Dee ! :pp

Captain Rojuro Otoribashi, better known as Rose, wasn’t a bad man. He had a perpetually bored expression and a laid-back vibe, but he wasn’t unpleasant. Just… hopeless at paperwork.

You were not.

In fact, you were dangerously good at it. You finished your morning assignments in the first hour of the day. And because you weren’t cautious enough to feign incompetence, you soon found yourself staying late with the captain, drowning in documents he couldn’t be bothered to do himself.

It wasn’t all terrible. Rose liked music, talked endlessly about the latest human fashion trends, and had a decent taste in books. But he also insisted on tuning some ridiculous instrument he’d picked up from his last trip while you did his job. He’d slip out with a lazy smile and a too-polite “Could you finish this for me?”

Eleven PM became three AM.

And your temper, unsurprisingly, rose.

You were knee-deep in paperwork, ink smudged on your nose, elbow-deep in regret, when the door to the captain’s office slammed open. The paper slider nearly came off its rails before slamming shut with a dramatic thud. You startled so hard that your brush jerked, splattering ink across your uniform and half the desk.

Offended, exhausted, and absolutely out of patience, you turned to glare at the intruder. Only to find yourself face-to-face with the blonde menace known as Shinji Hirako.

The white haori announced his rank, but not his purpose. Why he was in this division, at this hour, remained a mystery. Still, you stood stiffly, back aching but respectful.

“Captain?” you asked, voice barely audible and breathy in a way that sounded more ghost than girl.

He stood in the doorway like he owned it, all long golden hair, sharp jawline, and narrowed brown eyes full of smugness. You’d heard of him. How that crooked smile and devil-may-care attitude had caused stronger men to second-guess their choices. The man had a reputation.

But what he said next wasn’t dangerous. It was tragic.

“Heeeey. What’s a woman like you doin’ in a place like this?” he drawled, leaning on the desk with lazy familiarity. “Waitin’ for me in my office? That’s bold~”

Silence stretched between you, echoing in the quiet like a bad punchline.

It was a horrible first line. The kind that made you wonder if alcohol was actively eating his brain. You glared, channeling every ounce of dignity left in your paper-stained, ink-blotted body, which wasn’t much. You looked like a living Rorschach test.

“This is the Third Division. Captain Rose’s office,” you informed him calmly, hoping logic might snap him out of it.

It did not.

He blinked, slow as molasses, then his grin widened to show off an unsettling amount of fang. Your heart fluttered against your will. Rude.

“Heeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.” Suddenly, he was behind you, sliding his arms around your shoulders like this was some tragic rom-com. His voice was syrupy and slurred. “That’s not nice, cutie. Be nice to your captaiiiinnnnn. I had a long dayyyyyy.”

So he was drunk. Confirmed.

“Gimme a smooch to make it betterrrrrr,” he whispered right against your ear.

You were pretty sure your ears turned red. Maybe your entire soul.

Because, okay, his arms were strong. And warm. And yes, it had been a while since anyone called you “cutie” without it being an insult or an HR incident.

But no. Absolutely not. That was definitely the smell of alcohol.

Hard stop.

“I don’t even know you!” you protested, face blazing. He clung to you like an octopus, undeterred by your stumbling, elbowing, or increasingly unhinged yelps.

“You’re being difficult! Stop being… Difficult and listen. Your making this harder—”

“I’m not hard, sweetheart. At least… not yet.”

His voice dropped an octave with that disgusting little chuckle, and you shuddered full-body. That, of course, only encouraged him. He pulled you closer, grinning like a schoolboy with a death wish.

“Get off me!” you shrieked as he suddenly grabbed a handful of your ass, very much proving the “not yet” portion of his earlier comment had expired.

“Heyyyy, saucy~ I think you’re my new first lo—”

That’s when the puddle of spilled ink came into play.

Your foot slipped, his weight tipped forward, and the two of you collapsed over the desk in a flurry of limbs, curses, and precisely stacked paperwork. You landed hard, wind knocked out of you, the captain’s full weight crashing down on top. Paper fluttered into the air like some tragic romantic comedy written by Satan himself.

His face dropped into the crook of your neck with a soft thump.

Then… he nuzzled.

And then? He fell asleep.

Dead asleep.

Like a bastard.

“GET OFF ME!” you howled, squirming helplessly under the unconscious menace. He snored into your collarbone. Arms still wrapped, rather inappropriately, around your chest.

It took until six a.m. for the Third Division lieutenant to find you like that. You locked eyes with him, disheveled and ink-streaked, hair everywhere, a sleeping Captain Hirako draped over you like a particularly cursed throw blanket.

“I’m sick,” you said through gritted teeth. “Tell Rose I’m not coming in.”

The lieutenant, wisely, did not question you.

By midday, you sat in the barracks wrapped in a blanket, arms crossed, teeth clenched. Your bunkmate had long since scampered off, giving you the solitude you needed to stew in your fury.

And that’s when your captain entered.

Captain Rose stepped into the room, graceful as always, but with the cautious energy of a man who knew a storm when he saw it. Your eyes snapped to him, burning with righteous indignation. He visibly winced.

“I heard you received a… visit from Shinji,” he offered carefully.

You didn’t answer. Just stared.

“I was told he mistook the Third Division office for—”

Your eyes narrowed. Your jaw clenched.

“Mistook?” you repeated, barely able to get the word out without bursting into flames. “Mistook?”

Because mistakenly identifying an office didn’t explain the groping. The unsolicited cuddling. The nap.

What it did deserve was a formal harassment complaint. Not that those ever did much in Soul Society, but the fantasy of writing one helped your blood pressure stabilize.

Temporarily.

Rose, still hovering near the door like he was debating escape, cleared his throat. “Would… a full day off, a bottle of sake, and two weeks of desk-free assignments help… with the healing process?”

You considered.

And very, very slowly… nodded.

But only once.

And only because the thought of paperwork made your eye twitch.

“Well, actually,” Rose added nervously, “he’s hoping you’d talk to him. Right now. He feels… awfully bad.”

Behind your captain, a suspicious blond tuft of hair fluttered into view from behind the doorframe. You hadn’t even felt any reiatsu.

“You brought that man here?” you hissed, arms crossing with the wrath of someone dangerously close to snapping. The blond head guiltily retreated. Rose waved a hand with weak optimism.

“It was an honest accident. And besides, you can’t avoid a captain for the rest of your life—”

“Yes, I can.”

He blinked. “It’s not a healthy solution.”

You hated that he was right. You had been groped. But still, Rose had a point. Maybe if you let the idiot come in, spatula an apology out of his dumbass mouth, and pretended to accept it, you could get on with your life.

“…”

“I’ll give you the weekend off.”

“Fine.”

Rose nodded toward the door, like a coward.

This time, Shinji didn’t bounce in with his usual smug energy. He slunk, frowning, with white teeth too prominent against a nervous grimace. With more betrayal than you thought Rose capable of, he promptly stepped out and shut the door behind him, locking you inside with the source of your humiliation.

Turns out Captain Shinji Hirako wasn’t terrible when he wasn’t drunk.

He was worse.

“Hey,” he said, lifting his hand in a half-hearted wave before realizing how stupid it looked. It hovered in midair before landing behind his head like he was posing for a particularly awkward mugshot. “Sorry ’bout last night.”

That was it?

“Uh. Okay.” The words escaped more out of reflex than any sense of closure. You weren’t sure he even felt sorry. You just wanted this over with.

But he didn’t leave. He stayed. Watching you. Like he knew exactly how empty your forgiveness had sounded.

“I mean, you’re cute,” he began, tone light, “but I wouldn’t have jumped on ya like that if I’d been in my right mind.”

You dropped your arms in disbelief. Oh. So now he was going to insult you?

He paused, apparently realizing what had come out of his own stupid mouth.

You didn’t yell. You didn’t curse. You walked right past him with the grace of someone who’d hit their limit two breakdowns ago and caught a subtle whiff of something foresty and annoyingly nice. You’d resent liking it until much, much later.

“Don’t worry, Captain,” you said coldly, the title sharp as a knife. “As you said, I’m not particularly cute enough to worry about a second… incident.”

You opened the door with more flourish than necessary, just in time to see Rose standing suspiciously nearby, definitely pretending to be interested in the wall. Shinji hesitated, then walked out, halting, regretful. You noted, only distantly, that his eyes were actually a pretty shade of brown.

Too bad he was an asshat.

Just as you started to shut the door, he turned back. That careless glint in his expression was gone.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes my mouth runs away with me,” he said quietly, and for a second, he actually sounded like he meant it.

You met his eyes.

“Then, Captain, I suggest you let it take you far, far away.”

And you slammed the door.

It was the most satisfying thing you’d done all week.

If only he’d stayed gone.

“I ain’t crashing no bitchin’ party,” Shinji grumbled, arms folded deep into his sleeves. “Ain’t my fault the woman’s still mad.”

Across the office, Rose sighed dramatically, flipping his hair over his shoulder like the exhaustion of the world lived in his follicles.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone with the magic touch for paperwork?” he asked, voice coated in sugar and venom. “She’s blatantly refused all requests for help. Says she has no reason to be insulted and reminded of your face just to get work done.”

Shinji slouched further into his chair, lips jutting into a pout.

“Shame. She’s a cute one.”

“Mm,” Rose hummed, tone a bit too airy. “Not many women think you’re an attractive captain and a competent one. And you managed to ruin it with the one who did. Tragic, really.”

He said it like a casual jab. A lie he wanted caught.

And sure enough, Shinji sat up like someone lit a firecracker under him.

“Wait. Waitttt. Hard stop, Rose, my man.” His grin grew dangerously wide. “You sayin’ she thinks I’m all that jazz?”

Rose gave him the driest look imaginable. “I said she did.”

“But did is past tense,” Shinji argued, already halfway to standing. “And I’m very charming in the present tense.”

Rose rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. “Yes. And very punishable in the future tense if you blow this twice.”

For the record, no, you had not said you thought Shinji was attractive.

What you had actually said, when Rose asked if things were “resolved,” was: “It’s too bad a decent captain could be such a creep.” 

You’d blushed, sure. Mostly out of residual mortification at remembering those slender fingers grabbing your ass, not out of secret affection.

Naturally, Rose had taken that out of context.

And Shinji, being a blonde disaster wrapped in a haori, had somehow interpreted all of this as you playing hard to get.

You weren’t.

You were playing stop-being-stupid, which turned out to be infinitely harder.

The next day, a bouquet of flowers appeared on your desk. No card. Just a dramatic, ill-advised splash of bright yellow roses.

You stared at them.

Yellow. 

Yellow.

So, basically, you were his grandmother now.

With absolutely no ceremony, you dumped them straight into the trash bin while he watched.

“Hey!” Shinji whined from the hallway, clearly scandalized. He turned to Rose, hands thrown up. “I hand-picked those this morning! Cost me an arm and a leg!”

“For such an intelligent man,” Rose sighed, flipping his perfectly maintained hair over his shoulder, “you truly have no finesse.”

“Whadda mean?”

“I mean, she’s not the type of woman impressed by… whatever that was. You need a more intelligent approach. More thoughtful.”

“Shuddup,” Shinji scoffed. “You don’t know who you’re talkin’ to. I’m the king of smooth moves.”

He was not.

But Rose didn’t have the heart to tell him.

His next tactics included chocolates, awkward scrolls filled with poetry, and a collection of increasingly obnoxious trinkets that made it abundantly clear he had no idea what he was doing. Each gift screamed I read too many romance novels, likely borrowed from Captain Kyōraku’s personal stash. None were signed, but they didn’t need to be.

It wasn’t just the gifts. That would’ve been bad enough in a “creepy high school crush” sort of way.

No. It couldn’t be easy. The man checked in on you.

Constantly.

Like a jealous boyfriend who wasn’t even dating you.

“’ Sup,” he asked, appearing in the exact same doorframe he’d burst into that first night. You and Rose were elbows-deep in division paperwork, but your captain didn’t so much as blink.

“Hey, Shinji,” Rose said smoothly, not even looking up. You had no choice but to acknowledge him with the barest nod.

“What are you doing all the way over here?” Rose asked, tone polite.

“Oh, just seeing how things are going,” Shinji replied, grinning like a fox who thought he was subtle. Spoiler: he was not.

These casual pop-ins became frequent. Too frequent. And just suspiciously normal enough that if you complained, you would sound unhinged.

You were approached, interrupted, followed, and hovered over. The bars you liked? Now his hangouts. Your favorite tea shop? Suddenly, “his regular.” Even your hobbies weren’t safe. 

He once showed up at your embroidery circle and tried to make a sock puppet.

So, you did what any rational woman at her wits’ end would do.

You grabbed his poor lieutenant by the collar and hissed, “Keep. Your captain. Away from me.”

Sōsuke Aizen, who looked as threatening as a sad cloud, gently blinked at you.

“I’m sorry,” he said with the kind of soft, noncommittal dread that only came from years of dealing with Shinji. “But I don’t… really control him. Any interference from me might… worsen things.”

He wasn’t lying.

You eventually wrangled an exhausted, verbal agreement out of him anyway.

Which, as Aizen warned, only made it worse.

Shinji somehow interpreted this as a challenge. You saying no? Clearly a flirty come on. You asking for space? Obviously, a sign that you were growing emotionally invested.

Thank the Soul King for his duties as a captain, because anytime he wasn’t working, he was hunting for you.

This is why, on one otherwise peaceful afternoon, while wandering the farmer’s market, you picked up on the barest shift in spiritual pressure. Faint but unmistakable.

“Captain Hirako,” you said without turning around, “please stop following me.”

He emerged from behind the cabbage stall like a blonde ghost of regret, hand behind his head, long hair shining in the sun, white haori billowing dramatically like he meant to be seen.

“Hey,” he said casually, eyes crinkling. “How’s it goin’? Did you find those leeks you were lookin’ for?”

You froze.

Your eyebrow twitched skyward.

Because yes, you had been looking for leeks. Silently. Ten minutes ago. On the other end of the market.

And despite his generally idiotic behavior, you were struck with the sudden realization that Shinji Hirako wasn’t just a mess.

He was paying attention.

Creepily well.

“Please,” you said, turning to him with the exhaustion of a woman spiritually hunted. “What do I have to do to make you stop?”

You stood between the tomato and potato stands, glaring up at him like the produce could back you up. The vendors looked on in hushed awe, unsure whether they witnessed a romantic drama, a public meltdown, or a hostage negotiation.

Shinji straightened, visibly delighted. His smile bloomed across his entire face, so wide it nearly curled into his ears.

“Well,” he drawled, tone pure mischief, “how ’bout we hit a club tonight? One’a mine.”

Your soul tried to leave your body.

A club.

You hated clubs.

The music, the sweat, the people grinding without consent, every inch of it made your skin crawl. Which, naturally, meant he would love it.

You stared at him. He grinned wider. A blonde threat in white robes and poor impulse control.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You agreed.

“Fine,” you said flatly. “Let’s go.”

He blinked in surprise. “Wait—really?”

“Yes.” Your voice was hollow. “Tonight. Your club. Great.”

You said it with the firm conviction of someone signing a peace treaty in a war they never enlisted for. Because if it got him off your back, if this ridiculous date made him lose interest and leave you the hell alone, then so be it.

Maybe then you could return to your peaceful, unremarkable life.

Unbothered. Unfollowed.

Unfondled.

And yet… something in his eyes sparkled.

The jazz club was one of those strange new human trends that had taken the Soul Society by storm, especially among captains. Rose, in particular, had spoken with open jealousy about how Shinji owned something called a record player, a human device capable of playing music on demand. He’d sounded betrayed.

But it wasn’t just the music. The fashion had caught on, too. People dressed up in slim, modern garments; shorter hemlines, sharper silhouettes, all the rage in certain districts.

Wanting to blend in, you traded your usual shihakushō for a sleek black dress that hit just at your knees, edged with a flirtatious fringe at the hem. Long gloves, bare shoulders. It was bold for you, maybe even a little edgy. But compared to the showier outfits floating through the club, you looked modest.

Shinji was waiting outside.

Still in his captain’s haori, of course. It made sense. As a seated officer, he had a duty to always signify his rank, even in places like this. But the stark white robe looked almost out of place against the smoky glow of the neon sign behind him.

“Captain,” you greeted, trying to stay neutral as his gaze slid over you appreciatively.

“Just call me Shinji,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Calling me ‘captain’ is for people I don’t like.”

You’d barely opened your mouth to protest before he added, “And you don’t wanna be one of those, do ya?”

Despite yourself and everything that had come before, you found yourself humoring him.

To your surprise, once inside and tucked into a quieter booth away from the crowd, he was… actually fun to be around. Genuinely funny. Charismatic without trying too hard. A natural storyteller who laughed at his own dumb jokes and didn’t even flinch when you landed a solid jab at his pride.

There was a rhythm to it. Easy. Unexpected.

And as much as you hated to admit it, you really hated to admit it. There wasn’t anyone quite like him.

Toward the end of the evening, you excused yourself to visit the restroom. Not because you needed to. But because you needed a minute. A moment to step back and reassess the situation. The night. Him.

This wasn’t where you’d expected to be.

You’d always kept to yourself, intentionally skirting recognition. Performed just poorly enough to never qualify for a seated position. Only excelled in paperwork because doing nothing drove you insane. You liked privacy. Quiet. Simplicity.

And now here you were, in gloves and fringe, sipping a smoky drink across from a captain who once fell asleep on top of you, wrapped around your neck like a scarf, and yet somehow managed to charm his way into your guarded evening.

It was disorienting.

You stared at yourself in the restroom mirror. Same face. Same eyes. Same dull ache of not knowing what the hell you were doing.

But when you walked back out into the haze of warm light and low music, your eyes instinctively found him, lounging in the booth, one arm slung over the backrest, head tilted as he watched the band.

Sighing and deciding to just wing it, you stepped out of the bathroom and back into the haze of warm lights and swinging jazz. And the moment he spotted you, his grin returned like it was instinct. Like he was happy to see you.

Unfortunately, fate decided you needed more complications tonight.

You barely made it past the bar when a middle-aged man, clearly several drinks past charming, caught sight of you and lit up like a bonfire.

“Hey, dollface,” he slurred, grabbing your arm. “How ’bout we spend the rest of the night together?”

You didn’t even blink. Channeling your inner secretarial menace, you neatly pried his hand off your arm with a look so sharp it could’ve cut glass. He stumbled backward, right into a group of burly, bad-attitude muscleheads.

One punch later, your drunken admirer was on the ground, groaning.

The muscleheads turned to you.

Menacing and ready to fight.

Until a white-robed arm slid smoothly over your shoulders.

The air shifted.

The men glanced up, eyes landing on the haori, then on the expression underneath it.

Shinji looked offended. Not angry. Not irritated. Personally offended.

Teeth bared, eyes narrowed, he didn’t even say anything. Just existed.

It was enough.

The men backed off, muttering apologies and vanishing into the crowd.

He led you away from the chaos, hand warm on your arm.

“Captain—” you began.

“Shinji, dollface,” he corrected smoothly, voice lazy but possessive. “And I’m the only guy who gets to call you that, m’kay?”

The tone was somehow both reassuring and insulting. A neat trick.

You stared at him. “Why didn’t you help earlier?”

He turned his head, the grin back in full force. “You talk such a rough game. Figured I’d give ya a chance. See if you were gonna ditch me for that guy. If ya had, I would’ve backed off for good.”

You blinked. “Dear Soul King… that’s all I had to do?”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” he said cheerfully. “You’re too honest, cupcake. You really are my first love.”

You went scarlet.

“Don’t say that!” you hissed. “Besides, why let the creeps crowd me if you thought I could handle it?”

He winked, tugging you closer.

“It’s one thing for a guy to flirt with a cutie like you. But if they really come after my girl?” His hand tightened gently on your shoulder. “Then there’s hell to pay.”

You opened your mouth to correct him, to say you weren’t his anything.

But nothing came out.

Because despite the teasing, the nonsense, the full-force Shinji-ness of it all… There was something oddly wonderful about him.

Something marvelous, even.

It took Shinji five years to get you to verbally commit to him.

Another fifteen to convince Rose to finally let you transfer.

He’d also been forced to transfer his fourth seat to another division to avoid a scandal, which caused a minor upheaval and many long nights of paperwork. Paperwork you were now, conveniently, there to solve.

But even with you in the Fifth Division, and the obvious familiarity between you and the captain, most of the squad still didn’t realize you were a couple. Shinji never formally announced it, and you weren’t the type to overshare. Instead, it lived in the details. In the way he leaned into your space when he didn’t have to, the way you snatched reports from his hand before he could ruin them, the way he muttered lovingly vulgar things under his breath while arguing with the record player like it owed him money.

You had even, eventually, apologized to Sōsuke Aizen.

Much to his amusement.

And Shinji’s visible disdain.

Still, he never really minded your independence. He let you go on missions as you pleased, so long as you came home to him.

Lieutenant Aizen, for his part, looked increasingly grateful whenever you swept in, shooed him out, and took over the ungodly mountain of paperwork. You had a strong suspicion that Shinji made the poor man’s life harder than necessary, deliberately assigning him nonsense just to test his patience. Or yours.

Shinji also never left the two of you alone for long.

He said he trusted you. He did. But that didn’t mean he liked the way Aizen looked at you when you were deep in thought, biting your lip and drafting reports with that efficient little frown.

Shinji liked to tease you, summoning you with all the power and authority of a squad captain just to whisper some horrifically embarrassing pet name and grin when your ears turned red. Sometimes you’d storm off in a rage, only to end up at Rose’s office, dramatically throwing yourself into a chair.

“Please, Captain. Take me back.”

“I can’t kidnap you from your husband,” Rose replied, deadpan.

“He won’t even notice,” you lied. “He’s been complaining about bananas for three hours. I need a break.”

Rose would roll his eyes, and Shinji would appear minutes later, smug and unrepentant.

But then the nights came. Quiet, golden-lit nights. Jazz playing on the record player. A steaming drink in hand. Shinji stretched out on the floor, arms crossed behind his head, humming along and grinning when you walked into the room like he’d been waiting for you the whole time.

And you’d remember why you gave in to the exasperating, ridiculous, deeply devoted man who fought with the lieutenant from Twelfth Squad like it was a hobby.

Your life in the Soul Society had once been predictable. Quiet. Manageable.

Now it was chaos. Loud, exhausting, infuriating chaos.

And somehow… better.

Learning to see the world in color had taken time. Years. But watching it fade to black and white again took only a moment.

“He’s gone.”

Sōsuke Aizen stood alone in the long hall, voice low but sure, watching your face with clinical precision. You’d never been alone with him before, never had reason to be. Now, with no one else around, no laughter echoing down the corridor, no footsteps to fill the silence, it felt as if the entire world had tilted.

“The captain and several other powerful captain-level members were convicted by the Gotei 13 for illegal experiments,” he said.

It was delivered as fact. Crisp. Final.

Friends, mentors, people you’d known and trusted—loved—disappeared from your life as if they’d stepped into fog and never turned back. Shinji among them.

And the worst part?

It had happened on a regular day. He’d been called out for a simple mission. No fanfare. No goodbyes.

By the time you realized it was real, it was already done.

It crushed you. But you were not thin-skinned. Lazy, yes. Irritable, definitely. But not fragile. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you had always known that captains lived dangerous lives. Still, you had never imagined he’d vanish like a ghost. No body, no word, just gone.

You nodded with a grace you didn’t feel.

“Pardon me, Lieutenant.”

Aizen stepped aside, recognizing the finality in your tone. But just as you passed him, his hand settled lightly on your shoulder.

