Konjiki No Yami | To Love Ru - Fanart

The summer heat clung to the air, thick and sweet like overripe fruit. Konjiki no Yami, known more familiarly as Golden Darkness, found herself adrift in a rare moment of stillness. The usual chaos of Rito's household, with its parade of alien princesses and boisterous friends, had temporarily receded, leaving a hushed expectancy in its wake. She sat by the open window of her borrowed room, the gentle breeze ruffling strands of her signature blonde, long hair. Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and soft violet, mirroring the subtle blush that often warmed her cheeks when Rito was near. It was a quiet evening, a stark contrast to the often explosive adventures that characterized their lives, and Yami cherished these moments of peace, finding a peculiar comfort in the simmering emotions that churned within her.

She traced the delicate curve of her own collarbone with a fingertip, her gaze distant. The assassin’s instincts, honed by years of rigorous training, were usually her constant companions, a sharp edge to her existence. Yet, lately, those edges had begun to soften, blurring into a more complex, yearning landscape. Rito. The name itself sent a tremor through her, a mixture of apprehension and something undeniably… tender. He was oblivious, of course. He was always oblivious, yet somehow, his sheer kindness and unwavering, if clumsy, good nature had chipped away at her defenses, piece by careful piece. She remembered their first meeting, her mission, her cold resolve. Now, the memory felt like a distant echo, a stranger to the woman she was becoming. Her small tits felt insignificant against the surge of feeling, yet a faint warmth spread across them, a testament to the rising tide of her own awakening desires.

A soft knock at the door startled her from her reverie. Her enhanced hearing immediately identified the hesitant rhythm, the faint scent of sweat and… something floral. Rito. Her heart gave an involuntary lurch, a sensation she was still getting used to. She smoothed down her simple nightgown, the fabric clinging slightly to her form, a gentle caress against her skin. Taking a breath, she opened the door, and there he stood, looking endearingly flustered, a single, slightly wilted daisy clutched in his hand. His eyes, wide and earnest, met hers, and a familiar warmth bloomed in her chest.

“Yami,” he began, his voice a little shaky. “I… I saw this and I thought of you. It’s not much, but…” He offered the flower, his cheeks flushed. Yami took it, her fingers brushing his. The touch, brief as it was, sent a jolt through her. The daisy was simple, unpretentious, much like Rito himself. It was perfect. “It’s… beautiful, Rito,” she murmured, her voice softer than she intended. She held the flower to her nose, inhaling its faint, sweet fragrance. The scent, combined with his proximity, created a potent, intoxicating cocktail that made her head spin.

He fidgeted, his gaze darting around the hallway. “Um, I was wondering… are you busy? I mean, it’s late, but I… I wanted to talk to you. About… things.” His voice trailed off, and Yami could see the turmoil in his eyes. He was clearly grappling with something, a problem he couldn’t quite articulate. Her assassin’s mind, though dulled by the burgeoning romantic feelings, was still sharp enough to detect the underlying anxiety. She sensed it wasn’t about aliens or impending doom, but something far more personal, far more intimate.

“I am not busy,” Yami replied, her voice gaining a steadiness she hadn't possessed moments before. She stepped aside, gesturing him in. “Come inside, Rito.” The invitation hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of their growing closeness, a step beyond the casual camaraderie they often shared. Rito hesitated for a fraction of a second, then stepped across the threshold, his presence filling the small room with an unexpected warmth. Yami closed the door, the click echoing in the sudden silence. The air between them crackled, charged with unspoken emotions. She watched him, her gaze lingering on the way the dim light caught the curve of his jaw, the earnestness etched on his face.

He looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time, then his eyes settled back on her. The daisy was still in her hand, a silent testament to his gesture. “Yami,” he began again, his voice a little stronger now, though still laced with nerves. “I… I don’t know how to say this. But… I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About you. About… us.” The word ‘us’ hung in the air, a nebulous, yet potent, entity. Yami felt a tremor run through her. This was it. The moment she had both dreaded and longed for. Her blonde, long hair seemed to shimmer in the subdued light as she tilted her head, her golden eyes searching his. “What about us, Rito?” she asked, her voice a soft whisper, laced with a vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show.

