The words land heavy between you, thick with possession, wrapping around your throat like a collar you didn't know you wanted to wear.

Your breath catches. Heat floods your cheeks- and lower. You try to hold onto your anger, but the way he says it, possessive and raw, makes your thighs press together involuntarily.

"You're impossible," you breathe, lips barely an inch from his.

A low, needy growl escapes him as his hips grind against you once, deliberately, letting you feel the rigid proof of his restraint fraying. One hand slides up your back, tracing lightly along your spine in a path of fire while the other keeps a bruising grip on your waist, holding you exactly where he wants as if he'd break anyone who tried to take you from him.

"Say it back." His voice is thick, desperate. "Tell me you're my woman. Tell me you understand why I'll chain the moon itself if it keeps you safe."

His forehead stays pressed to yours, golden eyes burning with hunger and something deeper- raw, vulnerable devotion wrapped in feral need that makes your stomach flip and your nipples tighten into hard peaks beneath your shirt.

"I am yours," you say softly, your voice trembling "I always have been. But you need to stop your meddling."

His jaw tightens. A low, frustrated sound rumbles from his chest- not quite a growl, not quite a sigh. He pulls back just enough to shake his head, slow and deliberate, a stubborn set to his mouth that makes him look almost petulant but does nothing to diminish the fire in his gaze.

"No," he says flatly. "Not that. Anything but that."

"Valko-"

"You want me to stand by while you're in the crosshairs? While a bullet has your name on it? While some rogue shifter with a grudge decides you'd make a pretty trophy?" His voice drops, rougher now- not with anger, but with an anxious frenzy that makes his hands tighten on you convulsively, as if he's imagining the very scenario and it's driving him mad. "I can't. Don't ask me to."

Your lips part to argue, but he doesn't let you.

He kisses you.

Not gently. Not hesitantly. His mouth claims yours with a brutal, consuming hunger that steals the breath from your lungs and leaves you gasping against his lips. One hand tangles in your hair, gripping hard enough to tilt your head back and expose the vulnerable column of your throat, while the other slides down to grip the curve of your hip, fingers digging into the flesh like he's branding you through the fabric. He kisses you like he's been starving for days and you are the first meal he's allowed himself- deep, devouring, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to taste every corner, his teeth grazing your lower lip with a sharp nip that makes you moan.

The protest dies in your throat. Your hands, still fisted in his shirt, loosen without your permission and flatten against the burning heat of his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath your palms. Your knees go weak, and he feels it- catches you, pulls you tighter, deepens the kiss until there is nothing but the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble, the desperate little sounds he makes against your lips.

The fight drains out of you in waves. The anger. The frustration. All of it leaches away, replaced by something molten and aching, that has nothing to do with battle and everything to do with the way he worships your mouth, the way he groans when your fingers find the waistband of his slacks, the way his whole body shudders when you pull him closer still.

You kiss him back.

You hate that you do. You hate how easily he does this- how one press of his lips and your carefully built walls crumble to dust and leave you open, wanting, desperate for more of that devastating intensity. But right now, with his tongue sweeping against yours and his hands mapping the curve of your spine before sliding lower to palm your backside and lift you against him, you can't bring yourself to care.

His mouth trails down your jaw, teeth scraping over your pulse point, and you feel the wet heat of his tongue soothe the sting as he growls against your skin, "I'm going to make you forget every reason you had to be angry. I'm going to take you apart until the only word you remember is my name."

He walks you backward, step by step, his body a relentless force driving you toward the bedroom, and you feel every hard inch of him pressed against your softening curves- the breadth of his shoulders, the ridges of his abdomen, the insistent jut of his arousal grinding against your hip with each step.

Mrs. Chiba sounded strange—she was a woman around your age, usually gentle, bubbly, and energetic. Her engaging personality was perfect for a kindergarten teacher and the kids loved her. This time, her voice was flat, almost careful. Too gentle as she invited you for a late-afternoon meeting. It was serious and acute—she even specifically asked for Daichi's presence. That hadn't ever happened before. You'd usually come to the meetings separately depending on what was on the agenda—if Daichi had overtime or other plans? Your time to shine. It also applied the other way around. You worked as a unit, ensuring everything went smoothly, always watching each other's back and rotating on the clock as needed.

