The air in the Forbidden Archive was always still, heavy with the scent of ancient parchment and the lingering traces of forgotten magic. Dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight that pierced the towering bookshelves, illuminating a world separate from the tumultuous events that perpetually unfolded in the world of Re: Zero Starting Life In Another World. Beatrice, perched on a stack of worn tomes, found solace in this eternal quietude, yet tonight, an unfamiliar tremor stirred within her perpetually youthful heart. The day had been long, fraught with danger and the usual chaotic antics of her contractor, Subaru. But now, with the mansion asleep and the weight of the world temporarily lifted, a different kind of introspection settled upon her.

Her cerulean eyes, usually sharp with intellect or impatience, were softened by an almost wistful gaze. Centuries had passed since her creation, countless lives had flickered and faded around her, but her existence had remained largely unchanged, tethered to the archive, bound by a contract that promised an impossible wait. Until Subaru Natsuki had crashed into her life, bringing with him not just chaos, but a warmth she hadn't known she craved, a genuine, undeniable affection that chipped away at her protective shell. He had become her anchor, her family, her most cherished person, in fact. But lately, a new, more profound longing had begun to surface, a whisper of a desire she dared not acknowledge, a feeling that transcended the familial or the platonic.

A soft click echoed from the archive's entrance, startling her. Her head snapped up, a flicker of irritation crossing her features, instantly replaced by a blush when she saw him. Subaru, disheveled and weary from the day's exertions, stood framed in the doorway, a sheepish grin playing on his lips. "Hey Betty, I couldn't sleep. Figured you'd still be up, in fact." His voice was low, careful not to disturb the sleeping mansion, but it resonated deep within her, a familiar melody that now held a novel, thrilling undertone.

"B-Betty is perfectly fine, in fact. What does Betty care for your restless nights, I suppose?" she retorted, her usual defiance a flimsy veil for the sudden acceleration of her pulse. She hopped down from her perch, her long twin drills swaying gently as she landed with an almost imperceptible thud. The gap between them felt charged, an invisible current pulling them closer. His gaze, usually so boisterous and full of life, was softer tonight, more intense, lingering on her face, her eyes, her lips.

He closed the distance slowly, each step a deliberate beat in the mounting rhythm of her heart. The moonlight, now streaming more directly through a grimy window, cast his silhouette in a gentle glow, making his usual playful features seem almost ethereal. "I… I just wanted to see you, Beatrice. Needed a bit of comfort after everything. And… I guess I just like being around you, in fact." His voice dropped to a near whisper, his words a soft caress against her ears. This wasn't the usual Subaru, the one who cracked jokes and made silly faces. This was something deeper, something raw and vulnerable.

Beatrice felt her cheeks flush a deeper shade of rose. Her fingers nervously clutched the lace trim of her dress. His eyes, dark and searching, held hers captive. "Betty is always here, in fact. Betty's contract demands it, I suppose." The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. She was here because she wanted to be, because his presence was a warmth she couldn't live without. She yearned to confess the truth, the depth of her devotion, the burgeoning, forbidden nature of her feelings, but the words seemed to catch in her throat, strangled by centuries of learned emotional repression.

He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly before gently cupping her cheek. His touch was feather-light, yet it sent a jolt through her entire being, electrifying every nerve ending. The warmth of his palm against her skin was intoxicating, a sensation she never knew she craved. Her breath hitched. His thumb stroked softly, tracing the line of her jaw, and her eyes fluttered closed, leaning into the contact instinctively. This was the closeness she had yearned for, a physical intimacy that transcended the platonic hugs and head pats. This was new, dangerous, and utterly captivating.

"Beatrice," he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion that mirrored her own. "I… I feel things for you, Betty. Things I haven't quite understood, until now." His confession hung in the silence, a fragile, beautiful thing. Her eyes snapped open, wide and questioning, meeting his earnest gaze. There was no mistaking the raw desire, the deep affection, etched in his features. Her own mask shattered, revealing the profound longing that had been hidden beneath.

