Isane Kotetsu strode through the narrow cobbled streets of the Seireitei, the sun high overhead and beating down on her uniform in a way that might have been pleasant under different circumstances. Today, however, her long legs carried her tall, slender frame forward with the single-minded efficiency of someone who had exactly ten minutes to be somewhere that was fifteen minutes away.
Several subordinates and a few familiar seated officers from other squads called greetings as she passed, but Isane barely registered them. Her already crowded schedule as Lieutenant of Squad Four had just gained another unexpected obligation, and she could feel the weight of it pressing on her shoulders with every step.
As she rounded the corner near the Squad Ten barracks, her focus slipped for just a moment—
—and she collided with something soft.
Very soft.
The impact sent her reeling back a full step, her balance faltering before more than a century of Soul Reaper training snapped her posture upright again. For the briefest instant, Isane was certain she had just walked into a cart full of gelatin.
When her vision steadied, she found herself face to face with the familiar, smiling expression of Rangiku Matsumoto, Lieutenant of Squad Ten.
Rangiku's strawberry-blonde hair spilled in loose waves around her shoulders like liquid sunlight, framing her amused face. Her uniform hung as carelessly as ever, the neckline and cleavage scandalously open in a way that continued to defy both gravity and common sense. The true cause of the collision was immediately obvious, and Isane felt her face warm slightly as she took a small step back.
For years, the members of the Soul Reaper Women's Association had debated how Rangiku managed such impossible physics. Tape had been suggested. Kidō had been suggested. One particularly desperate theory involved spiritual pressure reinforcement.
Isane personally suspected it was simply a law of nature no one was brave enough to question.
She shook the thought from her head as quickly as it came.
Her comrades' well endowed figure was of no concern to her right now.
"Isane," Rangiku drawled, her voice light and musical in that unmistakable tone that meant she was bored and looking for entertainment.
"What's got you in such a rush today? That happy to see me?"
"I—no— I mean yes, of course I'm happy to see you," Isane said quickly, already flustered. "But I'm actually late. I have a guest seminar at the Academy and Captain Unohana asked me to deliver several messages before I go, and the Hell Butterflies are—"
She stopped herself, realizing she was rambling.
Rangiku's eyes sharpened slightly with interest.
"The Hell Butterflies are what?" she asked, leaning in just enough to make Isane instinctively lean back.
Isane sighed.
"…Half of them are grounded."
Rangiku blinked.
"…Grounded."
"Yes," Isane said, rubbing her temple. "A first-year recruit decided this morning that the Hell Butterflies looked 'dusty' and attempted to wash them."
Rangiku stared, purely dumbstruck by the notion.
"…He washed them?"
"He gave them a bath," Isane said flatly. "With soap."
Rangiku's lips twitched.
"…Please tell me Head Captain Yamamoto knows."
"He does," Isane said.
"…The recruit does not."
Rangiku covered her mouth, shoulders shaking as she barely contained a laugh.
"Oh that poor kid…"
"As a result," Isane continued, trying to stay on track, "we're short on messengers today. The Academy is waiting for me, and Captain Unohana needs this order delivered to Lieutenant Kuchiki before the afternoon briefing."
That got Rangiku's attention instantly.
Her posture straightened just a little too fast.
"Oh?" she said casually. "Rukia?"
"Yes," Isane said, relieved to be getting somewhere. "It's official business. She is to go to the World of the Living, the order is for her to escort a human to the Seireitei for questioning regarding the Hiro Tanaka incident."
Rangiku's eyes lit up like someone had just handed her a wrapped gift.
"A human," she repeated slowly.
"Yes."
"Involved with the Tanaka case."
"Yes."
"The same case where someone said a substitute-level spiritual signature showed up out of nowhere and started throwing lightning around."
Isane hesitated.
"…Yes."
Rangiku's smile widened.
"And this wouldn't happen to be the same mysterious human Rukia's been sneaking off to visit lately, would it?"
Isane blinked.
"…She has?"
Rangiku grinned like a cat who had just spotted a bird with a broken wing.
"Oh, Isane… you really need to pay more attention to gossip."
"I do not pay attention to gossip," Isane said firmly.
"Yes, I know," Rangiku replied. "That's why I do it for you."
Isane exhaled slowly, then held out the sealed message.
"…Rangiku, please. I don't have time to argue. Could you deliver this to Kuchiki? You're heading toward the Senkaimon anyway, aren't you?"
Rangiku accepted the message far too quickly.
"Of course I am," she said brightly.
Isane narrowed her eyes.
"You're… being unusually cooperative."
Rangiku placed a hand over her chest in mock offense.
