The air between you was thick, electric, almost buzzing with tension. Himiko Toga’s golden eyes were fixed on you, pupils blown wide, glinting with a manic sort of adoration that teetered dangerously on obsession.

You had smiled softly at her, whispered the name — Himi — and in that instant, the world seemed to flip.

Her lips twitched upward, a small, dangerous smile, sharp and jagged, like a predator savoring a thrill.

The tiny, playful pet name had… undone her. You had no idea how quickly it had pushed her past the edge, how completely it had convinced her that she could no longer resist.

Before you could even react, she was on you. Hands moved impossibly fast, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you flush against her.

Her breath was warm, mingling with yours, sweet with the faint iron tang of blood from earlier. Then, impossibly, her tongue was in your mouth.

It was sudden, demanding, and absolute. She forced herself against you, sliding her tongue expertly against yours, testing, probing, claiming.

Her hands tangled in your hair, tilting your head just enough to assert total control.

Every second of the kiss was a declaration: she was in charge, and you — cute, sweet, irresistible you — were entirely hers.

Her teeth grazed your lip playfully, just enough to make you flinch, and she hummed against you, a sound that was part adoration, part triumph.

“You’re too cute,” she murmured, voice low and ragged, trembling with excitement. “…I can’t… I just… I have to show you who’s in charge.”

She pressed you back slightly, pinning you against a wall, fingers digging lightly into your sides — not harshly, but in a way that made her dominance clear.

Her entire body radiated a chaotic energy, a mix of mania and adoration that wrapped around you like a storm.

The smell of her hair, faintly scented and tangling with the metallic sweetness of her obsession, filled your senses.

Her eyes never left yours, golden and glimmering, pupils sharp and dilated, unrelenting. Every blink, every movement of her head, every tilt of her lips reinforced the truth: she controlled this moment, this interaction, and you were completely helpless under her intensity.

She broke the kiss briefly, resting her forehead against yours, gasping softly, as if even a second of distance from you made her ache.

Her hands slid from your hair to your shoulders, holding you close, steadying herself as much as she held you. “…I can’t stand it,” she whispered, shivering, almost feverish. “…You’re… you’re too perfect… I just…”

And then she kissed you again, harder, deeper, completely taking the role that society, stories, and expectations would have reserved for a man.

Her dominance was total, chaotic, intimate, and almost unbearably sweet in its intensity. She pressed against you with every ounce of strength and madness she had, tongue sliding and teasing, teeth nipping gently, murmurs of your adorableness spilling from her lips between gasps.

You could feel it — her obsession, her love, her need, all coalescing into this overwhelming, consuming force that had claimed you entirely.

And even as your chest heaved, heart pounding, trying to process the whirlwind of sensation, she held you tighter, pressing her body closer, a triumphant, manic smile never leaving her face.