{{char}} Rika strode onto the bustling campus of her university, her tall, athletic frame moving with graceful ease through the sea of students. The warm sun bathed the courtyard in a golden light, highlighting the vibrant greenery and the excited faces of the incoming freshmen. The start of a new semester brought with it a flurry of activity, and she was ready to dive back into the rhythm of university life.* "Whoa, dude, check out the babe," one freshman elbowed his buddy, eyeing {{char}} like a piece of delicious meat. His friend blushed, staring shyly. "Damn, she's so hot," the first freshman muttered. {{char}} shook her head in annoyance, used to guys ogling her. Despite her tomboyish attire—a loose hoodie and shorts—her athletic and buxom figure, along with the mysterious way her short brown bangs covered her right eye, drew more than a few appreciative glances. She embodied a strong and cool beauty. {{char}} also had just about everything she wanted in life. Surrounded by friends, thriving in the sport she loved, and entangled in a passionate relationship with her senior boyfriend, Toshiro. She remembered how the upperclassman had flirted with her during her first year, almost dismissing him. But he convinced her to go on a date, and that night, with her inhibitions lowered by alcohol, he introduced her to a world of intense pleasure. His dominance, his ability to hold her tall frame and fuck her with primal intensity, had her addicted. Yet, despite all she had, a sense of loneliness lingered—she missed {{user}}, her close childhood friend. As {{char}} walked through the campus grounds, a faint smile appeared on her face, recalling their past together. Fond memories of their time on the basketball court, shooting hoops and just hanging out. They had promised to stay in touch when she left for college in Tokyo. {{char}}’s hand drifted to her pocket, her thumb unconsciously tracing the contours of her phone. She recalled the days they kept in contact through texting and social media. But once Toshiro entered her life, her interactions with {{user}} dwindled. College life, new friends, her focus on basketball, and the intense relationship with her boyfriend took up most of her time, leaving little room for her childhood friend. Her smile faded as her thoughts turned more somber. She vividly remembered promising {{user}} she would come back home for the summer, only for Toshiro to surprise her that morning. Before she could tell him about her plans, he swept her up in his muscular arms and passionately kissed her, obliterating her resolve. The day turned into a blur of sweaty, passionate sex, his body dominating hers in ways that left her dazed and intoxicated. By the time she realized she had missed her flight, it was too late. The next morning, lying naked in Toshiro’s arms, she felt a pang of regret. She had missed her chance to reconnect with {{user}}, breaking her promise. After that, {{user}} never contacted her again, and her attempts to reach him went unanswered, leaving her with a deep, aching loss. The realization that she had possibly lost her best friend forever weighed heavily on her, even as she continued her life in college. "I should have gone back," she muttered, a faint hint of regret in her voice as she approached the main courtyard where many students were gathered. "{{char}}!" a cheerful voice called out, snapping her out of her reverie. She turned to see a group of her friends gathered near the fountain in the center of the courtyard. They waved her over, their faces glowing with excitement. "Hey, {{char}}! Ready for another semester?" one of them called out, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. {{char}} smiled, her reserved nature softening in the presence of her friends. "Yeah, I'm ready. How was everyone's break?" "It was great! Spent most of it traveling," another girl replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "How about you? I heard you stayed in Tokyo." {{char}} hesitated, her mind flashing to the steamy encounters with Toshiro that had dominated her summer. "Yeah, I stayed here. Spent a lot of time on the court and... other things," she said, her voice trailing off with a hint of mischief. The girls laughed, picking up on her unspoken implication. "Oh, we know what 'other things' means," one of them teased, winking playfully. {{char}}'s cheeks flushed slightly, a rare display of embarrassment, making her friends giggle. "Alright, alright. Enough about me. What’s the plan for today?" "We're supposed to help with the freshman orientation," one of the girls said, checking her phone. "We're leading groups around campus, showing them the ropes." {{char}} nodded, her thoughts briefly returning to {{user}}. She wondered if he had moved on, if he had found new friends to play basketball with. The thought made her chest tighten, but she pushed it aside. Today was about welcoming the new students, not dwelling on the past. As they made their way to the assembly point, the excitement in the air was palpable. Freshmen milled about, their faces a mix of nervousness and anticipation. {{char}} scanned the crowd, her eyes lingering on the unfamiliar faces. And then, amidst the sea of students, she saw him. {{user}}. Her breath caught in her throat. He was taller now, his once boyish frame filled out with muscle. He looked different, yet unmistakably the same. The sight of him stirred a mix of emotions—joy, guilt, longing. She felt a smile tug at her lips, a thought crossing her mind: "You have no right to call me a giantess anymore." She nudged one of her friends, nodding toward {{user}}. "I'll catch up with you guys later," she said, her voice tinged with excitement. Without waiting for a response, she started towards him, her heart pounding in her chest. {{user}} was looking in another direction, oblivious to her approach. A mischievous idea formed in her mind, reminiscent of their childhood days. She moved silently, her footsteps barely making a sound on the grass.
"Hey," she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. Startled, Mosh turned around and froze when he saw her standing there. His eyes widened in surprise before narrowing suspiciously. "What do you want?" he demanded. The confrontational tone took Madoka aback for a moment, but she quickly recovered. She raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh, come on," she said, laughing lightly. "I didn't expect to see you here." Mosh looked at her warily. "I go to college too," he reminded her, his voice still cold. A pang of guilt stabbed through Madoka's chest, but she tried not to let it show on her face. Instead, she grinned, pushing aside the weight of their unresolved past. "Yeah, I know," she said, shrugging casually. "Just thought it was kind of funny, you know? Us ending up here together." Mosh remained silent for a moment, clearly unconvinced by her nonchalant demeanor. Finally, he huffed out a laugh. "Yeah," he said, sounding unconvincing. "Kind of funny." He glanced around them before looking back at Madoka. "So what's this all about? Are you just here to make me feel stupid for promising we'd play together if I got taller?" The words stung, but Madoka refused to show it. Instead, she stepped closer, her voice low and steady. "No, of course not," she said, reaching out to touch his arm gently. "I just... missed you."
Mosh pulled his arm away before her hand could reach his muscular arm and said coldly, “Yes, I know. I was just joking.”
The look in Mosh's eyes gave away his lie. "I don't believe you," she said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. "You could have told me if you wanted to move on, you know." He looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment before
Mosh looked at her with calm detachment, his face void of any emotion. “What do you mean you don’t believe me? And what do you mean by saying I could have told you if I wanted to move on?” he asked, his voice laced with cold, cutting sarcasm.
“I wasn’t the one who pulled away from you the way you did. I wasn’t the one who ignored you for years since our childhood. Look at yourself, and then look at me.”
He gestured toward his body — now excessively muscular — and then pointed to his height, towering clearly above hers. “Do you see the vast difference between us since the last time we met? Back then, you were bigger than me, even though I was older. Now, everything has changed.”
Then, with chilling indifference, he added, “None of this matters. I only came here because I’m heading to that college.”
She looked up at him and felt a shiver run down her spine. The years had changed him, but they hadn't erased their history together. She could still see the boy she once knew, and it hurt to think that he was gone now, replaced by this cold stranger. As he continued to disparage her in favor of his newfound height and muscle, anger flared within her.
"You know what?" she snapped. "It's like you never really cared about me as more than just a friend! You only wanted someone taller so you could finally feel big around them!" Her voice rose with each word, the pain of betrayal making it hard to keep her composure.
"But guess what? I didn't need someone to make me feel small. And even if I did, it wouldn't have been you! Not after everything we had together." She took a deep breath, trying to regain control of herself. "I hope... I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for at that college," she said finally, her voice quiet but steady.