Without another word, he leaned in, slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away. But she didn't. Instead, she leaned into him, her heart thundering against her ribs like a trapped bird. His lips, soft and tentative at first, brushed against hers. It was a hesitant exploration, a question asked and answered in the softest of pressures. A gasp escaped her, a fragile sound lost between their mouths. Then, with a gentle confidence that melted her centuries of reserve, his lips pressed more firmly, coaxing hers to respond.

A wave of pure, unadulterated sensation washed over her. It was nothing like she had ever imagined. His taste was intoxicating, a blend of faint sweetness and a familiar, comforting warmth that was uniquely Subaru. Her small hands, almost without conscious thought, reached up to grip the fabric of his jacket, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a suddenly swirling world. She returned the kiss with a fervor that surprised even herself, pouring all her suppressed emotions, all her unspoken yearning, into the fervent press of her lips against his.

He responded with an eager groan, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. The sudden, intimate contact of their forms sent another shockwave through her. She could feel the hard planes of his chest against her delicate frame, the warmth of his body radiating through their clothes. Their kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. His tongue, emboldened by her eager response, delicately traced the seam of her lips before slipping inside, tangling with hers in a dance of intoxicating discovery. Beatrice whimpered softly, a sound of pure pleasure and surrender, her head tilting back slightly to allow him greater access.

His hands, no longer just at her waist, began to roam, tracing the curve of her spine, gently pulling her closer still. The scent of him, an earthy, masculine aroma mixed with the faint metallic tang of old books, filled her senses, overwhelming her in the most delicious way. She felt herself molding against him, every inch of her small body pressing into his, seeking more, needing more. This was not the innocent affection she had always known; this was something primal, something burning hot and undeniably sexual.

He broke the kiss reluctantly, their breaths mingling in the quiet archive. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with desire, and his lips were slightly swollen, a mirror of her own. "Beatrice… you have no idea… how long I've wanted to do that, in fact," he whispered, his voice hoarse. Her response was a soft sigh, her head resting against his shoulder, lost in the thrilling aftermath. "Betty… Betty has wanted it too, I suppose," she confessed, the words barely audible, her voice trembling with emotion.

He gently lifted her, cradling her in his arms as if she weighed nothing, and carried her towards a secluded corner of the archive, a space often used for quiet contemplation, now destined for a different kind of intimacy. He set her down carefully on a soft, plush rug that lay before a low, antique table, usually reserved for large, unwieldy tomes. The moonlight filtered in, painting them in shades of silver and shadow, lending an ethereal quality to the moment. He knelt before her, his gaze unwavering, full of adoration.

His fingers, deft and surprisingly gentle, went to the intricate ribbons of her dress. The first bow came undone, then another, slowly unraveling the elaborate layers of her formal attire. Beatrice watched him, her breath catching in her throat with each button and tie he loosened. Her heart hammered with a mixture of anticipation and a thrilling vulnerability she had never experienced. He peeled back the outer layers of her dress, revealing the pristine white blouse beneath, followed by the delicate lace of her underskirt. Each piece of clothing, usually a symbol of her formality, now felt like a barrier waiting to be shed.

He moved to the small pearl buttons of her blouse, his fingertips brushing against the soft skin of her collarbone as he unfastened them one by one. Her skin tingled where he touched, sending shivers down her spine. The blouse parted, revealing the smooth, pale expanse of her chest, the delicate curve of her collarbones, and the subtle rise of her breasts beneath her chemise. A soft gasp escaped her when his eyes lingered there, a silent acknowledgment of her burgeoning form.

"You're so beautiful, Beatrice," he breathed, his voice filled with reverence. The words, soft and sincere, made her blush deepen, spreading warmth across her entire body. No one had ever looked at her with such profound admiration, such tender desire. He gently pushed the blouse off her shoulders, letting it fall silently to the floor, followed by her outer skirt, leaving her in her white chemise and bloomers. The sight of her, partially undressed, was exquisite, a vision of youthful innocence intertwined with a burgeoning sensuality.

