#niragi

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'i'll only stop once you find me a vaccine card, get me?' ikeno said, threateningly. you didn't want to admit it, but you honestly didn't want him to stop. after turning him into a zombie during a recent round, he cornered you while everyone else was talking strategy. not that you'd let him see but, you'd been eyeing him the whole game. his threats turned into actions, and your desire turned into playing along. him pushing you into the bathroom between every round, pretending to resist — when really, this is all you wanted.

pushed up against the cold tile wall, wrists restrained by his hands — drilling you from behind as he kept making threats that only made you want more. if he knew you liked it though, he'd stop and find someone else to get a vaccine card from. you knew he wanted to feel like he was in control, he had everyone else in the game following his system — why wouldn't you?

'okok ill, ill get you the card next round i swear' you panted, acting so helpless as always. 'you sure? cuz that's what you've said everytime. starting to think you like being fucked like this' he replied, only increasing his pace. your legs growing weaker every thrust, especially tired from your previous activities. thankfully wearing pants in this game, other players couldn't see the constant flow of ikenos seed dripping from between your thighs. his stamina definitely shocked you.

'i promise, i promise ill get it! and if i don't, you can do whatever you want to me- even after we leave the game!' you attempted to tell him what he wanted to hear, not sure what he'd respond with. 'pff, who're you to decide what happens? i might not even want you after this game.' he replied. your heart was racing, everything he said only turned you on more. 'fuck! please. you feel, s'good!' you whined out, legs shaking from the endless pleasure he supplied.

'you're such a fucking slut' he struggled to say, reaching his fourth high of the day. emptying another hot load inside you, you moaned out in ecstasy. attempting to grip onto the wall for support, feeling your legs about to give up on you. ikenos sounds were heavy breathing with some pretty broken whines, and hearing them made you grind back on him for more. hearing him sigh, 'fucken freak' feeling him pull out abruptly, leaving you to collapse on the bathroom floor.

Kazuya is forced to project control and authority in the games, making intimacy an intense transaction of dominance to protect himself from vulnerability.

His preferred position is Missionary.

Kazuya prefers it because it allows him complete sight of you: your expressions, your vulnerability, and the pleasure only he can give you. The sensation it produces for him is one of absolute physical control that disguises the emotional connection that terrifies him.

He uses his weight and the firmness of his movements to immobilize you... this act is a safety measure to keep his own emotional barriers up, fearing that a moment of weakness might make him lose control over himself and end up uttering those forbidden words. His dark eyes never leave your face, seeking the reflection of the passion he refuses to name.

While his penetrations are decisive and firm, his voice is a low, possessive murmur, very close to your ear. His words affect you, though you would never tell him, serving as an affirmation of ownership that conceals a deeper feeling.

“Look me in the eyes” he will order with fierce intensity, his hot breath against your jaw. “You are mine. I’m the one giving you all of this. Don't forget it.”

The man gives you the most intense pleasure as an act of desperation in this world without rules, hoping the physical bond he creates is sufficient for you to survive and stay by his side.

Banda Sunato:

The dynamic you have with Banda is that of stalker and victim, where intimacy is another form of psychological torture and confinement, reflecting his cold and manipulative nature. His preferred position is Spooning, entering from behind and cradling you in a way that makes you feel completely trapped.

Banda chooses it because it provides him with a feeling of total confinement and psychological control. He keeps you prisoner between the wall and his slender but iron-hard body, your back against his chest, preventing you from seeing his expression.

This forces you to feel his breath on your neck, while he can whisper directly into your ear, making his twisted voice resonate in your mind. For him, it is a pleasure to break your will while giving you what appears to be a hug.

In the middle of the act, he will use his ability to manipulate, not to praise, but to degrade and remind you how vulnerable you are, seeking your desperation.

“Do you like it?” he will ask in his soft, false tone. “Don’t worry. Youre mine, and I’ll make you feel good until you confess it. Confess that you only want me, and maybe I will think about letting you go.”

Ryuji: Matsuyama

Ryuji and you maintain a friends-with-benefits relationship within the Borderland survival team. Although he is reserved, you are each other's emotional anchor. His favorite position is Cowgirl, where you ride him.

