Hello one and all! Apologies if the first few paragraphs seem a tad rushed, I'm putting this out there while I work on EVERYTHING ELSE surrounding this story I have in my head featuring these two, aha. So for the time being it will seem a little PWP but it isn't, ultimately. Will probably be moved at some point into said story but until then, here we are.

Mitsuru being angsty and Yukiko being a babe. This takes place a few years after the events of persona 4 and Mitsuru is under a lot of pressure from basically everything under the sun.

I have so much headcanon on these two it's a wonder I haven't had a stroke from it all. Hope you like it!

This is absolutely deserving of its M rating so please keep that in mind my loves.

It wasn't even Yukiko's room. It had been a terribly trying day and the sheer idiocy of it all had Mitsuru utterly incensed. This thing between them had been progressing quietly over the last month. It was small. Tender. Unspoken.

Heat pulsed in Mitsuru's brain.

Everything had come to a head and Yukiko was asking all these dear little questions, probing. Mitsuru had come to Inaba several weeks prior in a mad bid of escapism and the Kirijo corporation crept closer and closer. In amongst the splendid, splendid isolation she'd failed to acknowledge this critical component – pivotal centrepiece – of her life, and had instead spent precious hours prancing around like a fool. Now Yukiko kept looking at her full of something and it was awful and she really didn't know how to handle it.

Was it sympathy? Mitsuru was terribly ill-versed in matters pertaining to emotion. Managing a corporate giant however? All part of her privileged upbringing along with the ponies, jodhpurs and rapiers. The latter two she was especially resplendent about but this, this?

What was this?

They were in Mitsuru's room at the Amagi Inn, on opposing sides. Yukiko was peaceably several feet away looking calm as ever and Mitsuru felt madness creeping on.

It hurt, it all hurt.

"It's terrible but all this isolation and anger makes me yearn for you even more." She looked up. She was as a predator; a wolf with dead eyes that burned with dark intent. "You… you have to be careful." She murmured, gripping the bedside table tightly and wincing as the sharp corners bit into her delicate flesh. Her knuckles were white and strained with effort. "Or… or I'll take out all that anger, and…" Mitsuru looked pleading, desperate. "…Loneliness out on you."

She held onto that damned surface for dear life. She was shackling herself to the one thing on earth that barred her from the object of her salvation. She didn't know what she was supposed to be doing – keeping away from Yukiko or keeping Yukiko away from her? Something had to stay out or in. She felt like a bomb in a birdcage. Furious. Golden. She scratched the mahogany. Angry.

Why?!

Why did it have to be someone so gentle? Mitsuru stared at her wildly. She didn't want to hurt anybody. She just wanted to escape all the rancid bollocks and turbulence that ran rampant in her insignificant, incongruent little life. But here in this tiny town of Inaba someone had thrown her a lifeline to pull her out of this sea of tepid bullshit and it should have been so fucking minor but this paltry innkeep seized her heart with both hands and squeezed and each beat was so painful now and

Mitsuru choked. There was nothing trivial about Yukiko at all. Yukiko was strength and explosive fire; the most beautiful amalgamation of a hair trigger napalm strike and unremitting, arduous devotion. Yukiko was her rock. It had only been a couple of fucking weeks but Yukiko was her rock, dammit.

The girl in question answered her deranged staring with all the patience and love on the earth. Yukiko, oh, Yukiko…

With deliberation Yukiko got up from the bed and took steady steps towards her.

Mitsuru was afraid.

Rain thrummed staccato against the clear panes of the large windows and the moon glinted handsomely in the onyx sky. Mitsuru wanted to end everything.

Everything, everything, everything. Friends and family and business and people and names and money and Kirijo and, and Yukiko. Her brain stumbled hard over that last one, crashing painfully somewhere in her skull. Mitsuru shut her eyes tight. This darkness was grasping at her from every fathomable direction with its long, bony fingers and her body ached from fighting its claws. She kept kicking against the impasse between duty and want. There was no fine line anymore. She could not divide this 'Mitsuru' entity from this 'Kirijo' dynasty and one was so much stronger than the other it was so hard to differentiate the two. Were they so different? She was so oblivious to one of them for so long.

