Part 2 for my little Byakuya x m!reader snippet below, mild implications of spicy activities ahead.
_:(´ཀ`」 ∠): I am so sorry for the delay!
“Nobody will expect him to be anywhere tonight. Ask him to come back to your place,” Mizuki says. “Who’s gonna miss him in the middle of a festival?”
“I feel like it would be too obvious,” you say.
“You’re giving everyone else far too much credit. They’re not the most observant bunch,” Yumichika adds, turning Mizuki’s face toward the mirror with a scowl. “Quit moving.”
“At least skip town with him when the fireworks start. Nobody will care,” Mizuki says.
You shrug, content to watch Yumichika braid Mizuki’s hair until the braid reaches the center of his back. So much hair, you think, and so much trouble. They preen like lovebirds, tucking flowers into each other’s hair and bickering until it’s past time for the festival to begin.
They rush you through the streets and lose you in the crowd as soon as you spot Captain Kuchiki. Mizuki dips behind a parasol with a smug grin and cheeky little wave, leaving you to fend for yourself with no real escape route or backup plan.
But maybe it’s not so bad. Mizuki’s done his job, getting you dressed in nicer festival-garb than you expected and shining you up like a gem. Byakuya smiles when he spots you. A subtle smile, meant just for you, and you hope you’re not as visibly flustered as you think you are.
He meets you just beyond the edge of the crowd, hovering as close to you as he can while still keeping up appearances.
“This color suits you,” he says, motioning toward your borrowed yukata. You fight to maintain your composure before you thank him. “Walk with me?”
You want to loop your arm with his while you walk, struggling to maintain a friendly distance. There are eyes on you by default, drawn to you just for shadowing him in the vendor stalls. Are the others gossiping and guessing already? You aren’t sure, and you don’t want to care as much as you do.
“I know a quiet place to watch the fireworks from,” you try. “It’s a very short walk from here.”
He offers you a small gift bag from a vendor. “I’d enjoy that,” he says. “Open your gift later.”
“Should we make our way to your little viewing area?”
It’s such an obvious deflection. Even heavier-handed implication. You’re very obviously ahead of schedule, but you know he’s on the same page as you.
“We’ll get settled in early,” you say. “We can always move if it’s not the best pick.”
As long as we’re alone. He’s being polite again, offering neutral conversation, but you can feel the tension bouncing between you.
There’s a small wooded grove and creek just out of sight of the festival, tucked into a boundary between a squad’s barracks and privacy wall. You show him your favorite place to sit, pulling yourself up onto a time-worn stone and patting the empty space beside you.
“I should have brought something to sit on,” you say, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He settles in next to you as if this is every day’s business. “Don’t want you to ruin your nice clothes.”
“They’re replaceable. Transient items,” he says. “I wanted to ask you something while we have the luxury of privacy.”
His hand settles on your knee. “Would it be any trouble for you to make this public?”
“Public? As in…?” you counter, wary. “I thought you had family to impress. I’m just some guy, I’m not a noble or even anyone that would matter to them.”
“You’re a captain. That’s impressive alone, but I’ve learned that there are rules that are made to be rewritten.”
You wonder if he can hear the way your pulse is rattling your rib cage.
“Laws need a bit of upkeep after they’ve been around for a thousand years,” you mumble. “But why risk it?”
He turns your face up to his, so close now that you know he can feel the heat on your cheeks. The world isn’t spinning anymore, there’s no existence past your little bubble of intimacy tucked away in the grove.
“I can’t go on like this,” he starts, barely above a whisper. “I want you on my arm while we walk. I want to be seen with you by my side, no doubt or rumors. I’ve never known jealousy until I saw the way others are so freely—…”
He trails off, his eyes on yours, hand cupped against your cheek. He’s so beautiful in the evening light that you’re stunned into silence, ears ringing in the silence.
“I want to kiss you when I please,” he finishes. “And warm my bed when I so choose.”
You blink up at him in a daze. He smooths the pad of his thumb over your lips until they part beneath his touch, lingering just a moment longer before he leans into a kiss sweeter than you ever imagined. You wonder if your heart is spilling out of your chest the way you think it is, or if he feels how you sink into his kiss and dissolve between his lips.
He traps your face between his hands and showers you in kisses soft as flower petals, over and over again, each one slow and calculated. You know he’s reveling in each one, delighted by the way your fingers twist into the front of his uniform. Are there fireworks? You aren’t sure, and you don’t care to look, not when his lips are at your jaw and he’s pleading for you to come home with him while the house is empty.
And then there’s a cough. An awkward little ahem that doesn’t want to happen, but it does. You jump at the sound and wrench yourself away from Byakuya in a panic, jarred back to reality by the seething anger in his voice when he manages a curt what? to the intruder.
“There’s an awards ceremony,” Renji says, already backing away. “They sent me to find you. I told them you were probably busy.”
“I am,” Byakuya says simply.
“And they were looking for Captain—…”
It’s the only excuse Renji needs to dip. He’s gone in the blink of an eye and Byakuya’s kisses descend on the slope of your neck just as fast, drawing you close again until you’re nearly in his lap.
There are definitely fireworks; you imagine they’re the best of the best, bright and loud and shimmering with gold. You wonder if Mizuki and Yumichika stayed to see them. Maybe they’ll recap the events for you, but the festival is the last thing on your mind.
You can’t hear the fireworks or see them from Byakuya’s bedroom floor. The best view isn’t from your grove looking up at the sky. It’s from beneath him, looking up into eyes the color of summer storms.