"Isane, I am always cooperative."
"You skipped paperwork for three days last week."
"I was observing morale."
"You were drinking."
"Morale," Rangiku repeated.
Isane sighed again, then finally nodded.
"…Just give her the order. She's to bring the human in for questioning as soon as possible. Captain-level review. No delays."
Rangiku's smile softened slightly at that.
"Captain-level, huh…" she murmured.
Then the playful grin returned.
"Well then. Sounds important."
She tucked the message into her sleeve and turned toward the direction of the Senkaimon, already walking away.
"Don't worry, Lieutenant," she called over her shoulder.
"I'll make sure Kuchiki gets the message."
A pause.
"…And I'll make sure to get a very good look at this human while I'm at it."
Isane froze.
"…Rangiku."
"Yes?"
"…Please don't cause trouble."
Rangiku laughed as she waved without turning around.
"No promises."
Isane watched her go for a moment, then sighed heavily and resumed her hurried pace toward the Academy.
"…Why do I feel like this is going to become a problem…" Isane muttered to herself before rushing off, one less task did little to lighten her load but it was a start.
Rukia
The morning paperwork was finished.
The briefing had come and gone without incident, and for once the newest recruits had been sent out on field training instead of being left behind to test the patience of everyone in the division. Even the two loudest third seats had been dragged along to supervise them, leaving the barracks in a rare and almost suspicious silence.
I allowed myself to sit.
Just for a moment.
A cup of tea rested in my hand, the warmth steady against my fingers as I leaned back slightly at my desk. The quiet felt… stolen. Like time I had not properly earned.
Without thinking, I picked up my brush and began to draw along the edge of the report I had already finished.
Small rabbits.
It was always rabbits when my mind wandered.
One stood upright, wearing a tiny uniform far too large for it.
Another sat beside it, slightly taller, with a ridiculous expression and what I supposed was meant to be messy human hair. I added a pair of round shapes near his hands, then paused before flicking the brush again, turning them into small sparks.
Lightning.
I stared at the page for a moment before realizing what I had drawn.
My ears warmed faintly, and I took a slow sip of tea to hide from no one in particular.
Another sketch followed without permission from my thoughts.
This time the rabbits stood closer together. Too close. One of them leaned forward, and the other tilted its head upward, their noses touching in a way that made my hand freeze mid-stroke.
I should not be drawing this.
I finished the line anyway.
In the next doodle, the two rabbits were embracing, their ears tangled together, little jagged bolts floating around them like decorations in a festival illustration. It was childish. Ridiculous.
…And I could not stop looking at it.
The connection I felt with him still made no sense to me.
There was no logic to it. No proper explanation. No moment I could point to and say this is when it began.
It felt instead like remembering something I had forgotten I once knew.
Like finding a piece of myself that had been missing so long I had stopped noticing the absence.
My brush moved again.
Another rabbit took shape before I realized what I was doing.
Short hair.
Straight posture.
Glasses.
I stopped.
For a long moment I simply stared at the drawing.
The resemblance was unmistakable.
The human woman.
His wife.
A faint knot tightened in my chest, sharp and unpleasant, and I felt irritation rise before I could stop it.
"…Tch."
The sound escaped me quietly.
With a quick motion, I dragged the brush across the paper, black ink cutting through the small figure until the shape was nothing but a smear.
I exhaled slowly, setting the brush down.
That was unworthy of me.
I ran a hand back through my hair, closing my eyes for a moment in frustration with myself.
She had done nothing wrong.
She was an ordinary human woman, living an ordinary life, unaware of the things that moved in the shadows around her. If anything, she was the one who had been wronged.
Falling for a married man should feel like this.
Uncomfortable, wrong, unsettling.
And yet the longer this continued, the less it felt like a mistake… and the more it felt like something inevitable.
Like a path I had been walking long before I realized I had chosen it.
My gaze drifted back to the paper, to the childish rabbits scattered across the page.
They looked as though they were trying to tell me something.
As though the answer was written there, hidden in lines too simple for me to understand.
I stared at them longer than I should have.
The knock on my door came after it opened.
Not before.
I did not even need to look up to know who it was.
Rangiku Matsumoto leaned casually against the doorway as if she owned the room, her presence filling the space with the same effortless confidence she carried everywhere in the Seireitei.
"Well, well," she said, voice bright with amusement.
"Kuchiki Rukia, alone, quiet, and drawing little rabbits."
I closed the report in front of me a little faster than necessary.
"…Lieutenant Matsumoto," I said evenly.
"You have a habit of entering rooms before asking permission."
She grinned.
