wrung the rag out, dragged it lower again, softer this time, until she exhaled and slumped deeper into the mattress.

By the time he finished, she was already half-asleep, eyes fluttering closed, lips parted against the pillow. Reno tossed the rag aside and slid in next to her, one arm heavy over her waist, his chest pressed solid to her back. He kissed her damp hair once, rough but steady. "Sleep," he whispered.

And she did.

——

Morning broke pale through the blinds. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting through the quiet. Reno cracked an eye open first, silver lashes catching the light, and reached lazily across her to snag it. The name lit across the screen, and his smirk was instant.

"Your boyfriend," he muttered, voice rough from sleep but dripping smug. He tossed the phone onto the sheets beside her.

She startled awake, fumbling for it, but Reno caught her wrist and pinned her down with an easy press of his hand. "Relax," he drawled, shifting against her until she could feel just how hard he was again. "You sure you don't want a quickie first? Somethin' to remember me by while you play house later?"

Her face heated instantly, panic cutting through the fog of sleep. "Reno," she hissed, trying to twist free. "I need to get ready."

He only chuckled, burying his face in the crook of her neck to bite lightly at her shoulder, leaving another faint sting. "Always runnin'," he murmured against her skin. "Guess I'll let you go... after I patch you up."

He rolled out of bed and came back with the kit, nudging her flat again when she tried to sit up. "Stay still," he said, softer now but still a command. He taped gauze over the worst of the marks on her throat, covered the sharp bites he'd left across her collarbone and ribs, his thumb smoothing the edges down before brushing the skin just beside them. He didn't bother hiding everything—just enough.

"There," he muttered, leaning back on his heels to look at her properly. Violet eyes glinted with satisfaction as he tipped her chin up between his fingers. "Presentable. For him, anyway."

He kissed her, stealing her breath before pulling back with a lazy grin. "Five more minutes," he said, settling his weight over her one last time. "Then you can go."

Her phone buzzed again on the sheets beside them. She reached for it, but Reno was quicker. He snatched it up, thumb sliding over the screen as he tilted it toward her face until the lock clicked open.

"Relax," he drawled, smirk curving as he scrolled. The name at the top lit him mean. Before she could protest, he tapped out a reply—sorry, getting ready, call you later—and hit send.

Her stomach lurched. "Reno—"

"Shh." He tossed the phone out of reach and bent to kiss her shoulder, slow and steady, his teeth grazing lightly before his lips soothed the sting. "You'll see him all day. I deserve five more minutes. Hell, I deserve the whole fuckin' day."

His hand skimmed down her ribs, rough palm lingering like he owned every inch. He laughed low in her ear. "He gets the flowers and the wine. I get you like this. Fair trade, don't you think?"

Her chest tightened, panic and heat tangling until she couldn't breathe right. She should have shoved him off, should have clawed for the phone—but instead she let her head fall back against his shoulder, letting his mouth trace lazy kisses along her neck.

And when the phone buzzed again from where it lay, she didn't move for it. Not this time.

Narumi had been good all day. Better than he thought he could be, honestly. Bag after bag had cut into the grooves of his arms, thin handles biting down until the skin flushed, veins standing out under the weight. His shoulders had burned halfway through the second store, but he hadn't said a word. Every time Y/N glanced back at him, bright-eyed and grinning, he just shifted the load higher, biceps bunching, jaw tight but silent.

He could have pulled out his phone. He thought about it once, thumb brushing the pocket, but didn't. Because then he might've missed the way she'd come spinning out of the fitting room in a slip of a dress that looked one tug away from disaster, laughing as she asked if it was too much. He might've missed the tug she gave her mini skirt to test its length, or the pout she threw when she decided against it. So he stayed there, heavy with her bags, pretending his patience wasn't thin as thread.

"This is the last one," she said for the third time that afternoon, poking her head out of yet another dressing room, hair messy from yanking tops over her head. She was still in the skirt, legs bare, one strap of her bra slipping down her shoulder under the shirt she hadn't bothered to fasten. "Swear. But—I need your help with this top, it's being stubborn."

Narumi dropped the bags onto the chair outside her stall with a dull thud. His reflection caught in the mirror opposite him before he stepped inside: arms carved sharp by the weight he'd carried, veins roped down his forearms, sleeveless tee clinging damp to his chest. His face was cut into planes by the harsh overhead light, pink fringe shadowing his eyes, his mouth already set too tight. He looked like someone who had been waiting, not someone who'd been shopping.

The stall was small. Too small. Mirrors on every wall trapped them in their own reflections, multiplying the heat between their bodies. Y/N bent to grab a hanger from the floor, muttering something about mixing and matching, and that was it. The skirt slid higher on her thighs, exposing the curve of her ass, and Narumi's restraint gave way.

By the time she straightened, he was there—chest pressed to her back, his arm sliding up to brace against the mirror above her shoulder. Their eyes met in the reflection, her breath catching in surprise, his gone low and dangerous.

"Baby," she whispered, the word quick, nervous, not quite a protest. "This is a store. There are people—"

His mouth found her ear, teeth scraping her skin before he bit down just enough to make her gasp. "Then you're just gonna have to be real good and real quiet, won't you?" His voice was steady, flat in its certainty, but his eyes in the mirror were wild. His other hand was already tugging at the hem of her skirt, fingers flexing like he'd imagined this moment a hundred times.

"You know how long I've been standin' out there?" His words rumbled against her neck, a low growl undercut with a grin. "Haulin' your bags. Watchin' you strut around in skirts that barely cover your ass. Noddin' and smilin' like a good boyfriend while you ask me which top makes your tits look better." He pressed his hips forward, just enough for her to feel how hard he already was. "And I was good. So good. But now?" His mouth dragged down her jaw, kissing hot and slow, filthy in its sweetness. "I think I deserve a little reward."

The mirrors made it worse. Every angle showed something—his arm stretched taut above her, the sweep of muscle in his bicep, the hungry line of his mouth against her throat. Her wide eyes, her parted lips. The skirt clinging tighter to her hips as he palmed her, greedy. He caught it all, his gaze darting from one reflection to the next like he wanted to memorize every version of her coming undone.

Her reflection caught her before she could even think about looking at him. The mirror in front of her laid it bare: Narumi crowding her against the glass, arm flexed above her head, the bulge in his jeans pressed against the small of her back. His eyes weren't on her face—they were on the reflection of her body, on the way her skirt had ridden up, on the faint glimpse of lace when her thighs shifted.

"Look at you," he rasped, voice a mix of awe and cruelty. His hand smoothed down her side, knuckles grazing the soft line of her waist before gripping tight at her hip. "All that twirlin' around for me out there, askin' if I liked this one or that one—like you didn't know the whole damn time the only thing I wanted was you bent over in front of me."

Her lips parted, a shaky exhale leaving her. "Gen... we can't—"

He laughed against her throat, the sound short, sharp, wicked. "Can't? Sweetheart, we already are." He pushed her skirt higher with one hand, the other flattening against her stomach to pin her flush to the mirror. "You feel that?" His hips rolled, slow but heavy, dragging the thick line of his cock against her ass. "You think I'm standin' here like this 'cause I'm patient?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, heat rising everywhere at once. He caught it instantly, teeth snapping at her ear as he growled, "No. Open. Your. Eyes."

Her gaze flew forward on instinct, meeting the reflection—her face flushed, her shirt half undone, Narumi looming over her with his grin split sharp. He looked dangerous in the lighting, hair falling into his eyes, veins standing in his arm where he braced them both.

"Fuck, you're even prettier when you're embarrassed," he groaned, grinding harder now, enough to make her whimper. His voice was a steady rasp in her ear. "Don't look away. You see how good you look for me? How perfect this is? That skirt, those mirrors—baby, you were beggin' for me the second you stepped in here."

His hand slipped lower, hooking the edge of her panties and dragging them aside. The sudden cold of air on wet heat made her jolt, a sound catching in her throat. His smirk deepened, his fingers spreading her folds, dragging through slick that coated his skin in seconds.

"Goddamn," he muttered, almost reverent, but the cruel curl never left his mouth. "All that shoppin' and chatter, and this is what you were hidin' under it all? Drippin' like a slut waitin' for me to lose it." He slid two fingers deep, groaning low at the way she clenched. "Fuck—you're squeezin' already. You that desperate?"

Her head dropped forward, forehead against the cool mirror. "Gen, please—"

"Please, what?" His pace stayed steady, curling deep, thumb finding her clit and dragging slow circles. His eyes in the reflection burned into hers. "Please stop? Please fuck you? You gotta use your words, sweetheart, or I'll just keep teasin' you till you're cryin'."

Her whimper was almost enough of an answer. He kissed it off her skin anyway, biting hard at her shoulder before soothing the mark with his tongue. His other hand freed his cock, the thick length dragging against her ass as he stroked himself once, twice, spreading the pre across her skin. His reflection showed everything—veins bulging in his arm, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded with hunger.

"You see that?" he hissed, pressing the head of his cock against her slick slit but not pushing in yet. "See how hard I am just from lookin' at you? You're my fuckin' treat right now."

He pushed forward a fraction, just enough to breach her, and her gasp fogged the glass again. He laughed, cruel and low, voice dripping heat as he kissed the shell of her ear.

"Good girl. Take it. Quiet now. Make me believe you can be real good for me while I ruin you."

Her cheek pressed against the glass now, heat blooming where cool surface met flushed skin. Every breath fogged her own reflection, her lips parted, eyes wide and desperate as Narumi loomed behind her. His arm caged her in, the thick cords of muscle shifting under his sleeveless shirt every time his hand flexed at her hip.

"Look at you," he rasped, dragging his cock's slick through her folds without pushing in. His voice split the silence, low and rough, curling with amusement. "This is what you were plannin' all along?"

She shook her head weakly, the denial breaking on a moan when he pushed just the tip inside.

"Don't lie to me." He slammed his hips forward an inch, the thick stretch forcing her body open. His arm flexed harder above her head, every vein standing out, his chest pressed solid into her back. "You feel this?" Another slow push, another inch. "This cock's been hard since your first little outfit try. You're a fuckin' tease, and now you're gonna pay for it."

Her knees buckled, and he caught her with a sharp grip at her waist, laughing ragged against her ear. "Uh-uh. You don't get to run. Not when you're this wet." His fingers dragged lower, spreading her slick across her inner thigh until it shone under the harsh lights. "Goddamn, sweetheart, you're makin' a mess and I ain't even given you half of it yet."

The mirror caught it all. Her wide, pleading eyes. His cock, thick and flushed, splitting her inch by inch. Sweat cutting lines along every ridge of muscle as he forced himself deeper. His mouth curved in a wolfish grin when her gaze darted away, cheeks flaming.

"No," he snapped, hand leaving her hip to grip her jaw, forcing her head up. His reflection loomed behind hers, eyes sharp, grin cruel. "You don't get to look away. You watch me fuck you. Watch yourself takin' me like the little treat you are."

She whimpered, muffled against his hand when he clamped it over her mouth. His hips rolled forward, finally sinking deep enough that his pelvis slammed flush against her ass. The sound cracked in the tiny space—skin meeting skin, obscene and raw.

"Fuck," he groaned, forehead pressing to her temple, his voice breaking into the reflection between their faces. "Tightest little cunt in the world, and she's all mine. Look at that—" He rocked back just enough that they both saw it: her body clenching, his cock dragging out slick and glistening before shoving back in. "—look at how well you take me. Tell me that ain't the prettiest fuckin' sight you've ever seen."

Her muffled cry met his hand again, thighs trembling. He only laughed, mean and fond at once. "Quiet now, sweetheart. You're doin' good. But you make one sound too loud, and the whole store's gonna know how easy you are for me."

Her reflection blurred with every thrust, glass fogged from her panting breath, her cheek smeared against it. Narumi's cock split her open deep and steady, each drag wet and obscene in the cramped room. His hand stayed clamped over her mouth, muffling every cry, while the other held her hip tight enough she'd have bruises come morning.

He caught her eyes darting away again. His laugh was sharp, breath hot at her ear. "I told you—watch. Don't you dare look anywhere but the mirror. You see this cock? You see how it owns you?" He shoved in harder, her eyes rolling as her body clenched. "That's mine. All mine."

Then, with a low grunt, he shifted. One hand still trapping her face, he tugged his phone from his pocket with the other. The screen lit, throwing pale light across their bodies, catching the sheen of sweat on his arms, the mess slicking her thighs. He angled it low first, behind them—her ass bouncing against his hips, his cock shining wet each time he pulled halfway out before slamming back in. The sound of their bodies colliding was filthy in the tiny space, loud enough the mirror trembled in its frame.

Her muffled whimper broke into his palm. He laughed again, meaner this time. "Yeah, that's it. You like this? Good. 'Cause I'm keepin' it. For my eyes only. You look too fuckin' pretty like this."

The phone shifted, tilting to catch their side view—her face slack, lips parted against his hand, her eyes glazed as her tits bounced with every thrust. His own reflection filled the frame too: sleeveless shirt clinging to his chest, arms bulging with every grip and slam, jaw tight, mouth split in a wolfish grin.

"Goddamn..." His voice broke, husky, desperate but still laced with control. "I've been haulin' bags all day, bein' good for you—and now look at you, givin' me a reward like this. You're my reward, sweetheart. My pretty little prize."

She shook her head weakly, a protest that didn't land, her thighs quivering as his cock drove deeper. His smirk sharpened, and he angled the phone higher, capturing the mirror's reflection of them both.

"Look," he ordered, grinding slow just to make her feel every inch. "See that? That's you takin' me. That's me fuckin' you like you deserve. And this—" he gave a sharp thrust, her muffled cry echoing against the glass, "—this is mine to watch again and again when you're not around to keep me warm."

Her body spasmed around him, and he groaned, head tipping back, throat working with the sound. He let the phone hover a second longer, then leaned down, lips brushing her ear, his words low and wrecked. "But don't worry, sweetheart. No one else is ever seein' this. Not a chance in hell. You're mine."