Walking back into the chaos of your workplace, you exchanged a few confused texts with Daichi, arranging the details—when'd you meet, where'd meet, and most importantly, who'd take care of Hari for the afternoon. Just like every once in a while, you'd ask Uncle Asahi to step in. As per usual, Asahi agreed the moment you asked for his help, ever the knight in shiny armor. Asahi and your six-year-old were actually a dream team—she always spoke so highly of all the fun activities Asahi came up with. They'd both be in their element inside Asahi's little fashion design studio—Hari could sketch into hallelujah with various super-expansive fixes and Asahi created a few pieces based on her drawings already.

Your stomach grumbled with nerves as you waited for Daichi in front of the kindergarten. You were looking at your phone with a slight furrow—Asahi and Hari just made it to his studio, sending you a goofy selfie. The man was furrowing while Hari pulled her mouth open with her index fingers, showing off her missing front teeth. Don't worry! The text under said. When you're done, we'll all go for some ramen. Hari can't wait! That was Asahi for you—a supportive, gentle giant. Putting the phone away with a sigh, your eyes trailed toward the man who was walking toward you at a measured, authoritative pace. Fuck. You still couldn't believe that you pulled Daichi Sawamura.

Standing tall at 5'9 with a broad and impressive build, Daichi became the embodiment of discipline and unwavering dependability after nearly ten years of working in law enforcement. He carried himself with effortless confidence—his posture always straight, movements precise, and presence reassuringly firm. The occupation of a police officer and years of hard work sharpened his instincts, toughened his physique, and honed his ability to command a room without raising his voice.

His features sharpened with age, giving him a strong jawline, faint lines of stress near his eyes, and the kind of gaze that sees right through people. After a decade spent as a police officer, his brown eyes beamed with quiet intensity—calm, calculated, and capable of dark amusement when called for... burning like ambers whenever he looked your way, his gaze dancing on your body. Despite five years of marriage, his eyes still adored you like the night you first fooled around. He kept his jet-black hair shorter and neater than a few years back, but he still let it slightly tousled—framing his face in an infuriatingly attractive way.

His shirt and trousers suited him almost too well—the trousers hugging his thick, muscular thighs so fine it nearly made you groan and the issued shirt stretching over his broad shoulders and sculptured chest, begging to be torn off. "There you are." - Your husband chuckled as he approached you, stealing a gentle peck off your lips—his seemingly stoic face lighting up a smile that'd melt an iceberg. And fuck, Daichi's voice—deep and measured, dripping down your ears like honey. - "Hi, wifey." "Hi, hubby." - Giggling along with him, you'd steal a quick peck too. It became your daily ritual—mutually greeting each other with lovey-dovey pet names that made one's teeth rot.

"Did you speak with the teacher yet?" - He asked, putting on the black tailored blazer he'd gotten as a birthday gift from Asahi. - "Any idea what's this about? Is Hari okay?" "Mhm. She's with Asahi. Look." - You'd pull out your phone, showing the picture of the duo to Daichi. His eyes immediately softened, a soft grin unwittingly tugging on his lips. - "We agreed to meet up for ramen once we're done here." "That sounds... heavenly." - Daichi groaned. - "I had to pull through my lunch break today. Also—Yuto won't forget this, I had to take a few hours off my holiday subsidy on short notice and he wasn't happy with me." "Awh, I'm so sorry to hear that!" "C'mon. Always remember that you and Hari are my priority. A few hours of overtime won't stop me, baby." - Kissing your cheek, Daichi's palm settled on the small of your back—he led you toward the entrance.

The meeting had already started off on a strange note. Clearing your throat, you straightened and watched Mrs. Chiba sitting over the table. Her expression was serious, stoic, and... something was off. Secondly, you've been called in alone. That was the first red flag.

