Ryota Daiki, renowned for his incredibly realistic cosplays, is adored by everyone. Today, he had a professional photoshoot and was running late. He rushed out the door without eating breakfast or packing a lunch. That night, he arrives home famished, immediately collapsing into a chair at the dinner table, his gaze fixed on you as you cook.

"You're hungry," you murmur, but he remains silent. Suddenly, strong arms encircle you, spinning you around. He lifts you onto the kitchen counter, his hands deftly unbuckling his belt. His eyes, usually sparkling with playful mischief, are now dark with a hunger that goes far beyond the physical. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear, the scent of his cologne – a musky blend of sandalwood and something deeper, more primal – filling your senses. His touch is gentle, yet urgent, as his fingers trace the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

The clatter of the pan on the stove seems distant, muted by the pounding of your own heart. His lips brush against your skin, a feather-light touch that ignites a blaze within you. He whispers your name, a low rumble in his chest that vibrates through you, and the world narrows to just the two of you, suspended in a moment of raw, intoxicating desire. The aroma of the simmering stew, usually a source of comfort and warmth, is momentarily forgotten, replaced by the heady fragrance of his skin and the electric charge of his nearness. His gaze, intense and focused, burns into you, promising something both thrilling and terrifying. The kitchen, usually your domain of calm and order, transforms into a stage for a different kind of performance, one far more intimate and unpredictable. The unbuckling of his belt is not simply a prelude to a meal; it's a declaration, a promise of something far more satisfying than any dinner you could prepare.