His arm was trembling—not from lack of control, but from holding the damn phone while pounding into her like this. He wanted both hands on her, wanted her body pinned and quaking under his grip, not balanced between a screen and her skin. With a sharp grunt, he pulled out just far enough to steady her, then reached past, setting the phone down on the little chair piled with her discarded clothes. The angle caught everything—her bent over the mirror, his cock sliding wet and thick into her, the way her thighs shook as he split her open.

He leaned back to check the frame and smirked. "Perfect. Now I don't miss a thing."

Then he was on her again. His chest pressed to her back, one broad palm covering her mouth, forcing her cries into whimpers muffled against his skin. His other hand dug into her hip, dragging her back onto him, harder, faster, until the sound of their bodies clapping together filled the dressing room louder than her muffled moans. His bicep bulged against her cheek, every vein on his arm standing as he kept her pinned and trembling.

"Yeah, that's it," he rasped against her ear, eyes flicking up to the mirror so she had to watch him watching her. "So fuckin' good for me. You take my cock so well. That's what bein' mine looks like." He slammed in again, teeth gritted, groaning when her body clenched around him. "Fuck, look at you—drippin' down your thighs, shakin' all over my cock. Goddamn, you're perfect."

She tried to speak, words garbled under his palm, but he only pressed tighter, smirking as her eyes rolled and her lashes fluttered. "Shh," he cooed, mean and sweet all at once. "Don't wanna let the whole store know what a mess you're makin', do you? Be my good girl. Take it quiet."

He dragged his hips slow for a beat, letting her feel every inch, then drove back in hard, the mirror rattling in its frame with the force. The reflection caught everything—the sweat dampening his hair, the smirk cutting his jaw, the way her breasts bounced, the shine of wetness on his cock every time he pulled back.

"Shit..." he hissed through clenched teeth, hips snapping faster, rougher, his breath hot against her ear. "Gonna keep this vid forever. Every time I watch it, I'm gonna remember how you looked—pretty skirt hiked up, panties pushed aside, takin' me deep while you begged me to fuck you."

His grip on her hip turned bruising, his thrusts sharper, his groans lower, guttural, breaking through his steady drawl. "Mine," he snarled, watching himself fuck her in the mirror. "Every angle, every sound—you're mine."

His rhythm broke, hips stuttering, breath hitching into something raw and sharp. He tore his hand from her mouth just long enough to growl, "On your knees. Now."

She barely had time to blink before he hauled her off the mirror, spinning her around with a grip on her arm and the waistband of her skirt. The force of it dropped her to the floor hard enough that her thighs wobbled when they hit the tile, but he steadied her with one hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to look up at him.

The phone was still running on the chair, angled perfect: catching him looming over her, chest heaving, arms corded and shaking, cock glistening with her slick as he stroked himself furiously. His other hand kept her steady, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth before he shoved her jaw wider.

"Fuck, look at you," he groaned, voice rough, jaw clenched hard. His eyes burned down at her, half-wild with need, half reverent like he couldn't believe she was his. "So fucking perfect."

She gasped when he tugged her closer by the hair, the head of his cock dragging across her cheek, smearing wetness there before sliding over her lips. He didn't push inside—just teased, painted her with it, his stomach tightening as he worked himself faster.

"Gonna make such a mess of you," he rasped, veins standing in his forearms, every muscle drawn tight under the sleeveless tee clinging to him. His abs flexed hard with every stroke, the thick vein along his cock pulsing under his grip. "Fuckin' earned it."

Her hands came up instinctively, clutching his thighs, nails digging into hard muscle. He groaned, the sound breaking into a growl as his head tipped back, sweat dripping down the column of his throat. Then he looked down again, locking eyes with her, smirk breaking wide and filthy.

"Open wide, baby. This is mine, but I want it all over you."

The words hit like a command. She obeyed, lips parting, tongue out, chest rising fast as she braced for it. He grunted low, cock twitching in his fist, and then he broke—spurting thick, hot ropes that painted across her tongue, her lips, her cheek. His groan tore out of him, guttural, his whole body jerking with every pulse.

"Fuck, yes..." he panted, working the last drops out onto her chin, smearing it with his thumb. He looked wrecked—hair damp, chest heaving, veins raised down his arms—and yet his grin was smug as hell, worshipful and mean all at once. "Prettiest fuckin' sight. All mine."

He eased his grip in her hair, thumb brushing over her jaw as his breathing slowed. His cock softened in his hand, still slick with the mix of them, still glistening in the harsh dressing room light. He bent a little, catching her gaze in the mirror over her shoulder, making sure she saw what he saw: her on her knees, dripping with him, flushed and ruined.

The heat in him lingered, but the second the last tremor left his body, Narumi was bending down, hand gentle where it had been rough, brushing her damp hair back from her face. "Hey," he whispered, voice gone hoarse but soft now, all that edge smoothed out. His thumb traced her cheek, catching the streaks he'd left there. "You okay?"

Her breath came shaky, but she nodded, still dazed. That was all he needed. His grin softened into something boyish, and before she could blink, he was pulling tissues from his pocket—always prepared—and carefully wiping her chin, her lips, murmuring nonsense praise while he worked.

"Pretty girl... took me so good," he muttered, kissing her hairline, then her cheek, not caring if he got himself dirty again. "No one out there knows a thing. They just see my sweet girlfriend trying on skirts. If only they fuckin' knew."

He helped her to her feet with surprising care, steadying her by the waist when her knees wobbled. A quick check in the mirror—he fixed her hair, adjusted her skirt, tugged her top straight, and grinned at his own handiwork. No one would guess a thing if they saw her walk out right now.

Then he tapped her hip, playful again. "Looks like we're buyin' this outfit," he said, low and teasing but with that warmth that made it impossible to doubt him. "Skirt's already passed the test."

When she groaned, half exasperated, half laughing, he leaned in, lips brushing her temple, eyes sparkling even as he gathered up the pile of her discarded tops. "Relax, sweetheart. I'll pay. Least I can do after makin' it a little... lived-in."

By the time they stepped out, Narumi had every bag hooked on his arms again, casual as anything, like he hadn't just filmed her coming apart for him in a dressing room. His free hand found hers automatically, squeezing once, grounding. To anyone else, he was just the tired boyfriend trailing after his girl. But she could still feel his claim in every part of her body—and in the way he smirked, private and satisfied, when the sales clerk rang them up.

The room smelled faintly of old disinfectant, but Hoshina had already claimed it with sweat and steel. The overhead lights turned his body into sculpture—shoulders pulled wide, arms corded with muscle that shifted clean with every twist of his wrist. The dagger was smaller than what he usually worked with, but in his hand it looked like an extension of him, a test he intended to master. Each strike into the dummy tightened his torso, skin drawn tight over the carved ladder of his abs, the groove at his waist flashing each time his hips turned. Sweat tracked down from his temple, slid across the line of his jaw, and vanished down his throat into the notch of his chest.

The sound of the blade hitting wood rang flat in the empty room. Y/N should have turned away—should have gone back upstairs. Instead, she leaned against the doorway, shorts skimming her thighs, shirt loose around her shoulders, watching him with a hunger she barely hid. When she finally spoke, the words came out softer than she meant them, silk over a dare.

"Didn't think you were the type to play with something that small. You're only precise with your swords, aren't you?"

The dagger stilled. His shoulders didn't move, but the air shifted. He turned his head just enough that his profile caught the light: sharp nose, damp hair sticking dark to his forehead, his mouth curving into something that wasn't a smile so much as a warning.

Then he was moving. Two strides, fast enough she barely had time to push back against the wall. His body filled her space before she could breathe, chest rising and falling heavy, heat rolling off him in waves. His left hand planted above her head, veins raised across his forearm. His right brought the dagger up smooth, flat edge pressed under her jaw before she even thought to flinch.

Cold steel. Hot skin.

"Only precise with my swords?" His voice came rough, low, broken on the rasp of exertion. He leaned close, breath brushing her cheek, the scent of sweat, iron and something sweet clinging to him. "Sweetheart, I could split this shirt open clean down the middle without so much as scratchin' you."

Her pulse jumped under the blade. His eyes followed the twitch, greedy, his smirk deepening. He pressed just enough to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his stare. His chest hovered close—sweat slick across every hard line of muscle, stomach drawn tight from control he didn't bother hiding.

"You run that mouth easy," he murmured, the words almost a growl now, "but look at you. Knife to your throat and you go quiet real quick. That what gets you hot? Knowin' I could end the game in one slip but won't unless I want to?"

The dagger angled slow, tracing the slope of her neck with the barest whisper. Not a cut. Just enough to remind her who held the control.

"Say the word," he said, his voice rough silk, command curled into tease. "And I'll prove precision ain't about the weapon. It's about the hands that hold it."

The blade didn't waver, steady as if it were part of him, as if his pulse itself kept it balanced. The muscles in his forearm flexed slow beneath skin glazed in sweat, every line carved deep from years of carrying heavier steel than this. His chest rose, solid and unrelenting, a slab of heat so close it forced the cotton of her shirt to cling damp between them. Her breath hitched, shallow and fast, but his stayed measured, a predator's patience wearing the shape of discipline.

"Listen close," he rasped, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear, his voice ground down to something intimate and dangerous. "The second this goes too far, you say stop, and I'll drop the blade. You got that?"

His hand on her hip tightened, not enough to bruise but enough to anchor. The dagger tilted with surgical precision, dragging down from the point under her jaw to the dip at the base of her throat. He traced her pulse with the flat edge, the cool steel leaving goosebumps racing across skin already heated from the closeness of his body.

"'Cause otherwise..." His grin brushed against her cheek, sharp and hungry. "I'm gonna enjoy seein' how still you can stay while I take my time with you."

The dagger lingered just below her throat, the steel cold, his chest hot, the balance of it all so exact it made her dizzy. Then—too fast for her to prepare—he shifted his grip, wrist snapping clean.

The sound of fabric tearing echoed off tile. Her shirt split from collar to hem, ripped open in one precise stroke that left the halves hanging loose off her shoulders. The ruined cotton fluttered for a second before slipping down her arms and pooling at her feet.

"Fuck, Soshi—" she gasped, flush racing up her neck, half in shock, half in heat. Her arms twitched like she might cover herself, but the dagger was still there, and his smirk told her she wouldn't dare. "That was my favorite one."

He laughed, low and rough, the sound vibrating against her skin as he leaned in. His chest brushed hers—hard muscle slick with sweat, every ridge pressing into her bare skin. The dagger didn't waver. It pressed flat against the curve of her waist now, cold enough to make her shiver.

"Love," he drawled, voice frayed with want, "I'll buy you ten of the same damn shirt tomorrow if it means I get to see you like this tonight." His mouth brushed her ear, teeth catching her lobe before he growled against it. "Worth every fuckin' penny."

Before she could answer, his wrist snapped again. The blade kissed her waistband, one clean slice sending her shorts sliding down her thighs to hit the floor. In two practiced cuts, she was bare.

Her breath punched out of her lungs. "You're—fuck—you're insane," she whispered, trying to sound mad, but her thighs pressed together, betraying her.

His smirk widened. The dagger trailed down the inside of her thigh, the flat edge skating up toward the heat between her legs but never quite touching. He pulled her forward until the weight of him pinned her full to the wall—cock stiff and heavy through his pants, grinding against her belly.

"Insane?" His laugh came ragged, already shaking with hunger. He bit her neck, open-mouthed, tongue dragging over the sting before sucking hard enough to mark her. His hips rolled once, slow, letting her feel just how hard he was. "Nah, baby. Just hungry. And right now, you're all I fuckin' want."

She whimpered, half protest, half plea. "You ruined everything I was wearing."

His smirk burned hotter, eyes cutting down her body like she was prey he already owned. He tilted the blade higher, teasing the underside of her breast, steel cold where his mouth was hot.

"Good," he rasped, dragging his tongue across her nipple before biting it sharp, then soothing with his lips. "Means there's nothin' left between me and what's mine."

His mouth didn't retreat far—he only shifted lower, tracing a wet trail down the slope of her stomach, pausing to bite the soft flesh of her hip, then sucking hard enough to leave her bruised. His free hand roamed, wide palm mapping every line of her body, fingertips dragging along the back of her thigh before squeezing her ass hard enough to make her gasp.

The dagger never left her. Its flat edge skimmed the inside of her thigh, a constant whisper of danger against heated skin, cold steel making her muscles jump even as his touch coaxed them to soften. He held it steady as if it weighed nothing, the restraint in that control just as obscene as the way his cock strained against his waistband.

With a grunt, he shoved his pants low enough to free himself. The release was instant, his cock springing heavy against her hip, thick and flushed, the crown already wet. Pre smeared across her skin as he ground against her belly, slow at first, then harder, like he wanted to mark her with the mess of his need. His abs flexed tight with every roll, veins standing in his forearms from holding her and the blade.

"Feel that?" he growled against her throat, his voice rough, broken on a groan when the head of his cock dragged slick across her stomach. "That's what you do to me."

He pressed the dagger tighter—not cutting, just enough to tilt her chin up, exposing her throat, forcing her to meet his stare. His eyes burned dark, greedy, his jaw locked with the effort it took not to lose control. Sweat beaded at his temple, sliding down the cut of his cheek to his throat, glistening on muscle drawn taut by hunger.

The dagger never wavered, a steady line of cold at her throat, but his free hand slid down, rough palm cupping between her thighs. He groaned the second he felt how soaked she already was, fingers parting her folds, spreading the wetness that clung to his skin as proof of just how ready she was for him.

"Fuck," he muttered, rough and low, like the words were punched out of him. His thumb brushed her clit, slow, deliberate, his smirk curling against her jaw. "You're so fuckin' wet I don't even gotta ask if you're ready. You're beggin' for me without openin' that pretty mouth."