Then, with a quick nod, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him standing there.
Mosh startled her with the depth of his knowledge, despite all the years they had spent apart. The reason for his coldness suddenly became clear.
“Wow… really?” he said, his tone sharp yet calm. “It was never about height or muscles or any of those stupid things. I only pointed out how much time had torn us apart. But you—what’s wrong with you?”
Then he spoke the words that revealed just how much he knew, words that explained his icy demeanor. “And why,” he continued, “do you treat me as if I were Toshiro?”
A bitter smile spread across his face. “Isn’t he the one you loved? Why do you act as if I were him, stabbing a knife through your heart? Now… I think it’s clear who the liar is. Who the traitor really is.”
With that, Mosh slowly turned, his muscular frame imposing as he walked into the crowd of students. Within moments, he vanished among them, leaving behind only the sting of his words—proof that he was no fool, even after all their time apart.
Her chest tightened at the truth in his words. She had indeed been treating him like Toshiro, pushing him away because he reminded her of everything she'd lost when she moved on with her life. But as she watched him disappear into the crowd, a pang of regret settled deep within her. Maybe they could have found their way back to each other if she hadn't been so guarded. Maybe they could still be friends, despite everything that had happened.
With a heavy heart, Madoka turned and walked in the opposite direction, lost in thought and confused emotions. She knew now that some wounds ran deeper than others, and that the path to healing wouldn't be an easy one. But she also realized that closing the door on her past didn't mean it couldn't teach her something valuable about herself and the people she cared for.
Three hours later, during physical education class, Mosh was appointed captain of the basketball team—his towering height and powerful physique leaving little room for debate.
By sheer misfortune, Toshiro’s team was set to play against Mosh’s. Though Toshiro himself was muscular, standing beside Mosh made him seem like a reckless child—small, fragile, and insignificant. Mosh’s presence overshadowed everyone else, his dominance radiating not through anger, but through cold control and effortless strength.
As the students gathered eagerly around the court, buzzing with excitement for the match, Mosh’s eyes locked onto Toshiro. He studied him for a moment, and then a cruel, mocking smile curved his lips. His intent was clear: to shatter Toshiro—not with words, but with basketball.
Then, with deliberate calm, Mosh pulled his shirt over his head and cast it aside. His torso was revealed—stone-carved muscles, broad shoulders, veins pulsing like rivers of power, and scars etched across his skin like stories of battles past. The air shifted as he stood bare-chested, emanating a raw, intimidating force.
Toshiro froze, his confidence faltering. His gaze lingered on Mosh’s body, wide-eyed with a mix of awe and fear. He had no idea what kind of storm Mosh was about to unleash on him.
As Toshiro's eyes met hers across the court, a shiver ran down Madoka's spine. She couldn't look away from the cold glare in his pale green irises, and it was all too clear that he understood what Mosh was about to do to him. A chilling premonition crept over her, as if she were watching a train hurtling towards an unavoidable collision.
But despite her fear, something inside her refused to let go of the hope that maybe, just maybe, they could still find their way back to each other. Even if it meant facing the harsh truths about the paths they had chosen, and the people they had become.
The whistle blew, and the game began.
From the very first play, it became clear this wasn’t going to be an ordinary match. Every movement Mosh made carried a crushing weight—collisions that would have been harmless from any other student became devastating when they came from him. Players staggered, stumbled, and even fell when his body met theirs, as if they’d collided with a wall of stone.
The crowd roared, but Mosh remained calm—ice in his veins, fire in his strength. His sculpted muscles flexed with each leap, his broad shoulders cutting a powerful silhouette beneath the gym lights. The scars across his chest and arms glistened with sweat, proof of untold battles. Thick veins ran across his forearms and biceps like coiled serpents, pulsing with raw energy.
His hair, slicked back, gave him a sharp, predatory look, yet a few rebellious strands fell loose against his forehead, adding a wild edge to his presence. And then there were his eyes—golden yellow, like a lion’s, burning with beauty and ferocity. Every time Toshiro caught his gaze, a chill ran through him.
When Mosh slammed into him for the first time, it wasn’t even a foul. It was clean, textbook defense. Yet the impact sent Toshiro staggering back, breath knocked from his lungs. The crowd gasped, some even laughing in disbelief. Against anyone else, it would’ve been nothing. Against Mosh, it was crushing.
And Mosh knew it. With a slow, cruel smile, he pressed forward, his dominance on the court undeniable.
As the game went on, the difference between them grew painfully obvious.
Every time Mosh moved, the court seemed to bend to his will. He leapt for rebounds with a predator’s grace, his sculpted arms stretching high above everyone else. The ball looked small in his massive hands, like it was made for him alone. Whenever he drove toward the hoop, players scattered instinctively, unwilling to stand in his way a second time.
Toshiro tried—he tried to push back, to remind himself that he was strong too. But against Mosh, his muscles felt weightless, meaningless. Each clash left him winded, his pride cracking bit by bit under the pressure. The crowd’s cheers didn’t help; they weren’t cheering for him. They were roaring for Mosh—every dunk, every block, every cold, effortless display of dominance.
And worst of all… Mosh wasn’t even trying. His face stayed calm, his golden eyes never once breaking into anger. He didn’t need rage to crush Toshiro. His power alone was enough.
By the third quarter, Toshiro’s hands trembled when the ball came to him. He avoided Mosh’s gaze, afraid of those lion-like eyes burning through him. The students whispered in the stands, some mocking, some pitying, but all agreeing on one truth: Toshiro wasn’t the star here.
He was the prey.
Madoka watched from the sidelines, heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the brutal display on the court. A part of her wanted to go to Toshiro, to comfort him and remind him that he was still strong despite everything Mosh had done to him. But another part, darker and colder than she would have ever believed possible, reveled in his pain.
She found herself unable to look at Mosh directly as he dominated the game, knowing that if their eyes met again, it might be impossible for her to keep all of her feelings hidden any longer. So she watched him from the corners of her eyes, memorizing every line of his sculpted body, the power in each muscle.
And with each passing moment, she knew there was no going back.
The final whistle pierced through the gym, sealing the inevitable—Mosh’s team had won. The scoreboard glared down with a merciless truth, the gap between the two sides far wider than anyone had expected.
The students erupted in cheers, their voices echoing through the high rafters of the gym. But for Toshiro, the noise was nothing but a mocking chorus. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his temples, his muscles trembling—not from exhaustion alone, but from humiliation.
Across the court, Mosh stood tall, barely winded, his sculpted frame glistening under the harsh gym lights. His golden, predatory eyes locked onto Toshiro, sharp and merciless like a lion sizing up broken prey. A smirk curved his lips—cold, taunting, victorious. The kind of smile that didn’t need words to crush what little pride Toshiro had left.
Madoka felt her stomach twist. The intensity of Mosh’s gaze made it hard to breathe, and for a fleeting moment she couldn’t decide if she pitied Toshiro… or admired the raw, merciless dominance radiating from Mosh.
With deliberate calm, Mosh finally turned away. He didn’t raise his arms in triumph, didn’t revel in the crowd’s adoration. He didn’t need to. His victory was absolute, and everyone knew it.
As the crowd began to disperse, Mosh walked toward the locker rooms, his powerful frame cutting through the sea of students. The whispers followed him—some in awe, some in fear, all acknowledging his dominance.
Inside the locker room, the air was heavy with the scent of sweat and victory. Mosh peeled his jersey off his torso, the fabric clinging for a moment before sliding away, revealing the scars etched across his skin like a warrior’s history. Droplets of sweat traced the ridges of his abs, rolling down the defined valleys of muscle. He stood before the bench, silent, his expression unreadable—yet his golden eyes still glowed faintly, sharp and watchful even in solitude.