"And you have a habit of pretending you don't enjoy the company."
Her eyes dropped to the edge of the paper I had not fully covered.
The grin widened.
"…Oh?"
My hand moved instinctively, sliding the report the rest of the way closed.
"That is confidential."
"Of course it is," Rangiku said sweetly.
"Does the confidential report usually involve kissing rabbits, or is that a new Squad Thirteen procedure?"
I felt my face grow warm and immediately reached for my tea to buy time.
"…State your business, Lieutenant."
Rangiku pushed herself off the doorway and walked in like she had every right to be there, which, unfortunately, she often acted as if she did.
"I've got a message for you," she said, pulling a sealed order from her sleeve.
"Captain-level. Came through Squad Four. Hell Butterflies are short today, so you got me."
I took the message, my expression already turning serious.
"Yes, I heard about that this morning, I'm still baffled that the poor recruit attempted such a thing." I said
Captain-level.
That alone was enough to erase the lingering warmth from my face.
I broke the seal and read.
The moment my eyes reached the name, my hand stilled.
Orion.
I did not realize I had stopped breathing until Rangiku spoke again.
"So," she said lightly, watching my face far too closely.
"That the same human you've been sneaking off to see lately?"
My grip tightened slightly on the paper.
"…You are imagining things."
Rangiku laughed softly.
"Oh, I never imagine things, Rukia."
She leaned forward just enough to lower her voice.
"I just notice them."
A pause.
Then her smile turned sharp with curiosity.
"So… when do I get to meet him?"
Here's your edited scene with Rangiku leaning harder into giving (very Rangiku-style) sex advice — the kind that's deliberately teasing, overly detailed, and perfectly calibrated to make Rukia combust from embarrassment:
I huffed softly, looking away before she could read too much from my face.
"You don't get to meet him," I said flatly.
The words came out sharper than I intended.
"He has enough problems without you stirring up trouble for his family."
The moment the sentence left my mouth, I felt my shoulders stiffen.
I had said too much.
Rangiku's eyes lit up instantly, the way they always did when she sensed weakness in an opponent. She leaned one hip against my desk, folding her arms with an expression that could only be described as predatory amusement.
"Oh?" she purred.
"Well, that sounded territorial."
"I am not—" I stopped myself, clenching my jaw.
She tilted her head, smiling wider.
"Oh, lighten up, Rukia. I wouldn't dream of stealing your precious boy toy from you."
My face grew warm before I could stop it.
"That is not what he—"
"And to think," she continued smoothly, completely ignoring my protest,
"I was even willing to give you advice."
Advice.
My eyes narrowed slightly at the word despite myself.
"I… don't need your—"
The denial caught in my throat.
For a brief moment, my mind betrayed me.
Images flickered uninvited — his hand brushing mine, the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't paying attention, the strange warmth that settled in my chest whenever he smiled like an idiot over something completely mundane.
Then another image followed.
His house.
His children.
His wife.
The knot in my chest tightened again, but this time it was mixed with something else.
Something stubborn.
Something possessive.
I hated that I recognized the feeling at all.
I lowered my gaze slightly, staring at the closed report in front of me as if it required my full attention.
"…What advice?" I asked quietly.
Rangiku froze for half a second, clearly not expecting surrender.
Then her grin returned, slow and victorious.
"Oh, this just got *interesting*."
She leaned closer — far too close — lowering her voice to a conspiratorial, velvet murmur.
"Well, first of all," she said, "if you're going to fall for a human, you really should learn how to stop making that face every time someone says his name."
I frowned.
"…What face?"
Rangiku tapped a finger lightly against my forehead.
"That one. The 'I want him, but I also want to throw him off a roof' face."
"…Nonsense."
"It's very obvious," she continued, completely unfazed.
"And second… if he's married, that means you're already in dangerous territory. So you've got two paths, little Kuchiki."
My grip tightened on the edge of the desk.
"I am aware of that."
"Mhm." She studied me, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"So here's lesson number one: if you're serious about *keeping* him — even just for one night — you need to stop acting like touching him will set off an alarm in Soul Society."
I opened my mouth. Closed it, but she wasn't done.
"Men like him?" she went on, voice dropping even lower. "The responsible, buttoned-up ones? They crumble when a woman stops being polite and starts being specific. You don't ask permission with words, Rukia. You ask with your mouth on his throat. Or your nails down his back. Or — my personal favorite — sliding your hand just low enough that he forgets how to breathe for a second."
My face ignited.
"Rangiku—"
"Shhh," she hushed me, pressing one manicured finger to my lips. "You're already blushing like a virgin bride on her wedding night. Which, let's be honest, isn't far from the truth."