The pressure of his hand and the blade at her throat was too much to balance against the wall. He must've felt it in the twitch of her thighs, the way her weight shifted. With a low growl, he made the choice for her. His dagger-hand left her throat just long enough to catch her by the wrist, the other bracing her waist, and in one fluid move he dragged her down with him.

Her back hit the cool tile, the shock of it stolen instantly by the heat of his body crowding over hers. His thighs bracketed her hips, muscles drawn tight, veins raised. He pinned her there like she was nothing but another weapon under his command.

The dagger came back into play immediately—flat edge pressed just under her breast while his free hand shoved between her thighs. "Fuckin' dripping," he muttered, chest heaving, sweat sliding down the cut of his abdomen onto her bare skin. "Look at you, sweetheart—spread open for me, so wet you're gonna make a mess of this floor before I even get inside."

The dagger shifted, quick and precise, the edge flicking sideways until the tip bit shallow just beneath her breast. The cut was nothing but a line of heat, but she still gasped, chest jerking. He was already there—mouth sealing over the mark, tongue dragging across the sting before sucking hard enough to draw a moan from her lips.

"Good girl," he muttered against her skin, the words muffled by the wet seal of his mouth. "Look at the mess you've made for me."

His fingers curled inside her as he spoke, knuckles grinding against her walls, thumb dragging tight circles over her clit. Every twist of his wrist flexed the muscle in his forearm, veins standing as he kept the dagger steady in the other hand, its flat edge grazing down her sternum in slow threat.

She was panting, eyes fluttering, every breath lifting her chest against the blade that never wavered. His cock dragged heavy against her belly with every thrust of his hand, leaving a smear of slick heat across her skin.

"Listen to you," he rasped, biting at the swell of her breast, teeth sharp before his tongue soothed. "Makin' the filthiest sounds just from my hand. You're so fuckin' wet, sweetheart, I could slide in right now and drown in you."

The dagger pressed higher again, tilting her chin back with its flat edge, exposing her throat. His smirk burned dark above her. "But not yet. Not 'til I've had my fun."

Her thighs shook, spread wide and pinned by his weight, every tendon drawn tight with the effort of holding still. His fingers were still buried in her, working her with deliberate slowness—two knuckles deep, thumb circling her clit in a rhythm that teased more than it satisfied. The dagger gleamed just below her throat, cool and steady, a reminder that she didn't control a single second of what was happening.

The mix of sensations unraveled her. She tried to hold it in, to bite her lip against the sounds building in her chest, but they broke free anyway, choked gasps spilling into the stale air of the training room. Her back arched off the tile as she twisted against the pressure of his hand, chasing something he wouldn't give.

"Soshiro—fuck, please," she cried, voice catching on the edge of sob. Her hips jerked helplessly, clenching around his fingers. "Please, I need you. Just—just fuck me, I can't—"

The look he gave her was pure wolf, teeth bared in a smirk so sharp it could've cut deeper than the blade. His abs flexed hard as he leaned closer.

"Listen to yourself," he drawled, voice rough silk edged with mockery. "A few minutes ago, you had that lip—talkin' shit about what I can and can't do with my hands. And now?" His wrist turned, dragging the dagger's flat edge down her sternum, tracing the ridge of bone until it hovered just above her belly button. "Now you're spread out under me, drippin' all over my fuckin' hand, beggin' like some dumb little slut who can't keep her cunt still unless I fill it."

Her cheeks burned, a flush spreading down her throat, but her body betrayed her—hips rolling up, thighs trembling harder as his thumb pressed just a shade firmer.

"Pathetic," he rasped, smirk curving crueler as his eyes flicked down to watch his fingers disappear into her slick heat. "Can't even hold yourself together while I play with a knife. You really want me that bad, huh? So bad you'll bleed for it?"

The dagger shifted in a blur. A sharp flick—clean, precise. She gasped, the sound breaking high as the blade nicked her just beneath the swell of her ribs. Blood welled instantly, hot against her cool skin, sliding in a thin red line down the slope of her stomach.

She jerked, but his free hand was already there, palm splayed heavy over her hip, holding her pinned. His mouth dropped fast to the fresh mark, tongue dragging the copper tang away before it could run further. He sucked once, low and obscene, before lifting his head, lips wet, a smear of crimson shining at the corner of his mouth.

"Fuckin' gorgeous," he muttered, eyes blazing.

Before she could recover, he did. Another nick—lower, quick, right across the soft flesh near her hipbone. She gasped louder this time, the sound broken, and his tongue chased that too, groaning low when the scent of her arousal hit stronger from up close.

Her voice came shattered now, pleading between whimpers. "Please—please, Soshiro, I can't take it, I need you—please—"

He groaned at that, chest heaving, every hard line of muscle drawn tight like a bow pulled to breaking. His cock dragged against her belly again, leaking messier now, smearing across her skin in streaks that gleamed under the harsh light.

"Goddamn, sweetheart," he rasped, pressing his forehead to hers for a moment, like he had to ground himself or lose it completely. "You're gonna fuckin' kill me beggin' like that."

Then, with one clean motion, the dagger flew from his hand. It clattered across the tile, skidding to a safe stop far out of reach. No accidents—not on his watch. Not when it came to her.

The hand that had wielded steel framed her face instead, rough thumb brushing her jaw, tilting her head back to meet his stare. His other hand left her pussy only long enough to shove under her knee, forcing her thighs open wider, spreading her until she was bared completely for him.

His cock pressed to her entrance, slick crown parting her folds, smearing more of his pre into the mess already dripping down her thighs. For a breath, he held himself there—teetering between control and collapse.

Then his gaze raked down her body, and the last of his restraint snapped.

Sweat gleamed across her skin, the harsh lights catching every curve. Blood still trickled from the shallow cuts he'd carved, red streaks slipping toward her navel, smeared already where his tongue and fingers had chased it. Her chest rose and fell fast, nipples tight, lips swollen from his biting. Her thighs trembled against his grip, wide and helpless.

"Jesus Christ," he rasped, voice torn and reverent all at once, "look at you." His cock twitched hard against her, smearing another bead of slick down her folds. "Bleedin', sweatin', beggin'—and still the prettiest fuckin' thing I've ever had under me."

He thrust. Hard. No easing, no warning, just one brutal snap of his hips that buried him to the root in a single stroke.

The sound was wet and obscene, her body taking him in one messy, shuddering pull. His head dropped back on a groan that ripped straight from his chest, thick and raw, his abs flexing tight as he held himself deep inside her. The stretch had her crying out, nails digging half-moons into the tile beneath her, her back arching off the floor to meet him.

"Fuck—" His eyes cut down again, watching his cock disappear into her drenched heat, the mix of slick and blood smeared along the thick base. His stomach drew taut, breath catching ragged in his throat. "You're... you're perfect like this. My pretty girl, wrecked and wide open—so fuckin' pretty."

He pulled back and slammed in again, harder this time. His thumb pressed to her jaw, tilting her face so she couldn't look anywhere but at him while he set the brutal rhythm. Each thrust rocked her against the floor, the wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing off the tile, mixing with the guttural groans torn from his throat.

"You feel that?" he growled, his grin sharp even as his eyes burned hot. "That's all me, sweetheart—filling you, usin' you. And you love it. Don't you?"

Her answer came broken, but he didn't need words. He could feel it—the way she clenched tight around him, the way her body arched into every brutal drive, begging without speech. His smirk deepened, his chest heaving against hers, every muscle in his torso standing out under the sheen of sweat.

"Yeah," he panted, forehead nearly touching hers as his hips snapped harder, each stroke precise and punishing. "Pretty little thing, takin' me so well. You're mine. Mine."

His thrusts were merciless, hips snapping with the kind of precision he'd once used for blades, every stroke slamming deep enough to steal her breath. The wet slap of it echoed sharp off the tile, mixing with her broken cries and his guttural groans. Sweat poured down his chest, dripping onto her breasts, streaking the cuts he'd smeared red earlier.

He bent lower, mouth dragging hot and open across her throat. Then his teeth sank in. Not a playful nip, not a tease. A bite, sharp enough to break skin, to taste the copper bloom against his tongue. She gasped, body jerking, but he groaned like it fed him. His hips stuttered once, harder, cock grinding deep as if the taste of her blood pushed him further over the edge.

"Fuck—" he muttered against the mark, licking over it, then biting again at her shoulder. Blood welled, bright and thin, and he lapped it up like it was sweeter than anything else he'd ever had. He lifted his head, lips slick, teeth red at the edges, and smirked down at her. "Pretty girl... you bleed so fuckin' nice for me."

She whimpered, thighs trembling around his hips, head tipping back against the floor, and he laughed, low and rough. His abs flexed with the sound, muscles hard and cut under the dripping sweat.

"Look at you," he rasped, his hips pistoning faster now, each thrust sharp, obscene, punishing. "Can't even think straight. My cock fucks the thoughts right outta that pretty head, doesn't it?"

Her nails scrabbled at the tile, her body answering him in clenching, wet pulses that had him gritting his teeth. His jaw locked, his forearms standing out like cables as he braced himself over her, every line of muscle tight with the effort of not completely unraveling.

"You're so fuckin' pretty like this," he groaned, chest slick against hers, his voice breaking on the words. "Pretty when you bleed for me, pretty when you cry on my cock, pretty when you beg without even sayin' a word." His mouth dragged lower, sucking bruises down her chest, teeth catching at her skin until she cried out, then biting again until salt and copper spread across his tongue.

Her back arched, the cry torn raw, and he grinned against her skin, tasting blood and sweat and the faint sweetness of her. "Yeah, that's it," he growled, hips grinding brutal and deep. "My pretty little mess. My bloody, fucked-out, perfect princess."

He drew back just enough to look at her, to drink in the wreckage he'd made. Her face was flushed, lips parted, hair damp with sweat against the tile, her chest heaving with every sharp thrust. The shallow cuts he'd marked earlier gleamed wet under the lights, sweat and blood and her slick mixing in an obscene sheen. His cock dragged out slick with all of it, wet sounds echoing with every stroke back in.

"Christ—" he rasped, his abs clenching as he slammed into her harder, faster. "You're so fuckin' messy, and it's the hottest thing I've ever seen. My hot, ruined princess."

He bent to her throat, mouth hot, tongue dragging across the vein fluttering under her skin before his teeth sank in. The bite was brutal, sharp, and her cry cut high in the quiet room. Blood welled instantly, warm against his lips, and he groaned deep in satisfaction, lapping it up, sucking until the sting blurred into heat.

When he pulled back, his lips stained, his smirk dark enough to burn. "Look at you," he rasped, voice wrecked but sharp. His dagger-calloused hand cupped her jaw, forcing her to meet his stare even as her eyes fluttered glassy with pleasure. "You run that mouth so easy, but right now? You're nothin' but blood and sweat and my cock stretchin' you wide."

Her nails scraped over the thick muscle of his back, leaving shallow trails in his skin, and he laughed low, mean, the sound vibrating through her chest with how close he was. His thrusts grew sharper, deeper, the slap of their bodies a filthy counterpoint to the wet drag of her pussy clutching him.

"Goddamn," he muttered against her shoulder, biting again, lower this time. Copper burst across his tongue, and he groaned as he sucked at it, lips working greedily until the blood smeared across his mouth. He pulled back just enough to look at her—her chest heaving, her body trembling, skin marked by teeth and steel. "Prettiest fuckin' thing I've ever laid eyes on. I can barely hold back."

Her body seized around him, the orgasm tearing out of her in a broken cry. Her cunt clamped down tight, pulsing hard enough he cursed into her skin, his hips jerking despite himself. Wet spilled hot between them, messy, slick, dripping down her ass onto the tile.

He didn't stop. He fucked her through it, pace brutal, watching the way she writhed beneath him, how she gasped and clawed at him, unable to form words. His smirk deepened, teeth flashing red.

"Pathetic," he drawled, though his voice shook with hunger. "Can't even talk anymore. Just cummin' all over my cock, makin' a goddamn mess of yourself."

He didn't slow when her body went limp for a heartbeat, the orgasm still shuddering through her. His thrusts stayed sharp, deliberate, cock grinding deep in the wet clutch of her pussy until she gasped again, already teetering on the edge of another.

"Thought that was it?" His voice was low, rough, a growl ground into her ear. His hips snapped forward hard enough to make her cry out, his cock spearing deep, dragging against the swollen walls of her cunt until she trembled. "Sweetheart, I ain't even close to done with you."

Her nails clawed at his shoulders, her body trying to twist away from the overstimulation, but he pinned her tighter, thighs like iron trapping her in place.

"Listen to you," he mocked, his mouth wet against her skin, voice breaking into a dark chuckle. "Whinin', gaspin', twitchin' under me like you don't know what to do with yourself. You were real mouthy a minute ago. Huh?" His hips drove down harder, cock dragging every inch out of her before slamming back in, wet and filthy. Her back arched off the floor, a cry breaking raw from her throat. "Now you're just a brainless little mess, aren't you?"

Another orgasm hit her, sudden, brutal, tearing her apart while he held her steady and fucked her straight through it. Her pussy clamped down so tight he groaned, head tipping back, his jaw clenched hard. "Fuck," he spat, breath shuddering out of him. His abdomen flexed, every groove and line of his muscles standing out under the strain, the cords of his neck tight with restraint.

He looked down at her—her face flushed, lips swollen from his bites, her chest heaving, streaked with sweat and blood. His cock throbbed inside her, slick to the base with the mess of her arousal. He slowed just enough to grind deep, to make her feel every swollen inch inside her.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her mouth open on another breathless moan. He bent to her throat again, biting sharp, drawing another bead of blood and groaning when it burst on his tongue. His hips stuttered forward, a groan ripping out of him.

"Fuckin' perfect," he muttered against her skin, his voice frayed and filthy. "Bleedin' for me, breakin' for me, and you're still takin' it. How many times you gonna cum before I'm done with you, huh? Two? Three? Hell, I'll keep goin' 'til you can't even answer."

His cock dragged out of her slow, every ridge pulling slick, before he slammed back in hard enough to jolt her hips against the floor. She whimpered, thighs trembling, pussy spasming around him again. His smirk broke wide, teeth flashing red.

