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the kingfisher’s queen

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Yachiyo stole her breath away.

She always did, since the day Fumi had first stepped into Siegfeld Academy grounds with her life’s dream burned into her mind, onto her path; even when that dream had fallen off, died, and had been buried alongside her and her pride.

Fumi thought she’d never see Yachiyo again.

But yet, there she was, in all her unbridled glory.

Fumi snaps her eyes away.

She feels something bubble up in her, clawing at her, its thorns sliding up, hugging her throat. The book in her hand is slowly sliding to the floor, but she barely notices it — not when her legs are shaking this much.

“Onee-sān.” The kid she was reading to tugs on her sweater sleeve, and Fumi swears that she almost falls over him from where she was squatting by the bookcase.

“Watch it!” She hisses. Great, now she was in the most awkward position ever: like some loser struggling to keep their balance on the Twister mat. She gives the kid the best stink-eye she could manage as he looks up at her innocently.

“So, is this how a ‘kabe-don’ feels like?”

Fumi somehow manages to quell the urge to topple the bookcase on him. “You read such risqué books at your age?”

He sticks his tongue out.

“…Fumi-senpai…?”

Ah, shit. Yachiyo noticed her.

Luckily for Fumi, the kid dashes out from under her and beelines straight for Yachiyo, latching himself to her arm like a flea, a perfect distraction.

Fumi sighs and rises, dusting her knees off, unable to look her in the eye. How would she ever be able to?

“Your kid?” Is all she is able to produce from trembling lips as she keeps her gaze fixed on Yachiyo’s shoes. Pathetic.

She hears her laugh. It’s like a fairy’s laugh — like the wind breezing through a lovely meadow, bringing with it the light tinkling of bells.

“He’s my cousin.” There’s a slight pause, which gave Fumi the time she needed to revel in the relief that the kid wasn’t hers. “Are you friends?”

Fumi shakes her head. Her mind won’t stop spinning. Her tongue feels glued to the roof of her mouth.

“Onee-sān read to me. She has a very nice voice.”

Just leave, just leave, just take the kid and leave. Fumi clenches her fists, further inclines her head to the ground, and squeezes her eyes shut, but the smell of Yachiyo gets closer, closer.

“You’ve not been eating well.” Her voice trickles like wine into her ears, and oh, it’s such a pleasant thing to hear—she was breaking down, down, down. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Fumi grits her teeth, her traitorous nose hungrily catching every whiff of Yachiyo it could get. This would be the last time, the last time she could ever see Yachiyo again. It’s the last time she’d ever allow herself to see Yachiyo again. “You should go, the store’s closing soon.”

“You work here?” Her breath stays on Fumi’s skin. Tainting it, blessing it.

“Sometimes.”

Yachiyo’s scent finally mellows a little. She’s got to be doing this on purpose.

“Come on, then, Takashi, we should go. Your mother’s waiting for you—”

Fumi’s eyes snap open. Wait—

Yachiyo is standing by the door to the bookstore, a mirage. Fumi feels so many things pour back into her, like a glass being filled. Filled to the brim and spilling out onto the floor beneath her feet. She…She had so, so many things to say.

So please…don’t go just yet.

Yachiyo’s smile is beautiful, yet sad, but she fails to hide the small tears in her eyes.

“You finally looked up, Fumi-senpai.”

 

 

 

That was it. That was the last time Fumi saw her.

It’s time to move on, she knows. Yachiyo was part of a life that she had failed to lead, and it was all her own fault. She had no one to blame.

She slots a book sample of a new series, Arcana, that the bookstore has ordered into its place on the shelf. A quick glance down the rows, and Fumi is vexed to find that most of them were out-of-order. She grimaces and grips the rest of the Arcana books close to her chest; she just tidied them yesterday. The joys of customer service.

“Hey.” An Omega male—from the smell of him—taps her on the shoulder twice. His expression is one of irritation as he jerks a thumb over at the group of boys standing by the bookshelves at the end of the aisle. “You’re the shopkeep? They’re makin’ a lotta noise.”

Fumi hurriedly places the books on the floor. “Sorry about that, let me handle it.”

“Thanks.”