Rito took a deep breath, his gaze finally meeting hers, unwavering now. “I… I like you, Yami. A lot. More than just a friend. I think…” He fumbled for words, his face turning a deep crimson. “I think I’m… falling in love with you.” The confession, spoken with such earnest sincerity, hit Yami with the force of a physical blow. Her breath hitched in her throat. Love. It was a concept she had only ever observed from a distance, a force that drove many of the characters in her former life’s narratives. To have it directed at *her*, by *him*… it was overwhelming. Her small tits felt suddenly too prominent, her body thrumming with a nervous energy that threatened to consume her.

She remained silent for a long moment, her mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. The assassin, the weapon, the cold, unfeeling killer she was trained to be, warred with the woman who had found solace and something akin to joy in this chaotic, loving world. She saw Rito’s hope dimming, his gaze beginning to fall, and a sudden, desperate urge to reassure him, to embrace this nascent feeling, surged through her. She took a step forward, closing the distance between them. Her hand, still holding the daisy, reached out and gently cupped his cheek. His skin was warm, soft beneath her touch. His eyes widened, a flicker of surprise, then hope, igniting within them.

“Rito,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I… I feel the same way. I have for a long time.” The admission, raw and honest, seemed to break a dam within him. A slow smile spread across his face, a smile of pure, unadulterated joy that made Yami’s heart ache with a profound tenderness. He reached up, his hand covering hers on his cheek, his thumb gently stroking her skin. The simple gesture, the shared vulnerability, was more potent than any declaration. He leaned in, his gaze fixed on her lips, a silent question. Yami, no longer an assassin but a woman caught in the intoxicating web of a first, true love, closed her eyes and met him halfway. Their lips met, a tentative, hesitant brush at first, then deepening with a shared urgency. It was a kiss born of unspoken desires, of hesitant hope, of a burgeoning passion that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

The kiss deepened, their tongues tentatively exploring, a dance of discovery. Yami’s hand, no longer holding the daisy, moved to Rito’s hair, her fingers tangling in its soft strands. He responded with equal fervor, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against him. She felt the solid strength of his body, the rapid beat of his heart against hers. The world outside, the ticking clock, the potential dangers – all faded into insignificance. There was only this moment, this connection, this overwhelming sensation of *rightness*. Her blonde, long hair cascaded around her shoulders as she tilted her head back, granting him deeper access. His kisses trailed down her jawline, across her throat, eliciting soft moans that escaped her lips, sounds she had never thought herself capable of making. He found the sensitive hollow behind her ear, and Yami arched into him, a silent plea for more.

His hands, hesitant at first, began to explore the curves of her body through the thin fabric of her nightgown. He traced the delicate line of her collarbone, his touch sending shivers down her spine. He lingered on the gentle swell of her breasts, his fingers brushing over the delicate fabric, the hint of her small tits beneath. Yami’s breath grew ragged. This was new territory, a landscape of pleasure she had only glimpsed in her wildest dreams. She felt exposed, vulnerable, yet overwhelmingly desired. Her own hands, bolder now, unbuttoned the front of his shirt, her fingers tracing the smooth, warm skin of his chest. She reveled in the feel of his muscles, the thrum of his pulse beneath her fingertips. This was not the cold, clinical approach of an assassin; this was a tender, passionate exploration, driven by a burgeoning, undeniable lust.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes, a deep, loving brown, met hers. “Yami,” he breathed, his voice husky with emotion. “You’re so beautiful.” He gently pulled the straps of her nightgown down, exposing her shoulders to the soft lamplight. His gaze lingered on the delicate curve of her décolletage, his breath catching at the sight of her small tits. He hesitated, a question in his eyes, and Yami, with a newfound courage, nodded. He leaned forward, his lips pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the swell of her left breast. A gasp escaped Yami’s lips as a wave of pure pleasure washed over her. His lips were warm, gentle, his tongue teasing her sensitive skin. She felt herself melting, her body responding with an eagerness that surprised even herself. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging in slightly as she surrendered to the sensations.