You stopped.

When you turned to look at him, there was a flicker in his expression. Something that didn’t belong. Triumph? Disappointment? Like your reaction had let him down. Like you hadn’t fallen apart enough.

That flicker vanished as quickly as it came, his eyes growing colder in its place.

You turned from that look.

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly, almost rehearsed. “Would you like to stay here this evening? I could make some tea. Just sit with you, if you’d prefer not to be alone.”

It sounded kind. It should have been kind.

But something in his voice, in the weight of those perfectly formed words, made your skin prickle.

You stared at him.

Hard.

And something shifted. He withdrew his hand.

His expression wasn’t cruel. But it wasn’t comforting either. It was a quiet wall, built deliberately between you.

“…No.”

He froze.

“Excuse me,” you said instead, voice clipped and clean.

You walked into the night, shivering, not from cold, but from the lingering press of his gaze. It wasn’t violent, but it was invasive. Alert. Hungry. You tried to dismiss it. He had lost his captain, too. And no matter how irritating Shinji had been to him, how immature, how unpredictable, lieutenants still took that kind of loss hard.

Still… you remembered the only time Shinji ever looked truly furious outside of battle.

It was when Sōsuke had casually asked if you’d like to accompany him on a mission.

“No,” Shinji had said immediately, voice sharp as a blade. “Do yer own work, Sōsuke. She ain’t pickin’ up your slack.”

You’d both been shocked. It was the first time Shinji had ever spoken to him like that in front of you.

And like a madwoman, you laughed.

Laughed until it cracked into sobs, curling in on yourself on the floor of your quarters. You wept until dawn, and then rose the next day with your uniform pressed and your hair immaculate. No one would see the wreckage.

You watched as Aizen became captain. Selected a new lieutenant. He tried to give you a ranked seat, which you declined. You kept your desk. Kept your distance. Watched him try, and fail, to breach your quiet, well-armored grief.

The years passed like paperwork, fast, impersonal, endless.

Shinji Hirako had been dead for ninety years.

And the light in your life had never fully returned.

With time refusing to rewind, it was only now that you let yourself realize it. To truly realize it.

It was over.

The vibrant color he had brought to your world had faded, slow and unnoticed, until now it dripped like paint down a wall, pooling into gray. 

Into silence.

All that remained was memory.

A golden-haired idiot. Loud, crass, warm. A man with a grin that could cut through dimensions and a heart so loud it anchored yours. A man who made you feel seen. Pulled you into the chaos. Gave you reason to resist the creeping numbness.

And now he was gone.

Ninety Years Later

Karakura Town was one of those places. The kind of place where spiritual activity ran thick through the air. A hotbed for hollows. A nightmare for patrol shifts.

And, for you?

Right now, a whole lot of boring.

You sat on a rooftop, knees drawn up, arms crossed over them, chin balanced lazily on your forearms. You’d been assigned solo to this sector, and there hadn’t been so much as a weak hollow all night. Even the humans were too quiet.

Unseen, a short distance away, several spiritual presences flickered behind layered concealment. Too subtle for even your sharp senses.

“Dollface.”

The nickname cut through the air like an old scar tearing open. Your shoulders twitched, instincts snapping to attention before your brain caught up.

Shinji sighed from his hidden perch, watching the back of your head like a ghost clinging to the last thread of a life he couldn’t touch.

“That’s my girl.”

There had been hollows earlier. But the second your spiritual pressure had flared near his location, he’d annihilated every single one. Viciously. Quietly.

She doesn’t even know, Rose thought with quiet dismay as he stepped beside him in the shadowed loft of the old industrial building the Visoreds had claimed as their hideout.

“You still love her?” Rose asked softly.

Shinji’s lips pulled back in a flash of teeth, disapproval first. Then, a dreamy sigh.

“’ Course. She’s still cute as a button.”

The look on his face made several of them groan audibly.

“But you’re not going to see her?” Rose pressed, glancing down at you from their hiding spot.

“I thought you’d tackle her,” Hiyori muttered from her perch, arms crossed tightly.

“He never shuts up about her,” she added. That earned her a sharp side-eye from Shinji, effectively shutting everyone up.

“She’s under that bastard’s thumb,” Shinji muttered finally. “I show my face, he’ll know. And he’ll use her.”

A beat passed.

“I ain’t gonna ruin her life som’more.”

“You’re assuming she’s not already ruined by you not being in it,” Rose replied, voice light but serious beneath.

“Yoruichi said she doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Kensei offered, stepping forward. “Said she doesn’t trust Aizen. She just… floats. Gets by. She might help us get close.”

“I’m not draggin’ her into this!” Shinji snapped, eyes flashing. “She ain’t got nothin’ to do with this mess.”

“She’d call you out for that,” Hiyori said dryly, standing and dusting off her shorts. “Say you’re full of crap and kick your ass.”

“Both,” Love agreed from the lower level, sprawled on the couch.

“Yay! True love!” Mashiro chirped brightly, clapping her hands.

Shinji gritted his teeth hard enough to crack one.

“Ain’t gonna happen. And if any of ya even try, I’ll kill ya.”

Before anyone could reply, his eyes flared, locked on a spike in spiritual pressure.

“Gotta go,” he said quickly. “Don’t let her outta yer sight. Or I swear, I’ll crush ya.”

With one hand gripping the brim of his bucket hat, he darted through the door and vanished into the shadows.

Rose exhaled long and slow.

“Goodness,” he murmured, almost fond, “he’s still a fool.”

“Should we get her?” Kensei asked, expression unreadable.

Rose watched the skyline.

Then shook his head.

“He’s not that much of a fool.” 

The eventual defection of Aizen was not something you were incapable of comprehending in the moment.

His bald-faced betrayal, buried within the chaos surrounding the human intruders, blindsided nearly everyone, including you. There had always been something off about your captain. But you had chalked it up to awkward social behavior. Maybe a little too polished. Maybe trying too hard to make you like him.

You hadn’t realized you were just a pawn.

A decoy.

Collateral damage, meant only to hurt someone else. His old captain, the one who once snarled, “She ain’t picking up yer slack.”

Aizen destroyed lives like he was brushing lint off his shoulder.

Yours? He didn’t even bother aiming. Just stepped on it as he walked past.

You took some petty satisfaction in knowing you might be the only person who ever threatened him and lived. Just once, though, you would really like to hit him with a very big stick.

But there was no time for curling in on yourself, no space to cry or vomit or fall apart like Momo had. Not then. Not now. You didn’t crumble. You wouldn’t crumble.

Captain Yamamoto had forcibly promoted you to Third Seat after the former one disappeared. You hadn’t had the guts to refuse.

So you picked up the shattered pieces of the squad. Held Momo while she wept. Screamed at stunned officers to focus. Filed every soul-shattering report with mechanical efficiency. Including the one that read, in uncharacteristically blunt handwriting:

“Defected because he is an evil bastard.”

Central 46 didn’t even challenge it. Captain-Lieutenant Chōjirō may have even chuckled when he signed off on it.

When word came that Aizen was targeting Karakura Town, you personally tried to enlist. Yamamoto told you, in short: No. You’re too valuable here.

Paperwork over vengeance. As always.

So once again, you sat in the Soul Society, doing the boring, practical thing while someone else fought the world-ending battle. Whether or not you’d get breakfast the next morning depended on whether someone else won or lost.

(For the record: no. You didn’t get breakfast.)

But not because the world ended.

Because your world was about to punch through the roof, upend itself, and drag you kicking and screaming into the kind of chaos you were built to file around, not through.

You were keeping order, as usual, when it happened.

“Hey!” a young Shinigami ran up to you, beaming like an idiot. “The captains are back! They got the bastard!”

Relief flooded through you. Maybe now, finally, you could relax.

“And guess what! A whole bunch of old captains showed up too! Like, surprise, they’ve been alive this whole time!”

Your hand paused, hovering above a new form.

“What?”

“Yeah! Captain Yamamoto reinstated them to their old positions! One of the returnees already got squad five! Some dude with blonde hair—”

You cut in darkly, voice low and sharp:

“And a creepy smile?”

“Uh… yeah? You know him?”

You stood slowly.

And then, for the first time in your professional life, you shoved the entire stack of papers off your desk.

The desk followed.

You threw your ink pot at the door.

And then you stormed out, blazing past the bewildered officer, down the corridor, past the barracks, through the market stalls, shoulders squared, eyes wild, fists clenched like divine retribution made mortal.

You didn’t stop until you reached the edge of town.

To that house.

The one by the river.

The one you hadn’t visited in ninety years.

Dust covered everything. The windows had held up. No one had looted a thing, not even the record player on the table, silent and ancient, buried in a decade’s worth of stillness.

Your possessions sat untouched.

You stood in the doorway, seething.

And for a moment, just a moment, you considered throwing the whole house into the river.

But that would be childish.

No.

You would throw him off a cliff.

You squinted blearily at the flash of bright blonde entering the club. The bar you’d chosen specifically for not being associated with emotional trauma.

For a moment, your heart leapt in panic before your alcohol-soaked brain confirmed.

Too short. Hair too stiff. Definitely more “depressed poetry club” than “chaotic jazz menace.”

Not him.

Just Izuru Kira.

Welp. That called for another shot.

He gave a little wave in your direction. You raised one limp hand in what you hoped looked like “I acknowledge your existence, not your presence.”

Great.

He slid into the seat across from you, too polite to comment on the empty glasses littering the table.

“How are you holding up?” he asked gently.

You downed the shot in response. If he was looking for insight, that was all he was getting.

“Right,” he said. “That well, huh.”

He looked tired. More than usual. Dark circles under his eyes, posture like a melting snowman. A bandage peeked out from under his collar when he reached for the bottle.

You didn’t reply immediately, staring down into the molten burn of your next shot. After a beat, you muttered, “Heard about Cap… Gin. I’m sorry.”

He nodded again, jaw tightening. His already pale face seemed to drain further. A bandage peeked from beneath his collar as he shifted.

“It’s over,” he said in the tone of someone who absolutely hadn’t processed anything. “Change is inevitable. Resistance is pointless.”

Right. You forgot how inspirational he was.

Still, tonight? Melancholy was your drink of choice, so you slammed back another shot like it owed you money. He mirrored you. It was… oddly comforting.

“So.” He blinked. “Why are you drinking like someone canceled your soul?”

You stared at him.

You took a breath.

“My dead husband,” you began flatly, “who has been moonlighting in the human world like some trench coat-wearing drama king for ninety years, has just reappeared and been reinstated as my squad’s captain.”

There was a moment of silence so heavy you could’ve folded it into a futon.

Kira blinked.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

“Exactly,” you said, deadpan. “I have officially entered Prime Asshole Territory.”

Kira poured another round like a man settling in for a slow descent into mutual disillusionment.

He let out a low whistle. “That… yeah. That’s a new one.”

“Oh, wait,” you said, grabbing the bottle and sloshing a bit too enthusiastically into your glass. “It gets better. Everyone’s thrilled. Like he’s some long-lost golden retriever who has come back from war. Meanwhile, I’m on drink number nine, drafting a comprehensive list of cliffs.”

He raised his glass, brows arched. “Is he on the list?”

“He is the list. Everyone else is a bonus entry.”

You clinked glasses like it was a sacred ritual.

“To absolute disasters who somehow get promoted.”

“To emotional damage wrapped in a haori.”

You both drank.

There was a beat of silence that tasted like shared bitterness and impeccable comedic timing.

And for the first time that day, you almost smiled.

Almost.

A little ways away, behind two poorly held menus, two absolute idiots crouched like spies with the subtlety of a brick.

“Yer kidding,” Shinji hissed, face twisted in righteous offense, teeth bared like a raccoon caught mid-heist. “She finds out I’m alive and she’s getting drunk?”

“She doesn’t exactly look like she’s planning a romantic reunion,” Rose murmured, shifting the menu to block his face from a particularly judgmental waiter. “You might, and I say this with love, desperately need a new strategy. Preferably one involving an apology and not teeth.”

“She’s drinkin’ with him!” Shinji seethed. “That paperclip-lookin’ bastard!”

“Kira is sad,” Rose said flatly. “Drinking with him doesn’t count as emotional infidelity. At best, it’s group depression.”

“Still!” Shinji hissed. “He’s leanin’ close! He laughed at her joke!”

“You haven’t made her laugh since before you faked your death and abandoned her for nearly a century, so—”

“Okay!” Shinji smacked the table, rattling the soy sauce. “That’s it. I’m goin’ over there.”

Rose calmly stuck his arm out to block him. “You’ll make it worse.”

“She’s makin’ lists of cliffs, Rose!”

“You read her cliff list?”

“She left it on the desk! In bullet points! And she doodled me falling off one in the margin!”

“She is an artist,” Rose said solemnly. “And you are the subject.”

They both peered over their menus again.

Across the bar, you were staring down into your empty glass, muttering something under your breath. Izuru, meanwhile, had his forehead pressed to the counter like he was trying to phase through it.

“She looks like she’s gonna cry,” Shinji whispered, panic edging into his voice. “Or throw hands.”

Across from him, Rose held his menu up like it was a holy shield.

“She’s not exactly looking happy, Shinji. You might need something radical. Like tact.”

They sat hunched in the corner booth of the bar, both hiding behind laminated menus far too small to conceal two full-grown captains. It looked as stupid as it sounded.

Very, very stupid.

“What are you planning to do?” Rose muttered, peeking over the top like a raccoon in a scarf.

“Dunno.” Shinji slouched lower in the booth, chewing the inside of his cheek. His eyes hadn’t left the back of your head since you slammed your fourth shot like it had insulted your family. “Wait it out? Die again? Somethin’ like that.”

“You can’t leave it like this. She’s in your squad.”

“Yer bein’ Captain Obvious again,” Shinji said flatly, rolling his eyes so hard his hat nearly slid off.

“Well, you better figure it out quick. She seems to be getting friendly with the lieutenant—”

Shinji’s neck snapped toward him. “What?!”

Rose smirked. “—and he seems to be getting friendly with her.”

SLAM.

The menu hit the table so hard that the entire room jumped. Half the bar turned to stare, including you.

Shinji froze.

So did Rose.

From your booth across the bar, you blinked mid-weeping-laughter at Izuru. Your brow furrowed as you scanned the room. The booth was suddenly empty.

But your senses prickled. A tug. A presence just familiar enough to set your blood to simmer.

“I sense… a bitch,” you slurred.

Izuru snorted into his drink.

Then, he slowly tilted forward and slammed his face onto the counter.

You stared at Kira for a long, judging moment as he groaned face-first against the counter.

“…Lightweight,” you muttered, with all the authority of someone currently losing a debate with gravity.

At some point after that, you must’ve finished drinking. You weren’t sure when. All you knew was that the bartender gave up trying to stop you, and even sloshed, you did not attempt to return to the barracks.

No, instead, you took the long way home, past the canal, past the silent shops, through the darkened alleys of a town that no longer felt like yours.

Eventually, you stumbled through the front door of your long-abandoned house, humming a stupid old jazz tune you hadn’t heard in decades. It wasn’t even a real melody anymore, just slurred pieces of a song that had once meant something.

Your voice swayed along with your steps, just loud enough to chase off any remaining dignity still following you like a loyal dog.

You didn’t notice that the old phonograph in the corner was already playing.

Didn’t notice that the cushion you collapsed on didn’t puff up with dust or that the floor had been swept. Didn’t notice that the faint scent of smoke and lavender was lingering like a memory.

You just dropped to your knees, face half-pressed into the floor, and sighed. “Tomorrow,” you muttered. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

And familiar footsteps.

The far door creaked open, and a slim figure stepped into the room in quiet white socks. Short blonde hair. Human clothes. A face you had spent ninety years trying to erase and failing miserably.

You blinked, fuzzily confused.

“Hey, doll-face,” he said gently, like no time had passed at all. “How you holdin’ up, sweetheart?”

You stared.

“Asshole.”

He paused.

“You… you…” You squinted harder, vaguely certain this was just another dream. Another cruel hallucination conjured by your traitorous heart and seven too many drinks. “You’re not real.”

He stayed quiet.

“I’ll deal with you to–to–tomorrow,” you slurred, waving one hand halfheartedly in his direction like you were swatting away smoke.

And then you collapsed backward.

Shinji caught you.

Cradled you to his chest like he wasn’t the reason there was a fire burning quietly under your ribs. Like holding you wouldn’t undo him completely. His grip was careful. Hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure he still had the right.

He looked down at your sleeping face. Lips parted, expression still tense, eyebrows furrowed in what had probably been the prelude to a legendary insult.

“Ain’t that the truth,” he murmured, gently brushing your hair from your face. “Let’s save tomorrow’s problems… for tomorrow.”

He got to hold you again for the first time in ninety years. Really hold you. Not in a dream, memory, or quiet corner of Karakura Town where he had to pretend not to care.

No ghosts.

No masks.

Just the quiet creak of the record player, and you breathing softly against him. After all, how long would it be until you properly forgave him.

“Uh… Captain,” came the hesitant voice of Lieutenant Hinamori from the hallway.

“Lieutenant?” Shinji replied innocently, just as an ink bottle sailed past his head and exploded against the wall behind him.

He didn’t flinch. Just blinked.

“Well,” Momo said carefully, peering into the office from a safe distance away, “I think the Third Seat is… unhappy.”

From the other room, a loud thunk followed. You were still out of sight, but judging by the steady barrage of thrown objects, you were very much in the mood.

Shinji tilted his head, still wiping ink from his sleeve. “Nah. That’s just her love language.”

Another object launched through the doorframe with such accuracy that it smacked the exact center of a stack of paperwork and sent it flying like confetti.

Later, much later, he would discover you’d honed that particular throw by daydreaming about pegging Aizen in the face on bad days.

A noble tradition, really.

“She’s gonna kill you,” Momo whispered.

“Not if I win her back first,” he muttered, ducking as a second ink bottle whizzed by and barely missed his ear.

She gave him a flat look. “That’s what you’re calling this?”

He grinned like an idiot. “Courtship.”

Crash.

“…You’re bleeding.”

“Romance is pain, Lieutenant.”

A paperweight dinged off his head with a soft thunk. He rubbed his temple and sighed.

“Yeah, I know she ain’t pleased,” he muttered sarcastically, ducking a pen that embedded itself in the doorframe. “What clued ya in?”

“Well,” Momo offered delicately, “perhaps I could speak with her? Suggest that criticizing her captain so openly might not be… appropriate?”

“Let it go.” He didn’t look up. Just flipped through a squad roster while sidestepping a stapler. “She already took a knife to my hair this morning.”

There was a long pause.

“You mean that literally, don’t you?”

“I do.”

To his credit, Shinji had thought he’d planned it well.

You’d wake up in the home he’d carefully cleaned. The old record player would be spinning that stupid jazz song you liked. A vase of peach roses, your favorite, which he had learned eventually, even if it took a few years of marriage, would be sitting beside the bed.

He’d be nearby. Gentle. Warm. Offering you love, apologies, and irrefutable proof that he’d never stopped waiting for you.

Instead, you’d woken up and assumed you’d been kidnapped.

The panic had been immediate. The elbow to his face was devastating. He’d staggered back, hands to his bleeding nose, as you scrambled to the nearest weapon.

You chose scissors.

He’d tried to calm you and explain everything, but there was only so much he could do while shielding himself from wild swings and muffled screaming.

Once the fear had faded and recognition dawned, your eyes filled with shock, then fury, then tears.

You hadn’t said a word.

You’d stomped out of the house silently, fists clenched, eyes shining. And he’d been too concussed and guilty to follow.

You hadn’t shown up to the squad introduction that morning.

He didn’t blame you.

Now, sitting in a newly shattered office, dodging desk supplies and trying to memorize the names of subordinates with titles like “fourth seat, temporary, maybe,” Shinji could only sigh and brace for impact.

Another bottle whizzed past.

He ducked it. Barely.

“Y’know, Momo…” Shinji muttered, rubbing the fresh lump forming on his forehead.

“Yes, Captain?”

“I deserve this.”

It took you three days to return.

Three days where Shinji held out a shred of hope that maybe, maybe, you were just cooling off.

But then it came to light you’d marched up to the Captain-Commander’s office and demanded to be reassigned. Immediately.

When that was denied, you went to Rose.

Of all people.

Traitor.

According to Rose, the two of you had a tearful reunion over tea and emotional closure, during which you both reached the heartfelt, devastating consensus that it was entirely Shinji’s fault you’d never been contacted.

Rose, smiling like a backstabbing angel freshly polished for court, swore he’d defended him.

“It would’ve been dangerous,” he had pleaded, apparently. “Shinji never meant to hurt you.”

He even claimed you’d softened, that your eyes got misty. That you forgave Shinji’s intentions, if not his actions.

That you whispered something like, “Maybe he thought it was for the best.”

Or so Rose said.

Shinji had doubts.

Chief among them: Rose was a dramatic little liar who enjoyed stirring the emotional pot like a theatrical soup witch.

There had been no softening. There had been a shoe. And a stapler. And that near-miss with a decorative vase that still felt personal.

Rose had returned from your chat humming like he’d just orchestrated a tragic opera, giving Shinji the kind of cryptic advice that made him want to commit crimes.

“She just needs space.”

“She’ll come around.”

“Try poetry. But not your poetry.”

Shinji’s eye twitched. Because you, his wife, were now being defended by his alleged friend, and he was pretty sure Rose had taken your side before you’d even knocked on the door.

Worst of all?

He probably deserved it.

“She’s been throwin’ things at me all day,” Shinji muttered, sporting a bruise on his cheekbone as he glared across the room.

“Let her,” Rose replied serenely. “She’s processing.”

“Yeah, well, she’s processin’ her emotions directly into my face.”

“Good! That means you still matter.”

Shinji groaned into his hands. Patience, Rose said. Time, Rose said. And Shinji tried. Really, he did.

But patience had limits.

For heaven’s sake, you were his wife. The woman who once kicked a hollow in the face for getting slime on his coat. The woman who used to argue with him about dish soap. The woman who made fun of his poetry and then secretly saved every single one.

You would remember.

Eventually.

Probably.

Maybe.

A shoe flew into the room like divine judgment and smacked him square in the face. He crumpled over his desk with a dramatic thud, forehead thudding against unfinished paperwork.

Momo winced from across the room. “Captain—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Shinji groaned into the wood. “She’s been talkin’ to Hiyori.”

Because that wasn’t an everyday shoe.

That was a tactical-grade, steel-toed, airborne message of rage.

It had the distinct chaotic energy of Hiyori Sarugaki’s life philosophy: If you can’t say it with words, throw it.

He lifted his head just enough to glare at the door.

Another shoe, its matching twin, sat ominously on the floor where it had landed after bouncing off his forehead. The pair now framed him like a shrine to his poor decisions.

“She’s escalatin’,” he muttered, rubbing the new bruise. “This is organized.”

“I think that was organized,” Momo whispered, staring at the aerodynamic arc the shoe had clearly taken. “Sir, I think it was aimed.”

“No kiddin’,” Shinji said, dragging the shoe off his desk like it personally offended him. “She’s weaponized household objects. She’s past passive-aggressive. She’s in full Cold War mode.”

Momo glanced at the paperwork. “Do you want to reschedule the squad meeting?”

“What I want is to go back in time, not fake my death, and maybe write her an actual letter instead of disappearing for ninety years like a dramatic bastard.”

“Should I… write that down?”

“No,” he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Just get me a helmet.”

He needed a new plan.

A better plan.

One that didn’t involve dodging household objects like a circus act.

One that said: I love you, I’m sorry, and please stop weaponizing your shoe collection.

