Cuck a harem protagonist? pt 4

The late afternoon sun painted Kuoh Town in hues of amber and gold, casting long shadows from the manicured trees that lined the streets leading to the Hyoudou estate. You adjusted the strap of your travel bag, the weight familiar after years of fieldwork. It had been too long since you'd been in Japan, and Kuoh had changed—grown more prosperous, more polished, yet it still hummed with that undercurrent of supernatural energy you'd learned to sense long ago. Your visit was meant to be brief, a stopover en route to a meeting in Kyoto. One message to an old friend had apparently upended that plan entirely.

Before you could even reach the formidable gates of the residence, a whirlwind of orange and black intercepted you.

"You're here! You're actually here!"

Irina Shidou materialized as if summoned by sheer force of will, her enormous twin-tails bouncing like banners in a joyful gale. She wore casual clothes—a sunny yellow sundress that somehow managed to look both innocent and strikingly mature on her adult frame—but her energy was that of the irrepressibly enthusiastic girl you'd known years ago in England. She closed the distance in three excited strides, her violet-pink eyes sparkling with unfiltered delight.

"I saw you from the window! I just knew you'd come today!" She grabbed your free hand with both of hers, her grip warm and surprisingly strong—the hands of a swordswoman hidden beneath soft skin. "Your flight landed hours ago! You should have called me the second you touched down!"

She was already tugging you toward the gate, her speech a rapid-fire blend of excitement and mock-scolding.

"I would have sent a carriage! Or flown to meet you!" Her eyes went wide with mock-seriousness. "Well, not flown officially—wings are for emergencies and dramatic entrances only—but I would have figured something out!"

You tried to interject, to explain your plan was just to say hello before heading to your hotel.

"A hotel?" Irina stopped dead in her tracks, turning to face you with an expression of theatrical horror. "In my town? When my dearest friend from England is visiting? Absolutely not. Issei would never allow it! I would never allow it! It's settled!"

Her tone left absolutely no room for argument. The massive gates swung open before you, revealing the breathtaking—and frankly excessive—sprawl of the Hyoudou mansion.

"Besides, there's so much room now!" She resumed pulling you forward, her twin-tails swinging with each determined step. "It's like a fortress of love and chaos, but mostly love. And extra bedrooms. So many extra bedrooms."

The interior was as opulent and hectic as promised. As Irina all but dragged you through the grand foyer, you caught glimpses of the household's eclectic life: a flash of white hair as Koneko vanished around a corner with a plate of snacks, the faint and elegant scent of tea drifting from a parlor where Akeno was likely holding court, the distant and earnest sound of Asia's voice talking to someone about healing magic.

And then there was Issei Hyoudou himself, descending the main staircase with the easy grin of a man who'd somehow, improbably, won the cosmic lottery and was still mostly just happy about it.

"Irina! Who's your— Oh! Hey! You must be the friend from England!"

His smile was wide, genuine, and completely without guile. He radiated a friendly, puppy-like energy, bounding down the last few steps and extending a hand.

"Welcome, welcome! Any friend of Irina's is a friend of mine! And a friend of the house! We've got tons of space, so make yourself at home!"

Irina didn't even break stride. She released your hand only to loop her arm firmly through yours, positioning herself as a physical and social bulwark.

"Issei, this is them!" She beamed at him, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—a bright, determined fire. "The one I've told you about! From my training days! They're staying with us. Indefinitely."

Issei blinked, but his trusting nature shone through like sunlight through glass.

"Huh? Oh, awesome! The more the merrier!" He clapped his hands together, completely oblivious to the possessive, almost territorial way Irina was clinging to your arm. "I'll let the others know we've got a guest! Akeno-nee will probably want to prepare a welcome feast!"

He was already turning, his mind jumping to the next hospitable thought.

"Make yourself comfortable! Seriously, treat the place like your own!"

As Issei cheerfully ambled off, shouting about feasts and new arrivals, Irina let out a soft and almost imperceptible sigh of relief. She tightened her grip on your arm, her body pressing closer against your side.

"See? He's wonderful. Truly. A big, trusting heart." Her voice dropped to a more intimate volume meant only for you, and there was a complex tenderness in her tone laced with something sharper—something akin to frustration. "Now, come on. Your room is with me. In the east wing. It's quieter."