"I am not—"
"Lesson two," she steamrolled right over me, clearly enjoying herself far too much. "Humans are loud when they cum. Really loud. So if you ever get him pinned under you — and trust me, you want him under you for the first time — don't be surprised if he wakes up the neighbors. Just roll with it. Bite his shoulder if you have to. Or better yet, kiss him so deep he can't make any sound except the ones you want to hear."
I was going to die.
Right here.
In my own office.
From mortification.
"Stop. Talking," I managed through gritted teeth.
Rangiku only laughed — low, delighted, and utterly merciless.
"Lesson three is the most important one," she whispered, leaning in until her breath brushed my ear. "When he finally snaps and puts those big human hands on you? Don't tense up. Let him feel how much smaller you are. Let him feel how much you want to be overwhelmed. Men like him go feral when they realize the tiny, haughty shinigami who yells at them is soaking wet and shaking just because he's touching her."
I slammed both palms flat on the desk.
"Enough!"
Rangiku pulled back at last, grinning like the cat that had just eaten the canary, the cream, and the entire dairy farm.
"Oh, I don't know," she said lightly, twirling a strand of strawberry blonde hair around her finger. "I think it's exactly the conversation you needed."
My entire face felt like it was on fire. My ears. My neck. Probably my reiatsu was blushing too.
She studied me for one last, smug moment, then pushed gracefully off the desk.
"Think about it, Rukia," she said over her shoulder as she sauntered toward the door. "Next time you see him… maybe don't just glare. Maybe let him catch you looking like you want to eat him alive."
The door slid shut behind her and I dropped my forehead onto the report with a muffled groan.
…I hated how part of me was already replaying every single word she'd said.
The door had barely clicked shut when it slid open again—just a crack.
Rangiku's head appeared, strawberry-blonde hair spilling like liquid sunlight, her eyes glittering with that particular brand of gleeful cruelty only she could wield so effortlessly.
"Oh, one last thing, Rukia~" she sang, voice low and syrupy.
I snapped my head up so fast my neck protested. "What now?"
She leaned against the doorframe, casual, predatory, and dropped her voice to that velvet murmur designed to unravel even the strongest composure.
"When you finally get him on his back again… don't just ride him like it's a mission briefing. Really grind down on him—slow, filthy circles—until he's begging you to let him thrust up into you. And when he does?" She paused, licking her lower lip with deliberate slowness. "Clench around him so hard he forgets his own name. Trust me, sweetheart. A man will sell his soul to feel a tiny thing like you milk him dry like that."
My brain short-circuited.
Heat exploded across my face—cheeks, ears, throat, even the tips of my fingers where they gripped the desk. I felt like I was combusting from the inside out. My reiatsu flickered in embarrassed spikes I couldn't control.
Without thinking, I snatched the nearest object—a heavy ceramic tea cup, mercifully empty—and hurled it at her smug face with every ounce of shinigami strength I possessed.
"GET OUT!!"
Rangiku twisted aside with infuriating ease, the cup sailing past her ear and shattering against the wall in a satisfying spray of porcelain shards.
Her laughter rang out—bright, delighted, merciless. She pressed a hand to her chest as though the sight of me unraveling was the finest entertainment she'd witnessed in decades.
"Awww, so feisty! Good luck with your very platonic human, Rukia-chan~ Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
A final wink, a blown kiss, and she was gone. The door slid shut on the echo of her giggles.
Silence returned, heavy and accusing as I stood there, breathing too hard, fists clenched until my nails bit into my palms. The blush refused to recede. If anything, it deepened, spreading like wildfire under my skin.
And then—unbidden, unstoppable—the memories rose.
That night. Before I knew about the ring on his finger, before the children's drawings taped to the refrigerator, before every stolen glance became laced with guilt.
The way his hands—warm, human, trembling with the same need I felt—had guided me down until he claimed me. The slow, aching stretch as I took him inside me, inch by careful inch, until our hips met and we both forgot how to breathe. The way he'd groaned my name like it was something sacred, something fragile. The way I'd moved on him, tentative at first, then desperate, chasing the heat building between us until we shattered together.
And then… thoughts of the shower after tending his injuries.
Steam thick enough to taste. Water pounding against my back as he pressed me to the cool tiles. But it wasn't him inside me—not that time.
We'd stood facing each other, breathing ragged, bodies hotter than the water. His hand between my thighs, fingers curling with devastating precision while mine wrapped around him—stroking, squeezing, matching the rhythm he set on me. Mutual. Silent except for the water and the broken sounds we couldn't hold back. Eyes locked. No hiding. No pretending this was anything other than raw, aching want.