Fumi makes her way down the rest of the aisle and calls out to them. “Hey, the bunch of you there! Keep it down, please—”

They don’t seem to hear her, and as she gets closer, she sees a peek of pink hair in the reflection of the shop window.

Yachiyo?!

She’s encircled by them, leaning back against the glass, arms across her chest, like a prey animal to a group of prowling lions. One Alpha was teasingly playing with the ends of her pink curls, while another is pulling at the hem of her skirt. Every one of them was way too close for Fumi’s liking.

And though her expression was one of calm, Fumi could smell Yachiyo’s anxiety and discomfort, and instantly, her Alpha mode was on alert.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” She grabs Yachiyo by the wrist and tugs her out of their reach. “Get out of here.”

The Alpha who had been playing with her hair rises up to his full height. “What? She yours or something?”

Another snickered, “Finders, keepers.”

Fumi growls at them, keeps her grip on Yachiyo tight. She feels her every shiver, the scent of her fear. “This is your last chance.”

“Touchy,” the Alpha smirks, then gestures to the rest of his friends. “Let’s go. She was no fun anyway.”

The door closes behind them, but Fumi still finds herself quivering with rage. The nerve, the audacity

“Fumi-senpai, you’re hurting me.” Yachiyo places a hand over Fumi’s, and Fumi is jerked back into the real world.

“Sorry.” She frantically lets go of Yachiyo’s hand and turns away. “Did…Did they…?”

“No,” Yachiyo says quietly.

Fumi lets her breath out slowly, trying to ease off her rage. She almost lost her head there, her composure. She could have lost her job if she wasn’t careful. All because…

Did she even have any right to protect her?

“Fumi-senpai, am I just that ugly to look at—”

“—No!” Fumi spins on her heel to be greeted by the blissful sight of Yachiyo giggling behind the palm of her hand.

“You’re just as fun to tease as ever.” Yachiyo lets her hand drop, and with it, her mask falls, just for a second, but Fumi caught those green eyes she loved so dearly soften — just for a second.

Her heart beats loudly in her chest. It plays in her ears, in her head, and all the while, Yachiyo keeps gazing at her, like she was expecting something out of the ghost of a girl Fumi was.

Why…? Was this punishment? Was Fate spitting in her face?

“Yachiyo-senpai!” A tall girl skirts by the bookshelf they were standing next to, an Alpha. She holds up a familiar book and wiggles it in the air. “I found it! Arcana!”

“Mei Fan!” Yachiyo’s eyes light up and she rushes to take the book from her, and a nostalgic feeling hits Fumi like a truck — it was the expression she’d make when Fumi allowed her to paint her nails for her. The crinkle of her eyes, the upturn of her lips.

So, Yachiyo has…an Alpha friend. Or maybe, they were something more.

Punishment, it was, then.

Then, Yachiyo stops, as if she remembered something.

“Fumi-senpai?” She turns and gives Fumi a tender smile. “Do you mind accompanying us for a while?”

Fumi scratches her head. “I’m not sure that I should.”

“Silly,” Yachiyo laughs again—Fumi will never tire of hearing it—and grabs her hand, squeezing it in hers. “You work here.”

With that pleading look on her face, Fumi finds it hard to refuse.

Or was it instead a chance at redemption? Would she be foolish to believe so? To hope so?

Fumi gives Yachiyo a shaky smile, “Sure.”

 

 

 

When had she started feeling…glad that Yachiyo swings by with the obvious excuse of bringing Takashi to look at books?

Was it the way that the sight of Yachiyo browsing through the romance section stirred the tenderest feeling in her heart?

The way that she would coyly glance up at Fumi — as if fully aware that she would be just staring at her — before quickly flitting her gaze back down at the page she was reading?

The way that she was just there every other evening, never disturbing Fumi in her work, but stayed till the store closed?

“I don’t even want to read these,” Takashi pouts, as Fumi sits with him by the fantasy section. “I only wandered in here the first time cause I wanted to get away from Oka-sān.” He groans dramatically and lets the book that Fumi was reading slide to the floor, “Once she starts shopping, she’s in her own world. Like Yachiyo-ne-chan.”