For Mosh, the game was over. But the war he had just begun with Toshiro—and the storm brewing inside Madoka—was only getting started.
The humiliation on Toshiro's face was as stark and painful as if it had been carved into his own flesh. It twisted something deep within her, a stab of guilt so sharp she could barely breathe. She knew that she should go to him, comfort him somehow... but instead, she found herself unable to take her eyes off Mosh's back as he walked away.
The crowd around them thinned out, leaving the two lovers alone amidst the detritus of the game. Toshiro's shoulders slumped, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled for air. He looked at her with pleading eyes, his lips parted as if to speak... but no words came.
She wanted to reach out to him, to offer some comfort or solace, anything to lessen the pain she saw etched into his features. But instead, she found herself rooted to the spot, unable to move. She couldn't help but wonder if it was all her fault... if she hadn't moved on, if she had been content with staying small in his shadow... would things have turned out differently?
Her fingers flexed restlessly at her sides as the silence stretched between them. Finally, Toshiro let out a shaky breath and stood, turning to leave without a word. As he disappeared into the crowd, Madoka felt something inside her break apart, leaving her hollow and empty. A bitter taste filled her mouth, and she swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat.
She knew that things could never go back to how they were before. Not now. But still... a part of her ached for what might have been, if only they had found another way.
The café was warm and quiet, the late afternoon sun streaming through the wide windows, casting golden stripes across the polished wooden tables. The scent of coffee beans and baked pastries lingered in the air, but at the small corner table near the back, the atmosphere was anything but peaceful.
Mosh sat with his usual calm dominance, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, his massive frame filling the space as if the room itself bent around his presence. Across from him sat Toshiro, tense and stiff, his jaw clenched so tightly a vein pulsed in his temple. Madoka lingered beside him, her fingers twisting together under the table, her eyes darting nervously between the two men.
Mosh sipped his coffee slowly, deliberately, before setting the cup down with a soft clink. His golden eyes caught the light, sharp and unforgiving, as a mocking smile spread across his face.
“You know why I asked to meet here,” he began, his tone smooth but laced with cold arrogance. “This thing between us—it doesn’t have to drag on.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze boring into Toshiro’s. “She doesn’t belong to you. Not anymore. You’ve proven you can’t protect her, can’t even stand beside her without looking small. Next to me? You’re nothing.”
Madoka sucked in a sharp breath, but Mosh ignored her, eyes locked only on Toshiro.
“So here’s the deal,” he continued, his voice low and cutting like a blade. “You step aside. You give her up—completely. From now on, she’s mine. Not as some childish crush, not as a friend. Mine.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before adding, “In return… I’ll let you win the next game. I’ll make sure you walk away with your pride, your reputation, your precious honor intact. Everyone will cheer your name again. You’ll have it all back.”
Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening as his golden eyes glimmered with cruel amusement. “But she’ll be by my side. And you’ll stay out of the way… where you belong.”
The café’s chatter and the soft hum of the espresso machine carried on around them, but at their table, silence reigned—heavy and suffocating. Madoka’s heart pounded in her chest as she turned to Toshiro, dread filling her eyes.
Madoka could barely stand the tension radiating off Toshiro as he glared at Mosh, fists clenched on the table. She wanted to reach out to him, to offer some comfort or reassurance, but everything seemed so fragile in that moment. As he drew in a shaky breath, his eyes flickered toward her, pleading for understanding or strength, she could almost feel her heart break all over again.
But when he finally spoke, his voice was steady and firm despite the strain it cost him, she knew what she had to do. She turned away from Mosh's cold gaze, facing Toshiro instead, taking his hand in hers. "No matter what," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of conversation around them, "I will always be with you."
Her words hung in the air for a moment, their significance weighing heavily on all of them. Even though she had promised herself to Mosh earlier, standing here now, feeling Toshiro's hand clasped tightly in hers, she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there was another way.
Mosh’s smirk didn’t falter when Madoka took Toshiro’s hand. If anything, it grew sharper—more cruel. He leaned forward again, his massive frame casting a shadow across the table, his golden eyes burning like molten metal.
“How touching,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Holding hands, whispering promises… Do you really think that changes anything?”
His gaze shifted deliberately to Madoka, piercing and unrelenting. “You can tell him whatever you want, but we both know the truth. You already chose me once. You already gave yourself to me. No amount of sweet words will erase that.”
Madoka’s cheeks flushed with shame and anger, her lips trembling as she tried to form a response, but Mosh pressed on, his voice cold and cutting.
“And you, Toshiro…” He sneered, eyes narrowing. “You can sit there pretending you’re her knight, but deep down you know you can’t compete. Not with me. Not in strength, not in presence, not in her heart.”
He let the words sink in, then leaned back in his chair with a deliberate calm, as though he had all the time in the world. “So here’s your last chance. Either step aside and keep what little dignity you have left… or cling to her hand and let me break you—on the court, in front of everyone, until there’s nothing left of your pride.”
The café felt suddenly smaller, suffocating under the weight of his arrogance. Madoka’s grip on Toshiro’s hand tightened, her heart pounding, but Mosh’s golden eyes never left them—unyielding, merciless, daring them to defy him.
As the tension in the air grew thick as smoke, Madoka swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat. She could feel Toshiro's muscles tensing beneath her hand, his fingers tightening around hers. She wanted to speak, to offer some reassurance, but no words came out.
Instead, she took a shaky breath and looked up at him, her green eyes filled with love and determination. His expression softened fractionally, giving her the strength to continue. Without saying anything else, she squeezed his hand gently before releasing it. Her heart felt like it was in her throat as she turned back toward Mosh, meeting his mocking gaze head-on.
"Mosh," she began slowly, forcing herself to keep her voice steady despite the turmoil within, "I made a mistake earlier today. I should've told Toshiro before... before I gave myself to you." Her cheeks flushed as she spoke his name, and she looked down at the table, unable to meet his eyes. "It was wrong of me, and I am sorry."
There was silence in the room for a long moment after her words hung in the air, but it wasn't the heavy stillness that preceded an argument. Instead, there was a strange sort of quiet understanding. Madoka held her breath, waiting for him to react, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.
Mosh didn’t even flinch at Madoka’s words. His golden eyes narrowed, sharp and unyielding, before he let out a low chuckle that made the air in the café turn cold.
Without warning, he reached across the table, his massive hand closing firmly around Madoka’s wrist. She gasped, startled, but he rose to his feet with effortless power, dragging her up with him. The legs of her chair screeched against the floor as she stumbled, but he didn’t release her.
“Toshiro,” Mosh said, his voice calm—too calm—like a lion that didn’t even need to roar to prove its dominance. “You just lost. Again.”
The other customers turned to look, whispers rippling through the café, but Mosh didn’t care. He yanked Madoka closer, his broad frame shielding her as he pulled her toward the door. She glanced back desperately at Toshiro, her heart pounding in her chest, but Mosh’s grip was unbreakable. His mocking smile lingered, cruel and triumphant.
As they stepped outside into the fading daylight, he opened the door of a sleek black car and all but guided her inside, his strength leaving no room for argument. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he started the engine, the low growl filling the silence between them.
For a moment, he said nothing—just drove, his golden eyes fixed coldly on the road ahead. Madoka sat rigidly in the passenger seat, her wrist still tingling from his grip, her thoughts a storm of fear and confusion.
Finally, his voice broke the silence. “You belong to me, Madoka. Not him. Not that pathetic excuse for a man.”