Shinji knew gaining your forgiveness would take time.

Hell, he deserved that much.

But he hadn’t expected you to refuse to speak to him at all.

He may have been your captain. He may have once been your husband, still might be the love of your life if you ever felt like confirming it, but you weren’t a pushover. You didn’t hand out grace just because someone came back crying with flowers and a bruised nose.

So he gave you space.

Time.

Distance.

It hurt him, watching you turn away from him day after day, leaning on others, laughing with other men. You wouldn’t meet his eyes. Wouldn’t acknowledge the bond that had once made him whole. Wouldn’t even throw things anymore.

Eventually, the fury cooled into something worse.

A silent, cold sort of anger. Impersonal. Efficient. You spoke with him only when necessary, your tone clipped and professional. You didn’t scream anymore. Didn’t cry.

And somehow, that hurt more than the shoe.

Everyone else was healing. The Soul Society was rebuilding. Friends reconnected, old wounds closed, but you and Shinji? You were stuck in purgatory.

Until the day he heard the rumor.

You’d visited a lawyer. One known for handling private marital dissolutions. Quiet, clean breakups were especially useful for Shinigami, who didn’t want to deal with the politics of divorce in the court guard system.

He tried to convince himself it was a rumor.

Until he found the papers, mourning in your office after you had fled.

Divorce papers.

Sitting quietly at your desk.

Unfiled. Unsigned.

But there.

The breath left his lungs.

He didn’t scream. Didn’t throw things. Didn’t laugh it off like a joke he could charm his way out of.

This wasn’t flirty, loudmouth Shinji Hirako anymore.

This was stillness.

The kind of stillness that came before a storm. Before a blade was drawn. Before someone vanished from existence without a word.

Spine straight. Jaw locked. His gold eyes narrowed and fixed on the papers like they had insulted something sacred.

Because this wasn’t just heartbreak.

This was the moment he realized he might lose you for real.

And that was something Shinji had never prepared for. Not even when he’d walked away the first time, thinking it would protect you. Not when he watched you from the shadows in Karakura, swallowing his own want every time you looked lonely, and he couldn’t reach you.

No, this was different.

This was final.

And he was angry.

Not teasing. Not wounded. Not desperate.

Angry.

The kind of anger that didn’t raise its voice.

The kind of anger that moved like a sharpened edge.

Captain Shinji Hirako at his most dangerous.

You went to one of his favorite clubs out of sheer spite and maybe a touch of self-sabotage.

The jazz joint with the swinging lights, the late sets, and the signature cocktail he used to claim “tasted like music and bad decisions.” You went with the most scandalous crew you could assemble on short notice.

Rangiku, of course, with her legendary reputation for trouble (undeserved, but so very useful). Captain Kyōraku, who brought alcohol with him and insisted on flirting with the bartender before even sitting down. Shuhei Hisagi, who joined out of chaos loyalty and a mild hope that someone would eventually punch him for fun. And Izuru, quiet and grim, but a grounding presence at your side. Thank the Soul King for that.

It didn’t look good for you to be there.

And it didn’t feel much better.

Rangiku had loaned you human clothes for the occasion. The kind that shimmered in the wrong light, hugged a bit too tight, and dared anyone to judge you for looking phenomenal while emotionally compromised.

The whole night, men kept approaching the table. You waved them off with practiced politeness, claiming fatigue, headache, and disinterest. Whatever it took to keep them moving. You weren’t there to flirt. You weren’t there to be admired.

You were there because he loved this place.

And you wanted to ruin it for him.

You stared out at the jazz dancers, moving in elegant rhythm to the beat. The music was fine. The crowd was lively. The laughter around you wasn’t forced. But none of it touched you.

Not like it used to.

Not like it had when you were here with him.

Shinji had come back. He was home.

And yet somehow, he had never felt farther away.

You must have been obvious, too stiff, too quiet, too sober for the company you were keeping, because halfway through the clubbing, Izuru slipped into the seat beside you, exhaling like someone who’d just barely survived a conversation with Rangiku and Kyōraku.

“For someone trying to get back at an errant spouse,” he said dryly, “you’re not being very flirty.”

You folded your arms with a sharp huff. That had Rangiku written all over it. She’d clearly been drunk-talking again.

“Maybe you should reconsider the separation,” he added bluntly, and you shot him a glare.

As if summoned by chaos, Captain Kyōraku appeared on your other side, raising his glass with a half-smile and flushed cheeks.

“Spare the man,” he drawled. “He’s been through a lot.”

You hissed at him.

Actually hissed.

Kyōraku raised both hands in surrender, grinning like a man who’d dodged worse in his time.

“Ninety years,” you snapped, “and he didn’t even have the balls to apologize properly. For all I know, he could’ve been off with other women the whole time!”

Izuru gave you a long, tired look and raised a brow, quiet, sad, and knowing.

“Do you really think that?” he asked. “Or are you just mad that the only way he knew to protect you… Was by breaking your heart?”

Damn him.

Damn him and that quiet little voice of his, always full of knives dressed up like reason.

You deflated all at once, like a stack of cards collapsing in slow motion. Kyōraku patted your back, far too pleased with himself for someone so drunk.

“Don’t be so harsh,” he murmured, though you suspected it was mostly to keep the peace, and possibly the whiskey.

You shrugged off the touch, staring at your drink as if it might answer for you.

“No,” you admitted, voice low and raw, “he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to me.”

You stared ahead, throat tight.

“It just… it makes me so angry to think anyone else might’ve touched him. Might’ve held him when I thought he was dead.”

Izuru nodded solemnly. “You can’t hate him for that.”

You looked up at him, and his expression said he knew. They all knew. How much everyone had lost. How long Aizen’s shadow reached.

“We were all fooled,” he said softly. “By Aizen. By Gin… for so long, it’s almost unimaginable.”

He looked utterly worn down, with dark circles beneath his eyes like old bruises. You reached over and gently patted his back, like he’d done for you when everything collapsed.

“I don’t hate him,” you whispered. “I hate that I love him. I hate that I still love him. And I don’t know if I can let him back in.”

The confession sat there between you, raw and honest.

Izuru didn’t flinch. You just nodded and looked ahead, to Rangiku laughing too loudly, her shirt defying physics, her joy a shield she never quite set down.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I understand.”

And for a moment, the chaos around you fell away, just a little, and you all sat with the ache of loving someone you didn’t know how to forgive.

“There was so much pain,” you said, finally folding in on yourself. The words cracked something in you wide open. The realization really hit this time. He was alive. He had been alive. And you were still so, so tired from trying to hold the world together by yourself.

Izuru didn’t say anything. Just reached out and pulled you under his arm. Gently, platonically. You weren’t crying, but your face had gone pale, and your shoulders trembled with the weight of it.

You must have looked bad.

Because that’s when a zanpakuto slammed into the bar next to Izuru’s face, the blade humming as it embedded deep into the polished wood.

You both flinched.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

Not a question for you. A threat to him.

Shinji stood there, golden eyes narrowed, one hand clenched white around his sword hilt. His jaw was set, furious in that lethal way that made everyone in earshot go quiet.

Izuru went even paler. Slowly, he let go of you, both hands up.

“Yer the bastard tryin’ to steal my wife?”

Kira blinked. “I—what—no—”

You sat up fully, groaning like a hungover ghost. “Shinji, seriously—”

Captain Kyōraku chuckled from a few seats down. Then he saw Shinji’s expression and, wisely, scooted one stool farther.

Shinji leaned in, crowding Izuru back, placing himself squarely between you both like a jealous cat with a vendetta.

“It’s not like that—” Izuru tried, hands still raised, but Shinji wasn’t listening.

He gripped your shoulder like a man anchoring himself to the only thing keeping him sane.

“The hell it ain’t,” he hissed. “You tryin’ to be my replacement, kid? Huh? Got a hundred years on your scrawny—”

You grabbed his sleeve.

“Shinji. Stop.”

His mouth opened, then shut. His whole posture changed when he looked down and saw your hand on his. The rage didn’t vanish, but it folded in on itself. Contained.

“He’s just a friend.”

There it was. That flash of hope. It made his chest rise, made his expression twitch, like he couldn’t decide whether to be happy or even more pissed off. Still, his fingers unclenched just enough.

“You’re causing a scene,” you added pointedly.

The entire bar was watching now. Half the club had paused mid-drink.

Shinji gave an aggravated sound, yanked his blade from the counter, and, just for good measure, pointed it at Kira’s face again.

Izuru sighed.

Kyōraku downed the rest of his drink. “Ah, young love,” he said cheerfully. “Violent. Territorial. Slightly illegal.”

Rangiku, watching from across the room, just whistled low. “Ten bucks says she throws him through a window in the next ten minutes.”

“She won’t,” Kyōraku replied. “Not until after they slow dance first.”

You massaged your temples. Loudmouth Shinji was back. And unfortunately, he was still your husband.

“Piss off. And stay away if you know what’s good for ya,” Shinji snapped, not even sparing Izuru a final glance.

Kira nodded quickly, like someone who’d just been personally cursed by a ghost. Shinji turned to you and gripped your shoulders, dragging you away through the bar.

Captain Kyōraku waved Rangiku off with a lazy wiggle of his fingers. She looked ready to intervene, but he held her back with a casual “Let ‘em hash it out.”

You hissed at Shinji under your breath as he tugged you along. “Quit manhandling me, you lunatic.”

But no one stopped you. No one dared. Not with the killing aura he was letting out. Even you were beginning to get nervous. He wasn’t yelling now. He was too quiet. Too controlled.

By the time he finally stopped, half a mile out in a dim, less-traveled street, he was sheathing his sword. The silence pressed thick around you.

“I don’t wanna see you talk to him again,” he said flatly. “As your husband, since you won’t listen to me as your captain.”

“Husband?” you echoed, voice rising. You yanked yourself out of his grip, and to his credit, he let you go. “You don’t get to throw that word around like it means something after everything! You couldn’t even be bothered to tell me you were alive!”

His mouth tightened, but he didn’t lash back.

“I wasn’t gonna give Aizen a reason to hurt ya,” he said quietly. Firmly. Like that alone justified the heartbreak.

“You didn’t have to,” you shot back, breath shuddering. “You already did. Just by saying nothing.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.” The words came slowly, deliberately. “I don’t regret protectin’ you. But nothin’ causes me more pain than seein’ you like this. If I’d known I was wreckin’ your whole damn life… I wouldn’t’ve come back at all.”

And there it was. The unspoken truth.

You had only returned. Only taken your old seat. Because of him.

The air felt colder somehow, even as your anger began to bleed out of you.

“Shinji,” you said softly. “I didn’t try to hurt you either. But letting you back in means opening a door to where I can be hurt again.” Your voice cracked. Emotion built in your throat like floodwater behind a dam. “And I’m so tired of breaking.”

He stepped forward carefully, brushing your hair behind your ear like it might disappear if he wasn’t gentle enough.

“So yer just gonna divorce me then, huh?” he said, voice raw.

You flinched. Your heart twisted. He looked so wounded, like the word alone took a chunk out of him.

You reached up, covering the hand he still had in your hair. He shuddered beneath your palm.

“You weren’t supposed to see those papers,” you whispered. “I didn’t think you’d go looking. Stupid of me.”

His mouth pulled down in that tragic way only he could wear. Eyes shut tight, like he was bracing for a final blow.

“If ya can’t give me anything else without it hurtin’ ya,” he said hoarsely, “at least give me the truth.”

The truth?

The truth was, you still loved him. But you didn’t know who he was anymore. You didn’t even know who you were when you looked in the mirror. So many decades lost. So many words left unsaid.

And yet.

There was a glimmer. Something small. Something stubborn.

You lifted his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles, soft, lingering.

“Not yet,” you said. “I’m not ready to go back. But I won’t avoid you anymore. Just… give me time.”

His eyes fluttered shut as the warmth of your kiss sank in. And then, slowly, a smile cracked across his face, gentle, weathered, and quietly full of love.

“Well, doll,” he said, voice softer than you’d heard in a long time, “I’ve been waitin’ for my first love at least one lifetime. What’re a few more years?”

As per the uneasy truce you and Shinji had worked out, your reconciliation started small, safe, manageable, and mostly intact in dignity.

Since he was a conveniently very busy captain, it was easy to keep things gradual. You weren’t rushing anything. Just a few evenings a week, in his quarters or yours, listening to music and talking like two people who weren’t still low-key emotionally maimed by unresolved decades-old heartbreak.

To your mild surprise, Shinji had branched out from jazz. He still made dramatic declarations about the superiority of Coltrane, but he’d started tossing in strange, beautiful music from different worlds and eras. A bit of rock. Some samba. A very questionable love of enka.

You would sit there, sipping tea (or something stronger), the two of you arguing and reminiscing and occasionally lapsing into quiet companionship.

Momo found the shift startling.

One day, she blinked at you both during a briefing and said, “It’s… oddly calm in here. What happened to all the screaming and airborne stationery?”

You gave her a look, but she beamed. “It’s nice!”

She also, alarming everyone, began complimenting your paperwork. Regularly. Enthusiastically.

“Third-seat is a goddess,” she once declared with deep conviction, arms full of perfectly filed reports. “An actual divine being sent to save me.”

You didn’t argue. Shinji just smirked behind his fan.

And slowly, very slowly, something unfamiliar began to bloom. Something kind. Something careful.

You liked this new Shinji. Still sarcastic. Still a smartass. But thoughtful in a way he hadn’t been before. Earnest, even.

And, unfortunately for your emotional stability, you still liked him. Quite a lot.

Which was annoying. And also, infuriatingly, a little bit wonderful.

It only took a week for him to convince you to “try out” a goodnight kiss.

“’ Sides,” he said, cornering you at your barracks door with that cocky grin, voice pitched low enough to make your skin buzz, “gotta make sure some things haven’t changed.”

You rolled your eyes, lips already twitching. “Shinji…”

He tilted his head, all charm and wicked intent. “C’mon, dollface. Just a kiss.”

His breath was clean. Mint and effort. You caught the hint of nerves behind his grin, buried deep, like he’d planned this exact moment down to the angle of his lean-in. That made it worse. And better.

Your lips parted in reflex. He noticed, of course.

“Troublemaker,” you muttered, trying not to laugh.

His fingers brushed under your chin to tilt your face up. Delicate, confident, gentle. That was the thing about him: for all his running mouth and boldness, when it came to touching you, he never rushed.

You gave the tiniest nod. Barely there.

He didn’t waste it.

The kiss came down soft, but firm. Not featherlight, not frantic. Just enough pressure to make your breath catch, to open your mouth and give in without thinking. It wasn’t a question, it was a promise. His lips still fit yours like they always had. Like home. Like something devastatingly unfair.

And then… Was that metal?

You blinked, startled, pulling back as his tongue retreated. He kept you in his arms, worried. “Whats’a matter?”

You pointed at him, wide-eyed. “Is that… metal?”

His grin returned like a sunrise. With a flick, he stuck out his tongue.

A piercing. Shinji Hirako had a tongue piercing.

“It’s a human thing,” he said with a wink. “Ya want me to take it out?”

You shook your head slowly, still processing. “Does it… Do anything?”

His grin sharpened to something feral.

“Some grown-up things.”

“Oh?” Your voice dipped into dangerous territory.

“Grown-up, husband-wife things,” he added, low and smug and completely shameless.

Feeling just the right amount of evil, you slid your hand up his chest, curling your fingers in his collar before leaning in to press a long, sultry kiss to his mouth. You felt him stutter against you, his hands tightening at your waist.

Then you broke it, stepped back smoothly, and slipped into your room.

“Goodnight, Captain. Perhaps tomorrow we’ll continue.”

The door closed behind you with a quiet snap.

“Yer the tease!” you heard him groan on the other side, and you grinned as you leaned against it, smug as hell.

Despite his impatient exterior, Shinji was surprisingly good at playing the long game. Maybe it was his century of experience, or maybe he’d just learned that persistence. With just enough charm. It was more effective than pressure. Either way, he made daily goodnight kisses a ritual. A simple request. A moment of softness at the end of the day.

And you, against your better judgment, let him.

It started harmlessly enough. A quick peck, then a few lingering seconds, then the kind of kisses that made your knees wobble and your brain completely abandon post. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. You were still figuring things out. Healing. Rebuilding. But somehow, his lips kept winding their way into your evenings like they belonged there.

Three months in, and your make-out sessions had evolved into something borderline criminal. The sort of thing that would’ve gotten you written up if any lieutenant ever caught wind of it. He’d corner you in the kitchen with a crooked grin, or pin you to the doorframe like he’d just remembered he needed to taste you again. The man had no shame. No restraint. And absolutely no respect for how early you had to be up in the morning.

You were tired. You were grouchy. And you were hopelessly, unapologetically addicted.

The worst part? He knew it.

He’d smirk against your mouth and murmur, “See? Still got it,” while you clutched the back of his shirt and tried to remember how breathing worked. His hands always found the small of your back. His mouth always found your weak spots. He wasn’t just kissing you, he was learning you, all over again. And damn it, you were letting him.

One night, you tried to resist. You stood at your barrack door, lips already swollen from earlier, and mumbled, “We should stop. Just for tonight.”

He leaned in anyway, brushing his thumb across your cheek like it was a promise.

“Sure, dollface,” he said softly. “We’ll stop.”

He kissed you for an hour after that.

And when you were finally curled up half-asleep beside him, you could feel the smug grin on his face before you even opened your eyes. He never said I told you so. He didn’t have to.

Because this was Shinji, annoying, brilliant, endlessly patient Shinji. And you were already halfway back in love with him. The only question now was how long you were going to pretend you weren’t.

“Stay in my quarters tonight,” he murmured one morning, voice hoarse from lack of sleep but still obnoxiously chipper. His hair was a mess, his tie half-untied, and he still looked too pleased with himself. “I’ll get ya the day off.”

You blinked at him through bleary eyes, your shirt slightly askew from where he’d been clutching it not ten minutes ago. You weren’t sure whether to punch him or kiss him again.

“I have responsibilities,” you mumbled, dragging your hand down your face.

He leaned in, brushing a thumb across your cheekbone like he had any right to look that soft after keeping you up half the night. “Nah, you had responsibilities. Politics says you can’t be my third seat anymore, remember? Which means I outrank you and can bribe Captain Ukitake with tea to cover for you.”

“That is not how protocol works.”

“Sure it is. It’s just a more seductive kind of paperwork.”

You groaned and tried to shove him away, but he caught your hand mid-motion and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Smug bastard.

“Just sayin’,” he added with a wink. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing to wake up next to me every day, y’know.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart wasn’t in it. Not 

An exaggerated groan left him as he flopped back onto the futon like a man denied his final wish. “You’re breakin’ my heart, sweetheart.”

You arched a brow. “You’ll survive.”

“Barely,” he mumbled, peeking at you from beneath his arm. “At this rate, I’ll waste away from loneliness.”

“You saw me last night.”

“Exactly. Withdrawal’s already settin’ in.”

You fought the smile curling at your lips and shoved his leg off the edge of the futon. “Maybe tomorrow,” you repeated, gentler this time. And this time, you meant it. Because the truth was, you were done pretending. Done keeping your distance when the only place you wanted to be was by his side. Annoying habits, ridiculous grins, and all.

You’d made your decision. You couldn’t keep orbiting each other like unresolved ghosts. It was either go home or let go. And letting go? It wasn’t an option.

That morning, instead of heading to your office like usual, you started moving your things into Shinji’s quarters. Quietly. Strategically. Like a very domestic invasion. Just the essentials: clothes, a few trinkets, your favorite blanket, and the one mug you knew he’d eventually steal anyway. No one questioned it. Most already assumed your bizarre, half-repaired marriage was still active, just stuck in a bureaucratic purgatory known as “Shinigami emotional leave.”

Shinji, meanwhile, was in peak form. Harassing recruits with riddles. Needling Hiyori until she threw a sandal at his head. Offering unprompted life advice to confused squad members like some sandal-wearing, jazz-spouting oracle with commitment issues. Morale plummeted in your absence.

Eventually, he got suspicious and sent an unseated officer to check on you. Poor kid looked like he’d been told to face a Hollow with a mop. You told him you were “under the weather” and would be “resting” in the captain’s quarters. Technically true. Emotionally misleading.

Later that night, Shinji arrived looking like the world’s most chaotic nurse, arms full with a half-leaking soup container, a questionably sanitized thermometer he’d swiped from Fourth Squad, and the kind of determined expression that said yes, he would spoon-feed you back into marital bliss if it killed him.

“Hey, ya here?” he called, already setting the soup down with a splatter and the sort of reckless care only he could manage.

That’s when he saw it.

Laid out on the table like a fashion crime scene: one of his human-world outfits. Collared shirt. Slim black pants. A perfectly folded tie. And, of course, that ridiculous fedora he refused to admit he loved. Perched on top was a single note in your handwriting.

Put it on.

He stared at it like it might explode. Then, curious and vaguely amused, he obeyed. No arguing, no questions. The clothes fit just like they used to, which was equal parts comforting and unsettling. They felt like a version of himself frozen in time. The cocky, half-broken idiot who nearly lost you for good.

Dressed and vaguely suspicious that this was some kind of trap (sexy or otherwise), he wandered toward the bedroom, spinning the fedora on one finger like a man preparing to make either a dramatic entrance or a terrible mistake.

Then he saw you.

Sitting on his bed. In nothing but one of his shirts. Legs crossed. Smirk weaponized.

“Hey, dollface,” you said, doing your worst Shinji impression. “How ’bout you come give me a kiss?”

The accent was so bad it might’ve qualified as slander, but he looked like he was about to laugh and cry at the same time. His heart tripped over itself.

He slipped off the tie with two fingers like it offended him, flicked the hat to the dresser with one clean toss, and crossed the room like a man walking into a dream he didn’t dare wake up from.

“I gotta give it to ya,” he murmured, voice reverent as he approached. “You know me better than I know myself.”

“I need a status report,” she barked, arms crossed like she expected him to produce a clipboard.

Rose looked up from his shamisen, perfectly calm. “Good afternoon to you, too.”

“Don’t start. Just tell me—did those two finally get their act together or what?”

He set his instrument aside with care. “If by ‘get their act together’ you mean they’re living together again and she’s reorganized his entire teacup shelf by region and glaze type. Then yes. Harmony has returned to the Seireitei.”

Hiyori wrinkled her nose and dropped into a chair with a theatrical groan. “Disgusting. He’s been humming again. Like actual melodies. Thought maybe he got possessed.”

Rose poured her tea with a graceful hand. “Nope. Just Shinji’s signature brand of romantic nonsense. He seems… sincerely happy.”

She eyed the ornate teacup as she took it. “They’re such a weird pair. She’s all business. Efficient. Probably thinks emotions are a biohazard. And Shinji? Shinji’s a nicotine ghost with a jazz addiction.”

Rose chuckled behind his fan. “He says they balance each other. Yin and yang. Order and chaos. Dramatic sigh and tired eye roll.”

“I still say she could’ve done better.” Hiyori took a loud sip. “But whatever.”

“She did leave him once. He practically disintegrated. I thought we’d have to sweep him into a dustpan.”

“Idiot wouldn’t shut up about her even while pretending he didn’t care,” she muttered, but her tone had softened.

“I’m just relieved they found their way back. It was starting to depress even me.”

She made a gagging sound into her tea.

“Look,” she said reluctantly. “It’s not like I don’t like her. She’s smart. She’s capable. She’s terrifying. And then there’s Shinji.”

Rose raised a brow. “Opposites attract.”