Ryuji prefers it because it is the only moment where he allows himself to release obsessive control over everything and simply feel. This position allows him to observe and actively participate in the passion, maintaining eye contact and the possibility of talking or kissing you. He uses the strength of his notably muscular upper body, not to direct your hips, but to hold you with a desperate firmness, his hands gripping your waist, communicating an intense need that his voice would never admit.

The sensation he experiences is vulnerability and emotional connection; it is the only time he allows himself the luxury of forgetting logic.

“You’re the only real thing right now. Kiss me” he will say in his usually serious voice, now tense with pleasure.

Nobu:

Your relationship with Nobu is one of boyfriend and girlfriend, based on intense and fragile emotional dependence. He lives with a constant fear of abandonment, so his favorite position is any that guarantees maximum contact and the certainty that you will not leave, such as sitting face-to-face with your legs wrapped around his waist.

Nobu needs this position because it provides him with a feeling of extreme intimacy and constant reassurance. He must see your eyes, your face, and have your arms around his neck to believe that you are truly there with him. Intimacy for Nobu is not pleasure, but the temporary abolition of his fear.

His movements are often uncertain, but desperate; his voice is full of gratitude and palpable need.

“Y/N, dont go. Look at me, please,” he will plead in his nervous voice, clinging to you. “Just tell me you won’t leave, okay? I can't... I can't bear this without you. You're the only thing I have.”

Ikeno:

Ikeno and you are teammates, with him being the leader and you a subordinate he uses for his pleasure. His favorite position is the one that allows him total objectification and physical dominance: Doggy Style.

Ikeno chooses it because it produces a feeling of raw domination and heightened ego. He doesn't need visual connection or intimacy, he just needs proof of his power over you. This position is inherently dehumanizing, and the fact that he doesn't have to see your face while possessing you is an extra point for his cruel personality.

His words are always of arrogant degradation, seeking to remind you of his status and how little you are worth without him.

“Hold still and do your part,” he will order with a cynical smile, his voice loud and clear. “Remember Im only using you for my own satisfaction. In this world, only winners matter, and you kneel before one. So don’t complain.”

Aguni:

Your relationship with Aguni is marked by the intensity of his trauma and his struggle for control in Borderland. Outside of the games, he is a tough man who converts all his emotions into rage, but intimacy is the only place where his military facade breaks. His internal pain over the death of his best friend has left him emotionally closed off and unable to trust.

His favorite position is Spooning.

Aguni prefers it because it allows him to experience a physical security he rarely feels, without the vulnerability of eye contact. The position gives him a sense of protection by surrounding you with his large, muscular body, as if the strength of his arms could contain the chaos consuming him. He uses you as his anchor, a physical object that reminds him he is not completely alone.

His movements are slow at first, almost a relief more than a pleasure, but they become fierce and desperate as the need to feel you overwhelms him. His voice is deep and demanding, but what he says is a plea.

“Dont move. Just... stay like that,” he will hug you with a strength that takes your breath away. “Just feel me and stay here.”

Arisu:

Arisu, the intelligent and compassionate player, is constantly tormented by guilt for the friends he couldn't save. For him, intimacy is a desperate attempt to connect... to prove that goodness and real feelings still exist.

His favorite position is Missionary.

Arisu chooses it because it allows him total vision. He desperately needs uninterrupted eye contact to confirm that you are real, present, and not another victim he will be responsible for. Intimacy becomes a forced therapy for his pain and depression, he has to see your pleasure to justify his survival.

His movements are hesitant and full of fear of hurting you at first, but they become stronger and rhythmic when he sees joy on your face, as if he is solving an emotional survival game. His voice is an intense whisper that asks for reassurance.

“Look at me, please. I need to know this is happening, say my name... tell me I’m doing this right. Are you okay? Dont lie to me.”

Chishiya:

Chishiya is the cynical genius of logic, the manipulator who sees people as variables in an experiment. His profession as a disillusioned doctor makes him incapable of emotional attachment. For him, sex is a clean, calculated exchange of pleasure.

Therefore, his favorite position is Sixty-Nine.

Chishiya prefers it because it is the most logical solution to intimacy: it is perfectly symmetrical and efficient. Both receive pleasure with the minimum emotional investment and without the vulnerability of eye contact.

It is a transactional act that avoids the messiness of feelings, something he despises. He enjoys the absence of hierarchy in that moment, because at the end of the day, everyone is alone.