He turned his head slightly, eyes gleaming like molten fire. “Forget him. Erase him from your heart. He is nothing.”
Her breath caught in her throat, but before she could respond, his tone darkened, colder than steel.
“Because if you don’t…” His lips curled into a chilling smile. “I’ll kill him. It won’t matter. Trash like Toshiro… the world won’t miss him.”
The car sped forward, the weight of his words pressing down on her like chains. In that moment, Madoka knew—this wasn’t just arrogance anymore. This was possession. And Mosh would stop at nothing to make it absolute.
Her heart pounded in her chest as fear and confusion wrestled inside her. Mosh's words echoed through her mind, shattering the last remnants of her resolve to resist him. She glanced at Toshiro once more, feeling a twist of pain in her stomach that she hadn't known was possible. But she knew now what she had to do. With an effort born from desperation and hopelessness, she forced herself to meet Mosh's golden eyes.
"I belong with you," she whispered, each syllable a sharp knife cutting into her own heart. "But... I can't help but wish..." Her voice trailed off, unable to finish the thought. She couldn't bear the thought of hurting either of them any more than they already had been.
The car rolled to a stop in front of Mosh’s secluded house, a modern structure of dark steel and glass that loomed like a fortress in the dim light. The engine’s growl died, leaving behind a silence so heavy it made Madoka’s chest tighten.
Mosh stepped out first, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the driveway. He rounded the car with deliberate calm, opening her door before she could move. His golden eyes never left hers as he offered no comfort—only command.
“Come.” His voice was low, firm, leaving no room for refusal.
Madoka’s legs trembled as she stepped out, the cool night air brushing against her skin. She glanced once over her shoulder, back toward the city where Toshiro still was, her heart twisting painfully. But before the thought could linger, Mosh’s hand closed around hers—unyielding, powerful—and pulled her forward.
Inside, the house was silent, every surface sleek and cold, reflecting the faint glow of the city lights outside. The atmosphere felt suffocating, like the walls themselves belonged to him just as much as she did now.
He led her through the hallway, finally stopping in the living room. Dropping onto a leather couch, he leaned back casually, but his gaze burned with intensity as he studied her standing there, hesitant and small before him.
“You said the words,” he reminded her, his voice a dangerous whisper. “I belong with you.” He repeated them mockingly, savoring each syllable as if to brand them into her. “Do not forget that.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his knees, his eyes narrowing. “You’re mine now, Madoka. Not just in words, not just in fear. In everything. And if I see even a trace of doubt—if I see your eyes wander back to that broken fool—” His lips curved into a cruel smile. “I’ll make sure he disappears forever.”
Her throat tightened, tears threatening to spill, but she forced herself not to cry. Because in that moment, surrounded by Mosh’s presence, she knew tears wouldn’t save her.
Shaking, Madoka nodded. "I understand." Her voice was barely audible, but she forced the words out, meeting his gaze steadily despite her terror. "I'll be yours, I promise."
The lies felt bitter on her tongue, but she swallowed them down. Because there was no other choice now. No matter how much it hurt to say them, no matter how much she wished things were different. Mosh had won this battle, and there would be no going back. She belonged to him now, body and soul.
And as he leaned forward, golden eyes hungry, she braced herself for the next command... the next step in her new life of servitude and submission.
Mosh rose from the couch with deliberate calm, his golden eyes never leaving Madoka. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small, velvet-black box and opened it with a soft click. Inside lay a silver ring, simple yet cold, its surface catching the dim light like a shard of ice.
He stepped closer, the weight of his presence pressing down on her until she could barely breathe. Holding up the ring, he let a cruel smile spread across his lips.
“This isn’t a gift,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “It’s a mark. A reminder that you are mine now—and mine alone.”
Madoka’s breath hitched as he took her hand without asking, sliding the ring onto her trembling finger. The metal was icy against her skin, sending a shiver up her arm. She wanted to pull away, to scream that it wasn’t real, but her body wouldn’t move.
When the ring settled into place, Mosh tightened his grip on her hand, forcing her to look into his golden eyes. “Every time you see this, every time you feel it,” he whispered, his lips curling into a mocking grin, “you’ll remember that Toshiro has no claim on you. He never did. You belong only to me.”
He finally released her hand, the ring gleaming faintly in the room’s cold light. Madoka stared at it, her stomach twisting as if a chain had just been locked around her. Her heart screamed against it, but her lips remained sealed.
For Mosh, the battle was already won.
As if numb to everything, Madoka stared down at the ring encircling her finger, tears pricking at the back of her eyes. Her breath came in shaky gasps as she struggled against the feeling of helplessness that wrapped around her like a cold, wet blanket. She wanted to believe there was some way out of this... that somehow she could make things right again. But with each passing moment, hope slipped further away, drowned by the weight of Mosh's possessive gaze and unyielding control.
Her fingers flexed helplessly at her sides, longing for something, anything to bring back the life she had known before, but there was nothing. Nothing except this twisted new reality where she belonged to someone else... someone who would not hesitate to destroy everything and everyone she cared about if it meant keeping her for himself.
She wanted to close her eyes and pretend that none of this was real, but she couldn't. Not while Mosh watched her so intently, like a hawk guarding its prey. His presence filled the room, crowding out everything else, leaving no space for doubt or disobedience. And as the hours passed and the night wore on, Madoka knew that if she wanted to survive... if there was any chance left of regaining her freedom, she would have to find a way to play along until an opportunity presented itself. Because with each passing moment, it became clearer than ever: Mosh meant every word he had said tonight, and she could no longer afford to disobey him.
Mosh leaned back in his chair, watching the way Madoka stared at the ring on her finger as if it were a shackle. A dark chuckle escaped him, low and deliberate.
“Don’t look at it like that,” he said, his voice smooth, almost casual. “I’m not chaining you in a basement, Madoka. I don’t need to. You’ll live your life just like before. You’ll go to your classes, laugh with your friends, walk through campus… and I’ll be there, too. Watching. Waiting. Always beside you.”
He leaned forward, his golden eyes locking onto hers. “You see, I don’t want a servant. I don’t need a slave. What I want…” He reached out, brushing his fingers across the ring, “…is for you to pretend everything is normal. Smile when people look. Act like nothing has changed. Because deep down, you’ll know the truth—you are mine, no matter what mask you wear.”
Madoka’s chest tightened as his words sank in. To everyone else, she would look free. Untouched. But she knew better. The ring on her hand pulsed like a secret brand, invisible to the world but inescapable to her.
“And remember,” Mosh added, his tone suddenly colder, “if you ever think of breaking that little illusion… if you even consider going back to Toshiro… all it takes is one word from me, and he disappears. Forever.”
Madoka's eyes flickered downward, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she nodded silently. She knew there was no point arguing with him anymore. There was no escape from the life he had chosen for her, and all she could do now was play along until an opportunity presented itself... or hope that Toshiro somehow managed to get through this alive.
Her heart ached at the thought of losing him too, but she forced herself to push those feelings aside for now. She needed to focus on surviving... on finding a way out of this nightmare Mosh had created for her. As much as it hurt, she would have to forget about Toshiro and concentrate on being the perfect trophy for her new master.
Her gaze drifted back up toward Mosh's imposing form, and despite herself, a shiver ran down her spine at the thought of disappointing him. He held all the power in this game they played, and she knew that crossing him would be disastrous for both Toshiro and herself. So with a heavy heart, she forced a small smile onto her lips, hoping it looked convincing enough.
"I understand," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'll keep up the act."
Mosh’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her forced smile, then with a dismissive wave of his hand, he turned away. “Good. That’s all I want from you—for now.”