“She’s the only reason his squad still runs. I caught him hiding paperwork in a rice barrel.”

“He says she makes the place feel like a home,” Rose said, smiling faintly. “Also claims she doesn’t yell when he folds towels correctly.”

Hiyori narrowed her eyes. “They have towels now?”

“Color-coded,” Rose confirmed. “Folded. Stacked. Labeled.”

She blinked. “Alright, that’s too far. I gotta go make sure he hasn’t been replaced with a gigai.”

They sat in companionable silence for a beat before Rose tilted his head.

“By the way… have you noticed her spiritual pressure lately?”

“What about it?”

“It’s shifting. Gradually. Subtly. But unmistakably.”

Hiyori stilled, setting down her cup. “You serious?”

“I asked Shinji. He noticed it too. Didn’t say much, just smiled like someone handed him the whole world in a teacup.”

She stared. “You think she’s…?”

He gave a single nod.

“Oh hell.” Hiyori rubbed her face. “That idiot’s gonna be a dad. He’s gonna tell bedtime stories about jazz theory and existential dread.”

“And she’ll make sure the child doesn’t grow up feral,” Rose said.

Hiyori snorted. “Yeah… guess that kid might actually turn out alright.”

“And Shinji?”

“He better not cry when I knit the kid socks,” she grumbled.

Rose laughed softly. “That’s very generous of you.”

“Tch. Whatever. Somebody’s gotta teach the next generation how to kick people properly.”

They clinked teacups without ceremony because, somehow, impossibly, the world hadn’t ended.

One setting, moment, person seemed to blend into the next, all except him. His toothy grin, his eccentric blonde haircut, his witty humor paired with his hidden tender-heartedness, though once you found it, it was never lost on you again. He was your leader for a reason. Behind all those eye rolls and smartass comments muttered under his breath, he was intensely good-natured, protective, and cared too much. You sought him out for safety and comfort, so much so now that you ended up in his lap, taking him in and out of you with his guidance.

His hands were warm on your hips, and his voice crisp in your ear. "Thaaat's it. Just like that, darlin.' Good girl. Ride my cock sooo good."

"Shinji!" You gasped at his praise and his dirty talk, spasming around him, cheeks heating.

Everything was too warm, too wet, and yet somehow still not enough. He was right here, yet not close enough. You kissed him, fear blossoming in your chest, your drool mixing with his, an emptiness starting to take hold, the cold metallic taste and feel of his piercing just as bittersweet as the emotions flurrying inside your heart.

You had a bad habit of being so afraid of the future, that you missed out on the present. Willing away the moment with worry, your heart became alarmed and you

opened your eyes, alone in bed.

I just had sex with Shinji Hirako, was your first thought upon waking. Shinji fucking Hirako. Though you hadn't really.

It seemed so real. You swore you felt him, warm, wet, and inside of you, spreading you apart. And you heard his voice, his equal parts irritating and alluring voice, his laugh, his groans...

Holy shit.

You jolted upwards, wiping the sweat from your forehead, still processing, or at least trying to, the fact that you dreamt of fucking your de-facto leader, former Captain of the fifth, Shinji Hirako. You hadn't thought of him that way before, or perhaps this wet dream brought to light that you had and simply chose to remain ignorant to it. So many opposing thoughts and feelings clashed inside of you, making you pull the covers up higher and clench your thighs together, ashamed that your mind had conjured up something so filthy about him of all people.

You'd known Shinji since your days back in the Seireitei, and you were sure, all this time, that you knew how you felt about him. He was always above you, the Captain, and now your unofficial leader of the Visoreds. He was also a dork. Goofy, flippant, and mostly obnoxious, he definitely knew how to get under your's and mostly everyone's skin. But for all of his silly and immature antics, he knew his shit and knew when to get serious, and for that you respected him. He could be annoying, but you trusted and relied on him. You admired him, sure, but you didn't like him.

Or so you thought.

It was incredible, how one, possibly meaningless, dream had you questioning everything. You thought of a time he made you laugh recently, how you noticed whenever he made a joke he looked around to see who would laugh, how his eyes always seemed to land on you, how once he made you laugh, he tried to do it again, and again, and he usually succeeded, because you thought mostly everything he said was funny, and how Hiyori would scold you, "don't encourage that dumbass!" or Kensei would roll his eyes at you, "it wasn't that funny..."

You squealed aloud, burying your burning face in your hands. Shit! I do like that idiot!

And now what am I going to do?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Flustered and conflicted, you didn't let that stop you from starting your day the same. You rose from your bed, splashed some cold water on your sweaty, sticky skin and trudged on. There was more to worry about than such trivial feelings.

At least, that was the plan, much easier said than done. It worked well enough until you found yourself alone in the kitchen with him of all people.

Your back turned as you grabbed a glass to fill with water, you recognized that voice and that stupid, sexy accent as he greeted, "Mornin'."

You twitched, reluctantly looking his way to squeak a "good morning," in return before stiffly turning your back to him again, eyes widening at the wall.

The sight of him, his normally perfect hair slightly disheveled from sleep, draped in loose pjs, languidly strolling around, along with the dream version of him, fresh in your mind, plunging into you, calling you his good girl, had your plan coming to a screeching halt. You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head, as if that could shake away the impure thoughts and images invading your mind. It seemed the harder you tried to rid yourself of them, the more intensely they flooded in, bringing heat to your skin and core, weakening your knees and knocking the wind from your chest.

So buried in your thoughts, you hadn't noticed the water trickling over the edge of your glass, overflowing, luckily, into the sink. You gasped and switched the faucet off, drawing the blonde's attention from the other side of the room.

Shinji came up beside you, chuckling quietly as he observed your clumsy accident, oblivious to your inner turmoil. "Looks like someone's still sleepin'," he teased with a smirk before reaching for a towel. "Here."

You stiffened, taking it from him while choking out a small, "thank you."

Looks like someone's still sleepin'. You shuddered. You have no idea. In a way, you were still asleep, dripping and lusting after him. You swallowed down the noises that were threatening to bubble up your throat, making an effort to avoid another wet mess, no matter where it came from.

Shinji narrowed his observant eyes at you, "Ya feelin' alright? Yer lookin' pretty flushed."

He attempted to reach for your forehead, thoughtfully checking for a fever on your skin, but fearing what he could unleash from the simple contact, you flinched away, spilling more water. "I'm fine!"

He raised an accusing eyebrow. "Ya don't seem fine..."

You ignored him, "I'll get it!" You hurried to clean up your second mess before running away, preventing a third.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The rest of the day followed in similar fashion. You ran from Shinji, who seemed especially unavoidable that day, in hopes that he wouldn't notice how you short-circuited, how you stammered and tripped and blushed whenever he neared.

When it came to training, and he conveniently suggested the two of you partner up during a particular drill, you suggested otherwise. "Actually, I think I'll partner with Hiyori."

"Huh?" His eyes widened in disbelief. "Who would want that?!"

Of course, that only earned him a sandal to the face. "Hey! Maybe she just doesn't want to have to put up with you for a change, Baldy!"

Then, when it came lunch time, and it wasn't your turn to make it for everyone, most of the group seemed surprised to find you volunteering to help Mashiro fetch takeout, offering some lousy excuse about worrying that she'll screw something up. You felt Shinji's eyes on you then, watching you go, oblivious to his concerned gaze.

It seemed the final straw was when you ended up alone with him again that evening, and he attempted to crack a joke to ease the obvious tension that had transpired between the two of you all of a sudden. You hardly laughed, forcing an unnatural smile out of pity. And you always laughed, genuinely, at his jokes. When you were on your way out again, this time, he caught your wrist, stopping you before you could escape. You tensed, eyeing the spot where his warm hand curled around you, lighting your body on fire as you remembered his warm hands on your hips, guiding your movements.

He quickly snatched his hand back, opting to scratch the back of his neck. "Did I do somethin'?" He asked warily. "Kinda feels like ya've been avoiding me all day."

At his sheepish expression, your heart sank. You never intended to make him feel bothersome, but you hadn't wanted him to know the truth either.

"No!" You chirped a little too brightly, your first instinct to continue to deny, deny, deny. "You haven't done anything," you assured, flashing him a crooked smile.

He frowned, physically deflating before forcing himself into a neutral state, throwing his walls up if you were going to keep up yours. "I hope I haven't made you uncomfortable somehow," he stated. "Anyways, I'll leave ya to it..."

You almost let him leave, watching him depart with a sense of relief. But you held a stronger sense of guilt watching him shrink away, his gaze cast down, thinking he'd done something wrong. It tugged on your heartstrings, hard. It was you who caught his wrist this time, stopping him from getting away. This couldn't go on for the rest of your long lives, and Shinji deserved better. He was good to you - always - it was no wonder he'd managed to invade your dreams. It was the least you could do to try to be good to him too.

When he turned back, raising his eyebrows hopefully at you, your flustered state returned. At a loss for words, not planning this far ahead, you thought again of the feeling between your legs this morning, of him like that.

You dropped his wrist and sighed, brows furrowing, twitching away those thoughts again. Focus.

"It's not you, it's me," you blurted.

Confused, Shinji raised an eyebrow. "Uhh...? Are we breakin' up? From a relationship I didn't know we were in?" He joked.

Exasperated, with him, yourself, and the entire, weird day, you sighed. "No. I - something happened, and it's just made me feel all confused and weird." You twiddled your thumbs, avoiding his penetrating, perceptive stare, those same eyes that haunted you in your sleep. "I'm trying to say - it isn't your fault. I'm sorry I've been acting so avoidant."

"Hm," Shinji hummed thoughtfully. "Do ya wanna talk about it or...?"

His innocent suggestion made you blush deeply. "I'm afraid you won't look at me the same."

You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, watching his eyes light up with curiosity. "Try me," he challenged, grinning devilishly.

Your eyes widened. Crazily enough, for a moment, you considered it.

"I can't," you decided, too fearful of the consequences.

"C'monnn," he whined. "I'm not gonna judge. Ya know me," he assured seriously.

In spite of yourself, you reconsidered it. Maybe getting it off of your chest was what you needed. Trying to ignore it certainly wasn't working, and it was Shinji after all. You did know him. Maybe together, the both of you could laugh it off and go back to normal.

But do I really even want that? Back to normal?

He continued to stare at you, waiting. He even started to tap his foot, grinning slightly when you glared at him.

"You're the worst," you grumbled, though it was obvious you thought quite the opposite. "You don't tell anyone what I'm about to say," you voiced sternly. "Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he chuckled. "I won't say a word. Now out with it."

You sighed again, resigning yourself to your fate. You had prolonged this for long enough.

"I had a dream about you last night."

Shinji narrowed his eyes at you. "That's it?" He scoffed. "That's what ya were so worried about? I dream about you, about everyone, all the time." He shrugged.

You groaned, covering your face. "You're really gonna make me say it...?"

"Say wha-" He caught himself, realizing before he could finish. "Oh. Oh."

You peeked at him through your hands, only to find that obnoxiously attractive smirk spreading on his dumb, pretty face. It had you squealing, shutting your fingers back up, blocking out the sight.

"Was I good?" He asked, gently prying your hand away from your face.

"It wasn't real!" You defended, sweating as you swatted him away. "It doesn't mean anything!"

"Yeah? Then what were ya so hot and bothered for - all day?" Shinji continued to tease, seeming to enjoy how riled up he got you.

"Anyone would be flustered!" You fretted. "How - how would you feel if you dreamt of me like that? Huh?!"

He kept his composure, stepping closer to speak more quietly. "Well, for the record, I don't think I'd mind makin' yer dreams come true."

You froze, eyes widening, wondering if you were dreaming again. His eyes followed your hand, pinching yourself, and he chuckled.

"This is the real deal," he confirmed. "If ya ever wanna discuss it in more detail, or try anything out, ya know where to find me, baby doll."

And with that, like the fucking tease he was, he left you, the ball in your court, up to you to make the next move.

To make your dreams come true.

┆　┆　┆　┆　┆

┆　┆ ࣪ ˖☆ ࣪⭑┆ ݁˖ .☆ . ݁ ˖

☆⊹ ࣪ ┆ ˖ ࣪　⊹ ࣪ ★ ⋆.˚ ⊹ ࣪

࣪ ˖⋆˚★ ₊ ⊹　 ࣪˖ ࣪ ₊ ࣪ ˖　

. ݁　⊹ ࣪ ˖　　　 ࣪ ˖

　　. ݁　　　 ݁

　　.

If you're only dreamin'

Why I hear you screamin'? 😈

"I don't know what you're talking about." You still found it in yourself to be stubborn, continuing to avoid, avoid, avoid. Your heart trembled in your chest, knowing it was seen by him.

"C'mon, lovebug," he scoffed at your audacity to continue to evade him. "I know how ya are. You know I know."

You didn't say anything, your throat getting to be too tight. Behind his strict demeanor, you found worry, saw it in the subtle ways his forehead crinkled and his muscles tensed. It made you feel worse about yourself.

At your lack of commentary, he sighed, hesitant. This was uncomfortable for you both. "I know ya don't always feel comfortable, but I need ya to know you can always talk to me." Still, unlike you, he pushed past his discomfort.

It almost had you in tears, him being the light he is, and you and the darkness that consumed you. It only highlighted what you always secretly thought, that you didn't deserve him, his patience, his softness. What if one day you killed his light too?

You blinked away the tears that threatened to make their way out, forcing a small smile. "I know I can. And I appreciate that."

He smiled bitterly, huffing a laugh after you still chose to remain silent. "Still nothin'?"

He didn't deserve to be met with your walls, but it seemed an impossible task for you, to be vulnerable, even with him. You swallowed down the lump in your throat, trying, for him. It terrified you, but this was what he wanted.

"Do you-" your mind attempted to stop the words from coming out, steeling them in place, but you swallowed again, pushing past with a shaky voice, "do you think I'm a horrible person?"

Shinji looked appalled by the idea, his eyes blowing wide, frowning deeply, that cute one he did where he showed his teeth. He quite literally fell back, as if the force of your question knocked him in the chest.

"What the - what?!?" He stammered furiously, not at you, but at whoever made you think such an absurd thing. "No! Nowhere near! Who made ya feel that way?"

You ignored his question, biting down on your wobbling lip and willing strength into your voice as you confessed, "I'm just so afraid - that everyone is going to find out how rotten I really am. I'm afraid you're going to find out, and you're going to leave."

You bit your lip hard, nearly breaking the skin with the effort it took to keep your tears at bay. Now that the truth was out, you knew they'd come crashing down any minute.

"I don't know who's got ya thinkin' that way," he repeated. "But I know you. I know your heart," he softened, coming towards you, but never getting there. "Yer not rotten, sweetheart," he promised, though it seemed to fall on deaf ears. "Yer nowhere near. And I'm not going anywhere."

His words were meant to make you feel better, but your own twisted thoughts made you think differently, feeling worlds away from him, too dark for his light. As expected, the tears came crashing down, numbly, quietly rolling out of your eyes and falling heavy against the floor.

"Oh, doll face."

He came at you the rest of the way, hugging you so tight it hurt. You shook in his arms, trying to accept this, trying to feel worthy of it. As if he knew, he wrapped his arms around you even tighter, suffocating you in his embrace, cradling your head in his hand.

"Yer not horrible," he whispered to you. "I wish ya saw yerself the way I do."

You returned his hug, squeezing him tightly, trusting him, or at least trying to, that you weren't as bad as you thought. He patiently waited, holding you against him as your body shuddered with sobs.

"I mean..." he started, a hint of mischief in his tone. "I've quite literally seen where the sun doesn't shine, heh. I know how beautiful ya are. Inside and out," he added more seriously. "Better than anyone."

It had you shaking with giggles instead, pulling away to look at him, to smile, to wipe your cheeks and nose. His eyes were sad, but he smiled too, helping you wipe the stray tears away. You wished he saw himself the way you saw him too, your light, and his ability to make you laugh, even in the darkest of times.

"Yer my baby," he affirmed. "Hate seeing ya like this."

You knew he didn't intend it, but his words only made you feel like a burden, darkening his light the way you had been afraid to. "I'm sorry."

"Ya have nothin' to be sorry for," he assured, changing the subject, "will ya just...hangout with me?"

You smiled, in spite of yourself, those giggles bubbling to the surface again. "Of course I'll hang out with you."

"We can watch one of yer shows," he mused, smoothing his hand through your hair. "Snuggle n' stuff."

"That sounds perfect."

And it was. Maybe you weren't the best with words, with speaking from the heart, not yet at least, but he always knew how to make it all better. He knew to keep you close, to make you laugh, to show instead of tell, how much he loved you, reminding you that you were worthy of that - to be loved.

And it reminded you, that it was really just that simple sometimes, to love and be loved in return. It made you happiest, to show him how much you loved him too, to reflect his light.

"Shinji?"

"Hm?"

"You're a really good person," you told him, speaking from the heart, realizing that those words could be true for you too. If you didn't deserve it, you wouldn't have it. "I love you so much."

"You should be happy," my servant gushed as she brushed through my hair. "You're getting married!"

That word - marriage - brought me no happiness. What did marriage mean anyway? The one I headed for certainly had nothing to do with love, the love I so desperately tried to find. I could feel no excitement upon hearing the word, only fear. They also referred to it as wedlock from time to time, arguably worse, but perhaps more telling. Locked - that I was.

"Tell me this," I demanded. "Do you believe in love?"

She giggled uncomfortably, catching a few knots. "Everyone believes in love, don't they?"

"No," I answered a little too quickly, too numbly. 

She stopped brushing my hair, pausing. "You don't?"

"Oh, I do," I scoffed bitterly. "That's the problem."

There was another pause, the tips of my hair curled forgotten in her hands. "I'm sorry, m'lady. I'm not following."

I whipped around where I knelt to face her, looking her in the eye. "How can I be happy marrying someone I don't love?" I asked honestly, something I could not discern for myself. 

She frowned at me, looking akin to a puppy, so innocent and wounded. "You don't love him?"

"He's awful. Of course I don't."

"But he's going to take care of you!" She cried in disbelief, releasing my hair to wave her hands around in the air. "You'll live a rich, comfortable life. You don't want that?" She shook her head at me, eyes darting about, searching my face for an explanation. 

"I'd rather fall in love."

Her lips straightened, eyes casted to the ground. "I think that's easy for you to say." She hesitated, continuing only when I continued to watch her impassively. "You've never known a life without luxury, let alone comfort."

"I've also never known a life of freedom," I countered, looking away from her too as the air crackled between us.

"Wealth is freedom," she insisted. 

"Maybe for a man." I found the courage to look her in the eye again.

We sat in silence, sighing, letting our words settle over us. Her brows furrowed as she observed me, likely trying to figure me out the same way I attempted to understand her perspective, to walk around a bit in her shoes. Truthfully, she was my only friend, if I even had the privilege to call her that. My parents paid for her, but she was the only companion I had, the only person I could share my secrets with. I trusted her more than anyone. I loved her. She meant more to me than petty arguments. In my cloud of depression, I sometimes forgot who the real enemy was.  

"I think we both fail to see from the other's perspective." I hung my head, curling my fingers against my lap. 

"Perhaps," she said shortly, then, sighing again. "I apologize for my ignorance, my lady."

"No apology necessary." 

Her unusual silence told me that she was still frustrated with me. I couldn’t blame her, I supposed I could be quite frustrating, but I also did not want my only love to hate me. 

I opened my heart to her, taking her hand in mine to showcase my sincerity. "I'm grateful to have someone to talk to. And for all that you do for me. I am the ignorant one."

She smiled softly, but it fell just as quickly as she placed her other hand atop mine. "You're not ignorant," she said. "You're sad."

I disagreed with her. I was ignorant, and she gave me too much credit. Whether she had too much heart to admit that or too little courage to say it to me (or maybe both), I did not know. 

But, that did not mean the latter wasn't also true. Yes, that was it. 

I was sad.

₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡

My clan was hosting a pre-wedding ceremony dinner and evening party to celebrate the union of mine and my to-be husband's clans, with my wedding following the next day. I hardly had time to be properly sad as various servants and female family members bustled me around from the moment I awoke to prepare for the night. 

They stripped me bare and dressed me back up, pampering, perfuming, and preparing me to be a cow for slaughter. My skin had never before been so smooth, nor had I ever smelt more edible, but I did not want to be eaten. My hair had never before been styled so perfectly, nor my makeup so glamorous, but I did not want to be perceived. I did not want him to be able to enjoy me. I wanted to be difficult to swallow and digest, hard to look at. Maybe then, I’d be safe from him, free of him. If I could be so lucky, maybe he'd change his mind, decide to take another bride. But I had no say, no choice. 

It made matters all the more difficult that my mother, sisters, aunts, cousins, and servants all seemed overjoyed by the prospect of my marriage, as excited as I was depressed about what was to come. My eyes stung and throat tightened painfully throughout the day as I fought off tears, attempting to maintain my composure on their behalf. I think all hell would break loose if I dared ruin the makeup they worked so hard on. 

Alone at last in my own private quarters, I grabbed a handful of tissues and planned to dab my tears away as they came, intercepting them before they reached my blushed cheeks. Just as the first round glazed over the surface and I reached up to collect them, my door slid open. I hurriedly wiped them away and collected myself, turning to face the intruder. 

It was a sweet, young servant I knew fairly well, no older than thirteen. She timidly came forward into the room, eyeing the wad of tissues in my hand but asking no questions. 

“They are ready to dress you, m’lady,” she squeaked, clasping her hands together and bowing her head. 

“Of course. I’ll be just a moment.”

She stood and waited, her eyes lowering again to the tissues in my hand. Her eye caught on something else nearby, a gleam of jewelry on my wrist, widening in awe. 

“Oh, it's beautiful!” She beamed.

I looked down at the forgotten diamonds adorning my wrist, understanding why my companion had gotten so defensive last night. For all the expense, all they meant to me was that my love was to be bought. I had no interest. 

I removed the bracelet and stepped forward. “It's yours.” I held the jewels out towards the young girl. 

“What?!?” She choked. “Your - my lady, I - I couldn’t!” She stammered, shaking her head vigorously while she watched the diamonds dance in the light. 

“Please.” I came closer, ignoring her gasps and squeals of shock as I took her hand and slid the bracelet on. “I want you to have it. See? That’s where it’s meant to be.” I smiled at her, hoping she wouldn't see the redness of my eyes. “Beautiful.”

Her own eyes filled with tears as her mouth opened and closed, struggling to form the right words. “Oh!” She cried out instead, throwing herself at me to embrace me in a tight hug. Her little body was warm against mine, our hearts snuggling. I tried to hug her back, appreciative of the gesture, but she pulled away.

“I’m so sorry! Please, forgive me!” She gasped and bowed her head emphatically.

“Showing affection is hardly a thing to be sorry for,” I assured. 

She wiped at her eyes. “Thank you - for this.” She raised her wrist, watching the jewelry glitter as she turned it this way and that. “It must be a fortune. I owe you my life.”

“Nonsense.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Shall we go?” I gestured towards my doorway, realizing my last few moments of time for myself were gone as quick as they started. “If I know my mother, she’ll come looking for us soon.”

“Right!” She nodded once, scuttling towards the door ahead of me to properly escort me out. 

I caught up to her, linking my arm through hers, calmly nodding at her to continue on when she gave me a panicked look. We started down the hall together, not making it very far before my mother frantically strode our way, her kimono swishing aggressively around her short figure. 

“I was just about to come looking for you!”

I shared a look with my young servant.

“We’ve got to get you into your dress!” 