His movements are precise, technical, and analytical. He seems to enjoy the act as if he were studying a chemical reaction. His voice is condescending, and his dialogue is as if he is explaining the rules of a game.

“I love this position, it’s an efficient solution. Don’t you find it fascinating how we can satisfy each other equally? Now focus, or I'll get bored.”

Niragi:

Niragi is a volatile and aggressive man, whose abuse of power in Borderland is a direct response to the bullying and lack of status he suffered in the real world. Intimacy is for him the absolute validation that he is now strong and dangerous.

Therefore, his favorite position is Doggy Style.

Niragi chooses it because it provides him raw dominance and a complete objectification of your body. It is the position that most directly satisfies his hunger for power and allows him to unleash his aggression without limits. He doesn't need to see your face; he just needs to know that you submit to his will and that you are his.

His movements are violent and unrestrained, driven by repressed rage. It is not about your pleasure, but about releasing his own through intimidation and pain. His voice is full of degradation and commands.

“Look how you shake beneath me, bitch! You’re pathetic. Now scream my name... loud, so they hear you!”

Tatta:

Tatta is, by nature, friendly and calm, but he carries a heavy psychological burden for having caused permanent harm to his coworker. Intimacy is an act of service and a constant apology.

His favorite position is Classic Missionary.

Tatta prefers it because it is the most tender and safest position. Being dominant in the act, he feels the responsibility not to cause harm. He must see your face to confirm that you are safe and comfortable. His pleasure is directly linked to the absence of pain and the presence of joy in your expression, which momentarily absolves him of his guilt.

His movements are hesitant and excessively gentle at first, full of a palpable fear of hurting you, and he apologizes instinctively. His voice is sweet and anxious for your well-being.

“Am I going too fast? Please let me know if I hurt you. I just want you to feel good. You're the only good thing in this place... I swear I’m going to take care of you.”

Tetsu:

Tetsu is an emotional, temperamental, and decisive man who, despite his issues, proves to be brave and protective of his friends. His history suggests a deep dissatisfaction with his own control in life.

His favorite position is Reverse Cowgirl.

Tetsu chooses it because it allows him to cede all control. In this position, the fear of making mistakes dissolves, as you set the rhythm and depth. He can simply observe and admire you, concentrating on the joy of being the recipient of your pleasure without the pressure of being the executor of it. It is the only place where he doesn't have to be the leader or the protector.

His movements are minimal and limited to holding you. He is completely submissive to the rhythm you impose on him. His voice is rough and emotional, but focused on praising you and surrendering to your dominance.

The Beach courtyard felt like a pressure cooker set to explode the second you stepped out. Hatter was on his soapbox—yada yada, Beach rules, nobody cares—but all the real heat was coming off Niragi. He was a live wire, pacing the dusty concrete like a wolf who'd caught the scent of fresh blood. One minute, he was fine; the next, he was shoving some random guy clear out of the way just because the dude dared to exist in his proximity.

Click. The sound of a collective turning away. Everyone at the Beach had mastered the art of selective blindness. You look away, you survive.

But you? You were never good at following the rules.

"Cut it out," you snapped, stepping directly into his path. It was a stupid, reckless move. You knew it the second the words left your mouth.

Niragi stopped dead. His pacing stuttered, his heavy boots scuffing the concrete. He stared at you like you were an abstract concept that had suddenly manifested in his reality. Disbelief. Then rage. His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and that pissed-off, challenging half-smile, the one that promised violence, pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"You got a problem?" he asked, his voice a switchblade, sharp, too loud, slicing through the mundane hum of Hatter’s speech.

"Yeah," you fired back, meeting his glare head-on. "You're acting like a moron."

A few people froze, mid-conversation, mid-drink. They watched, terrified but glued, out of the corners of their eyes. You didn’t care. Niragi took a step closer, crowding your space. You didn't flinch. You didn’t back up.

"Oh, you think you’re tough?" he sneered and shoved your shoulder. It wasn’t a killer blow, just a test. A little nudge to see if you'd fold.

You didn't. You shoved back. Harder.

He actually stumbled. The crowd murmured. Hatter, mid-tirade, actually looked over.

That did it.

Niragi lunged. His fingers hooked into your shirt, ready to slam you into the nearest flimsy plastic table. But you were faster. You caught his wrist mid-swing, twisted the joint, and used his own momentum to force him back a full step.