Everything was in the way! All this S.E.E.S business and persona shit and her father-

Yukiko quietly extended her arm.

The screaming in Mitsuru's head quelled at the tender summons.

In the muted chanting of the rain the gentle sound of soft shifting fabric was symphonic. Eyes like slow burning coals pushed heat so yielding into Mitsuru, wrapping tenderly around her heart, slipping easily through her ribcage. There was a sharp pain prickling the corners of her eyes. She moved to touch her own cheek. Wet.

Yukiko moved in front of her now, standing heatedly not two breaths away from her rigid form. Her presence was absolute in its sovereignty. Why? Mitsuru shut her eyes tightly and tears spilled out of her.

She couldn't see it but she savoured the heaviness of Yukiko's stare. It crushed her body. Her skin felt so unbelievably hot; that girl was doing something to her and it ached.

Mitsuru felt rather than heard fabric slipping, making a suggestive rustle as it slid off of skin. It was warmer now, and a rush of scent filled her, making her heady. She knew if she opened her eyes she'd see Yukiko's face and the heavy curtain of her hair.

She could smell Yukiko's shampoo. They were so close; delicate threads of obsidian tickled her cheeks and nose. She trembled so badly. She wanted to explode.

What. Were. They. Doing.

Beneath heavy lids Mitsuru's thoughts ran berserk, thundering pointlessly against each other. She hurt. She hurt from the want she felt so badly for this person, who'd plunged into her life and forced love into her.

"Mitsuru." Yukiko breathed, and all she could feel was fire.

Yukiko slowly eased the full weight of her body against Mitsuru in embrace. Even through several layers of clothing she felt the suggestive points of Yukiko's chest – bare – pushed flat and probingly against her body. Slender arms draped around her neck as succulent pressure was applied bodily between them.

She knows what she's doing.

A gentle tickling on the back of her neck coaxed Mitsuru's full attention. Slim fingers played lazily, lovingly, with the baby soft hairs at the base of her scalp.

Yukiko was here, she was warm, and for all her strength and calamity she was still vulnerable. Mitsuru brought a hand to that slim neck and grasped. Life pulsed in her palm. Yukiko tilted her head back in surrender, sighing with rapture.

Mitsuru's heart thudded pointedly, painfully.

Yukiko brought her head down with deliberation. Her eyes bore keenly into Mitsuru's and the latter was searching.

Mitsuru licked her lips. "This…"

"This is okay." Yukiko's eyes were hooded and her nude body was so very, very warm.

Mitsuru looked at her with frightened eyes.

"This is what I want."

Is it, now?

Mitsuru did not know what to do.

Yukiko took her hand and guided it somewhere.

Hot and wet.

She breathed deeply, richly, and a tangy sweet smell filled her. She blinked hard, and when she opened her eyes they were heavy, and a weighty feeling pulsed demandingly in her lower belly. She felt painfully sad and painfully hungry and she was starving somewhere deep inside of her. But Yukiko was still looking at her with those eyes and it took all she had to restrain herself. She breathed hard over Yukiko's flushed face and in her fierce exhale their lips ghosted against each other. A bolt of desire punched Mitsuru point blank in the abdomen. Yukiko quickly licked Mitsuru's lower lip.

A ragged sound rumbled through her throat. Yukiko was bridging the distance of their mouths millimetre by painful millimetre. That ache was still so strong inside her and Yukiko…

She fluttered her lips feather soft and salaciously over Mitsuru's canines and the sheer promise of that hot opening made her throb.

Yukiko could…

"Mitsuru…" She could taste her own name on Yukiko's tongue.