“Yachiyo is pretty.” Fumi is in a daze as her eyes constantly trace every single movement of Yachiyo’s while she thumbs through another romance novel. There’s never anyone else around the bookstore at this time; it made watching Yachiyo that much more pleasant and enjoyable. “The clothes she wears makes her even prettier—”

She claps her hand over her mouth, her cheeks burning.

But it was too late.

“Oh?” Takashi is all up in her face, grinning evilly. “You like my cousin?”

“I—” Fumi stammers and tears her eyes off Yachiyo, who was, luckily, quite immersed in her reading. “—I don’t. No. Not quite—yeah, no.”

“You’re bad at lying,” Takashi smirks, looking absolutely full of himself as he kicks his legs out and rests his back against the wall. “Well…Yachiyo-ne-sān doesn’t have to come back here whenever she’s free, but she still does.”

“She’s just bringing you here for me to babysit,” Fumi points out. “She probably got tired of looking after you.”

Takashi looked downright offended as he grabs Fumi’s face with his hands and stares her down. “She’s finding excuses to see you. Like how I make excuses to Oka-sān so I can have my phone.”

Fumi glances back at Yachiyo, and at that moment, she looks up, catching Fumi’s gaze. The most beautiful shade of pink colours Yachiyo’s cheeks then, and Fumi can’t help but stare.

What she was looking at was an angel, surely.

But then it hits her — she had no right, no. Not after what she did to hurt her, to hurt this angel. She has no right.

Fumi’s heart throbs, and she stands, taking the book she had been reading to Takashi and placing it back on its shelf.

“Come on.” She grabs his shoulder and tries to coax him to stand up. “Go back to your cousin. I’m going to close up.”

“No fair! Aren’t you going to finish reading Arcana for me?” Takashi leaps onto his feet.

“Nope,” Fumi crosses her arms and peers down at his tiny stature. “I thought you said you didn’t want to read.”

Takashi scowls and stomps off to Yachiyo, leaving Fumi to clean up peacefully.

It was for the best.

Leaving Siegfeld all those years ago was for the best.

“Fumi-senpai?”

Fumi jumps and almost drops the broom in her hands.

Yachiyo snorts cutely and steps closer. She twiddles her thumbs and looks off to the side, a blush dusting across her cheeks. “Is there…anything I can help you with?”

Funi clears her throat, “Nope—erh—just go on and take Takashi home. I can handle things here.”

“You’re mostly here by yourself.”

“The boss is old, and I am his only employee. Anyway, I don’t think that Mei Fan girl would be happy if she saw you talking to me.”

“Why?” Yachiyo pauses, then laughs. “She’s not my girlfriend or anything.”

“Oh.”

Fumi starts sweeping the floor again, making sure to comically circle around the area Yachiyo was occupying, and she swears she knew exactly what kind of amused expression she’d be wearing.

“Fumi-senpai, why don’t you ever look at me when we talk?”

Fumi freezes, grips the broom handle a little tighter. “Go home. It’s dangerous for Omegas to be out this late.”

“I don’t blame you for leaving Siegfeld,” Yachiyo says softly, “if that is what this is about.”

Fumi resumes sweeping again, picking at the corners of the cashier, though there was barely any dirt back there. She was just glad that Yachiyo couldn’t cross the threshold between the counter and the backroom.

“Fumi—”

“—That’s not it,” Fumi relents and props the broom against the wall. She feels the tears, the heat in her cheeks when she forces herself to stare straight at Yachiyo. “I can’t—I can’t forgive myself for why I left, and for why I left you behind.”

Her body shakes, her head drops, and she attempts to stop the trembling by grabbing the edges of the counter. Oh, how horribly Yachiyo must think of her. “…I’m sorry…I really am.”

She digs her fingers into the wood surface, feeling the hot tears trickle down her face.

A warm hand cradles her cheek, slowly tilts her chin up. Yachiyo’s eyes shine brightly back at her, both in relief and pain.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

Fumi gently holds the hand that Yachiyo has on her cheek, runs her thumb over her knuckles, and smiles shakily down at her. “You know, it really takes a lot for me to properly look at you.”