"That's it," he growled, hips slamming into hers, relentless. "Cum for me again, sweetheart. Make a mess on my cock. Show me how much you fuckin' love bein' ruined."

Her body shook under him, every muscle trembling from the last wave that had torn through her, but he didn't stop. His hips snapped forward in ruthless rhythm, cock grinding deep, wet sounds echoing off the sterile tile walls. She whimpered his name, broken and small, her voice cracking like she had nothing left to give.

"Hmm," he soothed, though his thrusts never eased, the words cruel in how soft they came. His mouth traced her throat, biting at old marks, sucking at the salt of sweat and copper of blood. "Don't go quiet on me now. You've been singin' so sweet for me—don't stop when I'm this close."

Her cunt clamped around him again, spasming weak and helpless, and his groan broke harsh, chest heaving. His abs flexed like stone above her, veins standing out along his arms where he braced himself, holding her down, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

"Fuck—" His head dropped to her shoulder, teeth scraping before he kissed the sting, voice gone ragged. "Just one more, sweetheart. Gimme one more."

She whimpered, shaking her head, thighs trembling against his hips, but he only ground deeper, the thick head of his cock pressing mercilessly against the spot that made her see stars. His thumb slid down, finding her clit, pressing tight circles over the swollen nub until her breath hitched sharp and high.

"Yeah, that's it," he muttered, watching her face with hungry eyes. Her lips parted, her brows pinched, her whole body taut as a bowstring. "Pretty little thing—still squeezin' me like you can't stand to let go. You can give me one more. I know you can."

He bit her breast this time, sharp enough to make her jolt, his tongue chasing the sting as his hips drove harder, faster, cock splitting her open over and over until her body broke again.

Her orgasm hit sharp, tearing through her in broken waves, her cunt milking him so hard his groan came guttural, dragged straight from his chest. He ground deep once, hips locked, cock twitching inside her like he wanted nothing more than to spill there—then restraint snapped tight. With a curse, he pulled free, fisting himself fast, thick veins standing against his hand as he stroked rough and ruthless.

The first pulse of his release splattered hot across her stomach, streaking through sweat and smeared red where he'd marked her earlier. He groaned at the sight, hips jerking, pumping more of it onto her—thick ropes striping her belly, dripping toward her navel, pearly lines glistening where they ran into faint cuts and smeared together into something obscene.

"Fuck—look at that," he rasped, voice breaking, chest rising hard as his fist milked the last spurts down onto her skin. His abdomen tightened, every muscle carved and trembling above her as he watched his cum slide through blood and sweat, turning her body into a canvas only he had the right to paint.

He dragged his cock through the mess once, smearing the slick across her hip, groaning at how it mixed, how she looked ruined in the way only he could ruin her. "Prettiest fuckin' sight I've ever seen," he muttered, eyes dark and hungry, gaze devouring every filthy detail. "My mess... on my girl. Nothin' in the world beats this."

His hand lingered on her stomach, spreading the mixture with greedy fingers, smearing it across her skin like he needed to feel the texture of it, to prove it was real. His grin curled sharp, satisfied and still burning. "Sweetheart, I swear I'll never get enough of seein' you like this—wrecked, bloody, drippin' with me."

When the last of his groans burned out of him, silence filled the room—thick, heavy, broken only by the sound of her breathing. She was sprawled beneath him, chest rising unsteady, skin marked with sweat, streaks of red, streaks of white. He looked at her for a long moment, dark eyes tracing every cut, every bruise, every place his mouth had claimed. The hunger in him didn't ease, but something steadier pushed up past it.

He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, muscles flexing smooth as he carried her across the room. The bathroom light was softer, the air damp. He set her on the edge of the tub before turning the faucet, steam curling up as hot water filled the basin. When he slid her in, she hissed at the sting where the cuts met the heat, and his hand was there instantly, steady on her shoulder.

"Easy," he soothed, crouching beside her, damp hair falling forward. "I got you. Just the water workin' through." He dipped a cloth, wrung it out, and started wiping her clean. The motions were slow, methodical, careful in a way that made her chest ache.

Every streak of blood was lifted away, every trace of sweat washed clean until only her skin remained, pink from heat and tender under his touch. He pressed soft kisses to the fresh-wiped skin as if to replace every mark he'd left. At her ribs, where the shallow cuts sat, he pulled out disinfectant from the cabinet and dabbed them one by one, murmuring apologies with each sting.

"Sorry, baby," he said, rough voice low like confession. "Got carried away. Should've held back, but you know what you do to me. Still—should've known better." His big hands worked carefully, applying cream and then laying bandages over the deeper nicks, pressing them down with the gentleness of a man terrified to hurt her again.

At her neck, where his teeth had broken skin, he cleaned the bites and kissed each one after he dressed them, his lips soft as balm. "Pretty even when you're patched up," he whispered, shaking his head like he couldn't believe her. "Prettiest damn thing I've ever seen."

By the time he was finished, her body gleamed from the bath, covered now in neat bandages where the wildness of him had marked her. He wrapped her in a towel and carried her again, this time straight up to their bedroom, setting her down on fresh sheets.

Sliding in beside her, he pulled her against his chest, one arm snug around her waist, the other stroking damp strands of hair back from her face. She was already drifting, lids heavy, breath slowing, but her voice slipped out low and rough with sleep.

"You better buy me a new shirt tomorrow," she mumbled, half buried against his throat.

Hoshina huffed a quiet laugh, the sound more breath than voice. He kissed the top of her head, his smile pressed into her hair. "I'll get you a whole damn closet, sweetheart."

She gave a tiny, sleepy hum that might've been protest, might've been agreement, and then her breathing evened out fully. He stayed awake just a little longer, chin resting against her crown, his hand steady on her waist like he was anchoring her to him.

The low, steady hum of the Mini Cooper's engine was almost hypnotic, a soft undercurrent to the serene escape Soshiro Hoshina had orchestrated. The winding mountain road curled ahead like a ribbon of silver, the late afternoon light spilling over it in sheets of hazy gold. Sunlight fractured through the canopy of autumn leaves, scattering dappled shadows across the dashboard and over the relaxed curve of his shoulders. He drove with practiced ease, one hand loose but sure on the steering wheel, his fingers tapping out an absent rhythm to a melody only he could hear.

His other hand rested on Y/N's thigh — warm, steady, a quiet anchor. Every so often, his thumb brushed the denim of her jeans in an unthinking caress, each stroke slow and deliberate, a silent reassurance that she was here, with him, and far away from everything else.

Y/N let her head fall back against the headrest, releasing a soft, involuntary sigh. The tension that had been her constant companion for weeks — a restless, electric hum beneath her skin — began to ebb with each mile they put between themselves and the city. Cool mountain air streamed in from the cracked window, tinged with the earthy scent of pine needles and damp soil. It felt like breathing for the first time in days.

She turned her head to look at him. Even in the muted glow of the fading light, Soshiro's profile was striking — all sharp lines and quiet elegance. The sweep of his dark hair framed the chiseled edge of his jaw; the corner of his mouth quirked ever so slightly as though he were in on some private joke. But it was his eyes, always his eyes, that held her. Normally sharp and calculating, their ruby depths now glimmered with something softer — mischief tempered by affection.

"I still can't believe you actually pulled this off," she murmured, her voice drowsy with awe. "Two full days. No work, no calls. How did you even manage that?"

His chuckle rolled out low and smooth, a sound that vibrated faintly through his palm where it rested on her leg. He shot her a quick glance, the corner of his lips curving into a grin. "Let's just say I can be very convincing when I need to be. And I made a rather compelling argument about the importance of prioritizing someone's mental health."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, smirking as she nudged his arm. "Oh, so this was for your mental health? And here I thought you were doing it because it's my birthday."

He squeezed her thigh gently, his thumb tracing a slow, teasing line upward. "Sweetheart," he said, voice dropping to a velvet purr, "my mental well-being is directly tied to your happiness. If you're tense and frowning, I'm a wreck. But when you're smiling..." His eyes flicked to her again, glinting with warmth and something sharper. "That's when I'm at my best. It's practically scientific. A perfectly efficient, symbiotic relationship."

The sincerity beneath his teasing shone through as clearly as the mischief in his eyes. They rounded a final bend, and the view opened up like a painting. Spread across the slope ahead, cradled by dark pines, was a traditional Japanese inn. Its dark wooden beams and pale plaster walls radiated an old-world calm. Paper lanterns, already glowing, lined the eaves like tiny suns, their light pooling softly across the gravel drive.

"Besides," he continued, his tone losing its playful edge and settling into something gentler, "it is your birthday. You deserve a little magic, don't you think?" His voice softened further, carrying an undercurrent of devotion. "I figured that magic should happen far away from screaming superiors and endless paperwork. So..." He nodded toward the inn, his smile turning tender. "Welcome to your escape hatch."

He eased the Mini Cooper to a stop in front of the ryokan's main gate, the engine falling silent. The stillness that followed felt almost sacred, broken only by the rustle of leaves stirred by the evening breeze. He unbuckled his seatbelt but didn't move right away. Instead, he turned to her fully, his warm palm still anchored to her thigh as if reluctant to let her drift from this quiet moment.

"Ready to hit the reset button?" he asked, his gaze locking with hers, promising a serenity she hadn't realized she'd been craving.

Before Y/N could even respond, Hoshina was already out of the car. The crisp evening air rushed in as he rounded to her side, his tall frame filling her view when he opened the door. The scent of cedarwood and mountain air wrapped around them, cool and refreshing, making the city feel like a distant dream.

"Alright, birthday girl," he drawled, extending a hand, palm upturned, warm and faintly calloused from years of training. His lips curled into that easy, rakish grin she knew too well. "Your loyal chauffeur awaits your command. Shall we grace this establishment with our presence?"

She slipped her hand into his, letting him ease her out of the seat. His grip was firm, steady, grounding her as much as it lifted her. Standing beside him, she let her gaze sweep over the inn before them. The low-slung structure seemed to grow out of the slope itself, its weathered wood and pale plaster glowing softly in the lantern light. The small paper lamps that hung from the eaves swayed gently, their amber glow painting the stone path in warm pools.

"It's even more beautiful than I imagined, Soshiro," Y/N murmured, her voice hushed as though raising it might shatter the fragile spell of the place. She inhaled deeply, savoring the silence, the air thick with pine and history. "How did you even find this? It feels like it's been hidden away for centuries."

Hoshina only gave a casual shrug, his grin turning smugly pleased. "I know a few people. And once I set my mind on spoiling you, sweetheart, there was no stopping me. Mission accomplished, wouldn't you say?"

With effortless ease, he popped the trunk, retrieved their bags, and then slipped his free arm around her shoulders. He tucked her close against his side as they started up the lantern-lit path, his warmth seeping into her even through the evening chill. "Now, no heavy lifting for you," he added with mock sternness. "This entire weekend, you're under strict orders to be pampered within an inch of your life. That's nonnegotiable."

The moment they crossed under the eaves and stepped into the entry hall, the outside world fell away. The air inside carried the faint sweetness of something floral layered over cedar, and the hush was almost reverent. Light filtered gently through paper screens, casting the space in muted golds and soft shadows.

An elderly woman, graceful in her traditional gown, greeted them with a bow so fluid it seemed practiced for decades. She moved with deliberate calm, her presence alone reinforcing the sense that they had stepped into a sanctuary, not merely an inn. With a quiet smile, she gestured for them to follow.

The hallway stretched ahead, dim and polished to a mirror sheen. Their steps echoed softly against the dark wood floor, though even that sound seemed muted, absorbed by the hush of the space. Hoshina kept his palm resting lightly against the small of Y/N's back, a touch both protective and grounding. Each step forward carried her deeper into the quiet, as if every worry from the city melted away behind them.

"Feel that?" he whispered, dipping his head so his breath brushed the shell of her ear. "That's the Soshiro Hoshina guarantee: zero stress, maximum indulgence. You're in expert hands, darling."

Finally, they reached a secluded door at the end of the corridor. The innkeeper slid it open with practiced grace, bowed once more, and then departed, leaving them alone in the hushed hallway.

Anticipation shimmered in his eyes as he stepped forward and pulled the paper screen fully aside.

The room beyond was a study in simplicity and serenity. Tatami mats stretched across the floor, a low lacquer table waited in the center, and thick floor cushions invited weary bodies to sink into them. The scent of fresh wood lingered faintly in the air, clean and grounding. Yet all of it paled against the sight waiting beyond the wide glass sliding door that framed the far wall: a private rock garden where an outdoor hot spring steamed invitingly, white clouds rising into the gathering twilight.

"And here we are," Hoshina announced with a note of triumph, his voice rich with satisfaction. "Your personal kingdom for the next two days. Exactly what I ordered for your birthday."

He set their bags just inside the door and let his gaze wander the room before settling on the hot spring with a look of smug accomplishment. Then, with a flick of his hand, he pointed to a flat, oblong box resting neatly on a shelf near the entrance.

"Your first assignment," he said, his grin widening into something wicked. "And it's a brutal one. Inside that box is the softest, most comfortable outfit you'll ever wear. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to slip into that and meet me back here." He leaned in a little closer, voice dipping smoother. "Think of it as your uniform for total relaxation. I'll handle the tea."

Y/N took the box from his hands, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips. The weight of it felt like a promise. She slipped behind a tall, painted screen in the corner of the room, the delicate paper panels offering a cocoon of privacy — a quiet, necessary transition between the road and the evening ahead.

Inside, she opened the box and drew in a soft breath. The garment inside was everything he'd promised and more: a flowing house robe of exceptionally fine, heavy cotton, dyed a deep, earthy purple that reminded her of twilight. It was cool to the touch at first, then softened against her skin as she slid it on, the fabric whispering over her shoulders. Looser and lighter than anything she'd worn in months, it draped over her like a sigh made tangible — no seams digging in, no stiff edges, no obligations.