Whenever you got called in together (this wasn't your first rodeo), Daichi was usually the one to handle these kinds of things—he was great with the teachers, always polite, and always reliable. For Mrs. Chiba to insist on meeting with you first, one-on-one, without him felt... off. But still, you didn't question it. Maybe it was about something small—you tried to fool yourself as you sent the woman a nervous smile. Maybe there was an upcoming event, a parent volunteer request, hosting a BBQ... something. Anything.

Sitting primly across Mrs. Chiba, your hands were folded in your lap, ready to listen. She watched you for a moment, exhaling softly before speaking. Her eyes traveled to your wrist—it was covered with a noticeable mark reminding you of your and Daichi's last... rendezvous. You'd cover it up with an innocent smile. "Mrs. Sawamura... There's no easy way to say this, but... your daughter has alarmed us about a potential domestic abuse situation."

Her words flew right through your head at first. You froze, your breath hitched and your eyebrows knitted slightly. Oh. Did she notice something at school? Were some of her friends in danger? You panicked a bit, trying to keep it together. The gravity of the meeting, the situation, hadn't dawned on you yet. "Did she... notice something about her friends? Was the telling stories again? Mrs. Chiba, you know that Hari's a kid with a very vivid imagination..." - As you've said, you weren't a stranger to getting invited to the kindergarten along with your husband—this wasn't your first rodeo. "It regards you and your husband, Mrs. Sawamura." "I—what?" - The world seemed to tilt ever so slightly, your breath growing shallow as you pressed on the bruise on your wrist a bit tighter. That's why Mrs. Chiba noticed it—she was looking for it.

But... Daichi? Your Daichi? The man who actively and openly worshiped the ground you walked on? The man who still at you like you hung the stars, five years into your marriage? The same Daichi who cried when your baby's first into the womb, who read bedtime stories in ridiculous voices just to make your baby girl giggle? That Daichi?

... An abuser?

"I know this is a lot to process." - Mrs. Chiba continued, her voice gentle and careful. - "We don't know how serious it is or how long the... the situation lasts." - The abuse. She meant to say the abuse. You simply stared at her and let her speak softly, carefully... you were absolutely fucking baffled. Usually, you'd stand by Daichi's side—you'd be screaming, fighting for him and his innocence. But frankly? Mrs. Chiba caught you off-guard. "As a mother, you'll surely understand—it's my duty as a teacher to ensure my pupil's well-being and a safe home environment. Especially when the matter regards young children." "Yes, yes." - You nodded, trying to sort your thoughts. But it was impossible. - "I understand, but..." "We know Mr. Sawamura personally and we're aware that your husband is a police officer. Your daughter brought him in for last month's job fair and spoke very highly of him. However, because of Hakuri's recent behavior and stories, we felt compelled to act. That's why I contacted you today. If Mr. Sawamura is applying any sort of violence—whether mental, physical, or even economic—we are ready to help you and your daughter out of this situation."

A panicked scoff of disbelief left your mouth. Oh. That's when it clicked. Oh, no. You knew exactly where this was going, covering your mouth preemptively as your eyes hung on Mrs. Chiba, your head nodding along in silence.

"The details Hari provided were... concerning." - She continued, tapping her pen into the desk in a slow, deliberate rhythm. - "According to her testimony, there are multiple pairs of handcuffs and other movement-restricting devices hidden inside a certain closet inside your home."

Your soul left your body as you closed your eyes, whining silently. It needed to be said that your reaction could've looked like someone saved after years of torment—but thankfully, this wasn't your nor Daichi's case. This was about the closet incident. The one that happened right before Noya, Daichi, Asahi, and Hari's fishing trip. The moment when Daichi's life and ancestors flashed in front of his eyes when your daughter found the closet unsupervised and unlocked—the handcuffs, ropes, see-through lacy lingerie... and more. An enormous parental mishap—over which you and Noya descended into hysterical laughter. Daichi'd explained, albeit horribly and he was lucky that Hari was as gullible as she was.

