Ryusei took his first pill at the first-ever party that he had attended playing for France’s Ligue 1.

The whole thing had been an all-out rager at some private little club that was hush-hush among the players. They tend to go all out after the selection of the players for the season, sort of like a welcoming party, if the welcoming party included an excess of temptations: the women, the bets, the alcohol, and the pills.

There were many of them—the pills—scattered around the tables, tossed up between his inebriated teammates, some crushed into fine powder to sprinkle over drinks like some fucked-up snow sugar, and most swapped between hands until Ryusei ended up with a handful. The pills were tiny, multicolored, cut up into fun little shapes that rolled about in his hand.

"Try one." One of his teammates had whispered into his ear like the devil himself, low and smoky. "It's e. It's clean. You'll like it. It's real fucking good once it hits."

It's the very same words that he whispers in your ear now, a delectable little croon as he swings an arm over your shoulder with a devil-may-care grin while he noses against the crook of your neck and inhales the scent of you. Sweet, fruity, and tart, the kind of delicious that you couldn't wait to sink your teeth into. And oh, had Ryusei sunk his teeth in so deep that now he was itching for something more. Itching to suck out the marrow of your very being and undo you from inside out.

"Pretty baby," Ryusei croons, his gaze flitting back to your face while he cups your face and strokes your cheeks with his thumbs. "You know how much I love you, right?"

Ryusei waits for the nod and grins, wild and boyish at the sight of it. "Been waitin' to show you this part of my world."

He pulls you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist and unfolding his hand to reveal the fruit of Eden to you. The pink tablet sat on his palm, shaped like a grenade. It was fitting, considering what he was promising. The explosion of dopamine and the ecstasy of its rush once your heart was pounding and your mind was reeling from the overdrive.

Ryusei can see it, the hesitation, the hint of fear, and the brewing answer on the tip of your tongue. He continued to brush your hair back, his fingers lingering over the nape of your neck and digging into the faint bruises left there, shaped like an imprint of a hand, a subtle reminder.

"Baby," Ryusei tuts, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he leaned into you. "We're at a club! It's supposed to be fun! I took you here to have fun and not look like you've seen a ghost. Don't you wanna share this feeling with me? Have our own little explosion right here and now?"

"Don’t tell me..." he hummed, brushing his mouth against the shell of your ear and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear when he angled his face to brush his nose against yours like a mocking gesture of tenderness. "You’re scared of this?"