When she emerged from behind the screen, the room had shifted subtly. The glow from the paper lanterns inside and the ambient light from the hot spring outside had deepened, painting everything in warm, amber haze. The low lacquer table gleamed softly, and at it sat Hoshina, his long frame folded gracefully onto a cushion. A pot of tea steamed gently between them, its fragrance already curling into the cedar-scented air.

He looked up as she approached. For a heartbeat, his eyes made a slow, deliberate journey over her new attire, taking in every line and fold, every shift of fabric. A smile spread over his lips — softer than his usual smirk but no less devastating. "Perfect," he said, voice low, his gaze lingering like a touch. "The Vice-Captain approves of your new uniform. It suits you beautifully, sweetheart."

He gestured to the cushion across from him. "Come. Sit. The tea's ready, and it would be a crime to let it cool."

Y/N lowered herself onto the cushion, feeling the floor's warmth under her legs. The scent of the tea was rich and earthy, mingling with the clean cedar of the room and the faint mineral tang drifting in from the outdoor bath. When Hoshina pushed a cup toward her, his fingers brushed hers in a fleeting, deliberate moment of contact — warm skin against warm skin.

"This is really wonderful, Soshiro," she said softly after her first sip. The liquid heat spread through her chest, loosening the last knots of travel fatigue. "I didn't realize how much I needed this. Thank you."

He leaned back, resting an elbow on his cushion, watching her with that laser focus of his — the kind that made everything else fade. His gaze held hers without wavering. "You work too hard, love," he said, voice dipping into something quieter, almost reverent. "It's my job to make sure you remember how to relax. Consider it an ongoing project." The corner of his mouth tilted upward, the gleam of mischief returning. "And I'm particularly good at this project."

Without breaking eye contact, he reached into the inner fold of his robe and produced a small, flat velvet box. He set it gently on the table between them and slid it across. "Speaking of projects," he said, his tone lower now, carrying a kind of weight. "Your official birthday gift. I skipped anything practical this year. This one's just for you."

Y/N's pulse fluttered as she took the box. She opened it carefully. Inside, on cream-colored satin, lay a silver necklace so delicate it looked as though it might vanish under her touch. The pendant — a perfect, tiny plum blossom — caught the soft light and held it, every petal defined with exquisite detail.

She lifted it, the cool silver gliding over her fingers. "Soshiro... it's beautiful. So delicate. Thank you." Her eyes flicked up, a small crease of curiosity between her brows. "But... a plum blossom?"

His teasing expression melted into something unguarded, a rare sight that made her breath catch. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes locking on hers with quiet intensity.

"The plum blossom," he said, voice low and steady, "blooms first, even while winter lingers. When everything else is still cold and asleep, it pushes through — strong, resilient, and beautiful. It stands for perseverance, hope, and quiet strength." He paused, letting his words settle, soft but sure. "That's you, Y/N. You face everything with this calm, unshakable strength. You bring warmth and beauty into a world that can be brutal. You're my constant. That's why I chose it."

The room seemed to hold its breath with her. His confession — not dramatic but deeply, nakedly sincere — weighed more than the silver necklace ever could.

"Turn around," he said gently as he rose. "Let me put it on you. It belongs on you, not in a box."

She obeyed, the robe shifting loosely around her as she turned. His warmth came up behind her, the scent of tea and cedar mixing with the subtle trace of his cologne. She felt the cool kiss of silver against her skin, followed by the sure, steady pressure of his fingers fastening the clasp. His thumbs lingered at the nape of her neck, stroking lightly, possessively, sending a ripple of heat down her spine.

"Looks even better on you," he breathed against her ear. "Much better than I imagined."

He didn't step back. His hands slid from her neck to her shoulders, strong fingers kneading the tension from her muscles with slow, knowing pressure. She melted under his touch, the robe and the tea and the quiet all conspiring to make her feel boneless.

"Tea is done. Gift is given," he said, his lips brushing her ear now. "And now, my love, comes the most important part of your mandatory relaxation." His fingers squeezed lightly at her shoulders, a promise more than a gesture. "The hot spring is waiting. And I fully intend for you to take advantage of its therapeutic properties." A pause, a low chuckle against her skin. "And mine."

"Go on," he said softly, tilting his head toward the sliding door that led out to the private bath. "Your kingdom awaits, birthday girl."

Hoshina's hands slipped from her shoulders, tracing a possessive line down her arms before he caught her hand in his. His touch was warm, guiding, threaded with the promise of everything that was to come. Without a word, he led her toward the wide glass door that opened onto the veranda, where steam curled from the waiting hot spring. Lantern light glowed gold behind them, mingling with the silver wash of moonlight ahead, and together the two cast the threshold in an almost dreamlike haze.

"The air outside is cool tonight," he said, voice low and threaded with anticipation. "Perfect contrast for the water." His gaze lingered on her, sharp with intent, his expression making it clear the quiet of the evening was about to dissolve into something far hotter.

"Lead the way, darling," he said, his thumb brushing slow strokes across her knuckles as he held her hand. "Your humble servant is ready to follow wherever you go."

Y/N stepped onto the veranda, the night air cool and sharp against her skin after the warmth of the room. She crossed to the spring, pausing at its edge. The water rippled gently, reflecting both the lantern's glow and the pale shimmer of the moon.

Hoshina came up behind her, solid and warm, his hands settling with steady weight at her waist. He drew her back against him, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. For a long moment he said nothing, letting the quiet anticipation build between them until it thrummed in the air like a living thing.

Then, with a deliberate step back, his hands moved to the tie of his robe. He loosened it slowly, letting the dark fabric fall open. Light spilled across him as the robe slipped to the ground — highlighting the sculpted breadth of his shoulders, the clean, powerful lines of his chest, the taut planes of his abdomen that narrowed to the lean strength of his hips. His muscles weren't bulky, but carved in long, dense layers that spoke of speed and precision, of a body honed by relentless discipline. In the shifting glow, every line and curve stood out in sharp relief, shadows chasing the ridges of his torso, catching the curve of his arms. He was raw power wrapped in understated elegance, and the sight of him was nothing short of arresting.

He turned to face her fully, his expression calm but laced with quiet confidence — not arrogance, but invitation. A slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips as he extended a hand.

"Now, sweetheart," he said, voice rumbling low in the night air, "if you'll permit me to join you. Unless, of course, you'd rather admire me from a distance." His raised brow and teasing grin made the challenge unmistakable.

Y/N's breath caught as her gaze swept over him, taking in every line, every detail of the man before her. With a soft inhale, she reached for the ties of her own robe. The deep purple fabric parted, slipping from her shoulders to pool at her feet, leaving her bare to the night air and the rising steam.

The change in his expression was immediate — his eyes darkening with heated appreciation, his jaw tightening with something possessive and deeply satisfied. He stepped forward, closing the small gap between them, and caught her hand once more, his fingers threading through hers.

"Alright, my love," he whispered, thumb tracing the back of her hand in a slow, lingering caress. "Let's get you warm."

Together, they moved to the water's edge. Cool stone kissed their feet, the warmth rising from the pool wrapping around them like a promise. Their eyes met — a silent exchange of trust, of hunger and devotion — before they stepped down, descending into the hot spring's embrace.

The instant the hot water lapped over Y/N's skin, she let out a quiet sigh, the sound slipping free before she could hold it back. Heat poured into her, soothing and heavy, chasing away the lingering chill of the night air. The mineral-rich water coated her skin in a slick warmth, easing knots she hadn't even realized were wound so tight.

Hoshina slipped in right beside her, the ripples spreading outward as his hand guided her gently to a smooth stone ledge. He pressed a palm against the small of her back, firm and steady, until she leaned into the perfect curve of the rock. The water rose to her shoulders, steam curling around her face, blurring the line between air and heat.

"Feel better?" His voice was quiet, low enough that it vibrated in her chest, more felt than heard. He moved into the water until he was right in front of her, close enough that she could see the beads of steam clinging to his lashes, the softened look in his gaze.

"So much better," Y/N breathed, her shoulders sinking lower as the last of her tension bled out of her. "It's everything I didn't know I needed."

Her hands drifted out on instinct, finding the hard, smooth planes of his chest beneath the surface. His skin was slick with heat, the muscle beneath unyielding, solid as stone but alive, the faint, powerful thrum of his heartbeat pulsing steady against her palm. The contrast of hot water and hard muscle was dizzying, intoxicating.

Hoshina's hands slid to her waist, his grip sure, drawing her forward until her body pressed flush to his. The water shifted around them in soft currents, carrying the heat of him through every inch of her. He tucked her against him with the same quiet authority he carried everywhere — the kind that made her feel both completely safe and utterly undone.

"Good," he said, lips brushing her temple before resting his chin on the crown of her head. She inhaled, his scent wrapping around her even in the haze of cedar and steam — clean, warm, distinctly him. "Because this weekend?" He tilted his head so his breath fanned across her ear. "It's all about you. I'm not letting you forget how good you're supposed to feel."

He leaned back just enough to look at her again, the weight of his focus making her chest tighten. One of his hands trailed upward, fingers brushing against the delicate chain of the plum blossom necklace resting at her collarbone. His thumb lingered on the skin just above it, tracing the dip of her throat.

"You're glowing," he said, voice rougher now, heat cutting through the softness. "Like you were made to be here. Steam, moonlight, nothing else."

Her lips curved into a smile, and she let her fingers explore the broad sweep of his shoulder, the thick line of his bicep flexing under her touch. "And you look..." she trailed off, eyes dragging deliberately down his torso before meeting his gaze again, "like you finally let yourself breathe. Like you're not carrying the whole damn world on your back." Her fingers tightened on him. "And you're gorgeous, Soshiro. Completely unfair."

His mouth curved into a slow, wicked grin, his hands tightening on her waist until there was no space left between them. "Unfair, huh?" His voice dropped, low and teasing, though the fire in his eyes was anything but casual. "Guess I'll just have to make it up to you."

His lips brushed hers, feather-light at first, then firmer, hungrier, the kind of kiss that stole the air from her lungs. The taste of him mingled with the faint salt of the steam, addictive, grounding and dizzying all at once. His hands slipped higher, sliding up her sides beneath the water before tangling in her damp hair, cradling the back of her head as he angled the kiss deeper.

The world beyond the spring faded into nothing but heat — the heat of the water, the heat of his mouth, the burning press of his body against hers. Every pass of his lips, every sweep of his tongue was deliberate, reverent, like he wanted her to feel how completely she consumed him.

Her hands roamed restlessly over him — shoulders, chest, arms — memorizing every hard ridge and smooth line beneath her fingers. She arched into him, chasing the contact, feeding the fire with her own.

When he finally broke the kiss, their breaths came fast, foreheads pressed together, steam curling thick around them. His gaze was heavy-lidded, dark with desire, yet unshakably focused on her.

"My love," he said, voice rough with emotion, "you have no idea how long I've dreamt of this." His thumb stroked her cheekbone, then drifted to her lower lip, tracing its soft curve. "Tonight, I worship you. Every inch, every breath."

And with that raw, intimate promise, he brought his lips back to hers, pulling her deeper into the shared heat and rising passion of the hot spring, the steam swirling around them like a private, sensual cloud.

The kiss deepened quickly, shifting from tender to consuming, his mouth demanding more with every pass. Heat rolled between them, every flick of his tongue and press of his lips a raw confession of how badly he wanted her. His hand cupped the back of her head, angling her perfectly so he could claim her mouth without restraint, the water swirling around them in restless waves that mirrored the fire building inside.

Y/N matched him without hesitation, her hands roaming over the hard ridges of his back, the slick strength of muscle moving under her touch. He felt unyielding, carved and powerful, and yet his hold on her was careful, deliberate, like she was the only thing in the world that could make him break his control. She arched into him, pressing every curve against the solid heat of his frame, chasing the contact as if she could fuse herself to him.

He tore his mouth from hers with a groan, the sound vibrating low in his chest as he trailed kisses down her jaw, across the slope of her neck. His teeth grazed her skin in a teasing scrape, a fleeting mark of possession that sent a shiver down her spine.

"You drive me crazy," he breathed against her pulse, voice rough and thick. "I can't get enough of you."

Her head tipped back against the cool stone edge of the spring, her lips parting on a sigh as she let him worship her throat. Steam curled around them, blurring everything beyond the cocoon of their embrace until it felt like the entire world had narrowed to heat, skin, and the desperate rhythm of their breathing.

His hands slid from her hair down the length of her back, following the curve of her spine until they gripped her hips. With a low growl, he lifted her effortlessly, adjusting until she was straddling him, legs wrapping tight around his waist beneath the water. The shift eliminated every trace of space between them, their bodies molded together, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

"Soshiro..." Her voice cracked on his name, her nails biting into his shoulders as though anchoring herself to him.

He looked at her then, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide with hunger — the same intensity he carried into battle, now turned fully on her. It stole her breath, the sheer focus of it.

"Yeah, baby," he murmured, his forehead brushing hers as his hands slid up her ribs, calloused thumbs grazing the sensitive skin just beneath her breasts. "Tell me what you need. I want to hear you."

His mouth followed the path of his hands, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone, down the center of her chest, lingering with slow, deliberate reverence. The water shifted around them, steam rising higher, amplifying every brush of his lips, every scrape of his teeth.

"You're so warm," Y/N whispered, her fingers burying in his damp hair, holding him to her as if she couldn't let go.

His answering laugh was low and breathless against her skin. "That's all you, sweetheart. You set me on fire."

Every movement was unhurried, savoring. He kissed and touched like a man memorizing, like every reaction she gave him was the only thing that mattered. Worship was in the way his hands steadied her, in the deliberate drag of his lips, in the quiet rumble of his voice when he whispered her name like a prayer.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were dark and heavy with desire, but the tenderness in them softened the hunger. He pressed a kiss to her mouth, then to her cheek, then her forehead, each touch a benediction.

"Perfect," he said, voice raw and uneven, like the word itself wasn't nearly enough.