For a heartbeat, his eyes went wide, pure shock. Then, the surprise melted away, replaced by something dark and utterly feral.

"You wanna fight?" he hissed, low and vicious.

"No," you said, your voice just a breath. "I want privacy."

Before he could process the sheer absurdity of the statement, you grabbed him by the back of his neck, a brutal, controlling grip, and hauled him away from the crowd. He cursed, a stream of filthy, furious Japanese, struggling and yanking against your hand, but you didn't slow down. You dragged him down one of the long, empty hallways, his heavy boots scraping and stuttering as he fought to keep up with your relentless pace.

"Let go, you little—" he snapped.

"Shut up," you said, and shoved him hard into a shadowed corner, hidden behind a towering stack of forgotten crates. No one ever came back here. Perfect.

He opened his mouth, fire in his eyes, ready to spit out whatever insult bubbled up, but you had him pinned before a single word could escape. Your hand slammed onto his chest, shoving him against the wall, while your other hand locked around his jaw, tilting his head.

He froze.

Not from fear. Never fear. But from pure, staggering surprise. Like he couldn't comprehend that you, of all people, would dare to manhandle the infamous Suguru Niragi in broad daylight.

"You really wanna pretend you don’t like this?" you murmured, your voice low and dangerously close.

His throat worked, bobbing hard. He glared, the hatred in his eyes warring with the fierce, betraying heat that was already flooding his face.

"Fuck you," he managed, the words a raw rumble.

You leaned in closer, your mouth almost brushing his ear. "Keep talking."

His breath hitched, a stuttered intake of air. That was all the admission you needed.

You shoved him harder against the wall, your thigh sliding aggressively between his legs. A quick, sharp gasp escaped him, a sound he immediately tried to choke down with a harsh scoff. Too late.

Your fingers tightened brutally in his hair. He hissed in pain, and you used the leverage to tilt his head back, forcing his mouth to part on instinct.

"Always running your mouth," you ground out, your voice a threat. "Always acting untouchable. But right now?"

You squeezed his jaw until his eyes fluttered.

"You’re shaking."

"I’m not," he started, his voice thick, but you silenced him with pressure, your thigh driving up and finding purchase between his legs. His hips bucked, a desperate, automatic move, before he could physically stop them.

That finally broke his mask.

"Please," he muttered, the word barely audible, a ragged plea torn from his chest.

You let a slow, utterly satisfied smirk spread across your face. "That easy?"

He looked absolutely furious with himself, like his own traitorous body had committed the ultimate betrayal. You didn't give him time to recover. You spun him around, his chest slamming against the cold wall, and your hand wedged hard between his shoulder blades to keep him locked there. His palms flattened against the rough concrete, and a shaky breath escaped him.

"On your knees," you commanded.

He didn't move. Pure, toxic pride held him rigid.

You didn't ask again. You grabbed a fistful of his hair, dragging his head down with a vicious yank. His knees hit the ground with a dull, painful thud, and he let out a choked sound that he instantly tried to swallow back.

"You look good like that," you said, circling him slowly.

"Shut up," he rasped, but the way he was squeezing his thighs together ruined the bite in his voice.

You pushed your thumb against his lower lip. "Open."

He hesitated. Two seconds of his pridefulness.

Then he opened.

“Good boy.”

You slid your thumb inside. He glared, but his lips sucked around the digit despite himself, his eyes already glassy with humiliation and something far, far needier. When you pulled your hand out, a glistening string of spit followed. His face flushed a deep crimson, his eyes flicking away, ashamed at the speed of his surrender.

"You’re gonna listen," you stated, your hand gripping the back of his neck like a leash. "Or I’ll leave you here like this, hard and desperate."

His breath hitched.

"Don’t," he whispered.

You smiled coldly "Then behave."

You forced him down again, his cheek pressed hard to your thigh, his breathing uneven. You grabbed his hips, yanked him closer to your body, and he let out a little choked noise, half pain, half an uncontrollable rush of want.

He hated how much he wanted this. You could feel the hatred shaking through him.

You pushed him down further, until he was braced against the floor with trembling arms, forehead bowed, his body completely open for you. Utterly broken down in a forgotten, dark corner of the Beach where no one could witness his spectacular fall.

"Good boy," you murmured, guiding him firmly into position. "Now stay still and take it as you need it."

He whimpered, a quiet, raw sound, and didn’t move an inch.