I'd come first—shaking, biting my lip so hard I tasted copper—only for him to follow seconds later, spilling hot over my fingers while his other hand clutched my waist like I might vanish if he let go.
I hadn't let myself think about it. Not really. Not like this.
Now the memory crashed over me in merciless detail, and something low in my belly clenched—sharp, insistent, physical. A hollow ache that made my thighs press together beneath the desk. My breath hitched. My pulse thundered in my ears.
"Get ahold of yourself Rukia, you're a lieutenant of the Gotei 13"
I shook my head violently, as if the motion would knock these obscene thoughts from my head and the complex tangle of emotions with it.
But once more, Rangiku's voice slithered back into my head, uninvited and gleeful.
*…grind down on him… slow, filthy circles… clench around him so hard… milk him dry…*
"No," I whispered to the empty room. "No."
"As if I would ever do anything so lewd," I said aloud, the words sharp and defiant.
They sounded pathetic. Hollow. A lie even I didn't believe anymore.
I dropped back into my chair, buried my burning face in both hands, and let out a low, miserable groan.
The briefing on my desk remained untouched. I reached for it and began skimming the contents, My reunion with him for the first time set to be official business.
Somewhere beneath the shame and the fury, a small, treacherous part of me wondered—not for the first time—what it would feel like to stop running from it. To walk back into his life and let him see exactly how much I still wanted him.
I shoved the thought away so hard my reiatsu flared again, a brief, mortified pulse that rattled the broken porcelain on the floor.
"…Stupid Rangiku," I muttered into my palms.
But the longing didn't fade — it only coiled tighter. Hotter. As if patient.
Waiting for the moment I finally stopped pretending I didn't feel it.
Things were finally quiet, too quiet.
I let out a slow breath I had not realized I was holding and lowered my gaze back to the order in my hands, forcing myself to read it properly this time instead of reacting to the single name that had caught my attention before.
Everything about the briefing appeared routine at first glance.
Formal wording.
Standard structure.
Proper seals.
And yet several details stood out like a Hollow at a dinner party.
My eyes stopped on the header again.
Not Captain Yamamoto.
Not even Captain-Commander approval through the usual channels, these orders came directly from Central 46.
A faint chill ran through me before I could stop it.
I read the document again, more slowly this time.
The language was careful. Too careful. Every line written in a way that sounded harmless, procedural… almost polite. A request for questioning. A routine investigation. A simple profile to be created on a human involved in a recent incident.
On paper, there was nothing wrong with it, but Central 46 did not involve themselves in routine matters.
Not anymore — Not after everything that had happened.
"…What is the new Central 46 even doing…?" I muttered under my breath.
The words sounded louder in the empty office than I intended.
I leaned back slightly, thinking.
Perhaps they simply wished to keep track of unusual humans. After the incident with Ginjō, it would not be unreasonable. Ichigo, Inoue, Sado… all of them had drawn attention once their powers became impossible to ignore.
Orion was different — He had no formal connection to the Soul Society.
No official status.
No training.
Only… me and the capture of Hiro Tanaka.
My fingers tightened slightly around the paper.
It was unusual, but not impossible. That was what I told myself as I stood.
The order was clear.
Bring him to the Seireitei.
Create a profile.
Answer whatever questions Central 46 decided to ask.
Nothing more.
Nothing personal.
I folded the document carefully and tucked it into my sleeve before stepping away from the desk. The office felt even more empty now that I had decided to leave, the silence pressing against my ears as I moved toward the door.
Halfway there, I stopped.
There was a mirror mounted beside the storage cabinet, meant for adjusting uniform collars before briefings.
I had passed it a thousand times without thinking.
This time, I paused in front of it.
For a moment I simply stood there, staring at my reflection.
My hair was slightly out of place from running my hand through it earlier. The ribbon at my collar sat crooked, just enough to look careless instead of proper.
Without thinking, I reached up and fixed it.
Then smoothed my hair, then adjusted the sleeve of my uniform. That's when I froze.
My hand stopped mid-motion.
"…What am I doing?"
The question slipped out quietly, and the answer came just as quickly.
I wanted to look presentable.
For him.
My expression hardened immediately, and I dropped my hand as if the mirror had burned me.
"This is not a social visit," I muttered to my reflection.
The girl in the glass looked unconvinced.
I exhaled once, steadying myself, then turned away before I could make the mistake of adjusting anything else.
Duty first.
Always duty first.
With that thought firmly in place, I stepped out of the office and made my way toward the Senkaimon, the folded order resting against my arm like it weighed far more than paper should.