His mouth returned to hers with a hungry urgency, the kiss deepening until she felt consumed, undone. His hands, rough from years of training yet so careful with her, traced up her sides, cupping her breasts beneath the water, thumbs brushing across her nipples until her soft gasp spilled into his mouth.

"That's it," he said against her lips, voice a low growl that vibrated through her chest. "Let me hear you. Every sound. These two days, they're only about you. You don't lift a finger, sweetheart. You just... let me worship you."

His words, so raw and absolute, sent another wave of heat crashing through her. When his mouth left hers, it was only to trail lower — down her throat, across the slope of her collarbone, until he reached her chest. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses there, the steam and his breath mingling, his tongue circling one peak before sucking it into his mouth. The sharp pull made her arch into him, fingers tangling in his damp hair as a soft cry escaped her.

"You taste unreal," he groaned against her skin, his teeth scraping gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. "Perfect. You're perfect."

He shifted, gripping her thighs beneath the water and lifting her higher against the stone edge of the spring. The movement exposed her to the cool night air, steam rising off her bare skin in waves. His gaze raked over her slowly, possessively, like he couldn't decide whether to touch or worship her from afar.

"You don't even know what you do to me," he rasped, leaning in to press reverent kisses down her stomach, his stubble scraping lightly against her heated skin. "But you're gonna find out, because I'm not stopping until you believe every damn word I say about how divine you are."

His hands slid to her knees, parting them with deliberate care, settling her open for him. She trembled under his touch, anticipation thrumming like a live wire. The sight of him between her thighs, his eyes locked on hers, was almost too much.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice low, coaxing, but edged with need. "I've got you. I'm gonna take such good care of you, baby."

Then his mouth descended.

The first brush of his tongue against her made her cry out, the sound swallowed by the night. He groaned in answer, the vibration sending sparks through her. His hands held her steady as he licked and sucked, teasing and relentless, every flick and curl designed to unravel her completely. The hot water churned against her sides, but it was nothing compared to the inferno he lit between her legs.

"Fuck—Soshiro—" Her fingers dug into his hair, pulling, anchoring herself as he devoured her like a man starved.

He pulled back just long enough to growl, voice hoarse. "That's it, sweetheart. Give it to me. Every sound, every tremor... they're mine. You're mine." Then he buried himself in her again, tongue plunging deep before flattening and dragging slow, devastating circles that had her thighs shaking around his head.

It built quickly — the coil inside her tightening with every stroke of his tongue, every low groan he pressed against her sensitive skin. He didn't let up, didn't give her a chance to breathe, his sole focus on wringing every ounce of pleasure from her.

When the release finally broke, it crashed through her like fire and water all at once. She cried out, arching against the stone, night air and steam swirling as the hot spring muffled the sounds of her ecstasy. He held her firmly, drinking in every pulse and shudder until she collapsed back against the rock, boneless, panting.

Only then did he lift his head, his mouth slick, his breathing heavy. He pressed slow, reverent kisses along her inner thigh, up her trembling stomach, up her chest, until he reached her lips again. His kiss was softer this time, tasting of salt and steam and her.

"See?" he whispered against her mouth, his forehead pressing to hers. "Told you. Two days. Just you. I'll worship the ground you stand on, the water you soak in, the air you breathe." His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her damp cheeks with startling tenderness. "And I'm nowhere near done."

The aftershocks of her release still rippled through her as Hoshina gathered her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly from the water. Night air kissed her heated skin, but he held her close against his chest, shielding her from the chill with his own warmth.

"Easy," he said, pressing a soft kiss to her damp temple as he carried her across the veranda. "I've got you."

Inside, the paper lanterns glowed low, their honeyed light painting the room in gold. He set her down gently on a waiting cushion, grabbing a thick cotton towel from the rack. With a soldier's precision and a lover's tenderness, he began to dry her off, every swipe of the cloth more reverent caress than simple task. He lingered at her shoulders, down her arms, across her legs, his eyes drinking her in with every pass.

When he finally tossed the towel aside, she caught it and snatched one for him, pushing it against his chest with a playful look. "Your turn."

He chuckled, low and warm, and let her drag the towel down over the hard lines of his body, soaking up the water clinging to his skin. Every pass of her hands left goosebumps in their wake, the heat in his gaze deepening as she moved lower, slower.

By the time she knelt before him, the towel forgotten at her side, his breath had gone uneven. Her hands rested lightly on his thighs, her eyes glimmering with something both mischievous and burning hot.

"Y/N—" His voice was already rough, a warning wrapped in devotion. His big hands hovered at her shoulders, as if torn between stopping her and pulling her closer. "You don't have to. These two days are yours. All of it. I'm relaxed when you are." His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking as he stared down at her with both hunger and restraint. "As pretty as you look on your knees for me... this isn't what I want tonight."

Her lips curved into a sly, knowing smile. "You keep saying that. That it's all about me." She shifted closer, her breath brushing hot against his stomach. "But you forget something, Soshiro." Her nails traced lightly along the edge of his hip, just above the towel still slung there. "I'm not the only one who rarely gets to relax. You deserve this too."

"Sweetheart—"

"Shut up," she interrupted softly, tilting her chin up to lock eyes with him. The spark in her gaze was molten, unwavering. "Just shut up and let me take care of you. You've got a whole day left to pay me back." Her smile widened into something wicked. "More than enough time, don't you think?"

For a moment, he simply stared down at her, caught between devotion and desire, his fingers flexing helplessly at his sides. The soldier in him wanted control, to keep the focus on her — but the man in him, the one undone by her love and fire, could only groan, head tipping back as his restraint frayed.

"Fuck..." His voice was hoarse, ragged. His hands finally dropped, one burying in her damp hair, the other braced at his side as though the ground itself was the only thing keeping him steady. "You're gonna kill me, Y/N."

Her laugh was low, sultry, vibrating against his skin as her lips brushed lower, deliberate and teasing. "Then let me make it a beautiful death."

Her lips ghosted lower, hot breaths teasing across his skin, while her hands smoothed over the hard planes of his thighs. Hoshina's fingers tangled in her damp hair, not forcing, just anchoring, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven pulls.

"Y/N..." His voice was already frayed, rough at the edges. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," she cut him off, her gaze flashing up at him through damp lashes. "And don't you dare hold back on me tonight." Her tongue traced a slow, kittenish lick along the line of his hip, earning a strangled sound from deep in his chest. "Be greedy, Soshiro. Take what you want. I'm yours as much as you're mine." Her nails grazed his skin as she leaned in closer. "And nothing turns me on more than watching you let go and give me everything."

His laugh came out broken, a groan tangled in the sound. "Sweetheart, if I gave you everything right now, you'd wake up the whole damn forest."

Y/N tilted her head, lips curving into a sly smile. "I can be quiet," she whispered, her tongue flicking lightly against his skin in a teasing stroke. "If that's what you really want."

His answering laugh rumbled low, his grip tightening in her hair. "Fuck no." His head tipped back, throat bared as he looked down at her again, hunger blazing in his eyes. "Don't you dare hold back on me."

That was all the confirmation she needed.

Her mouth closed over him with deliberate slowness, her tongue stroking along his length, savoring the weight of him on her tongue. The hiss that escaped him was sharp, ragged, his free hand clenching into a fist at his side.

"Shit, baby..." His voice cracked on the curse, a low groan following as his hips flexed forward despite his effort to stay still. "You're—fuck—you're unreal."

She hummed softly around him at the praise, the vibration drawing another broken sound from his chest. One of her hands wrapped around the base of him, stroking in tandem with the slow, languid bob of her mouth. The other smoothed up his thigh, grounding him, coaxing him deeper into the spiraling heat.

Hoshina's breathing turned heavy, uneven, his composure fraying with every wet slide of her tongue, every hollow of her cheeks. "Y/N..." he groaned, his grip in her hair tightening just enough to betray how close he was to losing control. "You've got no idea what you do to me."

She pulled back just enough to glance up at him, lips glistening, voice husky. "Oh, I know," she teased, licking him slowly, kitten-soft, deliberate. "And I love it. Love watching you lose it for me."

That shattered what restraint he had left. With a guttural sound, he thrust deeper into her mouth, his hips moving in slow, powerful rolls. Still careful — always careful — but finally giving in to the hunger clawing at him.

Her eyes fluttered closed, the taste of him filling her senses as she welcomed every push, every groan he let slip. He was magnificent like this — towering, raw, undone, his control stripped away until all that was left was need.

"Fuck—" His voice broke as his head fell back, chest heaving. "Sweetheart... if you keep that up—"

Her nails dug lightly into his thigh, urging him, daring him. When she pulled back just enough to breathe, she murmured against him, lips brushing hot and teasing. "Then don't fight it. Give me everything."

And with that, she took him deep again, mouth and hand working together, relentless, worshipful, determined to unravel him completely.

Y/N set the pace deliberately, her lips sliding down his length before pulling back with aching slowness, her tongue dragging along the underside on the way up. Each sound that tore from his throat only spurred her on. She wanted him like this — raw, unguarded, his composure in pieces.

"God, baby—" Hoshina's voice cracked, his grip in her hair tightening just enough to guide, his other hand braced hard against his thigh. His hips rolled in time with her rhythm, each movement controlled but desperate. "You're... fuck, you're perfect. Too perfect."

She pulled back with a wet pop, looking up at him through damp lashes, lips slick and swollen. Her voice was a husky whisper as she stroked him with her hand. "No, you're perfect. Look at you, Soshiro. Strong, steady, and still losing it just from my mouth. It's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

For the first time that night, he faltered — a flush blooming across his sharp cheekbones, the sight of him blushing almost making her moan. But instead of retreating, he let out a guttural laugh, shaking his head in disbelief even as his hips jerked into her hand.

"You're dangerous," he groaned, voice wrecked, eyes burning into hers. "You don't even know what you do to me. Every damn second with you, I feel like I'm—" His jaw flexed, his words cutting off as she swallowed him down again, deeper this time, until he hissed through his teeth. "—fuck, sweetheart, I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that."

Her response was another low hum around him, the vibration making him swear again, his hips bucking despite his effort to control them. He couldn't stop praising her between ragged breaths, his words tumbling out like confessions.

"So good... so fucking good. You're unreal. The way you take me... you were made for me, baby. Made just for me."

Her hand stroked the base of him in time with the deep pulls of her mouth, relentless now, determined to push him over the edge. She pulled back just enough to tease him, licking him in short, kittenish strokes before taking him deep again. Between breaths, she whispered against him, voice dripping with heat and devotion.

"Come for me, Soshiro. Show me how good I make you feel. I want every drop."

That broke him. His head snapped back, a hoarse shout ripping from his throat as his hips thrust forward, his release hitting hard. She took it, swallowing everything he gave her, her hands steady on his thighs, her eyes locked on him as he trembled through it. His groans filled the room, raw and guttural, spilling out of him in a way she knew he only allowed with her.

When the shudders finally eased, he dragged a hand down his face, chest heaving. His cheeks were still flushed — not just from exertion, but from the way she'd praised him, worshipped him right back. Yet even undone, his grip in her hair tightened again, pulling her gently up toward him.

"You..." His voice was raw, uneven, but his eyes burned with something molten. "You're gonna kill me, Y/N." He bent, kissing her with desperate gratitude, tasting himself on her lips and groaning into her mouth. "So fucking good. You make me lose my mind."

She smiled against his kiss, whispering between breaths, "Good. That's exactly what I wanted."

His laugh was rough, breathless, but his hands were steady as they framed her face, his forehead resting against hers. "And you'll get it back tomorrow. Every last bit. Count on it."

Their foreheads rested together, steam still clinging to their skin, both of them catching their breath. His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing lightly across her cheeks, but his gaze had dropped lower, flicking down her body with barely restrained hunger.

"Y/N..." His voice came low, edged with that teasing gravel she knew too well. "You're really sure? Because if I don't hold back—"

She cut him off without a word. Turning from him, she stepped to the edge of the bed and bent forward, palms braced flat against the mattress. With deliberate slowness, she slid her hands back, resting them on the curve of her ass. Then, looking at him over her shoulder, she pulled herself apart just enough to bare herself to him completely.

Her lips curled into a wicked smile. "Is this not invitation enough?"

For a moment, he just stared, jaw tight, his breath caught in his chest. Then a low, dangerous laugh rumbled out of him, the kind that sent heat sparking down her spine. He moved in close, his hands finding her hips, his chest brushing her back as he bent just enough to growl in her ear.

"You'd better remember this," he warned, voice a mix of promise and threat, "when you're begging me to stop."

Hoshina stayed behind her for a long moment, just looking. Her body bent over the bed, her ass arched high, her hands still on her cheeks spreading herself open for him — it was enough to make his breath catch. His thumbs pressed harder into her hips, steadying her even as his restraint frayed.

"Do you have any idea," he said low, leaning down so his mouth brushed the curve of her spine, "how fucking pretty you look like this? Legs wide open... begging without saying a word."

Y/N only wiggled her hips a little, glancing over her shoulder with a wicked smile. "Then stop staring and do something about it."

That earned her a sharp slap to her ass, the sound cracking through the quiet room. She gasped, heat flaring across her skin, only to feel his tongue immediately soothe the sting, licking a wet line up her curve.

"Greedy little thing," he said against her, kissing lower, spreading her wider with his hands. "You think I'm just gonna give it to you like that? Not a chance. I'm gonna taste you again first."

Before she could reply, his mouth was on her.

The first slow drag of his tongue over her slit made her collapse against the mattress, a broken moan spilling out of her. He groaned at the taste, diving in deeper, his mouth working her with long, unhurried strokes. His tongue circled her clit before sucking it into his mouth, the pull sharp and electric, making her cry out and fist the sheets.

"Fuck, Soshiro—" she gasped, thighs trembling, her hips grinding against his mouth in desperation.

He growled against her, the vibration shooting straight through her core. "That's it. Ride my face if you want it that bad." His fingers dug into her ass, spreading her wider as his tongue flicked over her, relentless.