You pressed him closer against the wall, one hand still tangled possessively in his hair, the other gripping his hip. His knees dug into the unforgiving concrete, trembling; his arms braced against the dusty floor. Every inhale he took was a stutter, every exhale a small, desperate whine he tried and failed to swallow.

"You’re already leaking for me," you breathed, leaning in close until your mouth brushed the shell of his ear. "Even though you keep pretending you don’t need it."

He growled, his voice rough, chest heaving. "I, don’t—"

You cut him off with a firm press of your thigh, rocking him down, your hips grinding instinctively against his. He jerked violently, gasping, his fists scrabbling uselessly at the floor. His words tried to fight you. His body didn't care.

"Shut up," you said, your voice a low, dangerous growl. "Move your hands where I tell you."

He tried to resist, huffing curses and muttering, but you caught his wrists, pinning them roughly above his head. His chest hit the wall, forehead bowed, and you leaned in, your teeth grazing the delicate shell of his ear.

"You think holding out will make you strong? It won't," you whispered. "It’ll just make this worse for you."

He whimpered, a sound that was half protest, half plea, trying to twist away. You yanked his hair, forcing his head back, and he let out a sharp, choked noise. That’s the sound you’d been waiting for.

"Good boy," you murmured. "That’s it. Stop pretending you’re in control. You’re mine right now."

His hips bucked, an instinctive, total betrayal, even as his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed in furious shame. He hated it. Hated that he loved it. Hated that you had stolen this much power over him.

You slid your hand down to the front of his pants, brushing him roughly, teasing, dragging out every single reaction. He hissed, pressing forward, digging his nails into the floor, trying to push back without moving away.

"Say it," you demanded, low and sharp. "Say who you belong to."

He shook his head frantically. "I, don’t—"

You tightened your grip in his hair, tugging his head back further. "Louder. Now."

"I—I’m yours!" he spat out, the words cracking, his eyes watering with the humiliation.

You smirked. Perfect. That tiny, hairline crack in his armour. You yanked him down to his knees fully, spreading him roughly, and he let out a strangled, frustrated whine.

His pride was gone. His body was a complete, messy betrayal. You didn't even bother slowing down. Every brutal push, every possessive grab, every hard press was designed to make him submit completely.

He tried to hiss, tried to curse, tried to snap at you through gritted teeth, but each time his hips betrayed him again, each time his chest hit the wall or floor and he whimpered under your controlling hand, you knew he’d lost.

You drove into him, rough, deliberate. His body shook uncontrollably, arms braced, his back arching, cheeks wet with tears he desperately didn't want to show. He tried to keep his eyes on yours, tried to glare through the hazy desire, but all he could do was shiver and moan.

"Look at you," you murmured, your teeth grazing his shoulder. "All pride gone. Just taking it like you need it."

He hissed, head falling forward, lips trembling. "Stop… please… I—"

You pressed your hand into his jaw again, tilting his head up. "No talking. You’ll get used to being quiet soon enough."

His thighs clenched around nothing. His hands fisted the floor. He was a helpless, desperate, messy wreck, and you revelled in every second of it.

When he finally came, it was choking, small sobs breaking through, his body shaking like he couldn’t contain himself. You kept him pressed to you, riding him through every pulse, every shudder, letting him ride out every humiliating, desirable moment of broken pride.

"Good boy," you whispered again, dragging him back close. "Mine. Don’t ever forget it."

He whimpered, his chest heaving, his pride shattered, tears streaked across his face. He didn’t say anything. He couldn't. All he could do was let you have him, completely.

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“We do it this week,” Niragi sneers to the small group of Militants ironically playing cards at the table around him, "I'm getting impatient." The three men glance up, their eyes locking intently on you – dressed adorably in a slinky polka dot bikini, a flowing cover up tied delicately around your hips. It's like you’re silently daring them to look without even realizing that you're doing it.

The men nod in acknowledgement of the job Niragi has tasked them with. They continue staring at you long after the dark-haired menace has sauntered off, his rifle balanced menacingly on his right shoulder. You would be an idiot to not notice how the group of Militants are gawking, given that they’re essentially burning holes in your skin with their probing retinas. Of course you realize it.

They can’t help it, though, not really. Most men of The Beach and even some women are often captivated by your presence. You’re truly a beauty to behold - perched up on your lounger, the glittering cerulean of the pool reflecting off sunkissed skin. But that’s not where it ends; you're also smart, kind, and have something about you that no one can ever seem to place. Cunning.