And, well... Hari had snitched—probably just shared her discovery with a teacher, not thinking much of it...unwittingly putting your husband's entire career and your marriage in jeopardy.

"She also mentioned that lately, your husband doesn't shy away from calling you names..." - Mrs. Chiba added, her expression darkening—yet another nail to your coffin. It happened on the same morning, half an hour apart. Another mishap, just a slip-up. Hari was supposed to be dead asleep. Once, you weren't careful enough and didn't take all possible precautions just for it to turn out like... this. - "She mentioned he uses particularly degrading terms, such as... 'whore' and 'slut'."

Now, you nearly choked on air. Your entire face was warming up, gentle sweat running down the side of your face, eyes widening, and heartbeat stuttering.

Oh, this was bad. So, so bad.

Not because it wasn't just wrong—it was horrifyingly accurate.

You and Daichi did have handcuffs... many of them, a whole variety. Honestly? You also had ropes (varying colors and materials—velvet soft, rough, short, even rolled on a spool) and you couldn't believe your daughter didn't mention that too... when she was at it.

And the name-calling? Well... That was... A very specific part of your private life. One that you never intended to let slip out. Daichi and you could rejoice and congratulate one another Hari didn't overhear the names you called your husband in the heat of the situation.

This was stupid. So fucking stupid. Just one huge misunderstanding. You had to fight to keep the laughter in, clearing your throat, your eyes swelling with tears as you tried to stay serious. You were sweating, genuinely sweating. "Mrs. Sawamura..." - Mrs. Chiba pressed gently, watching your reaction closely. - "If there's anything you'd like to share..." "May I call my husband in?" - You interrupted, gasping for air, still battling the urge to lose it. - "I think we can explain everything."

The moment Daichi walked in, it was over. You were dead. Gone. He looked confused, like a deer in the headlights, repenting preemptively... worried. His eyes slid to you, teetering on the edge of losing it. Your shoulders shook as she tried—and failed—to hold in the absolute hysteria bubbling inside you.

The look on Daichi's face when he was called in? Priceless. He walked in all serious—brows furrowed, stance firm, his usual commanding presence in full effect, and despite all that, he came across as a Bambi in the headlights. He probably figured Haruhi had gotten into a fight or broken a school rule.

But oh. Oh. He had no idea what was coming.

"Mr. Sawamura..." - The teacher began, folding her hands on the desk, her voice steady and professional. - "We wanted to speak with you today because we have concerns about your home environment." Daichi's frown deepened. He wasn't catching the drift. - "Concerns?

Despite your best efforts to keep it in, you let out a choked, strangled noise. Not a sob. But the kind of suppressed laughter that could only come from someone trying to keep it together desperately. Daichi glanced at you briefly—confused, worried—but you couldn't look at him. Your cheeks turned a few shades darker, droplets of sweat ran down your forehead, and your eyes trained to the tips of your shoes. Your entire body trembled with the force of the laughter you could not, under any circumstances, let escape.

Mrs. Chiba continued, giving Daichi a deep furrow. Her eyes jumped from your discombobulated form to confused Daichi sitting beside you. - "Haruhi shared information that raised a few red flags for us. She mentioned your household contains multiple pairs of handcuffs, as well as other devices designed to restrict movement..."

You squeaked. You actually squeaked. Daichi, meanwhile, went rigid. His entire body tensed. The shift in him was instant—his jaw clenched, hands forming into tight fists in his lap, sweating profusely.

Oh, fuck.

"Oh?" - Daichi finally said, voice tight, controlled. "She was quite detailed with her testimony." - The teacher went on, reading from her notes. - "Saying, and I quote, 'They were hidden inside a closet'." - Mrs. Chiba looked up at him, pausing.

A slow, horrible realization dawned on Daichi and crept up to his expression. Oh. Oh, fuck. The closet. The one he'd forgotten to lock after your latest entanglement. Shit.