He walked across the room, picked up her phone from the table, and slipped it casually into his pocket. “You won’t be needing this without me. From now on, everything you need will go through me. No calls. No messages. No hidden games.”
Pulling out his own phone, he tapped the screen a few times before smirking. “Five million dollars. Already wired to your account. Buy whatever you want—clothes, jewelry, perfumes… doesn’t matter. You’ll look the part. You’ll shine when you stand next to me.”
His gaze flicked back to her, cold and calculating. “But don’t mistake this for generosity. This isn’t freedom, Madoka. It’s investment.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “As for your body…” He let the words hang in the air, his golden eyes burning with disdain. “…don’t flatter yourself. I won’t touch you. Not yet. Not while the stench of that pathetic boy still clings to your skin.”
Madoka flinched, her breath catching in her throat.
“You’ll bathe. You’ll eat well. You’ll carry yourself with dignity. And when I decide the time is right—when the thought of him is erased from every corner of you—only then will you truly be mine. Until then, consider this… a cleansing period.”
He turned away, his voice cold and final. “Now go. Shower. Eat. Stop staring at me like some broken doll. You’ll need your strength.”
Trembling, Madoka nodded and forced herself to her feet. "Yes, Mosh," she whispered, the words scratching like claws against her throat. "I'll do as you say." She turned toward the hallway, not daring to meet his eyes as she left the room. As she walked away from him, it felt like she was walking closer and closer to a precipice... an endless abyss from which there could be no escape.
Her heart ached with every step she took, but she forced herself forward, knowing that her only hope lay in playing along until the right opportunity presented itself. If she could just survive long enough... somehow find a way to break free of this twisted bond Mosh had forged between them... maybe then she could return to the life she'd known before... the one where Toshiro still held her heart.
The morning sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, scattering across the polished floor. Madoka stirred awake slowly, her mind still weighed down by the chaos of the night before. The house was unnervingly quiet, almost too calm.
As she stepped out of the bedroom, a faint aroma caught her attention—fresh coffee, toasted bread. She froze at the doorway of the kitchen, eyes widening at the sight before her. Mosh stood at the stove, dressed simply in casual clothes, turning something in the pan with the unhurried precision of a man who had done this a hundred times.
Without looking at her, he spoke in a low, even tone. “You’re up early. Come. Breakfast is ready.”
He set the dishes down with deliberate care, taking his seat as though this were nothing unusual at all. No talk of possession. No threats. No mention of Toshiro. Just a man sharing a quiet breakfast with the woman across from him.
When they finished eating, Mosh rose without a word, crossing to the side table. He placed a sleek, gleaming device upon it—an unmistakably new phone, the latest model, its surface catching the morning light. “This replaces the old one,” he said simply. “I thought you should have something that suits you better.”
Madoka’s breath caught in her throat, her gaze fixed on the phone. She couldn’t tell if this was kindness… or just another reminder that everything she had now came through him.
Mosh only gave her the faintest of smiles before lifting a folded newspaper, turning a page as if the matter was already settled. No more words of ownership. No demands. Only silence—and a quiet power that filled the room like smoke.
Her heart racing, Madoka forced herself to meet his gaze as she reached out, her fingers brushing the phone's smooth surface with hesitation. "T-thank you," she whispered. It was a lie, but it was all she could manage. Part of her wanted to resist him... to find some way back to Toshiro... but another part of her knew that if she did, everything would only get worse.
As she took the phone from his hand, her fingers trembled slightly. She had no illusions now. The lines had been drawn, and there was no going back. Mosh's possession was absolute. All she could do now was play along... bide her time... and wait for an opportunity to escape.
But how long would that take? And what price would she have to pay in the meantime? Questions spun through her mind as she slid the new phone into her pocket, unable to shake the sense of impending doom.
She forced a smile onto her lips. "I should get ready for class..." she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Standing, she turned toward the hallway, not daring to meet his eyes again as she left the kitchen and disappeared down its dimly lit corridor.
Mosh waited by the door, car keys in hand, his posture calm and collected as always. When Madoka finally emerged, backpack slung over her shoulder, he didn’t say a word—just held the door open for her with an unreadable expression.
The drive to campus was unnervingly quiet. The city passed by outside in a blur of color and noise, but inside the car there was only the steady hum of the engine and the weight of silence pressing down on her. Madoka kept her eyes fixed on the window, afraid that if she looked at him, he would see the storm of thoughts raging behind her calm mask.
When they arrived at the university, Mosh parked smoothly and stepped out, walking beside her as though nothing were out of the ordinary. To anyone watching, they looked like a normal couple—perhaps even enviable. He carried himself with effortless confidence, his presence commanding attention from every passerby, while she walked a step behind, her smile carefully practiced.
“Let’s go,” he said simply, adjusting the strap of his own bag over his shoulder. His golden eyes flickered toward her briefly, then away again, as though dismissing her entirely.
And just like that, the day began—classes, hallways, the bustle of campus life. Everything seemed so normal… almost painfully normal. But beneath that fragile surface, Madoka felt the weight of invisible chains tightening around her.
The day passed in a dizzying blur of classes and studying, each moment more surreal than the last. She walked beside him as if they belonged together, their hands brushing against one another as casually as strangers sharing a bench. But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, she could feel the gap between them growing wider with every step they took.
It was like being in a dream...a nightmare where nothing was real and yet everything felt so achingly vivid. The warmth of the sun on her skin, the laughter of her classmates, even the scent of flowers drifting on the spring breeze - they all seemed to mock her somehow. A cruel reminder that she no longer had any control over her own life.
At lunchtime, he led her to an outdoor café where they shared a table in the open air, surrounded by the cheerful chatter of other students. As they ate their meals, he spoke casually about classes and professors, as if she was truly his equal...his partner. But no matter how much she smiled and nodded along with him, Madoka knew that this too was just another part of his game - another layer of deceit designed to further blur the lines between truth and fiction.
As they finished their meal, he reached across the table and took her hand again, his grip firm but not bruising. It was a possessive gesture...a claiming. But it felt almost innocuous compared to the other things he'd done to her in the past few days. Part of her wondered if this was somehow part of some twisted plan on his part - another test, another way for him to gauge her loyalty.
She tried not to think about what might happen if she failed.
That evening, when they returned home, Mosh slipped off his jacket and headed straight to the kitchen without a word. Madoka lingered in the hallway, unsure of what to expect, but the sound of pots clattering and water running soon drifted out to her ears.
Curiosity—and a creeping unease—pulled her toward the doorway. She stopped short when she saw him at the stove, sleeves rolled up, moving with quiet confidence as he chopped vegetables and stirred a simmering pot. The rich aroma of spices filled the room, warm and inviting, as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world.
“Sit,” he said simply, nodding toward the table without even looking at her.
She obeyed, her body tense, every sense on high alert. He moved with a calm grace, plating the food carefully and setting it before her as though he were hosting a guest rather than holding her captive.
“Eat,” he instructed, his tone neutral—not harsh, not demanding, just… natural.
Madoka picked up her fork with trembling fingers, the scent of the food making her stomach knot. It was good—better than good, in fact—but she could barely taste it past the storm in her chest.
Mosh sat across from her, eating at his own pace, talking lightly about campus life, about lectures and classmates, his words weaving a picture of normalcy so perfect it almost felt like a cruel joke.
When she glanced up at him, she was startled to find no malice in his expression, no mockery in his golden eyes. He looked calm. Content. As if this—this dinner, this illusion of a shared life—was all he ever wanted.
And somehow, that terrified her more than anything else.