The three men that Niragi has threatened the unspeakable with have to figure out a way to get you alone. To lure you away from your seemingly endless tribe of friends without any of them noticing or heaven forbid, fighting back. Their brains shift into overdrive as they consider any and all ways to get the deed done, because if they don’t? It’s Niragi’s wrath they'll have to face. And that's a death sentence.

You have to hand it to him, Niragi, that is. He’s certainly a clever guy, devious and masterful even. But there is one major thing that he is not that really works to your advantage – quiet. The man had been parading around The Beach for weeks bragging to anyone and everyone about his plan to kidnap you to finally get a taste of what you’re like, of what you're really hiding from the world.

Your heart had thrummed like a bass drum in your chest when Tatta had hurriedly whispered the gossip in your ear when sliding your favorite fruity drink across the granite bartop one afternoon. Not out of fear, no. Excitement.

Because from your first glance at Niragi, even through all the horror, violence, and gore of Borderland, you've known it – you definitely want a taste of him too.

There’s just one slight problem – a double-edged sword, really. You're both blessed and cursed with a secret, highly overprotective brother that had come along with you to Borderland. By secret, you mean that he had decided it would be safer for you to not be associated with him publicly, given the nature of his position at The Beach.

And Aguni? Well, he had many times explicitly forbade you from so much as breathing the same air as Niragi or any of the other Militants. And when he caught wind of Niragi’s not-so-secret plan?

“I’ll take care of it. You just focus on not getting your head blown off in your next game.”

“Sure, Aguni. You do that . . .,” you’d thought internally with a Cheshire grin. It would only make your own plan run more smoothly.

Because along with your older brother comes the opposite edge of the metaphorical sword - your older brother’s best friend. Also known as the raging lunatic that had built this utopia from the ground up and the man that would certainly stop at nothing to ensure you were happy.

That’s how you’d finally come to this moment, sat precariously on the edge of the couch opposite Hatter, ensuring your body doesn't touch too much surface area - because who the fuck knows what had been there? Takeru's colorful kimono is just barely draped over his shoulders, his heaving chest bare; he's definitely drunk off his ass at ten in the morning and probably high as well, but hey. Who are you to judge what he does in what could be the last days of his life? Most impressive of all are the two pretty, young girls dressed in sparkling, skimpy bikinis flanking him, their hands running over his skin unabashedly as if no one else has ever existed in this world. Quite the power move - one you'd be locking away into the depths of your mind for later.

His head falls back in a characteristic barking laugh after you've explained what you're here for, his sparkling gaze finding yours over the rim of his aviators. “Our little princess is growing up,” he smirks with pride, “Talking about kidnapping some bloodthirsty man just so he can fuck her brains out behind her brother’s back.”

You glare back at him, tapping your fingertips impatiently against your knee. “So will you help me, Takeru?” you ask when he's finally done teasing you. He sits back with a sigh, his arms splaying over the back of the plush couch behind the two girls, expression turned weirdly serious.

"Aguni has warned you on multiple occasions not to get anywhere near Niragi, and yet . . . here you are again seeking him out," he reminds you irritatingly. You nod curtly before swiftly defending yourself. "Yes, but I already told you, Niragi is planning to kidnap me. I just want to give him a taste of his own medicine," you say with faux innocence, bright eyes widened and tone dripping with sugary sweetness.

Hatter hums, stroking his beard in that grating, condescending way that makes your skin crawl. Your teeth find the inside of your cheek, trying to shove down the disdain you feel for your brother's best friend in this moment. You need his help for this to work.

"I could die in my game tomorrow," you remind him coolly, speaking quickly before he can respond. "Seize the day, right? Take what you want today because you might not have the chance tomorrow? Well today I want Niragi. Help me." There's that cunning again. You'd used Hatter's own words against him, and you knew that you had him.

Hatter constructs a flawless plan for kidnapping Niragi without making a fuss, instructing his team of ridiculously muscular bodyguards on exactly what to do. It almost gives you the creeps, how effortlessly the man is prepared to make people disappear, though you decide to ignore that piece of information for now. Before you leave him to whatever sins he's planning to get up to, he promises not to say a word to Aguni about what had transpired here. Though you grin dazzlingly up at him, hugging him tight as a huge thank you, you don't buy his smug bullshit for even a second.