It took all her strength to not rip that erotic softness. She wanted to bite and claim, brand Yukiko's prurient mouth with carnal fastening. Push her head down and have that delicious tongue amorous and greedy inside her. Yukiko mapped delicate, fervid patterns across the finest points of Mitsuru's sharpest teeth with her tongue. She felt… carnal. She felt like an animal.

Through blurry eyes she regarded Yukiko's wanting visage and felt uncertainty creep on her like a cloud. She understood. Mitsuru knew she wasn't unpleasant to look at. Did Yukiko… do this?

Yukiko purred deeply like a heavy predator claiming hapless prey as she pushed open Mitsuru's blazer in claim. Her hot skin burned, as scorching as a prisoner's mark. She was a hunter, leonine and dangerous, with sinewy muscle moving as liquid beneath alabaster flesh. Mitsuru bit Yukiko's lip with licentious intent and those hands grasping the table flexed with lewd ambition.

Their stares were goring, wanting. Yukiko's nails suddenly bit needle sharp into her back and Mitsuru's arm flew around her heaving body and the two of them kissed so powerfully it was like the world was ending.

Mitsuru flexed her fingers and Yukiko bucked promisingly. Lured by pleasure and the lingering, distant promise of comfort, Mitsuru entered. Yukiko mewled like a cat in heat, and Mitsuru surged forward, filling her. Yukiko bayed like an animal, hips spasming, and pumped herself on those delicate, delicious fingers. She whimpered, running her teeth across the tantalising curve of Mitsuru's neck and the latter grasped tightly at her behind, heaving her onto the bed and plunging deeply inside her with the notion.

Yukiko let out a strangled cry. She was holding tight now, pleading, canting her hips in greedy rhythm and Mitsuru was torn. What was this about, actually? She moved her free hand over Yukiko's throat, pressing her down by the oesophagus with her forearm. Yukiko made a choking sound and pushed harder against her, not in defence but in ardour, moving her hips to each crushing thrust and thudding wetly against Mitsuru's palm.

I don't know what to do.

"Mmn, Mitsuru, ah…!" Mitsuru's heart broke with each shuddering penetration and Yukiko could only screw her eyes shut and rock in ecstasy.

I told you, she wanted to say, crying. I told you, I told you, I told you; this would not end pretty.

But Yukiko clasped her face with utmost gentleness even as Mitsuru pummelled her into the bed. The mattress groaned with effort at the relentless, wanton assault.

"I…" Yukiko panted, releasing a keening moan that blew a hole in Mitsuru's skull. Her hand tore into Yukiko's core. "I… hnngh, Mitsuru, hnn…!"

Wet. So very, very wet, spilling out and all over her hand. Mitsuru rumbled, pushing deeper still. Yukiko's toes were curling and she squirmed licentiously.

Mitsuru moved her arm so it coiled powerfully under Yukiko's arching back and anchored her fingers into the soft flesh of the smaller woman's hip. With each thrust she pulled her down, impaling her harder and faster onto her adamant fingers and there were rapturous tears in Yukiko's eyes.

Somewhere in all her glorious delirium Yukiko was smiling at her. Mitsuru stared back at her through glazed eyes. What did that even mean? Yukiko looked happy, panting like a desperate, thrilled animal even as she copulated with a mad woman. Mitsuru's heart gave a lurch, soaring helplessly, and she couldn't do anything about it. The look of bliss on Yukiko's face floored her and she pressed her head helplessly to the younger woman's stomach. Yukiko moved a hand to grasp at her hair while the other hand drew fistfuls of blanket.

The exquisite sound of their wet flesh slapping deliciously against each other grinded to a halt and Mitsuru stared at her through watery eyes. "Do you even know what this means?"

Yukiko arched her back, moving precisely to the erect point still embedded in her. "I… I hope so…" She groaned deeply, like a lion, and her voice was rough with yearning.

Mitsuru felt Yukiko rock minutely on her fingers. She felt each tiny buck and shudder and jump, and the gentle/sharp press of Yukiko's ardent hand on her head, urging, blissful.