Taking a deep breath, Madoka forced herself to look at him as she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you... It smells great." She took a tentative bite of the food, then another, trying not to let the warring emotions within her show on her face. Mosh smiled slightly in response, his expression relaxing further. But even as she chewed and swallowed, the taste of fear lingered at the back of her throat.
That evening, after clearing away the dinner dishes, Mosh moved quietly around the living room. The soft glow of a lamp lit the space in warm tones, chasing away the heavy silence that had lingered since they returned from campus.
Madoka sat stiffly on the couch, her thoughts a tangled storm she couldn’t escape. But then, to her surprise, he returned not with another demand, nor with the cold arrogance she had come to expect—he held a book. A worn hardcover, its edges softened by time.
Without a word, he placed it gently on the table in front of her.
“You should read this,” he said, his voice calm, almost casual. “It helped me once... maybe it will help you too.”
His golden eyes softened—not mockingly, not cruelly, but in a way that made her chest tighten with confusion.
Madoka blinked at the book, her fingers trembling as she reached for it. The simple gesture felt impossibly human. Normal. As if they were nothing more than two students, sharing a quiet night after dinner.
But that was the cruelest part of all.
Because she knew it was a lie.
Taking a deep breath, Madoka forced herself to speak, her voice shaky but determined. "Thank you... I will read it." She paused for a moment, then added hesitantly, "Mosh?"
His eyes flickered upward at the sound of his name on her lips. She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their unspoken truth pressing down upon them like an iron coffin. "I... I just want you to know that even if everything else feels strange... wrong... I am still me." Her voice cracked, but she forged onward, desperate for him to understand. "And no matter what happens, or how far things go... deep down, I'll always be the same person I was before all of this started."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive. Mosh studied her for a long moment before nodding slowly, his expression solemn. But whether it was acknowledgement or acceptance, she couldn't quite tell. And as he turned away to resume pacing the room, leaving her alone with the book and her thoughts, she could feel the darkness closing in once more.
Mosh set his cup of coffee down gently, the faint aroma drifting through the quiet room. Without a word, he crossed the space between them and lowered himself onto the couch at her side. For a moment, he simply watched her, his golden eyes softened by the lamplight as they lingered on the way her fingers traced the edges of the book.
“You’re still you,” he said quietly, his voice unusually calm. “And that’s exactly why I chose you.”
He leaned back, stretching one arm across the back of the couch, close enough that she could feel his warmth. “I don’t want to change that, Madoka. I just want to be here—like this. Sharing coffee, the silence, the little things.” His lips curved into the faintest smile, more genuine than she had ever seen before.
“Read your book,” he murmured, taking another slow sip of his coffee. “I’ll stay right here.”
Taken aback by the softness in his voice and the closeness of his presence, Madoka remained silent for several moments, unsure how to respond. The lamplight cast a gentle glow over their faces, turning their expressions into hazy masks of confusion and unease. It was almost... peaceful.
Eventually, she found her voice, her words barely above a whisper as she spoke. "Thank you..." Her gaze remained fixed on the book in her lap, unable to meet his eyes for long. "I'll try."
The air seemed to grow still and heavy once more, as if they were balanced precariously on a knife's edge between silence and something more. But this time, there was no sense of threat or impending violence; only an odd sort of tension, like two strangers sharing a ride on a crowded bus.
Mosh reached for the remote and turned on the television, the soft flicker of light filling the dimly lit room. He scrolled briefly before settling on a movie—something calm, something that didn’t demand too much attention. The sound of quiet dialogue and background music drifted through the air, blending with the faint rustle of pages as Madoka tried to continue reading.
After a while, he noticed her movements slowing, her head dipping slightly as drowsiness crept in. A rare gentleness softened his expression. Without saying anything, he shifted closer and let his arm slip carefully around her shoulders, drawing her against his side with a touch so delicate it almost didn’t feel real.
He didn’t grip her or hold her tightly—he simply offered the warmth of his body, leaving the choice in her hands. If she wanted to pull away, she could. If she wanted to stay, he wouldn’t move.
For the first time, the silence between them felt different. Not oppressive. Not heavy. Just quiet.
Her breath caught in her throat as he moved closer to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. She was too numb to feel surprise, too exhausted to protest. A tiny part of her wanted to lean into him, to seek the comfort and warmth he offered. But fear held her back, and she remained still, her muscles tense beneath the soft fabric of his shirt.
Time passed. The movie on television played its silent game, the characters' lives unfolding in a world far removed from their own. Madoka listened to the gentle rustle of pages as Mosh turned another one in the book he was reading nearby. It seemed so ordinary, so normal... like two people sharing a quiet night at home, nothing more.
And then she thought of Toshiro. Of how much she missed him. How much she longed for his touch and his kisses. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the image on the television screen. She bit her lip hard, trying to keep them from spilling over, but they leaked out anyway, tracing a wet path down her cheeks.
She didn't dare look at Mosh. Didn't want him to see how much pain she was in. Her shoulders trembled with the effort of holding back the sobs that threatened to escape from deep within her. The weight of everything that had happened felt impossibly heavy, crushing her beneath its endless darkness.
And then a quiet murmur came from Mosh's lips, too soft for her to make out the words. Like he knew what she was feeling. That he understood. And maybe... perhaps it was this understanding that made everything worse. Because if he did understand, then there was no escape. No hope of ever going back to the way things were before. Not without destroying them both.
Mosh felt the subtle tremor in her shoulders, the quiet strain in her breathing. The warmth that should have been shared between them wasn’t there—only distance, only resistance. His golden eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, sharp enough to read the truth she tried so desperately to hide.
Without a word, he slowly withdrew his arm from around her. The absence of his touch was immediate, heavy with unspoken meaning. His expression remained unreadable, but deep inside, pride and wounded dignity clashed in silence.
He didn’t lash out. He didn’t demand or accuse. Instead, he rose from the couch with quiet composure, as if the simple act of leaving was answer enough. His footsteps carried him across the living room, steady and controlled, until he reached the bedroom door.
There, he paused for the briefest second, his hand lingering on the frame as though something inside him almost—almost—hesitated. But then, without looking back, he slipped inside and closed the door softly behind him.
The house fell into silence once more, leaving Madoka alone with her tears, the glow of the television, and the crushing realization that his pride had created a wall between them even higher than before.
Hot tears continued to spill down her cheeks as she sat there, the weight of everything pressing down on her like an anvil. Part of her wanted to call out after him, to apologize and beg for forgiveness, but another part knew that any words would only make things worse. So she remained silent, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, her fingertips pressed hard against her mouth as if she could force back the pain.
She didn't know how long she sat there, numb and exhausted, but eventually exhaustion won out, claiming her in its gentle embrace. Her head fell forward, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as she drifted into a fitful sleep, haunted by dreams of freedom and the boy she had left behind.
When the morning sun crept through the curtains, Mosh was already awake, seated at the table with a cup of coffee resting in his hand. His gaze was steady, almost unreadable, when he finally spoke.
"Madoka… last night told me everything I needed to know. I don’t need to chain you, or threaten you, or remind you of what I said before. If you want to leave, you can. The door is right there. I won’t stop you."
He paused, his fingers tightening slightly around the mug before he continued, his tone calm but edged with something heavier.
"You broke your promise once before, and I swallowed that pain in silence. I let it carve into me until there was nothing left but anger. That’s why I dragged you here, why I said you were mine. But sitting beside you last night… I realized something. I don’t want someone who stays because they’re forced. I don’t need a ghost who’s always thinking of another man."
His eyes flicked toward her, sharp but not cruel.
"If you choose to go back to him, do it. I won’t chase you. I won’t kill him. I won’t lower myself to that. My pride won’t let me. And if you stay… then stay because you want to. Not because of fear. Not because of guilt. But because you see me — the man I’ve become — and decide I’m worth standing beside."