And you are counting on Hatter to tell Aguni everything.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

The excited thud of your pulse thrums in your ears, your breath catching tightly in your chest as you see Niragi begin to stir back into consciousness. Showtime. True to Hatter's plan, his goon squad and yourself had utilized the hotel's CCTV system to locate Niragi when he was away from everyone else, the men knocking him unconscious and dragging him down to this dingy closet in the basement.

He looks almost peaceful like this, asleep under the warm light of just a single, swinging lightbulb. It's as though the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders leaving just a pierced, pretty boy for you to absolutely ruin.

"What the actual fuck is going on?" Niragi's gravelly voice demands the second his brain begins to register that he's both blindfolded and restrained to a chair. He's quick to fight against the restraints like a fish flopping on a hook, and you take the opportunity to jump off the box you'd been perched on to walk towards your prisoner. A wicked grin spreads across your face as you look down at him, bending over so that your lips brush against the shell of his ear.

"Looks like I've turned the tables on you, Niragi," you murmur, sharp teeth nipping at his earlobe. Obviously completely blindsided by the turn of events, he jumps at your proximity, whispering your name incredulously like it's a curse word.

"You're kidding me...," he spits. "How?"

Your head falls back in a sinful laugh, slowly ridding yourself of your bikini as if you were performing a strip tease, though knowing that Niragi wouldn't have the pleasure of seeing it. "You underestimated me, Suguru," you say, voice dripping with malice as your strappy bikini top slips to the floor with a tiny clink of the metal clasp.

"You think you're the only one with connections to people in high places?" You chuckle, not giving him the chance to interject before speaking again. Completely bare and full of confidence, you allow your arms to drape over his shoulders, your lean legs straddling his hips as you crawl into his lap. The best part about having Niragi blindfolded is how reactive and sensitive it makes him; the man initially flinching as you crawl into his lap, then becoming characteristically agitated as he realizes he can't touch you.

Before he can begin complaining, you unbutton his shirt slowly, exposing his muscular and scarred chest to you. Delicate fingers trace over each line, every one of them telling a story that you'd one day have to ask about. Arousal floods your core simply at the sight of him like this, and you realize quickly that you're absolutely fucked when it comes to him.

"For fuck's sake . . .," he growls, his wrists straining against the rope and cutting into his porcelain skin, "If you aren't going to let me see you, at least let me touch you." His whiny tone is damn-near pleading, sending a shiver down your spine. You hum in consideration, teasing the dark-haired man underneath you, and honestly? Yourself too.

"I don't know, Niragi," you hum. "Can you be good for me?" The Militant huffs impatiently, because who the hell do you think you are to try to manhandle Suguru Niragi? But for whatever reason, he allows his body to relax against the restraints, showing you he can be good if it means you'll let him touch your naked body.

You lean forward to reach for the ropes binding his hands, ultimately squishing your bare tits against his, making both of you suck in a desperate breath at the unintentional (but very welcome) contact. Your hips instinctively grind down against the rapidly growing bulge in his jeans, busying your hands with getting the ropes untied as quickly as possible.

Niragi chuckles lowly at the flustered way you react, turning his head to press open-mouthed kisses to the delicate flesh of your neck. "You've wanted me all this time, haven't you angel?" He questions dangeously, smirking proudly against your skin.

You swallow a needy whimper, doubling down on the particularly difficult knot to free Niragi's hands. Determination courses in your veins to maintain dominance in this encounter. Even blindfolded and still mostly tied up, he finds the extra sensitive spot near your collarbone that makes you moan, your wet heat absolutely dripping for him.

"I knew it, princess," he mutters between bruising sucks and bites to your throat, "I knew there was something special in you."

The ropes finally, blessedly fall away, followed quickly by the surprisingly soft black and white fabric that you'd loosened earlier. Your eyes light up with an idea, scooping the shirt up and shrugging it over your own shoulders. Despite the barrier of the blindfold you can see Niragi's expression darken - he's obsessed with the idea of fucking you while wearing his shirt. And let's be honest, you both know that you look better in it.

"Fuuuck . . .," he growls, using his newly freed hands to map out every inch of your skin; imagining you completely bare for him in just his favorite shirt, his thumbs eventually finding a landing spot over your pebbled nipples. Niragi's hips unconsciously buck up into your bare, dripping folds, desperately seeking additional friction for his throbbing length.