She led you away from the central bustle, her steps quick and purposeful. The east wing was indeed more serene, the halls lined with art and soft carpeting. She stopped before a door, produced a key, and ushered you inside.

The room was lovely—spacious, airy, with a large window overlooking a serene garden. But before you could take it all in, Irina shut the door behind you with a definitive click. The sound seemed to echo in the sudden quiet.

For a moment, she just stood there, her back against the door, looking at you. The cheerful and frenetic energy from outside slowly bled away, replaced by something deeper and more vulnerable. The setting sun cast her in a warm glow, catching the red and gold in her twin-tails, making her violet eyes seem impossibly deep.

"I missed you," she whispered, the words carrying the weight of years. "I missed you so much it felt like a prayer I couldn't stop saying."

Then she moved. In two swift strides, she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a hug that was anything but casual. It was tight, fierce, and desperate. She buried her face against your shoulder, her twin-tails falling like curtains around you both, creating a private world. You could feel the rapid beat of her heart against your chest, the slight tremble in her shoulders. She smelled of jasmine and sunlight and something distinctly and purely Irina—like open skies and consecrated steel.

"This is better," she breathed, her voice muffled against your shirt. "This is where you belong. Not in some cold hotel. Here. With me."

She pulled back just enough to look up at you, her expressive eyes shimmering with unshed tears and a fierce and undeniable longing. Her hands came up to frame your face, her touch infinitely gentle.

"Issei may have the biggest heart, but he doesn't see..." Her thumb stroked your cheek, a touch so full of affection and repressed desire it was electric. "He doesn't understand how I see you. How I've always seen you."

The earnest and faithful angel, the loyal childhood friend, was gone. In her place was a woman standing on the precipice of a sacred vow she desperately wanted to break, looking at you as if you were the only salvation she had ever truly wanted.

"You're staying." It was not a question but a vow of her own. "And this time, I'm not letting you go."

The afternoon heat had settled into the east wing like a held breath, thick and still and golden. You sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through your phone with half-attention while the clock on the nightstand crept toward five. The house was quiet. Akeno was in the kitchen. Asia was in the garden. Koneko was somewhere being silently judgmental. The rest were scattered across Kuoh doing whatever it was they did when Issei wasn't corralling them into group activities.

Then you heard it. Footsteps in the hall—heavy and fast, the stride of someone who had been pushing their body past its limits for hours and was only now feeling the consequences. The door swung open without a knock.

Irina filled the frame.

She was wrecked. Beautifully, thoroughly wrecked. Her black combat bodysuit clung to every inch of her like it had been vacuum-sealed—the sweat-darkened fabric mapping every curve in unflinching detail. The swell of her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. The narrow channel of her waist glistened where perspiration had gathered along the suit's seams. Her thighs and hips were sheathed in the same slick black, armored panels scuffed and scratched from whatever brutal solo session she'd just put herself through. Her twin-tails were half-collapsed, clumps of orange plastered to her neck and jaw, ribbons hanging limp and defeated. A thin scratch marked her left forearm—nothing serious, just a graze from pushing too hard against a barrier spell she'd set up for target practice.

"Home," she croaked, her voice wrecked to match the rest of her.

She trudged inside, kicked the door shut with her heel, and dropped her holy sword against the wall. It clattered sideways and lay there on the carpet like a divinely consecrated paperweight. She didn't even glance at it.

"Three hours," she announced to the ceiling, hands on her knees, still catching her breath. "Three. Hours. Of aerial drills. By myself. In this heat."

She straightened up with visible effort and looked at you. Something bright flickered behind the exhaustion in her violet eyes.

"Oh good. You're here."

She walked toward the center of the room with the bowlegged gait of someone whose thighs had filed a formal complaint approximately ninety minutes ago. Her twin-tails—whatever structural integrity they had left—swayed weakly behind her. She stopped in the middle of the room, rolled her shoulders, and winced hard enough to suck air through her teeth.

"Okay," she breathed. "Okay okay okay."

She turned her back to you and reached behind her neck with one hand. Her fingers found the zipper pull at her nape and yanked. Nothing. She grunted, twisted her arm, pulled again. The zipper moved one tooth and locked with an audible click.

"Oh you have got to be—"

She dropped her arm. Shook it out. Tried again from a different angle, her shoulder muscles bunching and flexing visibly beneath the black fabric. The tendons in her forearm stood out like cords. Her fingers slipped off the pull and she let out a sound that was half growl and half whimper.