Every slick stroke had her unraveling, the wet sounds of his mouth working her mixing with the obscene squelch of her arousal. She was dripping down his chin, and still he didn't let up.

When his fingers finally slid inside, she sobbed his name, her walls clenching greedily around the intrusion. Two thick fingers curled just right, stroking her spot with ruthless precision while his mouth sucked her clit in time.

"Shit—oh my god—" Y/N's body shook, her thighs threatening to give out, but his grip on her hips kept her steady.

He pulled back just long enough to say, lips shiny with her slick, "You're soaking me, sweetheart. Dripping everywhere. You gonna come on my fingers, or you gonna wait and come on my cock like a good girl?"

Her answer was a strangled cry as he shoved his fingers deeper, curling them mercilessly. The coil in her stomach was wound tight, every nerve lit up by the dual assault of his fingers and tongue.

"Answer me," he demanded, mouth sucking her clit hard enough to make her scream.

"On you—fuck—I want you inside me when I come—" The words tore out of her in a rush, her voice breaking with need.

He laughed against her, dark and pleased, giving her one last punishing lick before pulling away. His fingers slid out, dripping, and he brought them to her mouth, smearing her slick across her lips. "Good girl. Hold onto it for me."

Her tongue darted out to taste herself off his fingers, her eyes half-lidded and glassy with desire. "Please, Soshiro. I need you."

That was the last of his restraint.

He stood, grabbing her hips with both hands, his cock hard and heavy as he pressed the head against her slick entrance. He dragged it along her folds slowly, teasing, coating himself in her wetness until she whined and pushed back against him.

"You ready?" His voice was a rumble above her, thick with lust. "Because once I'm in..." He bent over her, his chest pressing to her back, his mouth at her ear. "...I'm not stopping."

Her answer was wordless — she reached back with both hands, spread herself wide again, and looked at him over her shoulder. "Does this look like hesitation to you?"

He let out a hoarse, broken laugh, teeth grazing her ear. "Remember this, sweetheart, when I fuck you dumb."

And then he drove into her.

The stretch was brutal, delicious, her slick walls gripping him tight as he bottomed out in one unrelenting thrust. Her scream split the air, muffled only by the mattress beneath her cheek.

"Holy fuck—" Hoshina's head dropped to her shoulder, his breath ragged. "You're choking me, baby. So tight. So wet. Made for me."

He didn't give her time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed forward again, setting a brutal tempo from the start. Each thrust rattled the bed frame, the wet slap of their bodies echoing with her sharp cries and his guttural groans.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he said, hips snapping forward again and again, driving her into the sheets. "Tell me how good it feels."

"So good—" she sobbed, her nails tearing at the bedding, her body arching into him with every thrust. "You feel so good, Soshiro. So fucking good—"

Her praise made him grunt, his pace turning merciless. "Yeah? That's what you want? Me ruining you? Filling you so deep you'll feel me tomorrow?" His hand slipped around her hip, finding her clit and rubbing hard in messy, ruthless circles that had her screaming. "Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me. Show me how perfect this pussy is for me."

Her orgasm slammed into her hard, her body convulsing, slick gushing around him as she cried his name over and over. Her walls clamped down on his cock, milking him, and his groan split the air, raw and guttural.

He didn't stop. Not even when her body clamped down on him, slick and trembling, milking him hard enough to pull a groan out of his chest. He stayed buried to the hilt, muscles in his back standing out in sharp relief under her touch, his breath a hot rasp against her neck.

"God, Y/N..." His voice was wrecked but still steady, a deep rumble vibrating through her. "You feel so fucking good. So tight."

He drew back and slammed forward again, grinding deep until she keened, his pace as brutal and precise as before. Every wet, obscene sound filled the room — the slap of his hips against hers, the squelch of her arousal coating him, her ragged moans tumbling over one another.

"You thought that was it?" he said, fingers tightening on her hips, his abs flexing against her back as he pounded into her. "You thought I was gonna stop just because you came?"

The words hit her as hard as the thrusts did. She gasped, fists twisting in the sheets, the aftershocks of her orgasm turning sharp under his relentless rhythm. "Soshiro—" she whimpered, her voice breaking, "you're... you're not stopping—"

"Damn right I'm not." His teeth grazed her shoulder before he straightened, pulling her hips back into each punishing stroke. "You think two days with me is gonna be slow? No, sweetheart. This..." He slammed into her again, the drag of his cock through her slick walls making her cry out. "...this is just the warm-up."

He reached around her, fingers circling her clit in rough, messy circles, wringing another desperate sound from her throat. "Good thing you won't be needing to walk tomorrow," he rasped, tone darkly amused, "because I'm not done with you yet."

Her answer was a strangled moan, her thighs shaking, but she pushed back against him anyway, greedy for every inch, every ruthless thrust.

"That's it," he praised, voice thick with hunger. "Take it. Take all of it." He bent over her again, his lips brushing her ear as his hips continued their brutal rhythm. "Bad news for you, baby..." His breath hitched, but his tempo didn't falter. "...I've got stamina for days. I can go all night."

He punctuated the words with a deep, grinding thrust, his length dragging slow through her soaked heat before snapping his hips forward again, hard enough to make her cry out. "And I'm not stopping until you're ruined."

Her body trembled, caught between overstimulation and raw, aching need, but she couldn't stop the words spilling out of her. "Soshiro—fuck—you feel so good, so deep—don't stop—please don't stop—"

He laughed, low and dark, one hand sliding up her spine to press her harder into the mattress. "Good girl. Say it louder. Let the whole forest hear how perfect this pussy is for me."

Her nails clawed at the sheets, her moans spilling unchecked into the humid air. Every praise, every desperate sound only drove him harder, his tempo brutal, relentless.

𝕲𝖊𝖓 𝕹𝖆𝖗𝖚𝖒𝖎

The knock at his door came just before midnight, soft but steady, like someone asking permission they already knew he'd give. Narumi was still awake — he always was, sleep more rumor than fact in his life — he set his controller aside without hesitation. When he opened the door, she was standing there in a sweater two sizes too big and eyes that looked like they hadn't rested in weeks.

"Hey," she whispered, almost embarrassed, like she was imposing.

He didn't ask questions. He stepped aside and let her in, the quiet of his apartment swallowing her whole. She slipped off her shoes, moved toward the couch as though she'd done it a hundred times, and sank into the cushions with a sigh that sounded too heavy for her frame. Narumi watched for a moment, his hands tucked in his hoodie pocket, then crossed the room to drape the throw blanket over her legs.

"Tea?" he asked.

She nodded, grateful but wordless, and he retreated to the kitchen. His movements were efficient, quiet. He didn't crowd her with questions she didn't want to answer; he never did. Instead, he returned with a steaming mug and set it in her hands, then lowered himself onto the opposite end of the couch. He picked up the controller again, but didn't turn the volume on — only idled in the menu, letting the screen's soft glow fill the room without demanding attention.

For a few minutes, the silence was companionable. Her breathing evened out, shoulders loosening under the blanket, the steam from the tea curling against her face. But then her phone buzzed on the coffee table, harsh against the peace, and everything inside her tensed at once. She stared at the screen, throat tight. His eyes flicked over — the name lighting up was all he needed to know.

The phone buzzed again, and with shaking hands she answered.

His voice came sharp and slurred through the receiver, dripping with venom even in its accusations. "You're with him, aren't you? Don't fucking lie to me. You're probably spread out for him already, pathetic—"

Her face crumpled, the old reflex to defend herself rising up — No, it's not like that, I swear, you're wrong— but before the words left her lips, Narumi's hand was already there. He took the phone from her gently but firmly, his expression unreadable.

"Hey," he said, voice low and flat into the receiver. "Shut up."

There was a pause, the man on the other end sputtering, but Narumi didn't let him regain footing. His tone was calm, precise, every word a knife sliding in without effort.

"You want details?" Narumi said, voice flat, unhurried. "She's here with me, not you. You know why? Because I can give her what you can't. I stretch her open until she's shaking, and you—" his tone dipped lower, cruel and precise, "—you couldn't even fill her with that pathetic excuse for a dick."

The other end erupted, curses tangled with fury. Narumi didn't so much as blink.

"Think about it," he went on, tone steady, quiet enough to force the man to lean into his own rage. "Her screaming my name because I'm the only one who can reach her. And you sitting there, wondering why she never made a sound for you."

He ended the call before the man could spit another word, tossed the phone onto the table with precise disgust, and leaned back against the couch. His jaw was tight, hands loose — he looked like he'd just finished cutting down an enemy, but all he did was stare at the blank television screen, breathing evenly.

Y/N gaped at him, words stuck in her throat for a second before they tumbled out. "Did you just—" she blinked, incredulous, "—did you just imply we're having sex, you dick?"

The tiniest twitch ghosted across his mouth, his version of a grin. "Imply? No. I made it sound like you were screaming for me. Big difference."

Her jaw dropped, and then it hit her — the absurdity, the sheer audacity of it. The laugh tore out of her before she could stop it, sharp and sudden, bending her forward as she clutched the blanket around her. "You're insane," she wheezed between bursts, eyes stinging from how hard she laughed.

Narumi leaned back against the couch, watching her with that rare, subtle amusement that lit his eyes more than his face. "Maybe. But it worked, didn't it?"

She laughed harder, head dropping against his shoulder, breathless and warm in a way she hadn't felt in forever. For once, the weight of her boyfriend's accusations didn't crush her — Narumi had turned them into a joke. And together, they laughed until her sides ached, the sound filling the apartment.

She drifted first, laughter fading into the heavy pull of exhaustion. Her head slipped lower against his shoulder, her breathing evening out as the blanket cocooned her. Within minutes, she was asleep, face softened in a way he hadn't seen in months.

Narumi sat still, careful not to wake her, one arm resting along the back of the couch like he meant to shield her from even dreams. With his free hand, he reached for the can of energy drink on the table, cracked it open, and let the bitter fizz sit on his tongue. The television screen glowed quietly in front of him, the menu music looping, the controller untouched in his lap.

He should play. He should do anything to clear his head. Instead, thoughts crowded in, sharp and restless. What if I'd confessed before she ever got with that jerk? What if I'd stopped pulling back? What if I'd put him on the floor the first time I saw how he looked at her?

His jaw tightened; he took another slow sip. Too late for what-ifs.

Would it make him a bastard to confess now? To tell her to leave, to beg her to choose him instead? Probably. She didn't need another man pressing her, demanding, making her life smaller. She needed room to breathe, to heal. He knew that. So he swallowed the words down like he always did, bitter as the drink, heavy as stone.

All he could do was keep picking up the pieces. Be steady when she broke. Hold the weight when she couldn't. And maybe, one day, when she was strong enough to walk away from him on her own—maybe then he'd find the right moment to say everything.

For now, he shifted just enough to tuck the blanket closer around her shoulders. She didn't stir, only sighed softly and pressed closer into his side.

Narumi stared at the quiet screen, took another swallow, and let the silence stretch.

𝕾𝖔𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖔 𝕳𝖔𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖆

The smell of garlic and soy filled the apartment, warm and rich. Hoshina moved easily around the small kitchen, knife tapping against the board in a quick rhythm before he tossed the last of the vegetables into the pan. When she knocked on his door, he didn't look surprised — just pushed the pan off the heat and called, "Come in, sweetheart, it's open."

She slipped inside, sweater damp from the drizzle outside. He glanced at her once over his shoulder and grinned. "Perfect timing. Sit pretty and keep me company, yeah? We'll eat in ten."

She gave him a look, amused, but hopped up onto the counter anyway. The light above them caught the tired edges around her eyes, but in the kitchen's glow, she looked softer, safer. Hoshina nudged the pan, scooped up a bite on the edge of the spoon, and held it to her lips.

"Tell me if it needs more salt."

She tasted, hummed, then shook her head. "It's good."

"Good's not enough. It's gotta be perfect." He leaned a hip against the counter, waiting for her second taste before nodding, satisfied. "Yeah. That's it."

They laughed together, easy, light, the kind of laughter that slipped out like breathing. For a few minutes, it felt almost normal — like the rest of the world couldn't reach them here.

Then her phone buzzed on the counter beside her thigh. She froze, smile faltering. The name flashing on the screen turned her stomach. She picked up anyway.

"You're with him, aren't you? Don't lie to me. My wife sneaking around with her little bodyguard friend — pathetic. You're probably spread open for him right now."

Her throat closed up, the old instinct to deny, to beg, rising. But Hoshina was already there, sliding the phone from her hand with easy fingers. He pinned it between his ear and shoulder, still standing at the stove like nothing had changed, his grin sharp and dangerous.

"Mm," he drawled, tone deceptively cheerful. "Guess you're not as dumb as I thought."

The other end went silent for a heartbeat before erupting in furious shouting. Hoshina didn't flinch, only stirred the pan lazily with one hand, his voice cutting clean through the curses.

"You arranged a marriage to keep her under your thumb, didn't you?" His tone darkened, playful edge turning into a taunt. "All that power, all that family pride — and she still comes crawling to me. Makes you feel small, huh?"

More swearing, a barked threat. Hoshina smirked, tilting his head, letting the phone balance easily.

"Small's the right word," he said, quiet but lethal. "She told me once you don't even reach the back of her throat. Pathetic little thing like you could never satisfy a woman like her." He glanced sideways at Y/N then, eyes glinting as she sat frozen on the counter. "So yeah. She comes to me. She opens her legs for me. And I fuck her until she can't remember her own name, let alone yours."

The fury on the other end was almost incoherent now, snarled words dissolving into raw rage. Hoshina chuckled, light and cruel.

"Face it," he murmured, voice lowering, dangerous for how soft it was. "The only reason she still wears your ring is because of the papers her family signed. The only place she's really yours is on record. Everywhere else? She's mine. Every sound, every tremble, every time she begs — mine."

He ended the call mid-roar, dropping the phone face-down on the counter. The kitchen felt hot, crowded with silence. Y/N stared at him, wide-eyed, stunned.