Your head falls back with heat and desire, but again you stifle the whimper that threatens your control over the man you'd somehow successfully kidnapped and tied up. "I'm in control, or everything stops," you chastise, licking a salacious stripe up the column of his throat. If you didn't know any better, you'd think that he finally let a whimper slip from deep within his chest.

As a reward, your hands finally find the buckle of his belt, expertly yanking it off and to the concrete floor with a loud clatter. With a steadying breath, you're able to undo the button and zipper that are keeping the two of you separated, lifting your hips just enough to allow his thick, veiny cock to spring free. You can feel your core ache at the sight of it dripping and throbbing against his abs, your thumb reaching out in awe to spread pre-cum liberally over him.

"You're seriously doing this?" Niragi hisses through gritted teeth, very obviously trying to hold back from desperately thrusting into your hand, heeding your threat from earlier.

"I've always wanted to," you admit into his ear breathily, whining desperately as you tease his cock through your dripping wet folds before finally, finally, allowing yourself to sink down. The combined moans that echo around the tiny space form the most beautiful melody either of you have ever heard, one of Niragi's arms wrapping around your waist to guide your pace, and the other thumb reaching between you to expertly circle your swollen clit.

Your body melts into his chest, bare skin melding to bare skin as you ride him quickly, messily, and loudly towards the climax that's already coming far too soon. "You're a terrible dominatrix," he murmurs into your ear teasingly, pressing a wet kiss to the side of your face. This time, you can't bring yourself to disagree, far too gone in your pleasured haze to act like something you aren't.

Niragi makes good use of his strong ab muscles to compensate for his legs still being tied up, thrusting up into you faster and harder as he feels your tight heat begin to flutter. "Gonna cum already, princess? You like having me all tied up for you?" He teases, your moans and the way your hole clenches like a vice around his length all the answer he needs.

"Then cum, baby . . . cum on my cock," he coos, pressing more firmly on your clit. His hips snap up into you at a nearly inhuman pace. If not from the stimulation, then from the wet, echoing sounds of his heavy balls slapping against your tender skin, you cum hard.

"F-fuck . . . Niragiiii!" you wail, eyebrows threaded together, and lips parted in a low, guttural groan, the rhythmic pulse of your wet orgasm triggering his own. He snarls, balls tightening, emptying rope after rope of hot, white cum deep to coat your walls.

Just then, even over the sound of your heaving pants, sweaty foreheads pressed together as you come down from your highs, you hear a commotion of boots hitting the concrete and men's voices shouting in the hallway. The flimsy door to the closet bursts open, a far too familiar voice screaming your name. "Niragi, did you -" Aguni starts angrily before taking in the full scene, yelping and shielding his eyes from the unwanted view once it registers.

His baby sister, dressed only in Niragi's favorite shirt. Sitting on the dick of the man he'd warned her about time and time again.

And you? You look back at your brother, pleased with your performance. "I'm not a baby anymore," you tell him like it's a conversation over dinner, as though you aren't still sitting panting and dripping on NIragi's cock. "I can make decisions for myself. And this . . . this is my favorite decision I've ever made."

Your brother scoffs in disgust, Niragi chuckling underneath you. "Do you mind?" You ask when he remains frozen there, still shocked by the happenings. "We want to finish."

Completely stunned and speechless, Aguni blinks a few times as if trying desperately to reboot himself or wake up from some kind of nightmare. He scowls again before turning on his heel and walking out of the closet, telling the men he'd brought with him that he'd kill them all if they so much as peeked into the room.

When the door to the closet slams shut and you're once again left alone with Niragi, you blink down at him with lovesick eyes, lifting the blindfold off his head to take in his dark gaze.

"You lost the bet, Suguru. I knew I could successfully kidnap you first," you say triumphantly before finally capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.

Niragi laughs into your mouth before deepening the kiss, his arms wrapping more securely around your frame. "Fuck you're hot . . . thank fuck you're already mine. Was Aguni walking in a part of your master plan?" He asks curiously, brushing some of untamed hair out of your face.

You nod, pressing a kiss to his nose. "I decided to take a page out of Hatter's book. A power move."

A power move that will really work, because Aguni is never going to forbid you from seeing your boyfriend again.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

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