"Come on."

She tried the clasps along her shoulder blades next—small interlocking mechanisms that required a precise pinch-and-twist motion. Her fingers fumbled with the first one, slick with sweat. It slipped free of her grip. She tried the second one. Same result. Her arms were shaking now—not dramatically, but enough that you could see the fine tremor running through her biceps and forearms.

"Xenovia does this with one hand," she muttered bitterly. "Xenovia opens hers during combat. Mid-swing. While decapitating things. And I can't even—"

The clasp refused to cooperate. Her fingers slid off again. She tried once more, twisting at an angle that made her shoulder blade jut out sharply beneath the fabric, every line of strain visible. The mechanism held firm. Her fingers didn't.

She dropped her arms to her sides. The room was quiet. Late afternoon light slanted through the window and caught the scratches on her armored panels, turning them briefly to gold. Irina stared at the far wall for a long moment, her back still to you, shoulders rising and falling with slow deliberate breaths. You could see the exact moment the fight went out of her—the slight deflation, the drop of her head, the long exhale that carried three hours of combat training and ten minutes of zipper warfare out of her body in a single defeated sigh.

Then she turned around.

Her cheeks were flushed—deeper than exertion alone could explain. Her violet eyes were wide and bright, carrying something that wasn't her usual playful teasing. This was rawer. Unguarded. The expression of someone standing at the edge of a cliff they had been walking toward for a very long time.

"Hey," she said softly. She tucked a strand of sweat-damp hair behind her ear. Her fingers were still trembling slightly. "So, um."

She glanced sideways at the wall. Then the floor. Then the ceiling. Then back at you. A faint smile tugged at one corner of her mouth—not her usual radiant grin but something smaller and more uncertain.

"I can't reach it," she said quietly. "The zipper. And the clasps. I've been fighting with this stupid thing for ten minutes and my arms are basically useless right now."

She bit her lower lip. Her eyes searched your face—reading you, studying you, looking for something she wasn't sure she'd find.

"Would you... help me take it off?"

The Hyoudou Residence was, for once, blissfully quiet. Rias had taken the entire group—a chattering, bickering, lovingly chaotic caravan—on an outing to the commercial district for what she called "necessary social engagement" and what Issei had immediately dubbed "shopping trip with the girls." Koneko had gone for the crepe stand two blocks from the mall. Kuroka had vanished the moment she heard the word "sake tasting." Even Akeno, who typically preferred to linger, had been swept up in the tide of bodies and excitement that followed Issei everywhere he went like a storm system.

Irina had volunteered to stay behind.

"You go on ahead!" she'd said, waving them off with both hands and a smile so bright it could have powered the house for a week. "Someone should keep our guest company! I'll give them the full tour! It's the least I can do!"

Issei had clapped you on the shoulder with that trademark grin.

"Perfect! Irina knows every corner of this place! You're in good hands, buddy!"

And then they were gone, the front door swinging shut with a heavy thud that reverberated through the cavernous foyer. The silence that followed was almost startling—just the faint ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere deeper in the house and the soft sound of Irina's breathing beside you.

She stood very still for a moment, watching the door as if to make absolutely certain no one was coming back. Then she turned to you, and the smile on her face was different now. Still warm, still radiant, but layered with something quieter and more deliberate. Her violet eyes held yours with an intensity that made the air feel thicker.

"Finally," she murmured, more to herself than to you. "Just us."

She stepped closer, her sundress swaying around her knees, and laced her fingers through yours. Her hand was warm.

"Let me show you the house properly."

She led you into the first room off the main hall—a massive library floor-to-ceiling with dark wood shelves and leather-bound volumes. Stained glass windows threw colored light across the carpet in fractured patterns of crimson and gold. Irina released your hand and walked ahead of you, her twin-tails swaying, until she reached the center of the room.

"The library," she announced softly, turning to face you. "Rias spent a fortune on this collection. First editions from three factions. Some of them are genuinely dangerous."

She reached behind her neck with both hands, found the thin ribbon choker she always wore—a pale blue strip of silk she'd had since her training days in England—and untied it. The fabric whispered free from her skin. She held it up between two fingers, letting the light play across it, then set it gently on the nearest shelf.

"Consider that an introduction."

