(Tender NSFW – Makoto x Ann x Ren)
The attic of Leblanc was quiet, steeped in soft lamplight and the scent of fading tea leaves. The warmth of shared company still clung to the air. Outside, the city whispered its sleepless songs, but up here, time moved slower.
Makoto sat at the edge of the futon, legs tucked beneath her, arms wrapped around her knees. Ann lounged on the couch, her long hair spilling like gold across the armrest. And Ren—he remained between them, still and calm, though the storm beneath his skin was beginning to stir.
His eyes drifted to Makoto first.
She'd been quieter since Ann arrived. Watching him in those rare unguarded moments, like she couldn't quite understand the pull she felt.
"Ren," she murmured, her voice soft with something half-formed. "When did you start… looking at me like that?"
He didn't answer right away. He simply reached up, brushing a thumb gently against her cheek. "Maybe I always did," he said, voice low. "But you only just started seeing it."
Makoto's breath caught. Her gaze flicked to his lips.
Then, to his surprise, she leaned in.
Their kiss was slow—uncertain at first. But it deepened with every heartbeat, every breath shared. Her hands came up to his shoulders, gripping softly as if grounding herself in the sensation. Ren tilted his head, guiding her. Tongues brushed. She shivered.
It wasn't hunger. Not yet.
It was longing—finally given voice.
And when they parted, lips damp, eyes half-lidded, Makoto's cheeks were flushed with something that was no longer embarrassment.
"I shouldn't want this," she whispered. "But I do."
Ann's voice drifted in then—soft, curious. "So I'm not imagining it."
Makoto turned, startled.
Ren didn't.
He knew Ann was watching. He felt her eyes, the warmth of them heavy with unspoken things. But it wasn't jealousy.
It was desire, low and blooming.
Ann rose from the couch and crossed the attic barefoot. Her body was graceful, fluid, and when she reached Ren, she crouched beside him, hands sliding to his chest.
"You've been driving me crazy for days," she said, half-laughing, half-serious. "That look in your eyes. That… pull."
Her fingers curled into his shirt.
"I don't care if it's wrong."
Ren tilted his head back slightly as Ann kissed him—firmer than Makoto had, more playful. Her tongue teased. Her nails bit softly through the fabric. And when she pulled back, it was only to glance at Makoto, who looked torn between disbelief and need.
Ren reached a hand toward her, silently inviting.
Makoto swallowed and crawled closer.
Then the three of them were tangled together—kissing, touching, testing boundaries not with fear, but with reverence.
Makoto's breath hitched as Ren slipped her hoodie from her shoulders, revealing skin that glowed under lamplight. He kissed her collarbone. Her throat. Every inch he touched sent shivers racing through her.
Ann leaned against him from behind, lips brushing his ear. "You're not stopping this, are you?"
He turned to kiss her again—slow, sweet.
"I'm not stopping anything," he murmured.
And then clothes were discarded, one by one. Each article like a barrier falling away.
Makoto's skin was soft, her curves elegant and strong beneath his hands. She gasped when he pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh, trembling beneath him as his fingers moved with purpose—slow circles, teasing, building her higher with each motion.
Ann straddled his lap, her body warm and lithe, lips pressing against his neck, then his jaw. Her hips ground slowly against him, stoking the fire with practiced ease—but there was a vulnerability in her too. A need to be wanted, chosen.
He gave them both everything.
Makoto's moans were muffled by his kiss as his fingers moved faster. Her legs quivered, then locked around him as she came—soft and high, biting his shoulder to muffle her cry.
Ann shivered at the sound.
Her breath grew shallow as Ren turned to her next, hands roaming her sides, then her breasts, his mouth kissing the curve of her waist before dipping lower. She arched with every flick of his tongue, hands buried in his hair as her gasps broke into pleas.
And when she came, it was with a desperate whimper, legs trembling around his shoulders, eyes wet with release.
They collapsed together, sweat-slicked and breathing hard. But it wasn't over.
Not yet.
Ren kissed them both—tenderly, reverently. His own arousal throbbed with aching tension, and they could see it—feel it—between them.
Makoto was the one who moved first.
She climbed over him slowly, her thighs straddling his waist. Their eyes locked, and no words were needed.
She guided him into her slowly, inch by inch, and her mouth fell open as she sank down fully. Ren groaned, holding her hips steady as she moved—slow, grounding, intimate.
Ann kissed her shoulder from behind, one hand resting against Ren's chest, the other teasing Makoto's breast. The three of them moved together—moaning, sighing, sharing breath and heat and rhythm.
Makoto came again with a sharp gasp, tightening around him.
And Ren followed with a muffled growl, spilling into her warmth as she collapsed against him.
They lay there after, tangled and flushed and quiet.
Ann pressed herself against his side, Makoto against the other. No one spoke for a while.
Then Makoto whispered, "What is this…?"
Ren didn't answer.
He just held them tighter.
And somewhere deep within him, that new power pulsed—satisfied, but far from done.