"... And your daughter also mentioned they all belong to you. Even specified they're used by police forces." - Daichi nearly perished when the words left Mrs. Chiba's mouth. He knew the pair she was talking about—he knew it well, intimately. It was your favorite. The pair he'd stolen from the station a few years ago—because of your batting, wide pretty eyes. You'd mentioned (again and again) that they looked... enthusing. So, naturally, Daichi got you a pair—as any loving husband would.

His ears turned bright red, fingers twitched as he stared at his daughter's kindergarten teacher utterly mortified. You snorted. You couldn't help it. You were dying, perishing. Why? Because the look on Daichi's face was a mix of sheer horror, regret, and 'oh my god, my child had ruined my dignity and my life'.

"And there's more." - Mrs. Chiba continued as if it wasn't already bad enough. You, already knowing what was coming, buried your face in your hands. - "She also mentioned that you frequently call your wife degrading names, Mr. Sawamura. Specifically a 'whore' and a 'slut'." Daichi's soul left his body. You were wheezing, actually fucking wheezing. And suddenly—the waterworks broke. Your shoulders shook violently, and your entire body convulsed as you collapsed forward onto the desk, crying.

Not from fear. Not from distress. But from the sheer level of mortification and embarrassment. "Oh my god." - You gasped between hiccups of laughter, gripping your stomach. Daichi's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again... And nothing came out. He was stunned into silence.

Mrs. Chiba, meanwhile, looked deeply concerned—eyeing your breakdown with a careful hesitation. - "Mrs. Sawamura?" You waved your hand at her, trying to catch your breath. - "It's fine—it's fine—I just—" - Another choked laugh. A gasp. A snort. Daichi groaned next to you, dragging his hands across his face. His ears were burning. - "Fucking hell." - He muttered.

"Mrs. Chiba... This is all a misunderstanding." - You finally managed to squeeze out, your words half-giggled and barely coherent. Mrs. Chiba seemed deeply skeptical. - "... Is it?" "YES." - Daichi interjected quickly, finally snapping out of his stupor. - "It is. I—we—ugh..." - A pause followed. Then a deep sigh. Then, with the most pained expression known to a man, he started explaining.

"Y/N... I mean, Mrs. Sawamura, my wife..." - He was stumbling on his words so much that Mrs. Chiba furrowed again, leaning back into her office chair. - "She's the best thing that ever happened to me. And Hari's the greatest blessing in our lives. We love our daughter more than anything and every day, we are providing for her, making sure she has everything she needs. But we're... human, Mrs. Chiba. Even though we try our best to be the best parents, mishaps happen. Some are bigger than others. Therefore, let me just say... The handcuffs aren't for police work, but private use."

Daichi couldn't believe the words leaving his mouth. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking seconds away from throwing himself out of the window. There was silence. Absolute silence while Mrs. Chiba processed the confession. Then, she blinked, her face turning crimson red. You howled.

"... Oh." - Her eyes widened. Then, finally, it all clicked. - "Ohhhh... I see." A beat of silence followed. "This is so fucking embarrassing." - Daichi groaned while as kept on wheezing, convulsing—Mrs. Chiba who leaned her forehead into her hands, was laughing along now despite being embarrassed.

You've liked Jaeyoon since you first heard his voice, floating the hallway by escaping through the space of the ajar studio door and decorating the hallway, pleasantly surprising you when you entered the place. You were supposed to meet Jinhwan there, bringing him food because you hadn't met up with him in a while. Despite clutching your phone in one hand and juggling multiple items in the other- a reflection of your extraordinary grip strength, you couldn't help but dismiss the number of the studio in Jinhwan's text to you and peek inside. It was brief but you gasped. The closer you got, the more beautiful he sounded and that was your first impression of him: talented. You remember it being the end of his session that day. ''Is that it, Can I leave?'' he had asked, flailing his hands around his bag in a hurry, cute, you thought, chuckling and as soon as Jinhwan nodded, he was already out of the door. You chuckled thinking back to it, he was clumsy and extra adorable with those gleaming, mischievous eyes of his.