Your mouth went slightly dry. Irina watched your reaction with a curl of satisfaction at the corner of her lips, then took your hand again and pulled you deeper into the house.

The next room was the kitchen—an enormous, modern space of marble countertops and professional-grade appliances that Akeno kept immaculate. Copper pots hung from a ceiling rack. A long island dominated the center, scattered with cookbooks and a half-finished pot of tea.

"This is where Akeno rules her domain," Irina said, hopping up to sit on the edge of the counter with casual grace, her sundress riding up just above her knees. "She once made me cry with a soufflé. Happy tears. Mostly."

She leaned back on her palms and crossed her ankles, watching you with that same quiet intensity. Then she reached down and slipped off one of her shoes—a simple white sandal—and let it drop to the tile floor with a soft clatter. She flexed her bare toes against the cool marble and smiled.

"One room, one thing. That's the rule."

The dining room came next—long and formal, set with crystal and silverware that caught the afternoon light filtering through tall windows. Irina walked the length of the table trailing her fingertips along the polished surface.

"This is where we all eat together," she said, pausing at the far end. "Every night. All of us. It's loud and messy and someone always argues about seating."

She reached down and slipped off the other sandal, kicking it under the table with a satisfying little skid across the hardwood.

"But I always save you a chair," she added quietly, not looking at you. "In my head. Every night. I save you a chair."

The hallway between rooms was lined with photographs—battle memories, celebrations, candid shots of people laughing. Irina slowed as she passed a framed picture of the full group, Issei beaming at the center with all his girls around him. She paused for only a heartbeat, her expression unreadable, then kept walking.

The next stop was a sunroom at the back of the house, glass-walled and filled with potted plants that Asia tended with almost religious devotion. Warm light flooded the space, turning everything golden. Irina stepped into it and let out a small breath, the warmth settling across her bare shoulders like a shawl.

"Asia loves this room," she said softly. "She says the plants can feel love. I think she might be right."

She turned to face you, standing in the full wash of sunlight, and reached for the thin spaghetti strap on her left shoulder. She slid it down slowly, letting it rest against her upper arm, the fabric of her sundress loosening just enough to reveal the elegant line of her collarbone and the faintest shadow of skin beneath.

"I've been thinking about this since the moment I saw you at the gate," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not the tour. Not the house. Just... this. Being alone with you. Being honest with you."

Her fingers found the other strap and drew it down to match. The dress held in place, barely, by friction and willpower, the neckline dipping to reveal the soft swell of her chest.

"The east wing is next," she murmured, stepping toward you, bare feet silent on the tile. "My room. Our room."

She reached for your hand again, intertwining her fingers with yours, and pulled you close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off her skin, could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat.

"I have one more thing to take off," she whispered, her lips inches from yours, her eyes shimmering with want and something sacred and something sinful all at once. "But I think I'll need your help with that one."

She pressed her forehead against yours, her twin-tails falling around you both like a curtain, shutting out the world.

"Stay with me. Please."

The Hyoudou Residence had a particular sound at night—a low, sleeping hum of dozens of heartbeats and the occasional creak of old wood settling. It was the sound of a house full of people who had fought hard enough to earn their rest. Doors were closed. Lights were off. Even Kuroka's usual midnight wanderings had gone quiet.

Irina appeared at your door at half past midnight, not knocking, just slipping inside like a ghost made of moonlight. She wore a light jacket over a tank top and fitted shorts, her twin-tails undone for once—her orange hair falling loose and wild around her shoulders in a way you had never seen before. She looked softer. Younger. Like the girl she must have been before the wars and the wings and the weight of divine purpose.

"Don't make a sound," she whispered, pressing a finger to her lips. Her eyes were bright with barely contained mischief. "Koneko has ears like a satellite dish and Akeno sleeps with one eye open. Trust me."

She took your hand—her fingers cool from the night air—and led you to the window. With her free hand, she pushed it open and a rush of jasmine-scented breeze flooded the room.

"Fireman's carry or trust fall," she whispered, grinning. "Your choice."

She didn't wait for an answer. Before you could respond, she had wrapped her arms around your waist, and white wings burst from her back—feathers catching the moonlight like polished silver. The power of an Angel surged beneath her skin, warm and electric, and then you were airborne.