“Because I’m that pretty?”

Fumi fights the urge to kiss her forehead, so instead, she squeezes Yachiyo’s hand, the hand that radiates such comforting warmth.

“Because you’re that pretty.”

 

 

 

Fumi had insisted on walking Yachiyo home, especially when she recognised the faint hint of the smell of her in heat. Yachiyo had confirmed it, though rather hesitantly and with a blush on her face, after they had dropped Takashi off at his house.

“Don’t be too rough with Yachiyo-ne-sān~” The cheeky bugger had said, and Fumi had grimaced at him.

“He takes after you,” she told Yachiyo, who only laughed, neither of them pointing out the flush on each other’s faces.

Presently, she walks with Yachiyo down the streets to her apartment, sending death glares to every Alpha that even dared to let their gazes slip to the pretty Omega beside her.

Their hands never touch, always swinging by and narrowly missing each other, but Fumi is almost tempted to just reach out, remembering how soft Yachiyo’s hand had felt on her skin—

—No, no. Chaste thoughts.

They approach a posh-looking set of apartment blocks, and Fumi follows Yachiyo in with her jaw partially open the whole time. Even the lift looked like something that’ll only appear in the most prestigious of hotels, or something.

Ever single door in the hall was secured with a lock operating on fingerprint-scanning technology, and Fumi cries silently on the inside. When will she ever be able to afford something like this—

“Thanks for walking me home, Fumi-senpai.” Yachiyo gracefully unlocks the door to her home—Fumi makes sure to burn #04-08 into her mind—and slides her shoes off. “Do you want to come in—”

“—Fumi.”

Yachiyo looks back in surprise.

“Just call me Fumi,” Fumi swallows nervously, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. “We aren’t in Siegfeld anymore.”

Yachiyo flushes. “But that—”

“—Don’t worry about it.” Fumi turns away. God, she was sweating so much. Yachiyo’s spiked scent wasn’t helping either. “It’s a little odd for you to be calling me that when I’m not in a position you should be holding respect for.”

Yachiyo smacks her on the arm and Fumi yelps. “I still respect you, Fumi-senpai.”

“Fight me.”

“Oh, I will.”

At their distance from each other, Fumi could…really appreciate how much Yachiyo had grown from their years apart. She feels the heat creep to her cheeks again when her eyes drift a little lower to the very edge of Yachiyo’s low-cut beige sweater, at where the skin peeks out temptingly.

“A—Anyway.” Fumi forces herself to look down and stop thinking about stupid things. “I’m…nobody now. You really don’t have to.”

Yachiyo leans against the doorframe. “The Fool knew nothing,” she quotes, “and that’s why they had the potential to become whoever they want.”

“Arcana?”

Yachiyo smiles at her, that cute assuredness in her eyes lighting her up. “Yep, it’s a good play,” she says. “And that was my favourite quote. It is because you are nobody that you can be anybody.”

Fumi chuckles despite herself. “Okay. But seriously, just Fumi.”

“But that’s too…intimate.”

Fumi makes a face to hide her blush. “How so?”

“It sounds like we’re dating or something,” Yachiyo says quickly, and Fumi’s knees almost give way.

“I—I—”

“Or does it?” Yachiyo’s coy smile grows together with the strength of her scent, and Fumi feels herself drop into a pool of lava.

But before she could say anything in retort, Yachiyo shuts the door in her face. There’s a bit of silence while Fumi takes time to recover before: “You don’t even call me by my name anymore,” Yachiyo says quietly from inside the house.

“Go easy on me.” Fumi leans her head against the door, picturing Yachiyo before her, imagining the sweetness of her scent. Her heart would gladly bleed itself dry for Yachiyo, and that thought was scary — but the scarier thing was the fact that her feelings for her were still as strong as they had been four years ago. Seeing Yachiyo again definitely had not helped at all, though she had been set on exiling herself from the life she used to lead.

But maybe, maybe, Yachiyo could be part of this life?

“Go home, creep.”