My dress was simple, an elegant, modest, long white piece, decorated with a white kimono, accented with red and black flowers. My eyes continuously found the black, shadowy parts of my attire, admiring the darkness and what it represented. Not that I had anything my way, but if I did, black would be the center of my attire, not white. These days felt more of a funeral than a celebration for me. 

A couple of servants added red and black flowers into the braids of my hair, matching the ones on my kimono. Meanwhile, my mother flitted about anxiously, making final preparations, as my sisters lounged about, chattering incessantly about themselves. She ushered them into gear, ordering them to make sure everything was finished up in time, that my financé and his clan would be here soon. 

“Where are you going?” One of them groaned, reluctantly joining the servants who were decorating my hair. 

“The Soul Reapers are here,” my mother explained. “I must greet them.”

“Soul Reapers?” I raised my eyebrows. 

My mother was always paranoid that other clans would try to interfere with my marriage. The dinners, parties, and ceremonies were already expensive enough. I hardly thought it necessary to pay for Soul Reapers to fend off nonexistent threats. 

“Yes,” my mother responded hurriedly, halfway out of the door. “To guard the ceremony.”

“Are they hot?” My other sister grinned.

My mother ignored her, rushing away to carry out her formalities. The servants and my sisters made their finishing touches on my hair, steering me in front of a mirror to observe my reflection. 

I looked hauntingly beautiful, the regal mesh of red, white, and black, my hair and makeup perfected unlike ever before. If only it was all for different circumstances.

Through the mirror, I saw my companion servant enter the room, coming to stand behind me. We watched each other through the mirror. I turned towards her, rising from where I sat to approach. Even my sisters had the thought to leave us. 

“You look beautiful,” she told me as the others dispersed throughout the room and halls.

“So do you.”

She giggled and blushed, shaking her head at me. Then she frowned. “He’s here.”

The warmth fled from my body, smile falling from my face. I took a shaky breath, nodding my head once. 

“(Y/N).” It had been so long since I’ve heard her say my name, always “my lady,” this and “your grace,” that. To hear her say my name again reminded me of my humanity, of the girl I was before all this. 

“Yeah?”

“I’ve realized,” her eyes became glassy, “I’m going to miss you terribly when you're gone.”

This time, I couldn't hold back the tears as I hugged her tightly, wishing I didn't have to let her go. Oh, how it hurt, how he was taking everything from me.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry!” She chastised weakly, pulling away. “You’ll ruin your makeup!” She dabbed at my cheeks. 

“I’m going to miss you more,” I confessed. 

“I think we both fail to see from the other’s perspective,” she said with a broken smile. 

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

My servants and sisters escorted me outside to greet the guests, to begin being paraded around and shown off like a zoo animal. I didn't need the cage to feel trapped. 

I felt him before I heard him, my body more intelligent than I gave it credit for. My muscles tensed, a chill running down my spine before his hands were gripping my shoulders from behind, his voice caressing my ear in a way that made my skin crawl. 

“There you are.”

I slowly turned to face him, wanting nothing more than to run from him. My body stiffened with the urge to flee, trapped in itself as I forced it to remain. 

“Hello.” Talking to him felt like attempting small talk with a stranger, only it was one-sided. 

He treated me with much more familiarity, his hands finding the sensitive parts of my body before I could find a way to stop them. “That’s all?” He laughed, a sound that never failed to make my blood boil. “My wife’s not happy to see me?”

I didn’t have the courage to correct that I wasn’t his wife yet. His hands wandered my waist underneath my kimono. I looked around, embarrassed to have numerous pairs of eyes on me, watching me get fondled. I reached up, placing my hands on his upper arms in hopes to get him to lower them. 

“Of course I’m happy to see you.” Lying became second nature around him when I was going to have to live a lie for the rest of my days with him. “I’m just overwhelmed by,” I gestured around us, an excuse to pull away from him, “all of this.”

He moved back in closer, his face near mine, voice lowered. “Shall we take a moment to ourselves elsewhere?” He suggested, his tone dark. 

I avoided his lust-filled eyes, shaking my head. “I think we should stay. This dinner is for us, after all.”

After ages of greetings and formalities, we finally sat to eat, though I could hardly stomach any of my plate. I pushed my food around, taking gentle sips of my water. Already, my cheeks were sore from all of the forced laughter and smiles. I could only imagine how broken it was starting to look when I showed my teeth at something someone said, the smile not quite meeting my eyes. 

Once dinner was finished, the evening festivities began. Again, I was toted around, passed from person to person, this time with my fiance by my side. His hand never left my waist, sneakily brushing my ass from time to time. When I attempted to move away, he moved with me, clinging, possessing, claiming. 

I noticed my companion and the young servant whom I gifted the bracelet to standing together at the edge of the yard, heads bent together in quiet conversation. She still wore the bracelet proudly, and it brought a genuine smile to my face. 

I needed a break from this.

“Excuse me,” I said to the people my fiance chatted with, bowing my head and breaking away.

Of course, he followed. 

“Where are you off to?” He asked, a subtle note of irritation in his words as he reclaimed me again, grabbing my bare wrist. 

“I need to see my servants,” I answered vaguely, nodding in their direction. 

I was hoping for a moment alone with them, knowing it would change the dynamic with his presence, but having him there to oversee would have to do. I didn’t see what other choice I had, unable to shake him. 

They lifted their heads as I neared, excitement, then concern passing over their features as they noticed my to-be husband following in tow. I narrowed my eyes and inclined my head slightly, nodding as if to say, “yeah…”

“My lady, my lord.” They bowed their heads in unison, playing the part they were supposed to with him around. “How can we be of service?”

“I’d like a status report.” I looked between them, hoping my words would convey the message I really intended. “How are things proceeding? Are my guests happy? Operations running smoothly? Everything going according to plan?” How are you two? Finding some time to enjoy yourselves in the midst of all of this?

They shared a look that told me they understood. My companion spoke, smiling softly at me. “All has been well, m’lady.” Her smile fell, brows furrowing. “What about you? Are you enjoying yourself?” Begrudgingly, she looked at my fiance, correcting herself. “Yourselves?” She observed me again. “Have you had enough to eat? Is there anything in particular I can get you?”

I shook my head. “I only wanted to make sure you were doing alright - with the guests,” I hastily corrected. 

I flinched as my fiance's hand came down on my shoulder, squeezing in silent warning. “Keep up the good work, ladies.” He smiled tightly. “We appreciate everything that you do.” 

He started to steer me away, but the young servant interrupted, holding up a finger as she remembered, “oh! I almost forgot!” She procured a tray from a nearby table, pointing to the desserts on it as she listed them off as an offering to us, “these ones here are black sesame cookies, here we have sweet rice dumplings, and, my personal favorite, cheesecake…”

With an intuitive sense of dread, I noticed that my fiance paid no mind to the desserts she showcased. Instead, his eyes followed the jewels glittering on her wrist, narrowing in recognition. It hit me then, like a punch to my gut, knocking the wind from me, it was no ordinary bracelet I gave her. 

It was one of the many courting gifts from him to me.

I broke out in a cold sweat as panic crept up my stomach and into my throat, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t be able to connect the dots, or if he did, he’d ignore them. My young servant’s words were drowned out. None of us listened to her list the different types of desserts now.  

“What an interesting piece of jewelry,” he sneered venomously, hardly letting her finish. “Where ever did you get it?”

I froze, waiting for the ball to drop. Young, innocent, and naive, she beamed at him and me.

“My bracelet? Your fiance actually gifted it to me!” She informed him proudly. 

“I see.” He squeezed my shoulder harder, so hard I thought I’d break. “How generous.” 

The young servant realized all too late what she had done, watching helplessly as he dragged me away. I looked back as I went, shaking my head at my friend when she started forward for me. 

He ushered me away so quickly, I could hardly keep up, tripping and stumbling over the hem of my dress. His grip on my upper arm so tight and harsh, pulling me without stopping, forcing me to remain upright no matter how I faltered. He took me away from the prying eyes of our guests, slamming me against the brick wall that surrounded my clan’s villa and pinning me there with his hand tightened around my throat. 

He ignored my strangled gasp and shallow, erratic breaths, his lips and nose brushing my cheek and ear with how close he was when he asked, “what is my bracelet doing on some lowly brat’s wrist?”

I struggled to come up with a response, both because I didn’t know how to lie my way out of this one, nor could I even speak with how he limited my access to air. The truth was the safest bet for my young servant, though I selfishly feared for myself too. I shut my eyes, searching for my inner strength, clawing my way towards courage when I was quite literally pinned, already caught in the predator’s snare. 

“I -” I choked. He loosened his grip enough for me to continue. “It’s like she said. I gave it to her.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He laughed meanly, pulling me forward to thrust me against the wall again as he grunted, “huh?! Do you have any idea how much that cost me? How insulting it is that you just decided to give it away, and to a simple servant, no less?”

“I have so many jewels,” I attempted to reason. “I forgot where it came from, honestly. It was a stupid, ignorant mistake. She thought it was beautiful, so I wanted her to have it. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whimpered pathetically, putting my hands around his. 

He released me, throwing my hands off. I reached for my throat, coughing, willing air back into my lungs. He started to pace back and forth, shaking his head maniacally, laughing in disbelief. 

When I lifted my head, he stopped, his jaw clenched as he stared at me heatedly. At his side, his hand twitched, eager for something to slap. 

“You should consider yourself lucky,” he said with barely contained rage. “That I can’t have you walking down the aisle tomorrow with a busted lip. I wouldn’t be able to kiss you if it was all swollen.” He winced, as if that thought was enough to disgust him, but not the one where he had the mind to hit me, his to-be wife, in the face. 

“We’re going back,” he said, not up for discussion. “I’m going to resume speaking with the guests we left for your little bitch servants, and you’re going to get that bracelet back. I can’t stand to look at you right now.”

That makes two of us, I thought, though I’d never be brave enough to say. He stepped away, leaving me standing, shaking with adrenaline, taking deep breaths and trying not to cry for the millionth time that day. How I was going to muster the audacity to ask for that bracelet back, I didn’t know. Each time I thought of how to say it, I imagined her beautiful smile falling, and I wanted to cry all over again.

As I made my way back to the courtyard, the sea of guests and music and food and music all seemed a little duller, muffled. I scanned the crowd for my servants, and there stood my companion still with the young girl. They were smiling and laughing with a few other servants, the young girl lifting her wrist to show the others the precious diamonds.

My lip wobbled.  

I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it.

Fuck you, and fuck your bracelet, I thought of my fiance. That’s her bracelet now. I don’t care if it costs me my lip. 

And while I was at it, fuck this party too. 

I needed space, air, to be alone - for real this time. I pulled my kimono tighter around myself and fled the celebration before anyone could notice. Ironically enough, no one seemed to pay any attention as I darted outside of the walls, or maybe they just didn’t care the way they all pretended to. 

I didn’t stop until I stood outside of our main gates, hidden amongst the bushes and the shadows as the night started to creep in. I leaned against the wall, taking shaky, labored breaths, clutching the place where my heart was supposed to be. I found it, beating erratically, and the rhythm brought tears crashing down, tears that I could no longer keep at bay. I lifted my head to the sky, hoping that gravity would keep my makeup from ruin, but there were too many for that. I gave up, falling to my knees, sobbing, clutching at my aching heart as I thought over and over again, it’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!

When is it my turn?

As if the universe already had an answer for me, a man’s voice startled me out of my predicament.

"Yer the bride."

I gasped, caught, looking up from where I knelt in the grass. I didn’t recognize the voice nor the person as I observed the man before me. I quickly deduced who he was with his black uniform and white haori. He was one of the Soul Reaper’s my mother hired, and a Captain at that. He certainly looked interesting, with long blonde hair and bangs, his clothing appearing two sizes too big for his body. 

I looked down and attempted to subtly wipe my cheeks and nose, scrambling to my feet and willing strength into my voice as I said, "you're a Soul Reaper."

He didn’t confirm, only grinned wolfishly as he asked, "aren't ya supposed ta be in there?" He jerked his head in the direction of my villa and the music that echoed in the distance. 

He ignored the fact that I was crying. Whether he didn’t want to put up with it or he was allowing me some dignity, I didn’t know, but I was thankful for it either way. He had a funny accent and a relaxed way of speaking that put me at ease, my heart slowing to a much calmer pace without me registering it. 

"Aren't ya supposed to be guarding the ceremony?" I crossed my arms over my chest, scoffing. 

A flash of surprise crossed over his features before his grin deepened. He narrowed his eyes at me. "Yer mocking me."

I became aware of how it looked, some rich brat making fun of the militant’s accent. I blushed deeply, ashamed of myself. "Sorry, that was - I'm sorry. That was extremely rude of me."

He chuckled languidly, a sound that warmed my core. "Nah. It was cute.”

Cute? I couldn’t recall a time my fiance had ever referred to me as such. His go-to words were hot and sexy, only ever complimenting me with sexual undertones. Like a young, naive girl, I wanted to kick my feet and giggle and twirl my hair. He thinks I’m cute! 

Who is this guy?

I was about to ask when the sound of bushes rustling nearby made both of us jolt, looking in the direction of the noise. I tensed up instinctively, preparing for the worst, but it was just another Soul Reaper, also in white to signify his status as Captain, clumsily stepping over the brush with two glasses in hand to get to where we stood. 

I watched this newcomer, another blonde, with shorter, shaggier hair, as the other Soul Reaper spoke again, "thought I told ya to keep an eye on things? We can't both be slacking off."

“Yeah, but I got us some sake.” He smiled, raising the glasses. “Besides, weren’t you the one who said there wouldn’t be much for us to do here anyway?”

He was cute, in a clueless, klutzy, nerdy kind of way, stumbling around, the contents of the glasses he held nearly spilling out. His cheeks were rosy, indicating that he had already been indulging himself.  

“Well.” The one with the bangs spoke up again, his gaze sliding lazily back in my direction. It had the other one looking now too, both of their eyes prodding, curious. “Looks like our belle of the ball is here now, so I’d say we’re exactly where we need to be.”

“Oh, this is the bride?” He raised his eyebrows and smiled as he handed a glass over to his comrade. 

I bowed my head slightly, speaking formally out of habit, “it’s a pleasure to meet you both. I agree your services are probably unnecessary in this case, but I still appreciate your attention to the matter.”

“Pleasure’s all ours, doll,” the one with the bangs drawled, snickering at my niceties. 

Doll. The word was an arrow, and it hit its mark, right at the center of my heart. It was another word I couldn’t even begin to fathom my fiance ever saying of me. Instead, it reminded me of my bare wrist and his threats from earlier, his hand around my throat and then twitching at his side. I reached for my throat, soothing the phantom pain. 

I didn’t even know this man’s name, and yet, I knew he would never treat me that way. Not a man who called me cute and doll. 

“What are your names?” I looked between them. 

I knew I played a dangerous game out here, just waiting for my fiance to catch me with two men, but I had to know. Even if that was all I found out. 

“I’m Shinji Hirako, and this is Kisuke Urahara. And yer’s?”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” I responded. 

“(Y/N),” Kisuke tried my name out. “How come you’re not in there?” He pointed towards the celebration.

“I was wonderin’ the same,” Shinji interjected. “She was cryin’ too…”

So he wasn’t going to ignore the crying. I felt my cheeks heat, embarrassed that I had let myself be seen during such a vulnerable moment. 

“Crying?” Kisuke frowned, looking to me for answers. “What for?”

“It’s nothing,” I dismissed. 

“Didn’t seem like nothin’.” Shinji raised an eyebrow. 

“I shouldn’t discuss personal matters so casually.” I threw my wall back up, clasping my hands together and looking at my feet, hiding behind formalities again. “Besides, there’s nothing I can do to improve my circumstances.”

The two of them shared a look, something silent passing between them. I squirmed where I stood, wondering if I had overstayed my welcome. 

But then, Shinji held his glass out towards me, dangling it in the air. "Ya want a sip?"

I suppressed a smile, bashfully shaking my head. "I'm not allowed."

"Yeah, who says?" He challenged. 

“My fiance does not think it’s classy for a lady to drink,” I explained, blushing harder. I felt like an idiot. 

“Yer fiance’s an idiot,” he said frustratedly, as if reading my mind.

“One sip can’t hurt,” Kisuke agreed, smirking. 

“I - I don’t know.” I looked behind me, as if he’d appear at any moment, dragging me away to throw me against the wall again. 

“Sweetheart.” Shinji grabbed my attention again, sending me spiraling with another pet name. “Do ya want to have a drink?”

I hesitated. It’d been so long, but if he caught me drinking, and with two men no less, I’d be sporting more than just a busted lip after the wedding. 

But I did want a drink, fuck, I wanted one so bad. And maybe I was desperate for the attention from another man (or men, rather), maybe I was making reckless decisions because I was sad, maybe I just wanted to prolong my time outside the wall, maybe I was going to pay for it all later.

Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, but there was one certainty: I was tired of being afraid.

I met Shinji’s eyes and I nodded.

“Atta girl.” Shinji thrusted his glass into my hand, stepping around me. “I’ll be back, I’m gonna grab a couple more for us.” He winked at Kisuke and I. 

“No reason to wait when there’s more on the way.” Kisuke grinned once Shinji was gone, clinking his glass against mine. “Cheers - to the bride.”

I giggled and tipped the glass back, pulling a twisted expression at the harsh taste. I stuck my tongue out and shook my head before going in for more as if nothing happened. 

“You’d better take it easy,” Kisuke chuckled. “If you’re not used to drinking.”

“You worried about me?” I teased, amazed at how loose I had become after one little sip. Maybe he had a point.

“I came here to protect the bride, didn’t I?” He smiled, his cheeks warming at the boldness of his own words. 

“You came here to protect the entire event.” I smiled back coyly, swirling the remaining bits in my glass and watching. “Not just me.”

“I guess you could argue that.”

“Those weren’t your orders?” I snorted. 

“Oh, they were. Up to me how I interpret them.” He took a slow sip from his drink, watching me all the while. 

His eyes, green or gray, I couldn’t tell as the sun shied away. The color didn’t matter as much as the quiet deviousness they carried, the kind that had my mind scrambling to uncover the mystery while my heart fluttered excitedly in my chest. He seemed easygoing on the surface, but something abnormal lurked underneath. I caught glimpses of it here and there, in the way he didn’t blink as often as he should’ve, or the lopsided smile he wore when he observed me. Sweet with some skeletons in the closet, I itched to find out what those were. 

“So, you both must be pretty powerful,” I began. “Being Captains and all.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess so.” He was blushing again, laughing nervously. 

I didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the desperation talking, but damn, was he cute. I took another sip and let it burn down my throat and into my cheeks, lighting myself on fire in more ways than one. 

“You don’t sound very confident in yourself,” I observed.

“To tell you the truth,” he scratched the back of his head shyly, “I’m new to the position. I’m still working out the kinks.”

I fixated on the word ‘kink,’ taking a deep, sobering breath to maintain my decency. “Well, I think you’re doing a good job,” I complimented shyly. “You’ve certainly made me feel safe.”

“From danger outside the walls?” He prodded. “Or inside?”

“Does it matter?” I challenged, anxiously polishing off the rest of my drink.

“As a Soul Reaper,” he shrugged, “no.”

I stared at him, my mouth curving into a subtle frown. 

“But as a guy worried about a pretty girl,” he practically whispered now, “yeah, it matters.” He grinned at my failure to suppress a smile, teasingly adding, “my lady.”

“What’s goin’ on here?” Shinji interrupted before I could say anything stupid, returning with as many glasses as he could carry, quicker than expected. 

“Just making conversation.” Kisuke caught my eye. 

“Yer cheeks are only red from the liquor then?” Shinji teased me, grinning suggestively. 

“What are you implying?” I scoffed, smiling playfully, the liquor indeed thrumming through my veins, but not the sole reason for the heat in my cheeks…and other places.

He ignored me, smirking before becoming serious as he informed me, “they’re lookin’ for ya in there. Some jackass, yer soon-to-be husband, I take it.” He frowned.

I nodded solemnly, the color leaving my cheeks, panic squeezing around my heart again. I looked to the empty glass in my hand. Maybe this was my sign, yet again, the moment I wanted to last, over as soon as it started. 

“Somethin’ tells me ya don't want to be found,” Shinji spoke in a low, sincere, tone, no trace of that playfulness in his wide mouth or dark eyes this time. 

“Not like this,” I confirmed. 

The men fell silent, thinking, just as I was. We were all waiting for something.

And then, Kisuke came up with a suggestion, “is there somewhere private the three of us can go?”

₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡

The idea came to me almost instantly, waiting to be called upon. There was a guest bedroom in my villa, one not often used, forgotten in the back corner of our property. I doubted anyone would come looking for me there. It was sizable enough for the three of us, but not so large as to create a sense of separation. It was simple, a few minimal decorations here and there, a table, a bed, and a large mirror that covered a significant expanse of the wall in front of the bed. 

Shinji grinned at himself in it as soon as he caught sight, setting the glasses of sake down on the table to stuff his hands in his pockets and take in the rest of what the room had to offer. While he admired himself in the mirror and its position with regard to the bed, Kisuke noticed a trio of candles atop the table, searching the surrounding area. 

“Got a lighter?” He asked. 

“There are matches around here somewhere.” I hurried to find them, missing from their usual spot in the table drawers. 

Shinji scraped them off of the floor nearby, handing them over. Someone must have been in here and lazily discarded them. I only hoped there were still matches left. I didn't want to risk leaving to find more and get caught skipping my own party, or worse, run into him. 

Kisuke pulled one out. I let loose a sigh of relief, watching as he stroked the match against the box and lit each candle with ease, illuminating the room with a soft glow. The three of us got quiet after that, watching the beginnings of the three flames burning. 

With the mirror close by, I suddenly became aware of myself and my appearance again, still smelling like a freshly bloomed flower, my hair still adorned with them, and my makeup slightly runny from the tears I shed, but otherwise still artfully intact. I stole sly glances at my reflection, readjusting the way my kimono draped over my dress, tucking away a strand of hair I didn’t like, trying to smudge away those stubborn bits of makeup that fell out of line. Earlier, I had hated how everyone dressed me up. Now I found myself appreciative. I realized, for these men, I didn't mind smelling edible, looking beautiful, and being enjoyed. For them, I wanted to be perfect. I had searched for ways to bring my flaws out, now I searched for ways to hide them. 

I quickly learned how perceptive Shinji was. However I attempted to conceal myself, he found me out.

Our reflections made eye contact, his shit-eating grin forming. “See somethin’ ya like? I know I do.”

I tore my gaze away from his in the mirror, spinning around to watch the candles as my cheeks burned in time with the flames. “Oh, just checking how badly I messed up my makeup…” I laughed, reflexively self-deprecating.

“Ain’t nothin’ messed up about the way you look,” he assured, grabbing two glasses of sake from the table, one for me and one for him. “Here.”

I took it from him, looking to see if Kisuke was going to have a drink too. He smiled knowingly, reaching for another glass. 

In the way that Kisuke was quietly peculiar, Shinji contrasted him and wore it all on the surface - cocky, confident, flaunting as if he had nothing to hide, but they were both hiding something. I saw tremors in his slender hands when he handed me the glass, solemnity in his eyes as he observed me before sporting that easygoing smirk, humor to bury the vulnerable side that he’d locked away. I saw both of them, clinking my glass against theirs, another dose of liquid courage to loosen my lips, and I knew they saw me too. 

After taking the initial sip, Shinji flopped down onto the bed, miraculously not spilling. I flinched instinctively at the prospect of a mess on the fresh sheets, as if I hadn’t already ventured dangerously far into my own mess. Kisuke joined him much more carefully, sitting at the edge and smiling at me with intention. They both watched me now, turning away only to glance at the space in between. I supposed that left me to join them. 

