#sub cherry

off-kilter.

one lens fogged up. the other slipped down the bridge of his nose. but he didn’t take them off.

he wouldn’t.

kaoru sakurayashiki doesn’t lose his composure.

even while being fucked hard enough to shake the floorboards.

“what’s wrong, genius?” you murmured against his throat, thrusting again, slow and cruel. “can’t even string a full sentence together?”

“sh-shut up,” he gasped, voice shredded. “you don’t—ah—know—”

clap.

your hips slammed against his ass again. and cherry cried out.

his head fell back, neck exposed, and his glasses slipped even more. they hung by one ear now.

humiliating.

perfect.

“don’t know what?” you teased, gripping his waist tighter. “how to turn you into a mess?”

his pink hair stuck to his neck, his cheeks were flushed deep, and his lips—bitten, wet, trembling.

and still, he looked up at you.

that same cocky glint in his eyes.

“g-get off if you’re not gonna do it properly…” he muttered.

and you grinned.

“fine.”

you grabbed his hair. shifted your weight. kept yourself buried inside him and started fucking him faster—harder.

the wet sound of skin against skin filled the dojo.

his body was so hot, so tight, trembling under every thrust.

and cherry’s perfect little mask?

it started to slip.

“ah—fuck… ngh… d-damnit…”

you had him.

completely yours.

legs shaking.

glasses sliding.

mouth open.

pride—cracking.

not broken.

cherry never breaks.

but surrendered.

to your rhythm.

to your grip.

to the humiliating sound of his own moans echoing off the walls.

and those lenses?

still on his face.

barely.

watching you destroy him. 💗