 

 

 

Fumi straightens her tie in front of the mirror, highly tempted to just strangle herself with it. Why did she even get herself into this situation, why did she even ask Yachiyo out, why does she even exist—

“Shut up, I can hear your gay ass spewing.” Claudine snorts from her place on the beanbag that Fumi reserved just for enjoying her teatime. “Why am I even here if you’re just going to get cold feet. You were the one who asked her out to celebrate her birthday, not me.”

“I’m surprised Maya even agreed to let you come here on your own.” Fumi retorts, buttoning her blazer.

“Same, to be honest, but she has a show to prepare for, so too bad.” Claudine shrugs, rises and abruptly slaps Fumi’s back. Fumi almost collapses. “Sorry, there was a dust patch, Maya’s not worn this in a while—” She flicks it away into the void of Fumi’s room while its owner wheezes from the force she had been hit with. “—Anyway, I think that even Tendō understands you need help in your fashion sense.”

Fumi rolls her eyes. “Thanks for the help, I guess.”

“Go and get the girl.” Claudine places her hands on her hips, looking entirely pleased with herself as she looks at Fumi’s reflection in the mirror. “That’s how you’ll repay me.”

Fumi claps Claudine on the shoulder. “Thanks, though, really.” Without her, Fumi wouldn’t have mended things with her sister, wouldn’t have been where she is now.

Claudine lets a soft smile break through. “Honestly. Don’t go all emotional on me now. Save it for when you report your successful date to Shiori.”

Fumi inhales deeply, “Right.”

—Or that was what she told Claudine.

But now, now that she was here, and now that she catches sight of Yachiyo—

—Oh, God.

She feels the ground giving way beneath her even though she was already seated at their table for two. There was a heart attack coming on, surely.

Yachiyo is standing with a waiter at the entrance of the restaurant, talking to him (he was quite obviously flustered, and the other waiters and customers nearby were just gaping)—possibly about her reservation—in the downright sexiest black lace top Fumi had ever seen her in. Her shoulders were exposed, tantalisingly bare, her long, wavy pink hair in a ponytail, and a flowy pink skirt stopped at her knees, her dainty feet in black high-heels.

Fumi briefly worries about the fact that she might have a nosebleed—oh no, Yachiyo was walking towards her. She snatches up a menu to hide behind—read.

“You’re terrible at acting.” Yachiyo pulls out her chair, folds her skirt underneath her and sits down. Fumi jerks at the sound of her voice.

“Hey.” Fumi sets the menu down. Her hands shake. Yachiyo this close—

“Your nose is bleeding.”

Fumi scrambles for a napkin, but Yachiyo just laughs behind a hand, looking absolutely beautiful doing so.

“I was joking, Fumi-sen—Fumi.” Her eyes, in their pretty shade of aquamarine…

“Fumi, Fumi.” Yachiyo’s eyebrows are raised in elegant amusement, and Fumi is pulled out of her reverie.

“Right. Erh, what would you like?” Fumi frantically—but not frantically—holds out the menu for Yachiyo to take.

Yachiyo lets a small laugh slip—ah, she’s so beautiful in Fumi’s eyes—and takes the menu from her, purposefully brushing her fingers against Fumi’s.

She browses it for a while as Fumi keeps staring at her, then looks up at her, almost shyly. “You look great.”

Fumi blushes and twiddles her thumbs. “You too.”

She was definitely doing this on purpose.

 

 

 

Their dinner had gone as smoothly as Fumi had hoped — flirty quips thrown over their meals, wanting glances exchanged with glasses of wine. All throughout the evening, there was a lightness in Fumi’s body as she talked to Yachiyo about everything — about the life she led after Siegfeld, how Claudine had helped her reconcile with Shiori in their revue, how she had ultimately decided to drop theatre in favour of a quieter life at a bookstore.

She had left the Siegfeld stage in envy of her sister’s capabilities, had grown arrogant of her position as Frau Jade. And how foolish it was. How cowardly.

It had been absolute torture for her to see Yachiyo once again, but now, now, she was more like a remedy than anything.

Yachiyo had listened attentively to every story she uttered, laughed at some and smiled gently at others, but there was always a certain melancholy in her eyes, a look that made Fumi…

“Thanks for sending me home.” Yachiyo touches her arm, and Fumi’s feet stay planted in the ground as Yachiyo opens the door to her home.