He moved to her other breast, his touch equally exquisite. Yami arched her back, her hips instinctively pressing forward. She wanted more. She wanted him. Her blonde, long hair fanned out around her as she tilted her head back, her voice a broken whisper, “Rito… please…” He understood. His hands worked at the hem of her nightgown, slowly, deliberately, pulling it up. The cool air kissed her skin as the fabric slid away, leaving her bare before him. She felt a flush of embarrassment, but it was quickly overtaken by the heat of his gaze. He looked at her with an awe that made her feel cherished, not exposed. His eyes, however, were not just appreciative; they were filled with a raw, burning desire that mirrored her own.

He lowered himself to his knees, his eyes still locked on hers. He gently cupped her small tits, his thumbs tracing the delicate areolas, his touch sending ripples of pleasure through her. Yami gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair. He leaned forward, his lips finding the peak of her left nipple. His mouth was warm, wet, his tongue working its magic. Yami cried out, her body writhing with an intensity she had never experienced before. She felt the pleasurable ache building within her, a desperate longing for release. He moved to her other breast, his ministrations equally potent. Her legs felt weak, her knees trembling. She needed him. Now.

“Rito,” she moaned, her voice a desperate plea. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with passion. He rose, shedding his own clothes with an urgency that mirrored hers. Yami’s breath hitched as she took in his naked form. He was strong, lean, and beautiful. Her gaze, usually so sharp and analytical, was softened by desire. She reached out, her fingers tracing the hard planes of his abdomen, the taut muscles of his chest. He groaned at her touch, his hands finding her hips. He pulled her closer, their naked bodies pressing together. The contrast of their skin, his smooth and warm, hers perhaps a little paler, was a symphony of sensations. The feel of his erection against her thigh sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated need through her.

He gently guided her to the bed, their lips never breaking contact. They tumbled together onto the soft sheets, a tangle of limbs and soft sighs. Yami felt a thrill of anticipation as Rito positioned himself between her legs. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and raw lust. “Are you ready, Yami?” he whispered, his voice raspy. She nodded, her golden eyes shining with unshed tears of pure, overwhelming emotion. She had never felt so seen, so wanted. He entered her slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers. A gasp escaped her lips as their bodies finally joined. It was a perfect fit, a sensation of completion that sent waves of pleasure through her. He moved within her, a gentle, rhythmic motion that gradually increased in intensity. Yami clung to him, her fingers digging into his back, her moans of pleasure filling the quiet room. Her small tits, so recently a source of self-consciousness, now felt like islands of exquisite sensitivity, each movement of Rito’s body sending tremors through them.

The passion escalated, their movements becoming more urgent, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Yami’s blonde, long hair fanned out around them like a silken halo as she arched her back, meeting each thrust with a desperate hunger. Rito’s hands explored her body, his touch both reverent and possessive. He kissed her deeply, his tongue tangling with hers, their shared breaths mingling. He whispered her name, his voice choked with emotion, and Yami responded with a flood of whispered endearments, words she had never thought she would speak. The pleasure built, a searing inferno within her, her body tightening, coiling, ready to explode. She felt the familiar pressure building, the prelude to release, but this time, it was amplified, intensified by the sheer depth of her feelings for Rito. He sensed her nearing climax, his movements becoming more powerful, more insistent. He whispered words of encouragement, of love, and Yami surrendered, crying out his name as her body convulsed, waves of pure ecstasy washing over her. Her orgasm was intense, consuming, leaving her breathless and trembling in his arms. He followed shortly after, his own release a powerful tremor that shuddered through him. They lay entwined, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in unison. The silence that followed was not empty, but filled with a profound sense of peace and contentment. Yami nestled closer to Rito, her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The assassin had found her true purpose, not in destruction, but in love. Her blonde, long hair was tangled with his, their bodies a testament to their shared passion, and in the quiet embrace, Yami knew she was finally home.