"Did you just—" her voice cracked into disbelief, "—did you just tell him we're fucking?"

Hoshina leaned one elbow against the counter, finally turning to look at her fully. That damn grin tugged at his mouth. "Not tell. Convince. Big difference."

She gaped — and then the laugh broke out, sudden and helpless. She pressed a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking, but it spilled out anyway, bubbling into something freer than she'd felt in months.

Hoshina watched her with that grin, softer now, but eyes still sharp. "See? You needed that," he said, voice gentler, like the words he'd spoken hadn't just shattered glass on the other end of the line.

She laughed harder, leaning into him, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her steady.

Dinner was quieter after the call. The storm had already passed, leaving only the clatter of chopsticks and the hum of the TV filling the room. She ate slowly, as though every bite was heavier than it should be, but she ate — and when she finally leaned back with a small, tired smile and whispered, "Thanks, Hoshi," he only winked and reached to take her bowl.

They carried their plates to the sink together, and when she drifted back to the couch, he joined her, switching the channel to some light drama neither of them really watched. She lasted maybe fifteen minutes before her head tipped into his lap, the blanket slipping to her shoulders, her breath evening out as sleep claimed her.

Hoshina sat still, one hand resting lightly on her hair, brushing through the strands with absent-minded care. The TV flickered, laughter tracks echoing faintly, but he hardly noticed. His attention stayed on her — the calm of her face, the way her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as though she trusted him not to move.

He let out a long, quiet sigh. The words he'd thrown at her husband still hung in his head, filthy and sharp. He wished they'd been true. He wished the way he described her — trembling under him, begging for more, his name on her lips — wasn't just a weapon to cut another man down, but a memory he could keep for himself.

His thumb stroked slowly over her temple, a tenderness no one else ever saw. He wanted her to leave that house, that marriage, that cage. He wanted her free. And if the man on the other end of the line ever pushed too far, Hoshina wasn't sure he could stop himself from making good on the threat in a different way.

He tilted his head back against the couch and forced the thought down. Too selfish, too dangerous. For now, all he could do was let her rest. Keep picking up the pieces. Be the place she came when she needed air.

On the screen, the characters laughed again. Hoshina's fingers kept combing through her hair, slow and steady, until the sound of her breathing lulled him into the quiet of his own thoughts.

"One way or another," he murmured under his breath, too soft for her to hear, "I'll deal with him."

𝕲𝖊𝖓 𝕹𝖆𝖗𝖚𝖒𝖎

The night was steeped in silence, broken only by the crackle of embers and the distant cry of an owl. The battlefield had been cleared, the dead carried off, but the blood still lingered in the soil, in the air, in the weight pressing down on Y/N's chest.

Narumi sat slouched against a broken column, his blackened armor discarded in a battered heap. His pale skin was torn with a dozen shallow cuts, streaked in crimson that refused to clot. He bore them with his usual arrogance, a wolfish smirk curving his lips whenever she winced at the sight. But even that façade was cracking—his chest rose and fell too sharply, his crimson eyes smoldering with a restless heat he tried and failed to disguise.

Y/N knelt beside him, dipping a cloth into a basin of water gone rosy with blood. She pressed it against a jagged wound across his ribs, her other hand trembling as it steadied him. Her magic—holy, radiant, gifted for healing mortal men—remained useless here. She had tried, whispering the old prayers, letting the divine light pool in her palms, but the moment it touched his skin he recoiled in agony, smoke rising as though her grace were fire against his flesh. The sight haunted her: a man who had saved her life a hundred times over, untouchable by the one gift she could offer.

"Damn it," she whispered, voice unsteady. "You're bleeding too much. It's not closing fast enough."

He chuckled low in his throat, though it was strained, and let his head tip back against the stone. "Relax, priestess. I've survived worse."

But she didn't relax. Her eyes lingered on the sluggishly weeping wounds, on the way his body trembled despite his bravado. A memory surfaced—an old tale told in the cloisters, whispered in warning of the creatures of night. A vampire's wounds will knit themselves swiftly when they drink of living blood.

Her lips parted before she could reconsider. "Is it true?" she asked softly. "That you heal faster... if you feed?"

Narumi's eyes cracked open, burning red even in the dim firelight. For a long moment he only stared at her, then a pained smirk tugged at his mouth. "Careful with your questions, girl. What are you saying?" His voice dropped to a husky drawl. "That you'd offer yourself?"

Heat bloomed in her cheeks, but she did not falter. She dabbed at the blood on his chest, eyes refusing to break from his. "It's the least I can give. After how many times you've thrown yourself between me and death."

His smirk faltered. Something darker flickered across his face—a crack in the mask of bravado. He let out a breathless laugh, bitter at the edges. "You have no idea what you're offering. No idea what I'd do once I tasted you."

She said nothing, only gathered her hair over one shoulder and bared the smooth line of her throat. The air seemed to still. Her pulse fluttered there, visible, fragile, unbearably tempting.

Narumi's body went taut, every muscle straining as if against chains. His hand clenched at his side until the knuckles went white, nails digging into his palm. "You're out of your mind," he growled, voice rough, almost broken. "I could drain you dry without meaning to."

Still, she did not move.

A curse tore from his lips. Then, as if surrendering to a war he could no longer fight, he seized her wrist and dragged her forward into his lap. His arms coiled around her, iron-strong despite his wounds, pressing her flush against his bare chest. She could feel the tremor running through him, the restraint that cost him everything.

His lips brushed her ear, his breath hot, ragged. "I'll be careful. But understand, priestess... when I drink, you won't just bleed. You'll feel it. Fire in your veins, sweet as sin. It will make you weak. It will make you want."

Her breath caught, but she tilted her head, baring her throat completely. "Then let me want."

A growl vibrated deep in his chest, and then his mouth descended. His lips closed over her pulse, hot and reverent, and his fangs slid in with a sharp, claiming sting.

The world shattered. Heat flooded her body in an intoxicating rush, her blood singing as if set alight. Her gasp broke into a helpless moan, fingers digging into his shoulders as her body arched toward him. Every nerve was alive, thrumming, the pain drowned in dizzy pleasure.

Narumi groaned against her skin, the sound feral, undone. He drank greedily, yet even as hunger roared through him, he fought to keep control. His hands crushed her waist, holding her still as though restraining himself from devouring her entirely. His tongue soothed the punctures between pulls, his lips trailing reverence where hunger demanded ruin.

But the longer he drank, the harder it became. The sweetness of her blood was a drug, a tide pulling him deeper. His breath came ragged, his growl edged with desperation. One more heartbeat, one more swallow, and he might never stop—

He wrenched himself back with a strangled curse, mouth dragging across her throat, forehead pressed to her shoulder as though he needed her warmth to anchor him. His chest heaved, lips wet with her taste.

"You," he rasped, voice raw with hunger and restraint, "will be the death of me, little priestess."

𝕾𝖔𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖔 𝕳𝖔𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖆

The shrine lay hushed beneath the silver flood of moonlight, its lanterns long extinguished, its stones cold with night. Only the sound of night creatures stirred the stillness, and yet Y/N's breath faltered as she stepped into the courtyard, for she was not alone.

He was there—Hoshina—moving as though woven from shadow and moonlight itself. His robe caught the pale gleam with each turn, wide sleeves whispering in rhythm with his steps. The katana in his hands sang through the air, not in battle's harsh cadence, but in something gentler, almost mournful—not a prayer, not worship, but a meditation wrought of blade and breath.

Nine tails, pale as frost-tipped flame, flowed behind him, curling and unfurling with the grace of living banners. They caught the moon's glow until he seemed not a man, but an ethereal creature bound by reverence to this ground. His eyes were closed, his expression solemn, and for a moment she believed herself invisible—only the moon permitted audience to such a sight.

But the spell would not let her go. Though she knew she trespassed upon something sacred, she could not turn away. Her heart beat hard, fragile and foolish, as she stood ensnared by his grace.

Steel whispered through the air once more before he stilled, blade poised, head lifting. Crimson eyes opened—burning as fire—and found her.

He did not startle. He did not bristle. Instead, the corner of his mouth curved upward, sly as ever, as though he had known all along she would stumble into his secret hour.

"Well, well," he drawled, voice carrying like low music through the still night. "My little bird dares the dark to spy upon a fox. Have you found me to your liking?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks, her lips parting, but no words escaped. She could only clutch her hands before her, as though to still their trembling.

He let the silence stretch, katana sliding into its sheath with a quiet click. He crossed the courtyard slowly, each step measured, deliberate, the sweep of his robe whispering against the stones. The moon traced him like a lover's touch, gilding the sharp line of his jaw, the easy sway of his tails.

"Say nothing, then," he murmured when he reached her, tilting his head, eyes half-lidded with cunning amusement. "The way you look at me speaks well enough. You would not turn away, even though you know you should. Enchanted, are you?"

Her throat worked, but her voice was barely more than a breath. "You are... beautiful."

The fox's smirk deepened, dangerous, playful. One hand rose, brushing back a lock of her hair, knuckles grazing her cheek as though savoring her warmth. His touch lingered, featherlight, his crimson gaze burning into hers.

"You honor me with words meant for gods, little bird," he whispered. "Careful—if you keep speaking so sweetly, I might begin to think you are meant for me, not the shrine."

His tails curled forward, enclosing her in silver light and shadow, a cage and a caress all at once. The world beyond them fell away until there was only the low sound of his breath, the heat of his nearness, the dangerous promise in the curve of his lips.

"You should fear a fox when he dances in moonlight," he said, though his thumb traced the line of her jaw with aching tenderness. "But here you stand, trembling and unyielding both. Tell me, priestess—" his voice dipped, velvet and wicked, "do you mean to tempt me, or do you only wish to be caught?"

Her cheeks burned, her hands curling in the folds of her robe as she forced words past the thundering in her chest. "Y-you are a fool," she stammered, trying for indignation but sounding far too breathless, "to tease me so." Her gaze faltered, darting aside. "Forgive me for intruding upon your... practice. I will not trouble you further."

She turned quickly, meaning to flee the courtyard before her face betrayed her any more than it already had. But before she could take a full step, a strong hand closed around her wrist, halting her as surely as a chain.

Her breath caught. His grip was firm yet unhurried, as though he knew she would not fight him, not truly. Slowly, deliberately, Hoshina drew her back until she faced him once more. His eyes gleamed like embers, sharp and unreadable, the moonlight gleaming across the curve of his fox's tails that swayed lazily behind him.

With languid grace, his hand rose to cup her cheek, thumb brushing the warmth of her flushed skin. He smiled then—a sly, wicked smile, though softened by something gentler lurking beneath.

"Little bird," he murmured, bending low so his breath fanned against her ear, "you should know better. A fox only dances for the moon when he hopes to be watched. And if it is you who watches..." His voice dropped to a whisper, low and velvet-smooth, "then I consider my performance complete."

Her heart lurched, heat flooding every corner of her being. She stood frozen, lips parted, her body trembling with the weight of his words. By the time he drew away, her thoughts were too scattered to speak.

With one last lingering touch, his hand left her face, and he turned back toward the courtyard's center. The katana sang once more as he drew it free, resuming the slow, deliberate cadence of his dance. His tails swept like silken banners in the moonlight, every step precise, his focus already returned to the sky.

Y/N stood rooted for a heartbeat longer, her cheek warm where his palm had rested. Then, gathering her robe around her, she fled at last—her face buried in her hands, heart pounding so fiercely she feared it might give her away to the night itself.

Behind her, the Fox Saint danced on, his smile hidden, his offering made not to the moon, but to the memory of her gaze.

𝕽𝖊𝖓𝖔 𝕴𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖐𝖆𝖜𝖆

The night had settled cold and clear, the moon spilling pale light across the camp. The fire burned low, its embers glowing faintly, while beyond the ring of warmth the world lay quiet, wrapped in frost.

Reno sat with his back against the flank of his companion—a wolf vast as a horse, its fur pale as snow and threaded with veins of faint blue light that pulsed like starlight beneath the surface. The beast's sides rose and fell with steady breath, steam curling from its muzzle, its great head resting upon its paws. It was a creature born of magic and oath, an echo of ice and spirit bound to him, and yet it lay docile at his side, its trust absolute.

He had meant to keep watch, but weariness had crept into his limbs. His eyes were half-closed when he heard the soft tread of feet approaching.

"Y/N?" His voice was quiet, careful not to stir the wolf. "Can't sleep?"

She shook her head, the fire catching on the loose strands of her hair. "No. I thought the night air might help." Her gaze flicked to the enormous wolf, its glowing markings faintly illuminating the dark. Awe softened her voice. "What a beautiful creature..."

Reno's lips curved, a shy smile tugging at his mouth. He shifted slightly, patting the space beside him where the wolf's thick fur lay spread like a silvered pelt. "Come sit. He doesn't mind. He likes warmth."

Tentative at first, she lowered herself to his side, sinking into the cushion of fur. The wolf huffed softly, but did not stir, its glow casting a pale aura around them both. Y/N reached out, her fingers brushing the creature's coat, marveling at the strange coolness beneath the softness, as though she were touching snow that refused to melt.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, reverent. "Truly... a beautiful creature."

Reno's eyes lingered on her profile, the moonlight catching on her cheek, the fire's glow in her eyes. He swallowed, then said softly, "Yes... a beautiful creature indeed."

She glanced at him, startled, and for a heartbeat she could not tell whether he spoke of the wolf, or of her. His gaze held hers just a moment longer than it should have, warm and unguarded, before he ducked his head, a flush rising faintly in his pale cheeks.

The wolf shifted behind them, its glow pulsing like a heartbeat, and Reno cleared his throat. "You'll sleep better here," he murmured, voice roughened with nerves. "The fire, the fur... it's warm. Safe."

The warmth pressed in all around her—the fire before them, the wolf at their backs, and Reno's quiet presence at her side. She lay back slowly against the thick fur, her head resting only a breath's distance from his shoulder, the cold night forgotten.