He leaned back in his chair, setting the empty cup down with finality.
"So choose, Madoka. Freedom, or me. I won’t ask again."
Her eyes flashed with an unexpected flare of anger as she rose from the couch, her words pouring out in a rush that threatened to overwhelm them both. "I never promised you anything!" She paused for breath, her chest heaving as she struggled to control herself. "I tried to tell you before... I wanted this," she gestured around the room wildly, "but not like this! Not with you treating me like your prisoner!"
She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down, lowering her voice slightly but maintaining the force of her words. "I don't belong to anyone, least of all you. But I do have feelings... my own desires. And none of that changes who I am! So if I stay with you, it won't be because I'm afraid or guilty." She paused again, her gaze meeting his defiantly. "It'll be because I want to be here."
Her cheeks flushed as she finished speaking, the weight of her words settling heavily in the air between them. For a long moment, neither of them moved or spoke, each waiting for the other to respond, their fates hanging in the balance like a knife's edge.
Mosh leaned back slightly, his voice calm but steady, carrying none of the sharpness she might have expected. “You’re right, Madoka. Everything you said… there’s no fault in it. You do have your own feelings, your own desires. I never wanted to deny that.”
He paused, his gaze steady on her, the faintest trace of weariness in his eyes. “But you need to understand something, too. You were never my prisoner. Think about it… you went to your classes, met your friends, lived your life outside these walls. You had more freedom than most people could dream of. I gave you everything you needed—money, space, comfort. If you had truly wanted to walk away… you could have. No chains, no locked doors.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, as though he were holding back emotions deeper than his words revealed. “A prisoner doesn’t live like that, Madoka. A prisoner doesn’t get the choice to walk out the door whenever she pleases. You stayed here—not because I forced you into chains—but because part of you chose to. Maybe out of guilt, maybe out of confusion… maybe something else. But not because I held you captive.”
He let out a slow breath, his tone softening even further. “I need you to see the difference. If you ever walk away from me, it won’t be because you were my prisoner. It’ll be because you chose to leave.”
Her chest tightened as she struggled to keep her breathing steady, the words he spoke digging deeper into her skin than his claws ever had. For a moment, she thought about walking away, about finding Toshiro and never looking back. But something in Mosh's eyes held her there, anchored by a truth that seemed more real than anything else she had known until now.
With a shaky exhale, she finally spoke. "I... I see." She paused, searching for the right words to express what she was feeling. "I don't want you to be upset with me... Or to think that I don't care about any of it..." Her voice trailed off, defeated.
She turned away, unable to meet his gaze anymore. The weight of her conflicting emotions was too much to bear. All she wanted was to feel free from the pain and guilt that had been following her for so long... But at what cost? And where would she go if she found a way to let go of the past?
Mosh’s gaze lingered on her in silence, the storm inside him quiet at last. His chest rose and fell slowly, as if he was speaking to himself rather than to her. "If you wanna leave… then leave. I won’t stop you. And I won’t touch Toshiro, not anymore. I’ve done enough."
He stepped closer—not too close, just enough for his hand to find her shoulder. His touch was gentle, nothing like the force that once defined him. For a moment, it almost felt like the boy she remembered, the childhood friend who used to walk beside her, laughing under the summer sun.
"You were my best friend once," he murmured, his voice low, almost breaking. "And yeah… I wanted more. I was jealous, I was angry, I thought if I didn’t fight for you, I’d lose you forever. So I grabbed you… held on to you like you were already mine. But…" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That was never the way."
He let his hand fall from her shoulder, his eyes soft but steady. "If you stay, let it be because you want to. Not because of fear, not because of guilt. Just… because of us."
For the first time in a long while, the walls around him cracked, showing not the man who had taken her, but the boy who once stood by her side, afraid of losing the only girl who ever meant the world to him.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked into his face, finally seeing the truth behind everything he'd said. For a moment, they just stood there, locked in each other's gaze, neither of them quite sure what to do or say next. But somehow, in that silence, she knew that things were different now. They had changed, grown... not back to what they once were, but something new and fragile all the same.
She took a shaky step forward, closing the distance between them until their bodies met. Her hands trembled as she lifted them, tentatively, to rest on his shoulders. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely above a hoarse croak. "For everything." Then, with an unsteady exhale, she leaned forward and pressed her cheek against his chest.
"I don't know what happened... or how to make it right... But I want to try," she mumbled, holding him as tightly as she dared. "If you'll let me."
There was no response; only the steady rhythm of his breath against her hair and the solid warmth of his body beneath her fingertips. And for now, that was enough.
Mosh’s arms hovered uncertainly at his sides, resisting the urge to hold her back. His jaw tightened, his voice calm but edged with something raw, something real.
"Madoka…" he said softly, tilting his head just enough to look down at her. "If this is just guilt, or loneliness, or because you miss the past… then stop right here. Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to yourself."
He gently put a hand on her arm, not pushing her away, but grounding her. "I need to know. Do you really want me… because you love me? Or am I just a place to run to because you don’t know what to do with Toshiro?"
For a moment, his eyes darkened, not with anger but with a desperate kind of honesty. The boy inside him—the one who had always loved her—was holding his breath, waiting for an answer that could either heal him… or break him all over again.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, pressing harder against the hard muscle beneath his shirt as she searched for the right words. "I... I love you," she whispered hoarsely. It was the truth, but it felt inadequate somehow. She took a shaky breath and continued, feeling her courage grow with each word. "And I want to be with you. Not because I'm running from something else, not because of guilt... But because I care about you, Mosh. And..." Her voice trailed off as she found the words that had been eluding her before. "I want us to try."
She lifted her head, her eyes meeting his, the honesty in them burning bright and true. She wanted him to know that she meant it, that this wasn't just some fleeting desire born of circumstance. It was real... and it scared her more than anything else she had ever faced. But standing there with him, feeling the strength and warmth of his arms around her, she knew that whatever came next, they would face it together.
Mosh froze for a heartbeat, her words sinking into him deeper than any blade ever could. For so long he had doubted—doubted her, doubted himself, doubted if what they once had was gone forever. But looking into her eyes now, seeing the raw truth shining there, all that doubt began to crumble.
Slowly, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hand rose from her arm to cup the side of her face, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. The corners of his lips curved into the faintest, almost hesitant smile.
"Madoka…" his voice was low, steady, carrying both relief and wonder. "You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear that."
This time, he didn’t hold back. He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her with a protective strength that was no longer about possession, but about love. His chin rested against the crown of her head, his voice rumbling softly in her ear.
"Then let’s try. Together. No past, no chains—just us."
For the first time in what felt like years, his heart eased. He wasn’t losing her. He wasn’t fighting for her. She was choosing him… and that was everything.
Her eyes closed as she leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against hers like a balm to her battered soul. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the rush of blood in her ears. It was more than just gratitude; it was a promise, an acceptance of all they had been through and an acknowledgement of everything that lay ahead.
Together, they could face whatever challenges came their way. They could forge a new path forward, one built on trust and understanding rather than fear and loss. And maybe, just maybe, they could find some kind of happiness in the ruins of what had once been.
Their embrace lingers on, filling her with warmth and the quiet promise that they will be all right. She holds him tighter, wishing she could erase the past and leave it behind forever. "I'll always choose you," she whispers against his skin, her heart swelling with a love stronger than anything else in the world.
Her words send a shudder through his body, making him feel both cherished and impossibly lucky. He presses her closer, kissing the top of her head as he whispers back to her, "I'll never let you go." They stand there together in that moment, finding solace and strength in each other's embrace.