I nearly winced as my weight sank down onto the edge of the bed, suddenly tense without the open space of the outdoors. I continuously froze up with each creak of the boards underneath, honed in on my ragged, nervous breathing, clenching my glass so hard I risked breaking it rather than spilling it. Shinji propped himself up on his elbow, brown eyes following my every move.

“Time for pillow talk.” He grinned, tapping his finger against the bed. 

His lightheartedness, despite the circumstances, infected me. I constantly found myself stifling a giggle at his words, truly laughing again when it had become so foreign to me. “Pillow talk?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, taking a generous sip from his glass. “I’ll tell ya my secrets if ya tell me yers.”

“And what would you like to know, Captain?” I raised an eyebrow, attempting my best shot at a flirty tone. There was work to be done, but the alcohol thrumming through my system definitely helped. 

“Nuh uh. None of that.” He shook his head slowly and seriously while wagging his finger at me. “It’s Shinji. I want ya to call me Shinji.”

I bit my lip and looked for Kisuke on my other side. “And Shall I call you Kisuke, or Captain Urahara?”

“You can call me whatever you want to call me, m’lady,” he crooned, cheeks reddening.

“Okay then.” I smiled mischievously, becoming more and more at ease as we drank and spoke. “But if we’re skipping formalities, then drop the m’lady.”

“Ya prefer to be my doll, don’tcha’?” Shinji chimed back in.

“Am I that obvious?” I asked, turning to face him again, caught somewhere between embarrassment and confidence. 

“It’s cute,” he assured with that cheshire grin of his. “Seeing you all flustered. I take it yer idiot husband doesn’t sweet talk ya like this?”

As horrible as it sounded, to hear him refer to my fiance as an idiot made me adore him all that much more. I tried not to smile too big as I responded, “not really, no.”

“Well, he's not here right now,” Kisuke stole my attention again. “He’s also not your husband yet. I'd say you're still a single lady.”

“Is that right?” I huffed a laugh of disbelief, though I secretly liked his mindset. 

“We’re getting sidetracked,” Shinji interrupted again. “Supposed ta be sharing secrets. I can go first.” I could tell by his toothy smirk that whatever he intended on sharing first couldn’t be anything pure. 

“Oh, this should be good,” Kisuke seemed to agree.

Shinji sighed deeply, making a show of preparing himself. “Here we go…” he paused for effect before finally revealing, “I’m buzzed right now.”

“That’s not a secret!” I giggled, buzzing myself, with laughter, alcohol, and affection for these two strange, goofy men. 

“Sure it is. Ya wouldn't have known otherwise,” he chuckled lazily, very evidently beyond buzzed by now. 

“Your eyes are barely open, but we wouldn’t know anything about that,” Kisuke teased with laughter that sounded just as lazy.

“They’re open! Open wide!” Shinji forced his eyes open, as wide as they would go. 

The ridiculous sight had me bursting into an obnoxious fit of giggles, covering my mouth, unused to the sound of my own raucous laughter when the days had been so blue. For the first time in a long time, I felt like myself again, my inner palette shifting from cool to warm - yellow, orange, red - happiness, warmth, passion. My cheeks burned, that same warmth spreading in my chest and further down. 

I attempted to angle my body to speak to both of them, but ended up mostly turned towards Shinji, the louder of the two, with Kisuke at my back. Somewhere between the start of our “pillow talk” and now, Kisuke had moved closer, his hand finding my waist underneath my kimono, knuckles brushing up and down my side soothingly.

“Anyway, now you each have ta share a secret.” Shinji pointed at us. “It’s only fair.”

“Fine.” Kisuke flattened his hand somewhere between my stomach and my side and drew closer, his chest grazing my back. When he spoke again, his words brushed against my ear, tickling me in more places than one. “I’ll do you one better - I think someone in this room smells reeeally nice right now,” he said quietly and huskily before resting his chin against my shoulder. “Like a pretty little flower.”

I exhaled shakily, inhaling to breathe his scent the same as he evidently did mine. Heat pooled in my core as he filled my senses, medicinal, musky, and intoxicating - my antidote. The other Captain jabbered again, shaking me out of my lustful stupor. 

“It's me isn’t it?” Shinji joked, swirling the contents of his glass haughtily. “Guess that cologne I just got was a good investment after all.”

The both of us mostly ignored him, panting against each other. “It’s your turn, sweet cheeks,” Kisuke reminded, lightly brushing his lips against my cheek in a gentle kiss before pulling back away, his hand resuming its leisurely motion on the side of my torso.

My brain felt muddled, my nerves and emotions so easily stirred by the way they spoke and handled me with such delicate adoration, even if it was all a lie, even if it was only for tonight. “Oh, uhm…well, I don’t know…” I stammered feverishly. 

“Can be anything. Quit thinkin’ so hard,” Shinji informed with a smug, suggestive grin. 

“Anything?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Anything.” He nodded.

I gave it some thought. I know where they wanted me to take this, where I wanted to take this, where this headed. Each time that I felt a sliver of guilt for what transpired and what was to come, I remembered his hands on me and his casual threats. I remembered that tomorrow came the loss of my freedom, my life as I knew it, and my happiness, and then, the guilt disappeared. I was exhausted from being the only one to feel remorse. I decided then and there to stop hiding, stop pretending, and stop shaming myself. This was pillow talk, after all. I had no regrets. 

“Well, my fiance is very traditional. He finds his loop holes, sure, but he won't go all the way, not until we’re officially wedded. It’s the one thing he has yet to take from me,” I confessed. 

Fear struck me as both men fell silent. Luckily, the silence never lasted long with Shinji.

“Ya lost me, sweetheart.” His impassive tone and expression had me squirming. I had a hard time believing that he genuinely wasn’t following me, what with his knack for noticing everything. 

Even if he teased me to get me to say what I really meant outright, I did it for him anyway, remembering my silent oath to no longer feel ashamed tonight. “I’m a virgin - at least in the cherry popping sort of sense. That’s my secret.” I stood my ground, no matter how intensely my face burned.

“Cherries…” Shinji mulled it over, or at least pretended to, while Kisuke casually confirmed aloud, “he’s never penetrated you, but he’s done other things. I hope at least he’s pleasured you in some way…?”

“More like I’ve pleasured him,” I snorted bitterly before tipping my head back against his chest and finishing off the rest of my sake.

He gingerly reached around me and took my glass from my hand, bending down to set it on the floor with his empty glass. “And he’s never returned the favor?”

I shook my head.

“He’s a pussy,” Shinji spat, his sudden and severe anger over the matter igniting the fire inside of me. “I hope at least ya know what an orgasm feels like.”

I shook my head again, the shame I was no longer supposed to feel threatening to make its way back in.

“You don't touch yourself, sweet girl?” Kisuke questioned, speaking with a casualness that shook me, my composure slipping through my fingers. 

“I - I do,” I admitted anxiously, in shock with myself that I so willingly offered up this information to them. “I’ve just…” I hesitated, “never got there on my own, I guess.” The two of them got quiet again, prompting a tiny, troubled outburst from me, “okay, I just gave you both like three secrets for the price of one!”

“Guess we aren't bein’ fair to ya, doll, are we?” Shinji drummed his fingers against the mattress, smiling gently in my direction. 

“We’re not,” Kisuke agreed, pressing into me again to speak to Shinji over my shoulder. “Unlike her cowardly fiance, we’ll return the favor, won’t we?” I could hear the grin in his voice. “We each owe her a secret, at least.”

Shinji’s smile became less gentle, transforming back into his usual, teasing smirk. “How convenient. I’ve got a good one for her.” 

“Yeah?” Kisuke prodded, egging him on.

I braced myself, my hand falling atop Kisuke’s thigh without realizing. The air in the room, already stuffy, had turned electric, charging up, prepared to shock me. My fingers lightly squeezed, anticipating the zap.

“Yeah.” Shinji sat up, closing in the space between us, his face dangerously close to mine. His brown eyes fell from my eyes to my lips, then back up again, while Kisuke seemed to nudge me forward, closer, with his chest. “My secret,” he spoke just loud enough for the both of us to hear, “is that I’m dyin’ to know what she tastes like.” 

He tilted his head, leaning in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss into the side of my neck before coming back up to watch my mouth part, a short, surprised gasp escaping. “I love cherries.” He turned the other way, dipping his head to brush his lips against the side of my neck he neglected the first time. 

I shut my eyes, digging my nails into Kisuke’s thigh as my body shuddered. If he felt any pain, he didn’t show it, his voice steady as he proclaimed, “I’ve got a good one too.” His large hand spread across my abdomen, pressing me into him. “I want to pop her cherry before her husband does, and be the first one to make her cum.”

“That makes two of us,” Shinji chuckled hoarsely, stroking my cheek until my eyes opened again, meeting with his. “What do ya say, sweetheart?”

The three candles still flickered, side by side, the room considerably dimmed with the evening taking place outside of the only window, nothing but their glow to illuminate Shinji’s warm eyes as I stared into them. From the moment I saw those eyes outside the walls, I knew they’d be getting me in trouble, and I wanted that. Still, I found it hard to say yes, to voice the truth, even when I promised myself I would stop holding back. So used to having my desires cast aside, I couldn’t imagine that there wasn’t a catch or something I must have missed along the way. This couldn’t actually be happening in my favor. My mind shouted at me in one last ditch effort with all that could go wrong - these men could hurt me, the same as any man, or anyone could walk in, or he could walk in. Worry tugged at my heartstrings, my eyes wide, my mouth open and closing, trying to find the right words when there weren’t any. 

And then, the sound of glass shattering startled me back into the present moment, and in my drunken daze I squeaked and reached for my heart, as if it had finally reached its breaking point. But it wasn’t my heart at all. In the mirror, the three of us found Shinji’s empty glass in a pile on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“Oops. Got too carried away starin’ into yer beautiful eyes, I guess,” he chuckled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck as a blush creeped up on it. 

I cupped my hand over my mouth, laughing wildly at the absurdity of it all. Had any of my family members, servants or he been here to witness, they would’ve had quite the opposite reaction, screaming and hollering and ushering someone to clean it up immediately, and how dare someone so carelessly tarnish this expensive wood - whatever kind I had no knowledge of or cared for, however spoiled that made me. 

As I giggled uncontrollably, Kisuke sighed and moved to gather the shards as best he could, pushing them to the corner of the room so one of us didn’t kill ourselves later. “Real smooth,” he chastised the other Captain. 

I found it sweet, how moments earlier, Shinji so casually mentioned wanting to taste me, and now he looked like a kicked-puppy, guilt-ridden over his silly mistake. Little did he know, the glass breaking was just the thing I needed. I took it as a sign, a representation. It wasn’t my heart, no, it was the shattering of who I was pretending to be, the breaking down of my walls. Or maybe it was my heart, no, my body. Maybe it meant they’d break me and piece me back together. No matter what it represented (or whatever I chose to delusionally believe it represented), I had made my decision then. 

“Ah, I didn’t kill the mood, did I?” Shinji asked the both of us, in distress as Kisuke huffed and plopped back down at the edge of the bed and as I snickered at him. 

“Actually,” I smiled, feeling a new surge of giddiness and excitement. “It’s making me feel better, getting to laugh through this. I - I want both of you, I’m just nervous,” I explained, playing with a strand of my meticulously styled hair, preparing to have it ruined. 

“Look at me.” Kisuke demanded before Shinji could open his mouth again. I turned to face him, eagerly obeying at the sound of his serious tone. “Don’t do this if you’re not comfortable. We want to make you feel good, not scared.”

“I’ll make ya laugh as much as you need, but he’s right,” Shinji interjected, taking on the same, firm tone. “If ya don’t feel like ya can relax with us-”

“No, please! I can!” I begged before I could stop myself, more calmly adding, “I want this. I’m sure,” when Shinji’s eyes widened at my impatience. 

After a moment, his expression relaxed again. He huffed a laugh, leaning forward to stick a quick kiss onto the bridge of my nose. “Change yer mind at any time and ya let one of us know, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” I nodded as seriously as possible, though the corners of my lips’ twitched. “I will.”

“You promise?” Kisuke sang from behind, nudging into me. 

“I promise.” I leaned back into him.

“Then kiss me.”

It was a test, a way for him to see if I really wanted this, wanted him. He wouldn’t give me the luxury of his initiation, leaving it up to me.

And I intended to pass his test. 

I turned my body just enough to lock lips with him, innocently enough at first. However, now that I had taken the first step, he gladly reasserted himself as the lead, grabbing my waist and steering me further towards him, and kissing me harder, hungrier. I made noises of pleasant surprise into his mouth, not because I didn’t expect this of him, but because I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. Through the kiss, my theories were proven true. The sweet, dorky Captain I met earlier in the night vanished in front of me, replaced by the perverted, shameless man I knew he truly was. His tongue fought its way into my mouth, consuming my own as if he wanted to devour me. I couldn’t help but feel a little triumphant about how right I was about him and about how delicious it felt now to have him violating my mouth while his hands roamed my body, something inside of him snapping and unleashing on me. 

“Heyyy, whattabout meee!” Shinji whined distantly. 

Reluctantly, Kisuke pulled away with a barely audible, throaty growl, grinning at the string of saliva that connected our lips when he did. “You’d better give him some attention too.” He nodded in Shinji’s direction. 

“Sorry, Captain Hirako,” I teased, impatiently pressing my lips into his before he could retort. 

Like Kisuke, he took the lead as soon as he could, grinning against my mouth, our teeth clashing, his hands squeezing my thighs, getting me to part my mouth in a needy moan so that his tongue could slip past. Where Kisuke kissed like a starved man, Shinji kissed playfully, teasing, taunting, finding ways to have me whining and leaning forward for more, more, more. I could play too, knowing that as big of a tease as he could be, he was just as much of a whiner, begging to have my lips on his only moments before this. I took his bottom lip in between my teeth, lightly biting down before pulling away. 

“Oh?” His lips, swollen and glowing with my drool, pulled into a cocky smirk. “What was that about?”

“Did you not like it?” I raised an eyebrow.

He cupped my cheek. “I fuckin’ loved it, naughty girl. Give yer guy some more.”

“My guy?” I giggled, tilting my head into his hand. 

“Mhmm,” he stroked my cheek gently with his thumb, speaking softly yet seriously as he confessed, “ya’ve had me wrapped around yer finger from the start - comin’ outta there, lookin’ all sad and gorgeous…”

I searched his eyes for any indication that he was messing with me again as my heart swelled with affection and longing. I frowned, the bittersweetness that a man who wasn’t mine could be so tender with me both a comfort and a pain. My fingers curled around the fabric of his haori, desperate to keep him here forever.

“Looks like it’s my turn again.” Kisuke stole me away, kissing me just as ravenously as he had the first time, leaving me to abandon my brooding thoughts.

“What?! I wasn’t done!” Shinji complained. 

Kisuke released me, looking impatiently at Shinji before turning to give me an exasperated look. I grinned, suppressing laughter as he remarked, “he talks a lot, doesn't he?” 

I nodded in agreement.

“Hey! What is this?! Yer ganging up on-”

“You should probably sit on his face,” Kisuke interrupted with a conniving grin. “Shut him up.”

As my own eyes widened, Shinji’s indignant expression fell, transforming into surprise and then complacency. “Now there’s an idea,” he drawled, brown eyes darkening as they watched me blush. 

“Don’t look so worried,” Kisuke whispered to me. “Trust me, that pervert wants it.”

“But what if I hurt him?” I stressed.

Shinji grabbed my hand. “Darlin’, only way you can hurt me is if ya sit on his face instead of mine.” He leaned closer, falling serious. “I said I wanted to taste ya, didn’t I?”

“You did,” I answered shyly.

“Then be a good girl and gimme some cherry.”

I froze, in disbelief, short circuiting. We’d talked and talked, and it had all been fine, but now, he genuinely wanted to taste me? To be trapped between my thighs, no less?

“I’ll hold your hand during the ride if it makes you feel better,” Kisuke chuckled, brushing his fingers along my side again as Shinji gathered pillows from the top of the bed.

“Help her, Kisuke,” he said as he positioned them at the bottom, checking their visibility in the mirror. “Make sure she has something to hang on to.” He winked before removing his haori, carelessly tossing it aside before flopping down, ensuring his head and neck were in a comfortable spot. 

I remained frozen and silent, watching the scene unfold in front of me as a bystander. I looked to Kisuke for guidance. 

“Can I help you get undressed, baby?” He offered. 

I nodded, then, afraid they’d stop if I wasn't enthusiastic enough, “yes, please.”

He grinned knowingly, reaching for my kimono to delicately pull it off of my shoulders and down my arms. I stiffened, feeling him lightly tug the zipper at the top of my neck, prepared to unzip the back of my gown. It happened so quickly, talking to them outside, then in here, laying myself bare with my words, and now I’d truly, physically be bare, stripped of everything, nowhere to hide.

“Are you going to undress too?” I asked him in a pleading tone.

“Would you like that?” He asked softly, understanding me.

“I would.”

“I’m much too afraid not to indulge a noble,” he joked, unzipping the rest of the way. “You wanna do the honors?”

I nodded coyly, slowly turning to face him. He nodded for me to continue, giving me the go ahead to undress him the same he was doing to me. I reached for his haori, peeling it off and gently casting it aside, and then the different pieces of his uniform underneath, one by one, with his gentle guidance, until we were down to his underwear. I kept my eyes level with his to the best of my abilities, though it proved difficult. An impressive physique hid under the baggy confines of his uniform. My pupils discreetly traced the curves of his muscles, his chest, his abdomen, his arms, his legs…When I snapped my eyes back up to his, I realized I hadn’t been so discreet after all. While he chuckled at me, my cheeks burned from having been caught ogling him like a pervert. Before completely exposing himself, he murmured a “c’mere,” helping me out of my dress, leaving me down to my underwear as well. I was all flowers, the ones in my hair and in the lace of my bra and panties, secretly hoping that he would check me out as I did him. 

“Neglectin’ me again,” Shinji pouted from behind us, regaining both of our attention. “How mean…”

“I thought maybe you'd wanna keep your dick under wraps, you know, in case you cum just from having her on your mouth,” Kisuke teased him, smirking devilishly as his hand found my waist again, without the barrier of my dress this time. I nearly twitched at the feeling of his fingers on my naked flesh. 

“Well, if she tastes good she tastes good.” Shinji shrugged. “Guess I’ll undress myself…all by my lonesome,” he sighed after neither of us made a move to assist him. 

I giggled quietly to myself, watching him as he stripped while Kisuke stripped me. He wasn’t as big as Kisuke, but no less enticing to look at. Lean and taut, I was mesmerized as I observed the way his lanky limbs moved so smoothly. While I enjoyed the show, Kisuke unclasped my bra, tossing it away, before yanking my panties down past my ass and over my thighs from behind. I reached down to pull them off the rest of the way, but he flipped me around and onto my back, smiling at my surprised yelp as he lifted them up my legs, off of my ankles, and twirled them around his finger, making sure I watched as he winked and threw them at Shinji’s head. 

I gasped and giggled, eyes widening as I searched for his reaction. He side-eyed Kisuke through the lacey fabric, breaking out into a grin as he yanked them from his head and threw them back at Kisuke. They hit his chest, falling onto the mattress before him. He looked at the lace, then at me, then back at it again, before grabbing it and bringing it to his face, inhaling deeply before tossing them away for good.  

My jaw dropped as Shinji chuckled and said, “and ya call me the pervert.”

“Hurry up and take your underwear off so she can sit down,” was all he offered in return as he removed his own undergarment. 

If he could sniff my panties, it only seemed fair that I got to size up his dick, and oh, did it have size. I pressed my thighs together, concealing my weeping slit, as I wondered how I’d fit all of that. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, Shinji had also freed himself and got back into position, laying flat at the edge of the bed, checking himself out in the mirror again. 

“Well, what’re ya waitin' for?” He asked me as I gaped at his long cock next. “There’s no line, sweetheart, and I’ve got ya the best seat.” He gestured toward the mirror, smiling proudly. “You can watch yerself come undone.” 

“Oh,” I breathed, dizzy with desire.  

Kisuke crawled up the bed, perching himself up top. He spit into his hand, wrapping it around his length and stroking up and down. My eyes followed the motion, hardly hearing him encourage me to, “go on.” 

“What - what about you?” I whined.

“I’ll take care of myself,” he assured. “Don’t worry about me. Just enjoy yourself.” He flicked his gaze towards Shinji, a silent gesture for me to climb on. 

Something about the way he spoke to me made me want to do any and everything he demanded of me. I faced Shinji, hesitating once more. “Are you sure I’m not gonna hurt you?” 

“I’ve got support.” He patted the pillows underneath his long, blonde hair, smiling calmly. “Quit makin’ me wait. Yer killin' me.”

I took a deep breath, resigning myself to my fate. I lifted my leg over him, slowly crawling up his body, silently admiring it again as I did so. When my hips reached his face, I sank down slowly, hovering above his lips, thighs quivering with nerves and the effort it took to hold myself up. 

“All the way,” he ordered sternly from beneath me. 

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, bracing for impact before I allowed myself to fully sit down on his face. I gasped loudly as his warm, wet tongue finally made contact with my own soaked warmth, pressing into me and inviting in a new sensation I hadn’t been familiar with. I cried out loudly, forgetting my surroundings, snapped out of it only when Kisuke groaned in tandem with my loud whimpers of pleasure.

“Fuuuuck you’re cute,” he voiced deeply and throatily, only adding to my euphoria. “You see yourself?” he asked me, nodding towards the mirror while he continued to fuck himself with his own hand. 

I found my own eyes in the mirror, along with the sight of my thighs covering Shinji’s face and his hands wrapped around them, his long blonde hair cascading out on one end and his long, lean body on the other. His cock sprang to life as his tongue delved into and against me. I no longer worried about my appearance, feeling more beautiful than I ever had with my messy, flowered hair, lips parted, a string of erotic sounds coming out, and eyes half-lidded, getting to see everything. The view, paired with the feel of Shinji’s tongue flicking against my clit and utterly devouring me, had a flood of sorts occurring. My thighs, and his face, I’m sure, were becoming slippery, and heat swirled in every ounce of my being, my face, my chest, my stomach, in between my legs. I felt fevered - sweating, dizzy, dazed. My hips and thighs stuttered around him, my body leaving my control, or perhaps my mind had just stopped working. I could only moan and cry.

And beg, for reprieve, whatever that meant for me.

“Ki - Kisuke!” I called out to him, knowing that Shinji wouldn’t be able to offer any words of encouragement right now.

He laughed tiredly at me, stroking himself rhythmically as he watched my hips roll against Shinji’s tongue of their own accord. “Sweet thing,” he cooed, laden with lust. “Look at how hard you’ve got me. And it looks like I’m not the only one.” He eyed Shinji’s dick, stiff and swollen. 

“Does it feel good?” He asked breathily, panting as he slowed his pace, stringing himself along. 

“Mmhmmph,” I hummed a response. 

“Why don’t you tell him?” He urged.

“Shinji,” his name came out in a gasp, on cloud nine because of him. “Feels so good. So good, Shinji!” I cried out shamelessly. 

At that, he groaned into me, so loudly, the vibration of it rippled through my core. The sensation sent waves of pleasure racking through me, resulting in high-pitched, squealing, screaming, and crying I hadn’t known I was capable of. I rolled my hips against his face harder now, desperate to relieve the building ache in the pit of my stomach.

