The click of the apartment door shutting behind Makoto echoed in the silence. Ayane stood frozen. Her back pressed against the cool wood, adrenaline still buzzing through her veins from their chaotic evening.
Slowly, it began to drain away, and her legs felt like they might give out. The apartment still smelled like him, like his cheap deodorant and the dinner he'd cooked. And underneath it all, something electric and raw that made her stomach flip.
She looked around her messy apartment. The assembled Gundam was standing on her coffee table. They'd put it together in a frantic hour of desperate, nerdy creation. The Yor Forger costume lay in a heap on the floor like shed skin from someone else entirely.
A violent shiver wracked through her. Heat flooded her face, crawling from her neck to the tips of her ears. The things she'd said tonight...
"I was thinking we could work on it in bed. It would be more comfortable."
"A friendly kiss, huh? If that was friendly, I can't wait to see what unfriendly looks like."
"Are you just going to stand there and sniff, or are you going to do something about it?"
Did she really say all that? God. Did she really do all that? Her legs gave out. She slid down the door until she was a trembling heap on the floor, burying her face in her hands. A low, mortified groan escaped.
Where was the confident seductress who'd gone toe-to-toe with his possessive stepsister and manipulative best friend? Gone! Just Ayane now. The weeb nerd who'd laid all her cards on the table for the one boy who'd ever truly seen her.
Her relationship with Makoto had always been simple. They'd met in the most cliché way possible: two lonely, socially awkward freshmen in the back of a huge lecture hall. They were the only ones who laughed at the professor's obscure Evangelion reference.
At first, she thought Makoto was just a friend, a good one. The best one she'd ever had. He was the one she texted at three in the morning with new fan theories about Attack on Titan. The one who would marathon an entire season of a new isekai anime with her, no questions asked, providing sarcastic yet surprisingly insightful commentary.
When she was too stressed about midterms to eat, he made her katsudon. He listened to her endless rambling about fabric weights and stitching techniques without his eyes glazing over.
Then that slowly became their thing. Shared manga volumes and hushed discussions about new anime. Him cooking for her when she was too broke from buying limited-edition model kits to afford real food.
He never judged her obsessions or called her hobbies "childish." As a fellow weeb, he just got it.
And she'd been an idiot. She'd kept him in a box labeled "Friend." Comfortable. Safe. Completely sexless. She'd thought she had time, that he would always be there, as her safe harbor.
Then she saw him at the cafe. Flanked by those two beautiful, dangerous girls. And the way he looked at them, the raw affection and possessiveness in his eyes... it punched the air from her lungs.
She'd been so jealous. Not just of their beauty or confidence, but of their place in his world. They were part of his chaotic, dysfunctional, intimate life. And she was just the weeb friend, the one who borrowed his Blu-rays and received his pity cooking time to time.
So she'd declared war with the only weapons she had: her body, her wit, their long relationship, and a surprisingly deep well of shameless confidence.
It worked, maybe too well this time.
She looked at the Gundam again. They'd built it in under an hour, racing against a blender-wielding tsundere. After the first five minutes, they'd tossed the instructions. They just knew. His hands knew where to go, her fingers knew what to do.
That was the terrifying truth. She didn't just want his body or to "win" him. She wanted him, the clueless, perverted idiot who cried at anime endings and made the best karaage she'd ever tasted.
A slow, genuine smile spread across her face. The game had just begun. If Yuna were the feral queen, and Mika was the manipulative princess. Then she would be the rebel planning for a hostile takeover.
Ayane took another deep breath. The quiet pressed in, heavy and suffocating. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind a low thrumming deep in her bones.
She pushed herself off the floor, her movements slow. The Yor costume was now a crumpled heap of black fabric. She was still in the simple white cotton panties she'd worn underneath.
Her fingers drifted to her throat, tracing her smooth, unmarked skin. A frustrated growl rose in her chest. Yuna and Mika got to leave their marks on him. Their lipstick was a declaration of ownership.
"They got to feel his skin, his heartbeat. And she got to build a Gundam."
She walked to the couch where he'd sat and sank into the cushions. His scent still lingered there. Cheap deodorant, sweat, and something uniquely Makoto. It filled her senses.
Her hand slid down her stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of her panties. The thought of Yuna and Mika naked in his bed with him should have made her frustrated, but also made her... incredibly horny.
Her fingers slipped under her panties. Her cunt was wet. So, so wet that she can feel it leaking. A sharp, almost hysterical giggle escaped. "He's such a dense idiot."
And she was a bigger idiot for wanting him, for wanting to be part of his ridiculous, fucked-up little world.
She found her clit and began to rub it. Slow at first, then more frantic. The fantasy formed in Ayane's mind, vivid and overwhelming. Not gentle or romantic, but raw and primal.
In her fantasy, Makoto finally takes her, not as a friend or potential girlfriend, but as a conquest. He pushed her down, filling her gasping cunt with his thick cock, again and again, until she couldn't think straight.
Her hips ground against the cushions, soft moans escaping. But it wasn't enough! She needed something sharp to cut through the haze.
Her nails, painted blood-red, dug into her inner thigh. The pain jolted through her like electricity, sending fire straight to her core. It focused the pleasure, made it real.
Ayane bit her lower lip hard, tasting copper. The pain validated her. She wasn't the sweet girl-next-door or the safe weeb friend anymore. She was this: a woman of pain and pleasure, of desperate need. "This isn't enough. I want more!"
Her hazy eyes landed on her purse, lying discarded on the floor. Something had scattered from inside. A Loid Forger enamel pin from Spy X Family. The one he'd won from a gachapon and given her. She always kept it close.
With trembling hands, she retrieved it. The small, sharp point glinted in the dim streetlight filtering through the window. She didn't hesitate. She brought the pin to her breast, the cold metal stark against her flushed skin.
She traced a slow path around her left nipple, the pain felt exquisite. Her nipples were already hard, now almost painfully sensitive.
"I'm your pathetic slut, Makoto," she whispered to herself, the words both self-loathing and arousing. "Mark me... let them watch..." She imagined him pinning it to her nipples, a makeshift piercing to claim her.
Her hand trembled as she moved the pin lower. She brought it to her clit, the sharp point a promise of overwhelming pain. She pressed down, just a little. White-hot pain exploded through her.
Her back arched off the couch, a raw scream tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her in violent, shuddering waves.
She collapsed back onto the couch, boneless and trembling. The pin slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor with a soft clink. The room smelled of sex, her sweat, her love juice, and the faint metallic tang of blood.
A slow, possessive smile spread across her face. She has finally decided. "To win his heart, I would do whatever it took."