“Happy birthday,” Fumi says softly. Right, right, there was something she wanted to give. “Hold on.”

Yachiyo pauses at the door, watching Fumi fish in the pocket of her blazer.

“Here.” Fumi pulls a small pink box out and awkwardly hands it over to Yachiyo, gulping nervously. “Your gift. I happened to see it somewhere and it reminded me of you—”

She was cut off with a hug. A warm, inviting, loving hug. Shocked, she holds her arms up uncertainly, unable to decide if she should return it or let Yachiyo do whatever she wanted.

“Thank you,” Yachiyo murmurs into the collar of her shirt, her voice velvet in Fumi’s ear. Fumi shivers, and tries to control her shaking as Yachiyo leans away to open the box.

“It’s…” In the box sits a heart-shaped necklace the very colour of Yachiyo’s eyes. It had caught Fumi’s eye while she had been out getting groceries, and though it cost practically three-quarters of her pay that month, she had approached the jeweller and told her exactly what she wanted.

“I—I wasn’t sure if you’d like it…” Fumi scratches her head. “I can always—”

“—I love it,” Yachiyo whispers quietly, eyeing the necklace in awe. “It’s beautiful.”

Like you, Fumi wants to say, as she stares at the heart necklace that now sits atop Yachiyo’s sternum. She blushes as her eyes wander over all that lace; her heart skips a beat. She swallows for the nth time that day.

And in that split second, a small kiss was placed on Fumi’s ear. Fumi instantly flushes at the contact, unable to get that soft feeling out of her head, out of her skin.

“You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for, Fumi,” Yachiyo whispers, and it sends chills up Fumi’s spine. Why did her name have to sound so good coming out of her mouth?

Yachiyo pulls away again, but it seem so slow, so…

Before Fumi knew what she was doing, she had snaked her hand around Yachiyo’s waist and pulled her close. Their lips mere inches away from each other, Yachiyo’s intoxicating scent sneaking its way into her lungs. Oh, she was still in her heat.

Fumi was done for.

Her heart pounding in her chest, she was sorely, sorely tempted to pull Yachiyo in for a kiss, but she lingers.

“Do you,” she says nervously, as Yachiyo’s breath fans across the space in-between them. “Are you okay with this?”

Yachiyo smashes their lips together, tugging Fumi down by the neck to bring her even closer, giving her her answer.

Closing her eyes, Fumi tightens her hold around the person she loved the most and deepens the kiss as much as she could.

“Inside,” Yachiyo says impatiently, breathlessly, breaking away, her scent becoming potent and making Fumi light-headed.

They kick their shoes off at the door, not bothering to check if it had been fully closed behind them (there was a ‘click’ so it should be fine), and continued their makeout session in the hall. Yachiyo throws her handbag on the sofa just as Fumi scoops her up. 

She moans when Fumi pins her against the wall and gently nibbles on her collarbone, near where the heart necklace sat, and digs her fingers into Fumi’s back, thankfully cushioned by her blazer.

Except that Yachiyo pulls it right off Fumi’s body and proceeds to unbutton her shirt.

Impatient, Fumi doesn’t let her finish and starts sliding her hands under that damned lace top that had been her ire the whole evening, what with everyone staring and all.

Yachiyo’s scent spikes, and it makes Fumi even more eager; her pants were starting to tighten uncomfortably around her crotch as she feels herself growing hard.

“Someone’s excited,” Yachiyo comments slyly, her eyes gliding down in amusement, and Fumi shuts her up with another kiss, sliding her hands further up, appreciating her curves. She gets a pleased whimper in response, and feeling a little more confident, she places a leg in between Yachiyo’s and further presses her against the wall.

Yachiyo moans again in response.

“Who’s eager now?” Fumi grins and she’s hit with waves of Yachiyo’s scent that filled Fumi’s head, her nose. All she could smell was Yachiyo, Yachiyo, Yachiyo. It was pushing her to just—just—

Growling, Fumi almost rips the top off Yachiyo, but she retains enough sensibility that she merely stays where she is, trying to control herself before she went berserk.

“You can,” Yachiyo says softly.