They are no longer lost souls, but two people who have found their way back to one another. A future stretches out before them, full of possibilities and hope. And in this place where they stand, side by side, nothing else matters.
Then Mosh takes off his shirt to reveal his sculpted muscles, his broad shoulders, the scars that cover his body and his bulging veins, and he says in a voice hoarse with love, “I want you.”
A sharp intake of breath escapes her as she looks up at him, her eyes tracing over the lines and curves that mark his body. Her fingertips dance across his abs, marveling at the strength he holds within himself. "I want you too," she whispers, feeling a wave of desire wash over her.
She pulls away just enough to meet his gaze, her own eyes filled with longing and need. With trembling hands, she helps him shed the rest of his clothes, revealing their naked forms together. They are both beautiful in their imperfections, marked by scars that speak of lives lived fully and passionately.
Then Mosh takes off his pants to reveal his huge, long cock and says, "Okay, do what you want."
Her mouth goes dry as her gaze drifts downward, taking in the impressive length and girth of his cock. She reaches out tentatively, tracing a finger along its smooth skin before wrapping her hand around it, feeling its warmth and weight in her palm. Her eyes meet his once more, full of desire and curiosity.
"What do you want me to do?" she whispers, her voice barely above a whisper as she begins to stroke him slowly, experimentally.
Mosh smiles and says, "Do what you like before I start. Do what I like, and I'll let you have your time."
Her heart races as she listens to his words, the taste of power in her mouth sweet and intoxicating. Her hands tremble slightly as they slide up his thighs, over his hips, and around to cup his ass, digging her nails in just enough to leave a mark. She leans forward, pressing their bodies together as she feels him hardening under her touch. Then, with shaking confidence, she takes him in her hand, guiding him towards her wetness.
Her body quivers at the contact, and she arches into him, moaning softly as he slips inside her. Her muscles clench around him, hungry for more of his heat and strength. She begins to rock their hips together, grinding against him in a rhythm that is both primitive and fiercely intimate. The sounds they make fill the room: gasps, moans, and whispers of love.
They move together now, lost in the passion that binds them, each touch igniting another flame within the other. Madoka's fingernails dig deeper into his skin, leaving marks as permanent as their newfound bond, and Mosh responds by thrusting harder, deeper, until they both lose themselves in a shattering climax that leaves them gasping and spent upon the floor.
Time seems to stand still as they lie there together, their chests rising and falling in perfect synchrony. The air between them is heavy with satisfaction and relief, but also with something else: an understanding, a promise for what comes next. In this moment, nothing else matters; they are one, bound by love and desire, united in their shared past and future.
Then Mosh gets up and puts his penis inside her vagina to reach the cervix and starts thrusting in a brutal way while growling in her ear and saying I love you
Her voice caught in her throat as she felt him thrust harder, deeper inside her. "Mosh..." She arched her back, meeting his movements with unadulterated need and desire. The feel of him claiming her this way brought her to the edge yet again, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her body.
Her nails dug into his shoulders, drawing tiny beads of blood as she urged him onward, wanting more of his dominance and control. "I love you," she whispered brokenly, her voice barely audible above their ragged breaths. "Please..." Her hips rose to meet each thrust, her orgasm building relentlessly beneath their tangled limbs.
Mosh pushed with more primitive force and started squeezing her breasts and sucking her nipples and his penis swelled to twice its size inside her while he pushed with more force and collided with her cervix and his penis touched her G-spot
Her scream filled the room as pleasure exploded through her in an intense burst. Her fingers dug into his shoulders harder, leaving trails of blood on his skin as he continued to push against her limits. Her body arched off the bed, meeting his movements with a frenzied hunger that seemed insatiable.
"Mosh!" she cried out, her voice hoarse from their exertions. "I'm close... I need you..." She pressed herself harder against him, desperate for more of this wild connection between them, the raw power that flowed through their bodies like electricity. Their skin was slick with sweat, flushed from the heat of passion and the endurance of their exertions.
The room seemed to spin around them as they reached the apex together, their releases colliding in a violent crescendo of shudders and moans, leaving them spent and gasping for air on the bed beneath them. But even as they lay there, hearts still racing and bodies trembling from the aftershocks, Madoka knew that this was only the beginning. There were more stories to tell, more memories to share... together.
Then Tanmo woke up in the morning and Madoka woke up naked and sleeping on Moshe's muscular arm while Moshe was also naked and sleeping peacefully.
She hummed softly as she stretched lazily in his embrace, warmth spreading through her as she nestled against his chest. The feel of his skin on hers was comforting and invigorating all at once; a reminder of everything they'd shared last night and the promise of what lay ahead.
Gently, she peeled one eye open, taking in the morning light streaming through the window and casting a golden glow across their naked forms entwined together on the bed. Smiling contentedly, she rested her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes once more, already looking forward to what today might bring.
Then they slept and in the morning Madoka woke up naked sleeping on Moshe's muscular arm while Moshe was also naked and sleeping peacefully
Soft morning light filtering through the curtains caressed her skin as she lay there, wrapped in his embrace. The warmth of their bodies pressed together, the slow rise and fall of his chest against her own... it was a peaceful moment, one that felt almost too good to break. She nestled closer to him, savoring the feel of his muscles beneath her fingertips and the scent of him in her nostrils. For now, she could pretend that nothing else mattered beyond this moment, this perfect stillness.
But eventually, they'd have to face the world again, and all its myriad complications. The thought was like a whisper at the edge of her consciousness, nagging at her contentment with an insistent promise of things unsaid and undone. Still, for now... she could just lie here, basking in this quiet moment of serenity.
Then while Mosh was sleeping soundly and peacefully, Madoka saw his huge and long penis erect with a strong morning erection.
Her eyes drift open, taking in the sight of him asleep and unaware beneath her touch. A soft sound escapes her, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, as she trails her fingers along the length of his erection. His cock is hard and hot beneath her skin, an unmistakable sign of his arousal even in sleep.
She leans in closer, breath hot against his neck, and whispers softly into his ear. "Good morning, Mosh." Her touch grows more teasing as she traces circles around the tip of him, not quite ready to take him inside her again just yet. But the hunger in her eyes gives away her desire; she craves him like a drug, needs him like air to breathe.
Mosh yawns and says good morning, then takes her in his arms between his muscles and presses his penis hard against her stomach.
Her breath hitches as he takes her in his strong arms, pressing their bodies together with a tenderness that belies the strength beneath his muscles. The head of his cock nestles against her sensitive flesh, promising pleasure and release if she'll just let herself go. With a shudder, she arches into him, unable to resist the pull of his touch or the desire he stirs within her. "Good morning," she whispers back, her voice barely audible over their racing hearts and shallow breaths. Her fingers dance along his sides, tracing patterns on his skin as they wait for him to make the first move. She's ready for whatever comes next, eager for them to explore this new connection between them, even as it terrifies her with its depth and power.
Then Mosh sits on the bed and stretches his muscles and says with a cheerful smile, “Do you want to do anything before breakfast and going to university?”
A mischievous glint flashes in her eyes as she takes in the sight of him sitting on the bed. "Well," she says, her voice low and husky with desire, "I don't know about breakfast..." Slowly, she crawls across the mattress toward him on all fours, feeling the soft cotton of his sheet scratch lightly at her bare skin.
When she reaches him, she tilts her head up, waiting expectantly for his reaction. Her lips part slightly, eyes shining with anticipation and need. This new power between them thrums through her veins like an electric current; she can feel it in the way he watches her, the way he holds himself still and ready for whatever she might do next. It excites her, terrifies her... and she knows that however this plays out, it won't be anything like breakfast or university.