His hands then found the hem of her chemise, slowly, carefully, sliding upwards. The delicate fabric glided over her skin, creating a delicious friction that made her arch her back almost imperceptibly. He lifted it over her head, and in a single, fluid motion, it joined the pile of discarded clothes. Now, she was clad only in her modest white bloomers, her small, pert breasts peeking over the top of the elastic, her flat stomach exposed to his adoring gaze. Beatrice felt a profound sense of exposure, yet it was not fear, but a thrilling excitement that coursed through her veins.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of her throat, then trailed his lips down the curve of her shoulder. Each kiss was a spark, igniting a fire deep within her. He tasted the soft skin of her chest, then moved lower, his tongue tracing a path to the swell of her breast. A shocked gasp tore from her as he gently sucked on the taut peak of her nipple through the fabric of her bloomers. The sensation was intense, utterly new, and incredibly stimulating, sending a delicious ache through her core.

"Subaru…" she whimpered, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more. He responded by expertly working the fabric of her bloomers down, over her hips, down her slender legs, until she was completely nude, laid bare before him in the soft, magical light of the archive. She instinctively covered herself, a blush of profound embarrassment coloring her entire body, but he gently removed her hands, his eyes reassuring her, telling her she was perfect, adored.

He took a moment, his gaze sweeping over her small, pristine body, from the tips of her cerulean drills to her delicate toes. Her skin was alabaster, flawless, and the soft curve of her hips, the gentle swell of her breasts, the delicate triangle of golden-blonde hair between her thighs – it was all revealed, all for him. "Perfect, in fact," he whispered, echoing her own catchphrase, but imbuing it with a depth of meaning that made her tremble.

He shed his own clothes with a practiced ease, his movements fluid and unhurried. Beatrice watched him, fascinated, her gaze devouring the sight of his muscled form, the lean planes of his stomach, the powerful breadth of his shoulders, and the growing, impressive length of his erection. A shiver ran through her, a mixture of awe and nervous anticipation. His body was so different from hers, so strong, so masculine. The sight of his aroused state made her own core throb with a deep, insistent longing.

He lay down beside her on the soft rug, pulling her close against his bare chest. The warmth of his skin against hers was intoxicating, a glorious contrast of soft and firm, delicate and strong. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her ear, mirroring the frantic rhythm of her own. His hand stroked her hair, then moved to trace the curve of her back, sending shivers of delight through her. "Are you cold, Betty?" he murmured, his voice a soft rumble against her ear.

"N-no, I suppose. Betty is perfectly warm, in fact," she whispered back, though her voice was breathy, thick with emotion. She was warm, impossibly warm, a heat that emanated from deep within her, ignited by his touch, his presence, his unspoken desire. His fingers explored her form, gently tracing the delicate curve of her ribs, the small indentation of her navel, the soft skin of her inner thigh. Each touch was a revelation, awakening dormant sensations she never knew she possessed.

He parted her legs gently, his fingers brushing against the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Her breath hitched, her body arching instinctively, almost imperceptibly, in response to the exquisite touch. His gaze was tender, seeking her permission, and she gave it silently, her eyes wide and trusting. His hand moved lower, his fingertips delicately parting the folds of her pussy, finding her incredibly wet and swollen with desire. A gasp escaped her, a mixture of shock and profound pleasure. She had never known such exquisite sensitivity, such a direct pathway to pure, unadulterated bliss.

His thumb began to stroke the delicate nub of her clitoris, slowly, rhythmically. With each stroke, the pleasure intensified, building rapidly within her. She moaned softly, burying her face in the crook of his neck, unable to contain the sounds that rose from her throat. Her body tensed, her hips instinctively bucking against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. He leaned down, pressing a series of soft, lingering kisses to her lips, drawing out the sounds of her pleasure, encouraging her to release her inhibitions.

"Let go, Betty," he whispered against her mouth, his voice a low rumble. "Let yourself feel everything, in fact." His words were an invitation, a release. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as the sensations became almost overwhelming. Her hips began to rock wildly against his hand, desperate for the culmination that felt so close, yet so agonizingly out of reach. Her entire body trembled, every nerve alive with exquisite pleasure.