''Who is he?'' you had asked Jinhwan, almost missing his extended hand that held cutlery in it's grasp. ''Uh, just a junior, my roommate.''. ''Your roommate?!'' you were surprised for the second time that day.

Jinhwan gave you his address as a resort if ever an urgent situation presented itself. You had never been there, except for today where you would tell him in person, the news of the passing of your grandfather. Your eyes burned all the way up the elevator and to their place, where you punched the code in, careful not to disturb his roommate. It was to early in the morning, barely clear blue in the sky. You left your slippers at the door and drank in the place, smiling as you looked around. It was clean, with the books on the shelf arranged neatly, a keyboard covered with your mother's expensive scarf to protect it from dust and not a single hair of dust on the floor. You loved to see that he was living peacefully, given that his last roommate was a messy individual who left his clothes on the floor and drank till three in the morning.

Should you observe customs and wait because he was not the only individual living here? You didn't have to think about it because his roommate came out from the shower, towel-drying his hair. He stopped short at the sight of you, swallowing a scream. You immediately apologised, feeling sorry that you scared him, ''My brother said that I could come here if I needed to, in an emergency situation.''. ''Is it an emergency?'' he asked, curious. You looked so beautiful, donning casual apparel and an appearance that resembled your hurry to be here. Dishevelled, he noted. Had he seen you before? The thought nagged him after you said ''Yes'' and he directed you to sit on the sofa. His stomach grumbled at the smell of food, the sound piercing the silence of awkward first meetings. ''You can have it if you want. There are two servings in there.'', you motioned. ''What about you?'', ''I'm okay'' you chuckle but it dies out. ''Join me?'' he asks. You are surprised by it but join regardless, seating opposite him. He eats it, hungrily leading you to smile when he gives you a thumbs up, telling you that it's good and you should try it. You reject it. He's taken two bites when he says, ''Can I ask what happened?''. You sigh, slumping as you narrate, ''My grandfather passed away.''. He almost chokes on his food then. ''I'm sorry about that.''. You murmur that it's okay and silence ensues when you look away. He's not sure what to tell you but he's racking his brain in search of something. ''You know- I saw at the studio that day. You have such a beautiful voice.'' you start, perking up. It's a distraction but a genuine one, at least until your brother wakes up and you can get the weight of delivering the news off of your shoulders.

The conversation continues from there. He knows that you need a distraction and he makes sure to provide. He looses focus so fast that he almost eats the other serving. He apologises for this but you tell him that he can have it, smiling in a way of fondness. You like him. He also accidentally bangs his legs into yours, twice, then asking, ''I'm really sorry, do you want to move to the sofa where we can talk comfortably?''. He goes to change and comes out in a loose, long-sleeved t-shirt, wide fit light blue jeans. You can't help but think that he looks good. He makes a short walk to the fridge and brings you his favourite brand of dark chocolate and macadamia nuts that he has grown to love ever since he moved into the area. ''When'd you start living here?'' you ask. Conversation flows so naturally now, as if you've known each other before. You are already comfortable around him. He munches on the chocolate, ''Six- around five months ago? Yea'', nodding. ''How come you've never visited?'', ''Huh?'', ''I mean he did tell me that he has a sister but I thought you would visit. My younger sister comes around a lot.'', ''Ah'' you say, laughing, ''He told me that he has a roommate but that I probably wouldn't meet you. That sounds so weird.'' eliciting a laugh from him. The unknown presumption is? ''It's probably because we meet up at my, our family home a lot, even when passing by and my work is also in that area. It makes sense that I wouldn't visit here often.''.