The world dropped away. Kuoh Town spread beneath you like a quilt of dark rooftops and amber streetlights, the houses shrinking to toy-sized boxes as Irina climbed higher. Her wings beat with steady, practiced rhythm, each downstroke sending a whisper of displaced air across your face. She held you securely against her body, one arm hooked under your knees, the other bracing your back, her chin resting on the top of your head as if this were the most natural position in the world.

"Stop squirming," she murmured against your hair, her voice warm with amusement. "I've carried heavier things than you. Demons, mostly. You're practically a feather."

She flew northwest, away from the town center, over dark stretches of forest and the silver ribbon of a river winding through the hills. The air grew cooler and cleaner, stripped of the town's ambient energy. Stars blazed overhead in impossible numbers, the sky a deep and velvet black that no city could ever replicate.

After ten minutes of silent flight, Irina began to descend. A clearing opened below—a hidden plateau nestled between two forested hills, carpeted in wild grass that rippled like water under the night wind. A single ancient cherry tree stood at its center, massive and gnarled, its branches reaching outward like arms open in welcome. A natural spring bubbled at its roots, the water catching moonlight and throwing it back in scattered diamonds.

Irina landed softly, her wings folding with a whisper of feathers, and set you down on the grass. The ground was cool and slightly damp beneath your feet. She stood beside you for a moment, breathing deeply, her loose hair lifting in the breeze.

"This is it," she said quietly, spreading her arms as if presenting the clearing to you. "My place. My secret."

She walked toward the cherry tree, trailing her fingers through the tall grass, and sat down beneath it, leaning her back against the rough bark. She patted the ground beside her.

"Come sit. Please."

You settled next to her. The spring murmured softly nearby, and somewhere in the forest a night bird called out a low, repeating note that hung in the air like a question.

"I found this place my first year in Kuoh," Irina said, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her profile was silver-edged in the moonlight, her violet eyes reflecting the stars. "I was homesick. I missed England. I missed the training grounds where we first met. I missed you. And I needed somewhere quiet where I could just... breathe."

She turned her head to look at you, her hair spilling over one shoulder.

"The house is wonderful. The people are wonderful. Issei is..." She paused, searching for the right word, and settled on something that carried both affection and exhaustion. "Issei is Issei. He's kind and brave and he loves all of us and he means every word of it. But it's loud. All the time. Every room has someone in it. Every conversation has an audience. There's no corner of that house where you're truly alone."

She reached over and found your hand, lacing her fingers through yours. Her palm was warm now, the chill of the night flight worn off.

"But here," she continued softly, squeezing your hand, "there's no one. No Rias planning her next political move. No Akeno reading the room with those perfect violet eyes. No Koneko pretending she isn't listening. No Issei being trusting and generous and good in a way that makes me feel guilty for being here with you right now."

She leaned her head against your shoulder. Her loose hair spilled across your arm like warm water.

"I don't feel guilty though," she whispered. "That's the terrible part. I should. I know I should. But I don't."

The spring continued its quiet song. The cherry tree's branches swayed overhead, casting shifting shadows across the grass.

"This is the only place where I get to choose," she murmured, her voice growing drowsy and tender. "Not Heaven's orders. Not duty. Not loyalty to the peerage or the household or the mission. Just... me. Choosing what I actually want."

She tilted her face up toward yours, her violet eyes luminous in the dark.

"And what I want is sitting right next to me on this stupid cold grass at two in the morning," she said, and the smile that spread across her face was the most honest thing you had ever seen from her—unguarded, aching, completely free. "So no. I don't feel guilty. I feel lucky."

She nestled closer against you, pulling your arm around her shoulders, and let out a long, contented sigh.

"Don't take me back yet," she pleaded softly, closing her eyes. "Just five more minutes. Five more minutes where it's only us."

The stars wheeled slowly overhead. The spring sang. And Irina Shidou—the angel who had carried you across a sleeping town into the only place on earth where she could say what she truly meant—held on to you like a prayer she finally had the courage to answer.

The first pale fingers of dawn crept through the curtains of the east wing bedroom, painting thin gold lines across the sheets and the tangle of limbs beneath them. The Hyoudou Residence slept. Every hall, every room, every sprawling corridor held nothing but the deep and dreaming silence of a household that wouldn't stir for at least another hour. It was Issei Hyoudou's birthday—and somewhere in the grand master bedroom on the opposite side of the mansion, the Red Dragon Emperor was probably smiling in his sleep, blissfully unaware of what the day actually had in store for him.