“Thaaaat’s it.” Kisuke fisted his cock so hard, I could hear it, the slick sounds mixing deliciously with the equally lewd sounds coming from underneath me. “Fuck his face. Just like that.”

The ache in my core increased, both in heat and intensity, threatening to explode. I had no idea what to do, or what I was supposed to do. I searched for Kisuke, shouting for him, demanding his attention, his guidance, again.

“Kisuke!!!”

It took him a moment to fully register me, struggling to fight off an ache of his own. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I think I’m gonna…!” I hurriedly informed him.

“You’re gonna cum, baby doll?” He asked hopefully.

“I think so!”

“You wanna cum with me?” He grinned, elated. 

“Yes!” I begged. Now that I’d found them, I hadn’t wanted to be alone. “Should - should I move-”

“No,” he answered quickly, knowing what I meant without me having to finish. “Stay on him.”

Shinji heard it all, digging his fingers into my thighs, pressing his tongue impossibly harder into me. “Ah - ah! Fuck! Shinji!”

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” Kisuke praised shakily, furiously fucking himself into his hand now. 

The room had turned into an inferno, hot and noisy as the both of us whimpered, groaned, cried, moaned, and screamed all the way to the end. I once again forgot my surroundings - forgot the ceremony, the clans, my fiance, forgot who I was entirely. I had a one-track mind, and that was to get to the finish line along with Kisuke, to experience my first ever climax on Shinji’s big mouth. 

I came with a loud cry, blinding white coating my senses, my body twitching and tensing like a dying animal. Shinji held me in place until I made it back down to earth, catching my breath, looking around in the aftermath, for who or what, I didn’t know, but I found Kisuke, in the same state as I, evidence of his undoing covering his abs. 

I remembered the other man beneath me, gasping with worry for him. I clumsily climbed off of Shinji’s face, letting him breathe again, leaning down to make sure he was alright. 

He smirked lazily at my concerned expression, nothing to say but, “damn, I love cherries.”

“You goof,” I giggled tiredly at him. “Thank you - for that.”

He smiled softly at me, his eyes glinting with something I couldn't place. Whatever it was, I didn’t get to hear it as Kisuke announced from across the room where he cleaned himself up with tissues, “oh, man am I gonna fuck the flowers out of your hair."

“Hurry up, Kisuke,” Shinji grumbled impatiently, throwing an arm around my torso and pulling into him. “I’m hard as a rock here.”

He looked ridiculous, his face glistening with my juices he hadn't bothered to wipe off. Whether he meant to or not, he always had me laughing. I giggled and brushed my essence off of his face for him, but not without him pressing a tender kiss to the palm of my hand in thanks. 

“Waiting for orders?” Kisuke teased him again, discarding the soiled tissues and strolling back over to the bed. 

“I’m tryin’ ta be a decent guy and let ya pop her cherry first since I got to give it a taste.” He turned to me, winking. 

“I can taste yours,” I pressed a hand to his chest, looking to him with wide, hopeful eyes. “It’s the least I can do after what you've done for me.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I’m not gonna let ya do that, doll.” He squeezed me for emphasis as the bed dipped near us, signaling Kisuke’s arrival. 

“Why not?” I pouted, relentless.

“Not takin’ advantage of ya like that scumbag fiance of yers,” he said seriously.

“You’re not taking advantage,” I asserted. “You've already done more for me than he ever has.” 

“And I wanna keep it that way.”

I frowned, stroking his skin. “Shinji, please?”

He hesitated, sighing dramatically, his expression turning grumpy before he surrendered, “ah, fuck me. How can I deny ya when ya ask me so sweetly?” 

Having his agreement, I beamed, getting up on all fours, crawling to his awaiting member. This was something I was familiar with, and I felt eager to showcase my skill - to make him feel good the same way he had done for me. 

But Shinji reached out, pressing his hand to my shoulder to stop me, emitting a pained groan as he suggested,  “Let’s wait for Kisuke, yeah?”

And from behind came his voice. “Fuck. What a view.”

I looked over my shoulder behind me to find him unashamedly staring at my ass and pussy from behind, on full display and likely dripping from what Shinji had just done. Feeling playful, I arched further for him, face down ass up, displaying myself even more. Kisuke groaned loudly at the sight, placing his hands on my cheeks to spread them further, depravedly staring the most vulnerable parts of me down.

“Oh, yer a naughty thing,” Shinji laughed meanly. “Just needed to warm ya up a bit huh?”

I grinned and nodded my head, starting to hum a reply. “Mhmm - aah!” Cut short by the now-familiar warm, wet pressure of a tongue pressing into me from behind. 

Kisuke unexpectedly licked up remnants of the mess between my thighs, pulling away, flushed, to say, “sorry, pretty. Just couldn't help myself.”

“S’okay,” I slurred. Really, it was more than okay, but I wasn’t going to get greedy now. 

“You ready for me?” He asked as he massaged my ass, smiling like a kid in a candy store. 

“Yes,” I moaned needily, just now noticing the small square condom package he somehow procured, likely from his discarded uniform while I pleaded with Shinji. “Oh, you don't have to put that on, if you don't want to,” I told him before he could open it. “I was hoping I could feel all of you.” 

“All of me, huh?” He taunted, though as his grin widened, I thought he may appreciate my offer.

I nodded.

“How can I say no to you?” He cooed, throwing the condom package off and away, somewhere in the room to be caught later, though I didn’t care to worry about that now. 

He positioned himself behind me, lining the tip of his cock up with my entrance and teasingly collecting more of my juices with it. My pussy fluttered eagerly around nothing, anticipating the intrusion. 

“Alright, might feel a little stretch,” he warned. “Stop me if you need to.”

I smirked, almost giggling, thinking I’d be able to handle him with no problem. “Okay.” He was big, sure, but I was soaked, ready, and tougher than I looked. 

Even Shinji still held me back from taking him into my mouth. “Hang on. Wanna make sure ya can take him first.” 

I saw no qualms and assumed both men were only being dramatic, messing with me, being the teases they both were.

Until he pushed past my entrance. 

My walls instinctively tightened around his invading member, pain shooting through my nether regions at the amount of pressure I hadn’t expected pushing through me. I understood now the whole ‘popping of the cherry.’ Something inside of me definitely broke. A little stretch. I had been foolish to think this would be simple for me. I felt like I was being drilled into, and he’d hardly even begun.

My eyes widened, pained gasps escaping my lips as I clutched the comforter beneath me for dear life. Of course, my actions didn't go unchecked by either of the men. While Shinji’s thin brows furrowed together in worry, Kisuke flattened his hand against my spine.

“You okay?” He asked, stilling his movement.

“Mhmph - yeah!” I nodded my head, attempting to fix my grimace and arch further, though the position only caused me greater pain.

He slowly pushed in further before pulling back again, stroking my back, repeating the languid, fluid motion. “You telling me the truth?”

Shinji grabbed my cheeks, forcing me to look him in the eye. “Talk to us.”

I couldn’t lie, not while staring into his warm eyes. “It - it just feels like…a really big cramp. It hurts a little,” I confessed.

“Yeah,” Kisuke sighed. “Thought so.”

He pulled out suddenly, leaving me cold and empty. My eyes widened again, panicked, desperate, afraid that they’d stop, that they’d leave.

“No, wait! Please!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Kisuke assured gently. “Why don’t we try a different position?”

I deflated, blushing in the aftermath of my outburst. “Oh - okay.”

My embarrassment didn’t last long, not when Kisuke manhandled me into a new position, flat on my back. The room spun as I landed against the pillows with him knelt over me, prying my legs apart.  

“What about Shinji?” I mewled.

He appeared at my side, flopping down next to me. “Ya worried about me, lovebug?”

I ran my hands through his hair, drunk and in love with this stranger and his overly-sweet nicknames. “I don’t want to neglect you again.”

“How about I lay next to ya?” He tangled his fingers into my hair too, picking out a small, red rose. “You can talk to me while he fucks the flowers outta yer hair or whatever he said.”

“But I want to touch you.” I ran my hand down his chest and abs.

He shuddered involuntarily, chuckling nervously and grabbing ahold of my wandering hand. “That can be arranged. Don’t tire out yer wrist on my behalf though.”

“I won’t.” I stared at his lips, then his length, then back up again.

“Ahem.”

The both of us turned to Kisuke, still holding my legs apart, impatiently waiting to get between them.

“Sorry, boss,” Shinji laughed jeeringly. 

Kisuke ignored him. “Ready to try again?”

“Yes!” I responded enthusiastically. 

Shinji grabbed my cheeks, turning me towards him again. “Give me a kiss.” 

He didn’t give me another moment, crashing his lips into mine. Distracted, I realized it must've been his plan - to have his mouth on mine, giving me something to focus on while Kisuke pushed back into me. 

The both of us gasped as it went in, though mine got lost down Shinji’s throat. The stretch stung, but at this angle, the pain walked closely alongside pleasure, the pressure and fullness less of a stab to my guts and more of a comforting warmth now. I hardly kissed Shinji, drooling and whining into his parted lips instead as Kisuke stuffed me, pushing my legs further apart to accommodate himself as he continued to slowly fill me, more and more, inch by inch. 

“That feel better?” He rasped. 

I leaned away from Shinji just enough to nod dumbly. “Uh huh.”

“Feels good for me too,” he panted, paining himself with how slowly he moved in and out of me, “real good.”

Though I could hardly keep my eyes open, I didn’t allow myself to forget Shinji. I stole a page out of Kisuke’s book, spitting into my hand before wrapping it around the other blonde’s shaft, observing his features for a reaction. 

I got all of one and more, his eyes widening and cheeks heating as I began to stroke his cock. “Wh - whoa!” His hips stuttered into my hand at the sudden contact, his large hand covering mine to control my movements. 

“Let me help ya,” he insisted, guiding my wrist to twist and pull up and down his length, his eyes screwing shut, tucking his face into the pillows as he released a guttural moan, finally receiving relief.

The sound had me tightening around Kisuke, an overwhelming warmth blossoming in the pit of my stomach. “You…don’t…have to…” I told Shinji, though his hand felt heavy around my limpening wrist. 

“I know,” he said, staring at me through heavily-lidded eyes. “I want to.” He tiredly pressed his mouth to my temple, whispering into my hair. “I like holding yer hand…”

“Hold tight,” Kisuke interrupted, giving no further explanation before he started to increase his pace, snapping his hips into mine.

Squealing, squirming, without thinking, I squeezed the only thing in my grasp for support, not realizing what I’d done until Shinji tugged at my wrist. “Sh - shit! Easy, doll!”

“Oh! I’m s’sorry!” I stammered, barely able to hold on properly as Kisuke began to pound into me, inadvertently turning to face him. 

“Yer okay, baby. Just don’t want to cum too quick.”

Kisuke chuckled as the bed rocked, squeaking with each thrust, in tune with the wet noises coming from between my legs and Shinji’s. “Keep talking sweet to her Shinji,” he ordered. “She likes it - squeezing around my cock and making a mess.”

“My poor doll,” he pouted, pulling my hand over his length faster now. “Yer not used to being treated so well, huh?”

“No,” I moaned shakily.

He got closer, right in my ear, low, rough, sounding a bit unlike himself. “If I could, I’d kill that bastard and take his place. Ya know I would.”

My every move observed and analyzed, tested to find the best solution, Kisuke noticed my clenching around him again. “Shit. She likes that too.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, arching into the pillows, anchoring myself, a reminder of where I was. “Stop talking about him.”

“Shit. Sorry-” Shinji began, stopping my hand around him. 

“No.” I opened my eyes, snapping my head towards him. “I - I just don’t want to even think about him right now,” I revealed. “I want this one moment not to worry. Please,” I begged both of them. “Make me forget him.” 

They both stilled.

“Okay,” Shinji agreed.

“We will,” Kisuke said.

He resumed his brutal pace, drilling into me as Shinji pinned my wrist down at my side, using his other hand to fuck himself. I whined in protest, and so he lunged forward, latching his mouth around my nipple to shut me up. My torso convulsed and thighs twitched, overstimulated by the both of them on me at once. I could only scream and cry and thrash uselessly, the same buildup from earlier beginning to occur a second time, a hot, tight, ache forming in my core. 

They effectively distracted me, but only for a short while. As I neared my climax, all I could think of was the aftermath, the end, the hard truth that I would have to put my dress and kimono back on, that I would have to go out there, go back to pretending, go back to him and leave them. I couldn't stop the orgasm from coming, I couldn’t stop him from marrying me, and I couldn't stop them from leaving me. My emotions came crashing down, my sanity snapping before that coil did. Tears sprang from my eyes like tiny waterfalls, and for the first time, neither of these men had noticed me, had understood what they really meant. 

I clawed at Kisuke’s chest. I tried to squirm away from Shinji. In my fucked-out state of mind, I helplessly thought that maybe if I could stop them, then I could make this moment last forever. 

But they kept going, hands pinning me to the mattress, lips attacking me, eager for the end. It was too good to be true from the start, and it broke me. I thought of the shattered glass in the corner of the room, and I feared to become it. 

As a last ditch effort, I wailed and sobbed about what was on my mind, hardly coherent, desperately writhing against the sheets. “I - I don’t wanna marry him! I don’t wanna marry him!”

Shinji noticed me first, lifting his head from my chest, eyes going wide. “Hey, hey. Doll, look at me.” 

Kisuke didn’t stop, but he slowed, rolling his hips into me now seeing that my tears weren't from pleasure, but from deep within me. 

I weeped harder, my vision blurring as I tried to peer at Shinji. He wiped my cheeks, not stopping until I held eye contact long enough for his liking.

“Ya might be forced to take his last name tomorrow, but yer not his, not how it counts,” he said soberly, genuinely. “It’s okay,” he promised me. “Yer gonna be okay, baby. We have ya.”

Kisuke leaned over me, cradling my head. “I don’t care how big of a ring that pathetic fucking loser puts on your finger tomorrow,” he spewed harshly. “You’re our girl now. Understand?”

“Will I always be your girl?” I whimpered, needing his commitment most of all. 

“Yes.” He kissed me hungrily, in that depraved way of his, murmuring against my lips, “I want you to - if you ever can - come find me. Come find us.”

Shinji had taken to stroking himself again, his head thrown back, groaning, moaning, “say my name, baby, please say my name.”

“Shinji…” I reached for him, craving his warmth. “Shinji!”

With his free hand, he found my clit, rubbing it in time with Kisuke’s thrusts as he picked back up again. “Be a good girl and say his too? I know he wants to hear it.”

“Kisuke!” I cried, looking for him through my swollen, heavy eyes. 

He leaned over me, burying his face into my neck, grunting and groaning his way to the end as Shinji repeated, “yer not his, yer not his…”

My eyes fluttered shut as I climbed up again, higher and higher, almost to the top. I inhaled them and listened to them, staying here this time, embracing the bittersweet end, more sweet than bitter with these two handsome goofballs. 

I barely noticed that Kisuke had lifted himself up again, hoarsely demanding, “open your eyes.”

I obeyed. I wanted to find him. 

“Will you come with me again?” He asked, looking right through me.

“Yes.”

“Shinji? You coming too?”

The sloppy sound of his fist on his cock supported his response. “Hell yeah, I am.”

A few moments later, we’d become a jumble of incoherent words and noises and twitching limbs, the finale, the end as beautiful as the start. Flowers fell from my hair, just as Kisuke had promised, and the three of us glistened, glowing from sweat, covered in each others’ essences. Shinji and I took the brunt of it, his own juices coating his abdomen while mine showcased Kisuke’s. 

“Stay put. Both of you,” Kisuke commanded, one last time. 

Shinji’s head lolled to the side, a stupid, exhausted grin splitting open on his face. “Isn’t he dreamy?” He remarked teasingly. 

“So are you,” I whispered. 

He smiled softly. “Tryin’ to get me to blush, doll face?”

Too tired to come up with a retort, I stared at him, noticing the little things here and there that made him so stunning, and I doubted he knew it. He seemed to be watching me too, those soft brown eyes darting around my face before deciding, closing, leaning forward to kiss me chastely, somewhere between my eyes.

I hadn’t noticed Kisuke standing over me until he pressed tissues to my stomach, wiping away the evidence of what we’d done. “Prettiest bride in the world,” he said softly. 

“Stop remindin’ her, idiot,” Shinji chided, snatching tissues from his hand to clean himself up. 

“It’s okay,” I assured the both of them, smiling though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “It was fun while it lasted.”

They fell silent, nothing but the sounds of the tissues doing their work and the occasional creak of the bed. I glanced towards the three candles, still burning. 

“Who says it's over yet?” Kisuke spoke up first, grinning playfully. 

Shinji and I shared a look, flinching when Kisuke flopped into the bed, landing on his side at our feet, propping himself up on his elbow. 

“Time for pillow talk!”

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

All good things must come to an end - the mantra I adopted when the Soul Reapers left, becoming nothing but a distant memory, a flashback I took solace in when faced with forced intimacy with my now-husband.

I accepted my fate, played the good wife, attempting to find other little joys in life. I built relationships with my new servants in his villa, took up new hobbies like baking, sewing, reading, and even writing when no one looked. Whatever I could do to fill the void, to fill the emptiness where there was an absence of love, I did. It never really was enough, but I had to make peace with that, some days better than others.

It was nighttime, and I was with him when a peculiar-looking butterfly landed on my shoulder, black with purple accents, whispering in my ear, a message for only me to hear. The hauntingly beautiful creature informed me that the Captains I knew, both Shinji Hirako and Kisuke Urahara, had been wrongfully stripped of their titles and banished from the Soul Society into the World of the Living. It fluttered away without any more, leaving me full of questions and evoking emotions I hadn’t properly felt in so long. 

“What are you looking at?” My husband snapped at me, paranoid. 

So he couldn’t see or hear the butterfly. Good. I kept my expression neutral. He’d never know what I heard, what I thought, what I felt, or what I planned to do. 

In the direction the butterfly came burned three candles, the only light to illuminate the dark room. I gestured towards them, my husband’s gaze curiously and angrily following to where I looked. 

“Just watching them burn.” I smiled. 

I’d heard through the grapevine of someone who knew how to get to the World of the Living, likely a criminal or at the very least, a shady individual. Risky as it was, I’d do whatever it took to get there, remembering what Kisuke told me, whether he truly meant it or not, “come find us.” I wondered if he knew then what awaited him, where he’d end up. 

I worked in secrecy to find a way, whatever that was, even if it killed me. I left in the night with no intention of coming back. Confused, terrified, and anxious, I held hope through it all, not stopping until I ended up in front of some shop in the World of the Living, a place called Karakura town. I prepared to turn away, to keep searching as two children questioned who I was and why I was here, arguing with each other, guarding the entrance like two little watchdogs. 

But then, a strange man came clacking out, outfitted in green all the way down to his clogs, even wearing an unusual, striped green hat that covered his eyes to match the rest. I tensed, getting ready to dart away with no idea of where I headed next. I clenched my fists and held my breath, releasing it all at once in a gasp as he lifted his head, blonde, shaggy hair peeking out from underneath the hat, along with those intense, green-gray eyes. 

“You found me.”

₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡

A/N: This was one of my favorite fics I’ve written to date. There’s probably a lot that inspired this that I’m forgetting or that went on subconsciously, but I want to specifically shout out @soulpager's insanely incredible fic you can read here, or on her AO3, that had protective Shinji on tha mind. I also want to shout out my fellow sister wives of the Shinji Nation who urged me to do the Shinji and Kisuke threesome and who always leave me with lots of thoughts, ideas and inspiration in general! 

( ˶˘ ³˘)♡ STAY FREAKY

-

A notification ding was all it took for Shinji to leap over the armrest of the couch where he'd spent the whole morning and part of the afternoon. Snatching his phone from the floor where it was charging and squinting to read the message, his expression quickly shifted.

"Can you come over, please?"

Wide eyes and a boyish grin, a breathless "Fuck yeah" escaped his mouth. He jumped to his feet, sprinting towards the bedroom in his underwear, socks sliding on the parquet like a scene straight out of a movie. Nearly falling as he reached the corner, he theatrically caught himself at the last moment, as if he meant to do that.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, you spent the day on the couch too. Clutching your phone in your hand, curled up like a shrimp, you waited for a reply. Shifting every now and then in an effort to ease the pain, 10 minutes had passed, and he hadn't even opened the message, which made you regret sending it in the first place. You abruptly cancelled your date yesterday and have been ignoring him ever since. Being on your period, you didn't want him to see you exhausted and complaining.

Luckily, the gloomy weather allowed you to cover yourself with a blanket for comfort. Work hadn't been treating you well, and lots of small things had piled up in your life in the past few weeks that needed your attention. You were constantly on the edge and spending time with him was your only fuze. You didn't want to burden him with problems so early in the relationship, the honeymoon spark was at its peak, and opening up about heavier topics felt like it could break the magic. The relationship would become too real.

As you finished staring into the void of the black TV screen, imagining all the ways he could dump you, guilt made you open the chat again, hoping there was still time to unsend your embarrassing plea for help before he sees it.

"Missed me that much already?😏" popped up on the left side of the chat as soon as you entered it. Shit, fuck, now he's gonna think you're desperate. Quick, think of something to say! Anything!

Shinji smirked as he stood on the subway platform, looking down at his phone, amused at how cool he is playing it, while already on his way to you. 15 minutes since you initially texted him and your man was looking effortlessly well put together, like he hadn't just spent the whole day moping around his apartment.

I'll show her, I'll be there before she can even blink.

Not even 2 minutes after he replied, the phone buzzed in his hand.

"I'm on my period, I really need you🥺"

He read the message just as the train rumbled into the station. Cool, casual Shinji suddenly had no chill. He opened the chat, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, heart kicking up speed in his chest.

She needs me. Not wants. Needs. The word rattled around his skull like a fire alarm.

He took a sharp step back, every nerve screaming Go. Move. Get above ground. Call a cab. Run if you have to.

But the crowd surged. A wave of tired commuters and tourists shoved past him, people flooded from behind him, someone pushed him, and then - he was on the train.

“Wait! No! No! She needs me! She needs me-” he shouted, dramatically waving his hands, no one even blinked as he tried to aggressively wedge himself towards the exit. Too late. The doors closed in front of him with a final, metallic thud.

No signal, no escape, no way to tell you he is on his way. The train jolted forward with Shinji smushed between strangers like a sardine, death grip on his phone, staring at the signal bar as if he could will it back into existence. His brain marinating in the thought of you curled up and in pain, undoubtedly bleeding to death on your kitchen floor while he was stuck playing it cool and taking the scenic route. He wished he had some kind of superhuman power to kick that damn door open.

And you’re probably thinking he’s a loser by now. Pondering if he’s even worth it.

He should’ve tried harder last night. You told him you needed space, and he respected it, barely. He sent you a few memes, tried to make you laugh, pretended everything was fine while he stress-ate fast food in front of some overly dramatic Korean cooking show because you wouldn't talk to him.

Back at your apartment, minutes felt like hours. You were pacing the room now, the panic overtaking the pain. The two check marks saying he saw the message and hasn't been online since had you rethinking every little thing you might have done wrong, along with the one big one from yesterday. Shinji didn't care anymore. He probably looked at your message once, scoffed, and threw his phone away. Do you double text? Try to fix things? That would imply telling him he means something to you. Are you ready for that?

"Hey Shinji, I'm sorry about yesterday… I understand if you're upset or busy, just text me when you can so we can talk."

Sent. You look at the message with instant regret. One check mark. By this point, you're sitting on the floor by the sofa. The single check mark doesn't turn into two. Not even delivered... Shinji is ghosting you, and it's your fault. He was such a nice guy too, but you had to ruin it by putting your walls up, didn't you?