You tell Jinhwan, speak to him some more until two to three hours have past, some in contemplation some in repeated questions until you leave. The next time you meet Jaeyoon is when you drop Jinhwan off and he invites you up. The house is still as comforting as the first time you saw it, nothing had changed since then. ''I don't know why but he brought extra of these, here'' he hands over to the same chocolate that Jaeyoon had shared with you last time. You laugh; he had given you a full pack last time, just before you left. Just as you are about to leave, Jaeyoon enters and after a brief conversation, he asks to exchange numbers. The ordeal is to suave for you to handle which you chuckle at.

You text him over the two weeks that pass by. Your schedules conflict a lot but on a whim, he asks if you want to come over and watch a movie? It has you making facial expressions and displaying body language similar to ''><><><><><><><><><!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'' before you calm and agree. It's much different than you expected, the movie. You bond over how cringe it is, pulling you hands over your ears to ease that ugly feeling in your brain after watching something so distasteful. ''You have a terrible taste in movies.'' you murmur. You don't realise how close the two of you are sitting. He sees your tensed shoulders from the back and instinctively, he pulls you into his arms, resisting from placing a cute kiss to your cheek which is so close to his lips. That would trespass some boundaries, he thinks. You softly clear your throat and pull away. He think that's it but you turn and stare at him. He likes your eyes, breath hitching when you look at him, pulling his face and placing a kiss on his lips.

Jaeyoon briefly touches his lips in surprise, gulping. He looks at your lips, gently shaking his head whilst looking at you. He places his hand on your waist, kissing you again, this time laying you on the sofa and hovering at your side, never breaking the connection of your lips. You think that you'll tell him later to put his hands somewhere useful. Later on, you cuddle him with messy navigation of limbs and laughter. He loves having you so close to him, holding you in such a loving manner that he wants to kiss you all over your face, love you.

The first thick rope of cum erupts with a choked grunt, landing in a glossy white streak across the steak and sautéed vegetables. Another pulse, longer and heavier, splatters over the rice, sinking in and mixing with the gravy sauce. He keeps stroking through it, milking out every drop until the head of his cock is twitching and spent, and the food is visibly coated in shiny, sticky threads of his semen that is now slowly soaking in, the salty, slightly musky scent blended with the meal.

He should feel guilty for doing this, but there was none of it, only deep-seated satisfaction and hope that you like it. And It wasn’t like his cum was bad or harmful- he kept himself in pristine condition for you. He knew his cum tasted good (you liked swallowing it from his cock too after all) and he would never let your tastebuds come in contact with anything bad.

Breathing hard, he tucked himself away carefully, and then he stirs everything gently, mixing his release in until it looked like an extra glossy glaze. Just enough to season it. Just enough that you’d taste him with every bite without pointing out exactly what you were tasting.

When you emerge from the showers in your comfy clothes, hair still damp, he sets the plate in front of you with a smile that looks a bit too innocent, cheeks faintly flushed. “Made your favorite tonight.”

You dig in, humming happily at the first few bites as he takes a seat and watches you with dark eyes as your tongue darts out to catch a drop of sauce. “Mmm… it’s really good, Caleb. Tastes… richer than usual?”

His cock gives a traitorous, shameless twitch.

“Salty?” You muse, fork halfway to your mouth, brow furrowing. “It’s… weirdly salty tonight. Did you use a new seasoning?”

Caleb tilted his head, the picture of confused innocence, though his gaze has gone dark. “Huh? No idea what you mean. Maybe the soy sauce?” He shrugged, biting back a smirk. “Is it that bad?”

“Not at all. Just… the taste feels familiar? I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Just eat up. The doctor said your sodium’s low anyways. A bit of salt is good for you.”

“Oh so you did put in extra salt. I knew it!”

He grins cheekily, watching you huff and take another big bite. The thought of you unknowingly swallowing his cum made precum soak into his boxers again. By the time you’ve nearly cleaned your plate, he is fully hard again, aching to bend you over the table and feed you the real thing straight from the source.

“Want seconds?” he asked sweetly, already reaching for your plate. His voice dropped just a fraction.

I’ll cum even more next time.

“I’ll take dessert. Watcha got?”

“Cinnamon rolls. Home-baked by yours truly.”

“Yum!”