“Do I…deserve this…?” Fumi says breathily, as she looks down and grips the hem of Yachiyo’s skirt. What she was holding in her arms, right now, was somebody who was the absolute definition of perfection.

The Yachiyo who constantly pestered her to accompany her to fabric shops, to act as a measurement for the things she sewed for the other Edels.

The Yachiyo who would sit with her for teatime, enjoying their break together in the bright afternoon, as they talked about ‘Romance of the Three Kingdoms’, a novel that Yachiyo loved to bits.

The Yachiyo who’d work overnight, turning up the next afternoon to practice with red eyes that so often that Fumi had started carrying eyedrops around with her.

The Yachiyo here, now, who was somehow leaving herself vulnerable to Fumi, who had walked out on her and Siegfeld for own selfishness.

“Fumi,” Yachiyo drags her lips across Fumi’s forehead, reaching out with both arms and hooking them around Fumi’s neck. “I love you. I have for a long time.” She gently coaxes Fumi’s head up and smiles the best she could with the tears in her eyes. “So stop looking down. Look at me, please.”

Fumi’s heart swells, and Yachiyo pulls her in for a softer kiss, one that felt like it healed the hole in her chest, in her life. Yachiyo’s scent envelops her again, comforting her, encouraging her.

Yachiyo’s hands work at her belt, and then eagerly head for her zipper, not giving Fumi time to rest when Yachiyo gently touches her through her boxers. Fumi almost leaps out of her skin, but Yachiyo coaxes her down once again, and she finally gathers the courage to get rid of Yachiyo’s top, letting it lay somewhere on the living room floor.

More black lace — Yachiyo’s bra stood out against the light tone of her skin, and to stop herself from drooling, Fumi explores the expanse of Yachiyo’s chest with her tongue, delighting at how Yachiyo would gasp when she covered a certain spot, and Fumi would make a note to circle around and go back to it, revelling in the tiny whimpers Yachiyo would make at the back of her throat.

Fumi’s thigh, which had been positioned at Yachiyo’s core, was now getting wet, and she experimentally pushes against Yachiyo again.

Yachiyo lets out a groan, and she moves against Fumi’s leg, producing a string of whimpers that Fumi encourages by squeezing her hips.

“Bed…Bedroom,” Yachiyo pants. “End of the hall.”

Fumi, now growing extremely on-edge, especially with the fact that her cock might just rip through her boxers with how turned on she was, picks Yachiyo up with ease and heads for the room at the end of the hall.

She pushes the door open with her elbow and lays Yachiyo on the bed as gently as she could despite her impatience eating away at her.

For her reward, Yachiyo helps her ease her pants and boxers off, but she pauses as she looks at Fumi’s crotch, wide-eyed, an almost-scared expression on her face.

Fumi hovers her, hands on either side of Yachiyo’s head, and leans down to kiss her hair.

“I’ll be gentle.”

And she makes her way down, kissing her way from Yachiyo’s neck to her chest, hoping to get her to relax a little. She pays a bit more attention to Yachiyo’s chest as Yachiyo fiddles with her bra clasp, undoing it and tossing it aside to allow Fumi to continue on down to kiss her breasts.

Yachiyo’s moans grow louder as Fumi licks and sucks at her nipples, her fingers digging into Fumi’s back, and Fumi feels them break through the taut fabric of her shirt.

Fumi feels her inner Alpha roar out even more, desperate to claim its Omega, and she snarls lowly when Yachiyo hooks her legs around Fumi’s waist.

“Please…” Yachiyo throws her head back, pleading, wanting. “Fumi…now…”

Obliging, Fumi pulls Yachiyo’s skirt off and eyes the black lace underwear. She’s not really sure what to do, so she slides a thumb past the fabric to feel Yachiyo’s throbbing clit, and is met with a moan of pleasure, pushing her to continue.

Fumi slides Yachiyo’s underwear off her pale legs, making sure to kiss them as well. Yachiyo merely responds with a pout as she watches Fumi with a disgruntled look on her face.

“Inside,” Yachiyo orders, breathless. “No…no more teasing.”