Turning your phone off was the best decision you made. Lying on the couch again, you stare at the ceiling, defeated, trying to calm down. The window is open, and you feel a shift in the atmosphere, distant thunder, a summer storm rolling in. All the hopes you had of him coming were washing away with the light rain tapping on your window. No way he'd show up now.

You couldn't have known that at the exact moment, that same rain was soaking Shinjis hair not far from your place. Finally above ground, he feels like a man reborn, but he knows he isn't out of the woods just yet. The second his phone catches a signal, he calls.

He wanted to hear your voice. Explain what happened. But no answer.

Shit. You're disappointed in him. He wasn't there when you needed him. He chose to play it cool.

Upset? Busy? None of that. He sends a message now, completely ignoring your previous assumptions.

"Babe, I'll be there soon! And I know it's August, but would you like some warm soup?"

Shinji doesn't wait for an answer, he's already made up his mind. He's rushing down the street, wet bangs clinging to his forhead. People with umbrellas step aside without realizing why, as if they can feel his urgency before they even look up and meet his eyes.

But this wasn't just about the soup. As comforting and warm as it might be for you, to him, it meant more. A "thank you for finally needing me" symbol, a way to say "I can do what you ask, before you even ask it".

The wind picked up, the rain coming down harder now, soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt as he stepped off the curb, but he barely noticed. His hand clenched tighter around the bag with soup, holding onto it like it could protect him from the doubt creeping in on him.

What if yesterday's date being cancelled was a sign? What if you've lost feelings for him? What if you changed your mind? What if you didn’t want him there anymore? He shook the thoughts off like water from his hair. No. He was coming, he'll make it right.

By the time he reached your building, his clothes clung to him, shoes squeaking as he climbed the stairs two at a time. He paused at your door, his heart racing louder than the thunder outside.

He didn’t knock at first. He just stood there for a moment. He didn't know what to expect. Gathering the words he was about to say, Shinji was afraid he'd scare you off if he spoke his mind this soon in the relationship.

Then, finally, a soft knock. But no answer from you.

With hesitation, Shinji slowly turned the handle, hoping you'd left it open for him, that you still wanted him there.

Everything was quiet. No lights, just the soft blue-gray glow of the storm outside. The smell of summer rain and faint traces of your perfume. His soaked shoes leaving prints on the floor before being taken off. Slowly, he stepped into the living room.

There you were. Asleep. Curled up on the couch with a blanket halfway over you, lips slightly parted, the light of the storm painting your cheeks.

And there was Shinji. Standing by the door, scared that even the softest breath he took would wake you up. Hair wet, bag of soup in one hand, and everything he wanted to say in the other.

Then, as if you felt him there, you slowly opened your eyes.

All the anxiety, stress and uncertainty you both felt disappeared in an instant as your eyes met his. Finally. Finally.

"Hi, Shinji" you shift. Your elbows dipping into the soft couch for support as you look up with a relieved expression and sleepy smile on your face.

"Hey baby" he melts. Tense shoulders relaxing almost instantly, head slightly tilted and eyebrows raised in awe. Like a golden retriever seeing his favourite person, completely undone by how much he missed you.

He took a step forward and dropped to his knees next to the couch, resting his head near your waist to look up at your puffy face with the biggest grin.

The bag of soup lay forgotten on the floor while you cup his pink cheeks and pull him into a soft kiss. The storm outside grew louder as his cold lips meet your warm ones.

You lie back, and he leans into you, neither of you daring to break the connection. The tips of his wet hair brush your cheeks, like a curtain around you both, hiding you from the rest of the world. He exhales slowly, his forehead resting against yours, and it’s the kind of silence that says I missed you louder than words ever could.

You let your fingers trail through the damp hair at the back of his neck, pulling him just a little closer—until there’s no room left between you but warm breaths and heartbeats.

Neither of you rushes it. Time seems to have stopped. No words are needed. Everything you were both aching to say is felt instead.

When he finally pulls back, his half-lidded eyes linger on you, like he’s trying to memorize you.

And when he realizes the weight of the moment, what he wants to say, his mind races to find anything else. Anything but I love you.

“…Soup?” he offers instead, voice barely above a whisper, already reaching for the bag the moment he says it.

You snort softly, brushing a strand of wet hair from his forehead. "Maybe in a bit.”

He nods and shifts behind you on the couch. You let him pull you into him, your body curling instinctively to fit under his arm. His nose presses into your hair, breathing you in.

A minute passes, then two. Outside, the storm picks up, wind rushing louder now, thunder low and constant in the distance.

His hand finds your lower belly, slow and shy at first. His fingers trace the aching spot once, then settle, warm and steady. You inhale, and the warmth of his hand sinks into your skin, easing the tension in a way nothing else had all day.

Then, he starts moving his thumb in slow, rhythmic circles. The pressure is just right, firm enough to help, soft enough to be comforting. You hadn't even realized how much it hurt until his touch made it bearable.

The lights stay off. The rain keeps falling. No words, just quiet breathing. Just his hand moving in that steady rhythm, over and over.

Neither of you says the things you really want to say. Not yet. But it’s there, in the way his hand stays on your belly. And in the way you let him.

And there, tangled on a too-small couch, warm beneath a shared blanket, the two of you drift off.

The storm rages. But inside, everything is soft.

-

Bonus:

Later, the bowl sits empty as you lie on his bare chest, his fingers lazily threading through your hair.

You look up and ask,

"Hey, Shinji... how did you know that was my favourite soup?"

He chuckles and kisses your nose, eyes half-lidded.

"It's destiny, baby."

It had been the only soup they had left.

Maybe it really was destiny...

-

This fic wouldn’t exist without Shinji Nation™, aka the most unhinged, loving, creative, chaotic, and inspiring group of sister wives I’ve ever had the honor to scream about a golden-haired 2D man with. Every one of you has touched this piece in some way, even if you didn’t know it. Your words inspired the tone, your conversations sparked scenes, and your energy gave me the confidence to keep going. I wrote this with you in mind from start to finish, but it doesn't stop there.

You breathe life into my art every single day. You ignite my creativity -every sketch, every brushstroke, every color I put down is infused with the energy you give me. The laughter, the love and support, the late-night screaming, the emotional breakdowns over 2 lines of a smirk… it all lives in my work. You’re not just my inspiration - you’re part of the process. The heart of it.

I wouldn’t be the artist (or the feral mess) I am today without you.

Thank you for everything. This one is for you.🥹💛

Doflamingo was sulking. His signature smile was comically turned upside down and his arms were crossed over his chest. Feet resting on top of his desk as he leaned back in his plush office chair, crumpling the important documents strewn underneath them that he was meant to review and sign. He knew he probably looked like a petulant child, and he felt like one, too. This was all your fucking fault.

Even though you were only in your twenties, you were already a well-known Vice Admiral. Vergo had informed Doflamingo of your impressive Haki abilities months ago, but that wasn’t the only reason he kept a close eye on you. You were sexy as hell, even in a Marines uniform, and he delighted in every brief interaction he had with you at Warlord meetings. When you decided to take some time off, he snatched you up immediately with a tantalizing job offer. After all, working for him was technically still a Government job, and he was helping so many countries in need!

You made it clear from the very beginning that this was a temporary gig and you had no intention of permanently joining the Donquixote Family. You were his business partner, not his subordinate. He never planned on honoring that agreement, of course, but you were making his plans particularly difficult. 

The man had hundreds of thousands – if not millions – of loyal and passive subjects. Obedient workers who never questioned his judgment and praised his iron fist, from the filthy commoners at the bottom to the Elite Officers up top. But not you. 

You had the kind of effortless confidence that got under his skin. You were unbothered and detached from his evil antics, from him. He made his presence known everywhere he went and was always the focus of the room, but it seemed like you paid more attention to the damn servants than him. His threats and intimidation which made thousands tremble in fear hardly made you flinch. When he revealed the secret of Dressrosa’s toys in hopes of getting a reaction from you, you practically yawned. 

You knew who he was. You knew what he was capable of. You didn’t fucking care.

You weren’t afraid of him, and this greatly disturbed him.

A few days ago, you had strolled into his office without even knocking on the door. He furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance, but you barely took notice. You were there to discuss your agreement in order to figure out a time frame of how long he needed you. He threw his head back and laughed loudly as he said, “That’s adorable. You really think you can get away from me, hm?”

Perceptive as always, you noticed the slightest twitch of his middle finger and immediately held an Armament Haki-coated hand in front of your chest, blocking the nearly invisible string flung your way. “Doffy, I’m being serious.”

He frowned and narrowed his eyes. Diamante used that nickname once in front of you and now you wouldn’t call him anything else. You thought it was cute. “Since when can you block my strings?”

“Do you really think I’d be a Vice Admiral if I couldn’t do that? You were so obvious about it, too.” You clicked your tongue, knowing full well that anyone less powerful than you wouldn’t be able to perceive his movement. Prominent veins popped in Doflamingo’s forehead but the blonde man stayed silent. “I think I’ll stay here for a few more months, at least. Maybe longer if I don’t have a terrible time here. Dressrosa is kind of growing on me.” 

“You’re acting like I can’t keep you here by force.” Doflamingo interrupted your train of thought. “I could have Sugar turn you into a cute little doll, and then your Vice Admiral position would disappear. Or Giolla could turn you into a painting to hang on my wall.” He paused as if considering his options, knowing full well what he truly wanted. “Maybe I’ll keep you tied up with strings as my own personal pet.”

Many times he’d pictured you tied to the headboard of his bed, stripped naked and covered in his drying cum as he used you however he wanted. Perhaps then he’d finally ignite a spark of fear in you. 

“If you actually wanted to do that, it would’ve happened already. But you’re the one who hired me, remember?” You acted like you were explaining something obvious to a kid. “If you try anything against me, I can always call up the Navy and tell them what you’re doing to your poor innocent citizens. Maybe even let them know your alias? Begins with a J, right?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He snarled, sitting up in his seat immediately and binding strings around your wrists to keep them pinned above your head. You kept your eyes trained on his, a determined and almost taunting glint in them. 

“I’m not a big fan of blackmail, so I don’t want to do that,” you replied in an even tone. “I’m just saying that I can. Now, are we gonna talk business, or are you gonna play cat’s cradle all day?”

Doflamingo should’ve killed you right then and there. That would’ve put an end to his confusing thoughts about you, but your conversation only made them worse. You were on his mind constantly, to the point where he couldn’t focus on anything else. It was an obsession, an infatuation, one completely unbecoming of a heavenly being like himself. People were meant to grovel at his feet and kiss the very ground he walked on – why the fuck were you not affected?

He finally had enough. He pushed the chair away from his desk and stormed out of his office. Servants hurried away in fear, knowing that his scowl and heavy footsteps meant nothing but trouble. A whirlwind of thoughts swirled around his mind — he wanted to make you scream, to completely immobilize you with his power, to kiss you so hard you saw stars. No, that wasn’t it. 

He wanted you to call him ‘Young Master’. 

Doflamingo threw open the double doors to a secluded drawing room in his typical dramatic flair. You were alone, reclining on a couch and reading a book. Even this pissed him off – you were in a potential viper’s nest, surrounded by powerful people who could turn on you at any point, yet you didn’t feel the need to keep others around you for protection. You turned your head towards the intruder in confusion. His massive body filled the door frame and light from the hallway illuminated him and his feathery coat from behind, making him look like a fallen angel.

“What Devil Fruit did you eat.” It was a statement, not a question. His voice was a dangerously low growl. 

“I already told you, I didn’t eat one.” You said slowly, slightly thrown off by his demeanor but still not afraid. 

“You lying bitch!” He roared, using his strings to slam the doors behind him as he crossed the room towards you in three giant steps. “You must have some kind of mind control ability, or manipulation, or… I don’t fucking know! Tell me what’s happening!” He threw his head in his hands and crouched over, almost as if he was in pain. “Why can’t I stop fucking thinking about you!”

Your mouth opened slightly and you blinked a few times to process the situation, and then it hit you. A sly grin slowly formed on your face as you dog-eared your book and set it down next to you. You knew this man was incapable of love in its purest sense, but maybe… “Doffy, have you never been attracted to someone before?”

His head shot up and he narrowed his eyes at you furiously behind his sunglasses. Of course he’d fucking been attracted to people – he refused to settle for nothing but the best with his lovers. He had fucked enough sexy men and women over the years to form a small army. But none of them were like you. 

They were all cheaply made toys, suitable for one or two uses then tossed in the trash when they broke or when he got bored. He was a greedy and spoiled child who always got what he wanted. But with you… it felt like he was staring through the front window of a shop at a shiny new toy. So close and so enticing but completely out of reach.

“Fuck you! I… I…” You would never know how that sentence was supposed to end, because he sunk to his knees and hung his head in frustrated shame. He slammed his fist against the floor hard enough to rattle the room. “Why won’t you belong to me?!”

The almighty King of Dressrosa, the feared Warlord, the powerful underground broker, was on his knees begging for you. He knew he sounded pathetic. He felt pathetic. But he couldn’t go a moment longer without getting what he wanted, what was rightfully his. 

To say you were shocked was an understatement. You had always stood your ground because you knew your worth, but sometimes you did it to purposely push the blonde man’s buttons since no one else seemed to have the courage to do so. But you were just teasing him – this was not the outcome you had in mind. 

You slowly stood from the couch to move in front of him. Even bent over, the massive man was practically your height, but he had never seemed smaller.

“Doffy,” you began in a quiet voice and reached out to gently touch his feather-clad shoulder, but he slammed the ground again. 

“I don’t need you to patronize me! I need…” he trailed off again and hesitated for a moment before realizing what he needed to do to calm the fire roaring inside him. Fine, he would give you a fucking reason to worship him. He threw himself at your midsection, making you yelp in surprise. He had finally drawn a reaction out of you, and it spurred him on even more. Rough hands yanked your shirt up to your breasts and he hungrily mouthed at the soft skin of your tummy, a frenzied mess of tongue and teeth and soft lips. “I need you. Give yourself to me.” He said breathlessly, punctuating his words with a sharp bite at your hip. 

You were frozen in place but weak in the knees, unable to do anything but accept his bites and bruises. You’d be lying if you said you’d never imagined what his long tongue and nimble fingers felt like on your body, in your body. He nipped at your skin hard enough to bruise then soothed it with his tongue, sending heat straight to your core. 

Doflamingo was in a drugged-like haze, mind clouded with a dizzying mix of lust and hatred and longing. He belatedly noticed that you weren’t resisting him when he popped the button on your jeans. When he looked up, he realized your cheeks were flushed and your gaze was trained on his long fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants. 

He smiled wickedly, feeling a sliver of regained control. “You fucking whore. You want this, don’t you?”

“Doffy, you’re the one literally trying to get in my pants.”

“Shut up.” He snarled, annoyed yet allured by your sweet giggle afterwards. He yanked your jeans down to your ankles to reveal pretty pink lace panties underneath. They practically matched the color of his coat – you had to have worn those just for him. Might as well take them later. 

A needy and unashamed whine tore from his lips when he saw your pussy. Even more perfect than he’d imagined all those times he fucked his fist alone in bed. He told himself this was what was necessary to crush that annoying ego of yours, knowing full well he was nearly shaking with pure carnal desire. He grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise and shoved your thighs apart before diving in. His tongue was ravenous, licking a sloppy stripe from your ass to your clit, mouth closing around the nub and sucking harshly. The sweetest moan he’d ever heard fell from your lips and he echoed it, eager to hear more. 

Fingers tangled in his short blonde hair as you tried to steady yourself. It was too much all at once. You tried to tug him away to tell him to slow down, yet wanted to pull him even closer. Doflamingo flinched at the contact. Part of him wanted to tie your hands behind your back because how dare you touch him without permission. But instead, he groaned at the rough pull on his scalp, which went straight to his hardening cock. His grip on you tightened as he dragged you further onto his face.

His long tongue lapped messily at your folds then slipped into your cunt, shallowly thrusting the wet tip in and out. He laughed in delight at your delicious juices coating his tastebuds and making his head spin.

“You’re so fucking wet.” He panted and rubbed his nose against your clit, making you jump. A sloppy string of his saliva still connected his mouth to your entrance. “I think you like me after all.”

“I’d like anyone who eats me out this good,” you quipped.

“But no one’s as good as me, hm?” To prove his point, he shoved the entirety of his skilled tongue deep inside you. You threw your head back and whined as the wet muscle curled and twisted inside you, hungrily lapping at your sensitive inner walls. “No one will ever be as good as me. Say you’re mine and you can have this every day.”

“F-fuck, Doffy… so, mmh, good…” He ate you out like a man starved, desperately sucking at every part of your pussy he could reach. One hand moved from your hip, leaving dark blue fingerprint-shaped bruises behind, and plunged into his own pants. He let out a deep groan at the contact.

“Call me Young Master.” Doflamingo breathed heavily as he pulled his pants down slightly. Your jaw dropped when he revealed his massive and fully erect dick, leaking beads of precum and bobbing against his stomach. You knew he’d be big based on his height, but this was inhuman. The blonde man noticed your hungry gaze and chuckled. “You want me so badly. Stop denying the truth and I’ll give you everything you want. I am a benevolent king, after all.”

You actually laughed at that, and he didn’t even try to be angry – being on full display for you meant he couldn’t hide the way your disobedience made his cock twitch. His other hand slithered between your legs and rubbed at your folds and the smile fell off your face.

You stumbled backwards – there was nothing behind you to lean on and your legs were quickly turning into jelly. “W-wait, Doffy, I can’t, ahh, l-let me sit…”

Two of his fingers moved downwards and bound your feet to the floor with his string. Immobilizing your bottom half like a statue but intentionally leaving your top half free to grab at his hair and body as you pleased. “Your king will grant you permission to move when I want to.” 

“S’okay, I l-like seeing you look up to me for once.” Your witty reply was lost on the blonde, who had spread your folds apart and was hypnotized by your entrance clenching around nothing. You were so fucking tiny compared to him and he ached at the thought of molding your insides to take him and him alone.

Just one thick finger was enough to make you moan and pant, slowly pushing its way inside your cunt. “Shit, you’re so tight.” The soft squelches of your inner walls rang in his ears and pretty pearls of precum leaked from his dick. “Perfect fucking pussy. Give it to me.”

A second digit was soon added, scissoring you apart expertly. Unsurprisingly, the man really knew how to use his fingers. He crooked them and brushed against your most sensitive spot, causing you to cry out and hold onto him even harder. Sharp teeth playfully bit at your inner thigh in response. Doflamingo gathered some of the constant dribble of precum from the tip of his cock to lube his rough palm. He considered making you spit on his hand to ease the glide, but a better idea came to mind.

“Spit in my mouth.” He ordered, tilting his head up and sticking his tongue out. Waiting for you to follow his command like a good toy.

You were taken aback by the sudden request, but you gathered a ball of spit in your mouth like you were told… and it landed directly on the lens of his sunglasses, obscuring the vision of one eye. Doflamingo knew that it wasn’t just badly aimed. This was an act of defiance. You intentionally spit on his defining accessory, his very essence.

“You stupid slut.” The venomous insult came with a maniacally pleased grin. He pushed the stained glasses onto his forehead and you finally saw his eyes for the first time. Gorgeous and bright blue with lust-blown pupils. Looking at his beautifully depraved expression in its entirety, you briefly wondered if he really was an angel. His fingers sped up to a nearly brutal pace and he slipped in a third digit, causing you to choke on your spit. “Love me. Love me.”

A divine being who fell from heaven to beg at your feet. 

“Y-you’re fucking insane,” you panted with a blissful smile, your cunt clenching down deliciously on him. “Make up your, mmh, mind.”

“Adore me.” He responded immediately. “Say you’re mine. Be mine.”

Even though you refused to respond, the blonde was lost in his fantasies yet grounded in the reality of your beautiful face scrunched up in pleasure. Mouth hanging open, hands nearly going numb from how hard you held onto him. He needed to see you like this every day – no, every hour. He could keep you under his desk like a pet, ready to suck his dick whenever he allowed you to. Or maybe you’d sit in his lap all day, one of his hands fondling your tits as he attended meetings and forced his subordinates to watch him play with his favorite toy. 

But that was too mundane. He could snatch up anyone in Dressrosa right now and do the same. No, the twisted fantasy that really made his cock ache was already happening. That annoyingly sexy confidence of yours was threatening his godliness. 

Maybe he’d make you step on him next time.

“Call me Young Master,” he begged again, too far gone to realize how ridiculous he sounded. Tongue hanging out like a dog (and panting like one, too), he rutted into his hand even faster. His cock was absolutely throbbing, red and angry and dripping precum. He was in no position to be giving orders. You stifled a giggle with your hand, which quickly turned into a moan as his fingers bumped against your cervix. 

“I already t-told you,” you sucked in a few shaky breaths. He was watching you intently and still smiling, but his fingers never slowed down. “You’re not my –mm– Master, I don’t, ahh, work for you…”

“But why not?” He whined again. “At least call me it when you cum. I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t.” 

You didn’t acknowledge the ridiculously empty threat, instead throwing your head back when his fingers crooked against your most sensitive spot. Slick was dribbling down your legs – Doflamingo licked it off of your thighs before slurping around his digits buried inside you. The blonde echoed your unashamedly loud moans, practically on the edge himself. He only needed one thing to send him into a rapturous white bliss. 

He stared up at you unblinkingly, face frozen in a grin as he took in all the telltale signs of your approaching orgasm. Sweat dribbled down your forehead, eyebrows furrowed together, body tense and breath hot. “I-I’m gonna… gonna…” He crooked his fingers inside you the way he’d done thousands of times to turn people into obedient little puppets.

“Doffy~!” Your face contorted into the most divine expression he’d ever seen, crying out his name like a desperate prayer. 

You ignored his order. You used that stupid fucking nickname. 

He came hard. 

The tight coil that had been building in his groin for days at the mere thought of you finally snapped. An animalistic moan left his lips as thick ropes of cum coated his hand and spilled onto his abdomen. He looked even more blissed out than you, panting hard and shuddering and nearly overstimulating himself with the hand on his cock still slowly moving up and down. 

Doflamingo finally removed his fingers from inside you and loudly sucked them clean of your essence. Still craning his neck upwards so he wouldn’t break eye contact with you. You could lose yourself inside that piercing gaze, so full of obsession and hunger, especially when it was coming from a position of worship rather than condescension. 

Blinking out of your stupor, you realized the blonde’s cum-coated hand was in front of your mouth. If you were anyone else, he would’ve shoved his fingers all the way to your throat and made you choke on it. Instead, he stayed still and kept quiet. This was an offering. 

You grabbed his wrist and kitten-licked his sticky palm twice, humming thoughtfully as if appraising the taste. His grin grew even wider. Then you pulled away and teasingly said, “You take care of the rest of it.”

Doflamingo simply giggled in delight — you’d willingly tasted the essence of a god, one that was soon to be your god, but you were still too stubborn to give in. He didn’t expect you to crumble so easily and he didn’t want you to. He was having way too much fun. The blonde smeared the rest of his cum on the crotch of the pink panties still pooled around your ankles. 

“That’s disgusting.” You huffed in annoyance and rolled your eyes. “What am I supposed to wear out of here?”

The man chuckled lowly and rose to his feet, suddenly towering above you at full height. He wiped the dried spit off of his sunglasses before returning them to their rightful place on the bridge of his nose. 

“Who said anything about leaving?” You paled at the sight of his devilish grin but felt your core clench in need. “You still haven’t called me by my proper title.”