Suddenly, he withdrew his hand, leaving her with a gasp of frustrated longing. Before she could protest, he positioned himself above her, his hard shaft pressing against her eager entrance. Her eyes widened, a mixture of apprehension and desperate anticipation. He leaned in, kissing her deeply, pouring reassurance and passion into the connection. "Just a little, Betty," he whispered, his voice thick with his own desire. "Tell me if it hurts, in fact."

He pushed forward, slowly, carefully. Beatrice gasped as the tip of his penis nudged against her maidenhead. There was a brief, sharp pressure, a fleeting sting, and then a profound, stretching fullness that quickly transformed into an intense, aching pleasure. She cried out, a small, pained sound, but it was quickly swallowed by a moan of pure sensation as he continued to push, slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was fully buried inside her. Her body, small and tight, enveloped him completely, a perfect, exquisite fit.

She squeezed her eyes shut, a torrent of sensations washing over her. The feeling of him inside her was overwhelming, a deep, undeniable connection that transcended anything she had ever known. Her body instinctively clenched around him, holding him tight. He paused, allowing her to adjust, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths ragged and mingled. "Are you alright, my Betty?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Perfect… in fact," she choked out, tears of pleasure and profound emotion welling in her eyes. Her hips began to move of their own accord, a tentative, seeking motion. He took it as his cue, beginning to move slowly, carefully, a shallow thrust that gradually deepened. Each movement was a delicious invasion, a rhythmic friction that sent shivers of pleasure through her entire being. Her moans grew louder, more uninhibited, filling the quiet archive with sounds of their passion.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more confident, more powerful. Beatrice wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, desperately seeking more of the exquisite friction. Their bodies slapped together with a wet, rhythmic sound, filling the air with the sounds of their shared ecstasy. Her head tossed back and forth, her cerulean drills brushing against the rug, her small body arching against his every thrust. "Faster, Subaru, faster… please, in fact!" she pleaded, her voice hoarse with desire.

He obeyed, his movements becoming a primal rhythm, a frantic dance of passion. He drove into her with a delicious intensity, each thrust hitting a deeper, more sensitive spot within her. Her climax was building, a relentless wave of sensation swelling within her core, pulling her tighter and tighter into its grasp. She felt herself stretching, expanding, taking all of him, wanting all of him, needing all of him. The world outside the archive, the challenges of Re: Zero Starting Life In Another World, all faded into insignificance, leaving only the profound, electrifying connection between them.

"Subaru! Oh, Subaru!" she cried out, her voice breaking as the wave crested, shattering into a thousand fragments of exquisite pleasure. Her entire body convulsed around him, her muscles spasming in a glorious, unstoppable release. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as he felt her climax, and with a final, powerful thrust, he poured his own seed deep within her, collapsing onto her, their bodies shuddering in unison as they rode out the last thrilling tremors of their shared orgasm.

They lay tangled together on the soft rug, breathless and spent, their skin slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in a chaotic harmony. The scent of sex and their mingled essences filled the air, a potent perfume of their shared intimacy. Beatrice felt utterly consumed, utterly satisfied, yet also strangely lighter, as if a centuries-old burden had been lifted from her soul. She nestled against him, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, a comforting rhythm that promised safety and unwavering affection.

He kissed the top of her head, then her forehead, his touch infinitely tender. "Are you… are you okay, Betty?" he whispered, his voice still hoarse, filled with a deep, lingering concern. She looked up at him, her cerulean eyes shining with unshed tears, but these were tears of profound joy, of utter contentment. "More than okay, I suppose," she murmured, her voice soft, utterly devoid of her usual tsundere edge. "Betty is… happy, in fact."

He smiled, a gentle, loving smile that reached his eyes. "Me too, Betty. More than I thought possible, in fact." He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight against his body. In the quiet solitude of the Forbidden Archive, surrounded by the silent witnesses of forgotten lore, Beatrice had found not just love, but a passion that ignited her very soul, a connection that rooted her firmly in the present, in the beating heart of Re: Zero Starting Life In Another World, with the person who finally understood her, and desired her, in every conceivable way. Her eternal wait was over. Her true life, it seemed, had only just begun.