“Are you sure? I won’t be able to pull out till, you know.” Fumi blushes, unable to contain herself seeing Yachiyo completely naked and defenseless in front of her. Her cock was throbbing painfully at this point, and it was getting hard to think straight.

Yachiyo nods, a little shy, turning away. “I…I’m okay with that.”

Fumi rises and retakes her position atop Yachiyo, gazes into her eyes, and though the Alpha inside her was still wilding, there was a softness in her heart for the woman beneath her. She presses her lips against Yachiyo again, to which Yachiyo responds eagerly, and Fumi sucks gently on her tongue.

Yachiyo moans into Fumi’s mouth, and Fumi kisses her harder, slowly pushing in.

Yachiyo lets out a small whimper, and she stretches around Fumi, taking her in, making way for her. Fumi groans, feeling how painfully tight Yachiyo was squeezing her, yet how warm and soft it felt inside.

“Fumi…” Yachiyo whispers against Fumi’s lips, and she gasps when Fumi manages to push in deeper, tears forming in her eyes.

“Okay?” Fumi grunts, pausing so that Yachiyo could catch her breath.

Yachiyo nods, slowly getting used to the feeling of Fumi in her. She takes a while, breathing in deeply, while Fumi watches her for permission.

Taking in a particularly deep breath, Yachiyo slowly moves against Fumi, and Fumi hisses under her breath at how the pleasure shoots straight up to her brain, a hot, blinding pleasure she had never felt in her life.

“Good…” Yachiyo moans as Fumi picks up the pace, her voice growing sharper and higher-pitched as Fumi goes harder, faster.

She screams Fumi’s name when Fumi hits a spot, and catching on, Fumi thrusts in at an ever-increasing pace, and Yachiyo buries her head into Fumi’s shoulder, whimpering, gasping and moaning.

“I’m…” Yachiyo grasps at Fumi’s half-unbuttoned shirt, and she squeezes around Fumi’s cock as it pounds relentlessly into her. “So good…Fumi…”

And she gives one last squeeze before she climaxes, and Fumi releases together with her, the knot around her cock trapping her inside Yachiyo, and she groans when she feels the warm rush of Yachiyo’s cum mixing with hers.

The knot loosens, and Fumi pulls out, dropping onto the bed beside Yachiyo, panting with exhaustion.

Yachiyo smiles tiredly at her, and the Alpha in Fumi is tamed, rumbling satisfactorily in her chest. Fumi shifts closer, wrapping her arms arounds her and pressing a kiss into Yachiyo’s hair, inhaling the now calming and peaceful smell of strawberry.

“I love you too, Yachiyo.” Fumi whispers, and she holds Yachiyo tight with shaking hands. “Will you stay with me?”

While she was still this mess, this wreck that needed fixing.

“I’m staying,” Yachiyo murmurs into the crook of her neck. “I’ve been…” she runs her hands down Fumi’s abs. “Lonely, too. Maybe that’s what got me to approach you again.”

Fumi peers down, and Yachiyo kisses her.

“We’ll work through it together,” Yachiyo assures her, and she starts unbuttoning the rest of the buttons on Fumi’s—Maya’s—dress shirt. She flips Fumi onto her back and throws a leg over her, settling comfortably atop of Fumi’s dick, which instantly grew hard again — and with how wet Yachiyo was still, she manages to slide it in with ease. 

Fumi’s eyes widen, while Yachiyo leans down and traces a finger along Fumi’s jaw, the heart necklace dangling in the space between them.

“But for now, I want more.”

 

 

 

“You what?!” Claudine holds up Maya’s dress shirt, which looked like it had almost been torn to shreds. “Did it not occur to you to just take off the damn shirt?”

Fumi laughs nervously in an over-sized sweater she had borrowed from Yachiyo, while Maya regards her own shirt with curiosity before piping up, “This was you during our first time, ma Claudine, and more, may I add, maybe even worse—”

Claudine turns a tomato red and she throws Maya’s shirt at her face, storming out of the kitchen. “You’re sleeping on the sofa tonight, Tendō Maya!”

Maya gazes at her like an idiot in love, before turning to Fumi. “How was it?”

Fumi flushes. “It was cool.”