You felt warmth first. Then weight. Then the unmistakable sensation of someone shifting against you under the covers, a body pressing close with deliberate, slow intent.

"Hey."

Irina's voice was a murmur right against your ear, barely louder than breathing. Her hand slid across your chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns over the fabric of your shirt. You opened your eyes.

She was already up. Already awake. And she was wearing absolutely nothing that could be classified as sleepwear.

The lingerie was black—deep, sinful black against her fair skin—adorned with delicate lace trim that traced the generous curves it barely contained. A thin ribbon threaded through the front, tied in a small bow at the center of her chest that looked like it was designed to be undone by a single tug. The matching bottoms sat low on her hips, sheer enough to hint at everything beneath without quite revealing it. Her orange hair was down, loose and wild, spilling across the pillow and your arm in warm waves. Her twin-tails were nowhere to be seen—no ribbons, no ties, no armor, no pretense. Just Irina. Bare-faced, bright-eyed, and looking at you like you were the only thing in the universe that mattered.

Her violet eyes caught the early light and shimmered with something fierce and unrepentant.

"Happy birthday," she whispered, and her lips curved into a smile that had absolutely nothing to do with Issei Hyoudou. "Well. Not to you. But today is special anyway."

She propped herself up on one elbow, the lace shifting across her bust as she moved, and looked down at you with an expression that was equal parts adoration and conspiracy.

"It's Issei's birthday," she said, as if this were mildly interesting trivia and not the occasion that had the entire household buzzing with preparations since last week. "Rias has been planning a party for three weeks. Akeno's been cooking since yesterday. Asia made a cake. Koneko wrapped presents. Kuroka stole one of the presents and re-wrapped it as her own. The whole house is going to lose its mind celebrating the most important day of the year for our beloved Red Dragon Emperor."

She paused. Her smile didn't waver. If anything, it deepened.

"And I don't care."

The words came out soft and absolute—no anger, no bitterness, no dramatic proclamation. Just a simple, quiet truth delivered with the calm certainty of someone who had made her choice and was entirely at peace with it.

"I don't care about the party. I don't care about the cake. I don't care about the presents or the decorations or Xenovia's probably-inappropriate gift that she's been hiding under her bed for a month." She leaned closer, her hair falling around you both like a curtain. "I care about this room. I care about this bed. And I care about the person in it with me."

Her fingers found the hem of your shirt and traced the edge of it against your skin, feather-light.

"We're not getting up today," she murmured. "Not for breakfast. Not for the party. Not for anything. If Issei comes looking for me—if he walks down that hall wondering where his lovely angel girlfriend is on his special, precious birthday—"

She paused, her eyes locking onto yours with a dark and glittering intensity.

"—then he can knock. And if we don't answer, that's his problem."

She rolled on top of you in one fluid motion, her knees straddling your hips, her hands planting on either side of your head. The lace of her lingerie brushed against your chest. Her loose hair spilled forward, curtaining both your faces from the pale morning light. She looked down at you—flushed, determined, burning.

"I told him I had a headache," she whispered, her voice dropping to something husky and conspiratorial. "Last night. At dinner. Right in front of everyone. 'Oh Issei, I don't feel well, I might sleep in tomorrow, don't worry about me, I'll be fine, you enjoy your day.' He bought it completely. He's so trusting."

Something flickered across her face—affection, guilt, and then something harder that pushed both aside.

"And he is. He's genuinely good. That's what makes this—" she gestured between the two of you with one hand, "—so easy and so terrible at the same time. He'll never suspect. He'll never question it. He'll spend his whole birthday surrounded by women who love him and never once wonder if one of them is three rooms away doing exactly this."

She settled her weight down onto you, her hips pressing against yours, and let out a slow breath through parted lips.

"So here's the plan," she whispered, bending down until her lips hovered just above yours, her breath warm and sweet. "Today. All day. You and me. No interruptions. No guilt. No Issei."

Her hand slid down your side, fingers pressing into your hip.

"And if he finds us?" She smiled—that radiant, impossible, storybook-heroine smile that had once been innocent and was now something else entirely. "Then his birthday present is learning what a cuck is."

She kissed the corner of your jaw. Then your neck. Then the spot below your ear that made everything in the room feel smaller and warmer.

"Lock the door," she breathed against your skin. "Or don't. I honestly don't care anymore."

Custom Scenario