Yukiko was whispered something suspicious and Mitsuru snapped her head up. Stilling her hips, Yukiko smiled tenderly, moisture pooling at the corners of her eyes. Mitsuru stared at her openly. The hand caressing her scalp lazily slid down to tenderly cup her cheek and Yukiko said, "I love you, my darling."

What?

Mitsuru's heart leaped into her mouth and pounded painfully, rattling against her skull and teeth.

Yukiko rolled her head back with a carefree laugh and gently eased herself down to the hilt, and back up again, seemingly basking in the sensation.

Mitsuru's hand froze and she stared in open shock at Yukiko. "Wh…"

"I get it." Yukiko murmured, sitting up. She gave Mitsuru that look again with the hooded eyes and licentious blush and the latter felt small and powerful all at once. Yukiko manoeuvred Mitsuru upright and pulled her legs up from beneath her. Once the redhead was sitting, Yukiko crawled towards her on all fours, her hair pooling beautifully on either side of her face. She straddled her, wrapping her arms in a lover's embrace around Mitsuru's neck and kissing her deeply.

Yukiko pulled away, giving her tongue a delicate flick as she extracted it from Mitsuru's warm mouth. She looked at her face. Mitsuru was achingly beautiful.

"Please." Yukiko's voice dropped to a sultry whisper and she implored Mitsuru with a gaze as black as it was wombing. Yukiko moved to place her lips at Mitsuru's ear, their hair intertwining loosely together in a web of gilded crimson and obsidian. "I'm not going anywhere."

The Kirijo heiress trembled, releasing shuddering, helpless breaths that issued one after the other from her parted lips. Her body quaked, wracking with barely contained sobs and she didn't understand anything anymore. She buried her head into the damp crook of Yukiko's neck, biting. The latter moaned, low and wanting. Mitsuru wanted to howl.

Yukiko moved her hips helplessly against her and Mitsuru's fingers trembled, poised at the younger woman's entrance. Yukiko met her askance with a lion's roar; a desperate, full cant of her lower body. Ache hit her arms, scorched her fingertips, lacing powerful trails of pure fire through her veins. She felt heavy – so, so heavy – and she pushed, god help her.

Mitsuru curved her fingers into a deep sloping motion that grazed a heated spot inside and Yukiko shuddered with abandon. Mitsuru penetrated her a few times more, cruelly, hitting that sweet, sweet spot with maddening accuracy.

Pressed into her hair Yukiko's face was a picture of rapturous starvation. A fiery blush shot a rapacious veil across her chest where sweat beaded as fruits of their manic copulation.

What is this? She wondered dimly, even as her blood pounded powerfully in her ears.

Something collapsed in Mitsuru's brain at last, less like a straw snap and more of an embrace. It felt like coming home.

More and more and more and more

Yukiko trembled as she was eased into yet again. They were still so hungry, wanting, painfully so. She felt ravaged, inside and out, marked, lovingly and totally beaten. She rocked and rocked, impaling herself on those eager, unrelenting fingers. Each ache and press and awful/beautiful in-out-in-out of those merciless digits pulled her closer.

There was a queer fervour to Mitsuru's eyes. Yukiko understood. She understood it all.

She gave Mitsuru a tired, helplessly enamoured smile and her reply was a confused, needing stare. She couldn't help it; Yukiko kissed her deeply, pressing their naked, damp flesh flush together. Mitsuru moaned sharply and it was so utterly sexy Yukiko actually clenched tighter around her.

"Yukiko…"

Her heart leapt.

Mitsuru. Mitsuru. Mitsuru.

Yukiko smiled a slow, indulgent smile. Kirijo. Mitsuru Kirijo. I love you. I love you and everything that name means.

She clutched helplessly at those strong, delicate shoulders.

Each wet clap was a spurring applause and her ankles were locked tight around those wanting hips, harder and harder. The room was black and blue and red with Mitsuru's eyes and the silver moonlight and Yukiko felt perfect.