The rain against the window of Mahiru Shiina's apartment was a relentless, percussive rhythm, a stark contrast to the serene order within. Every book was perfectly aligned, every surface gleamed under the soft, warm light of the lamps. It was a sanctuary of quiet perfection, the kind of domestic bliss Mahiru, known to many as the Angel from *The Angel Next Door Spoils Me Rotten*, had meticulously cultivated. Tonight, however, the storm outside seemed intent on breaching her peaceful world, and in a way she could never have foreseen, it succeeded. It wasn't the wind or the rain that broke the calm, but a flash of impossible, violet light that erupted in the center of her living room, followed by the heavy thud of a body collapsing onto her pristine rug.

Mahiru’s heart hammered against her ribs, her first instinct a mixture of fear and bewilderment. She cautiously peered from behind her kitchen counter, her breath held tight in her chest. Lying there was a woman, dressed in strange, dark robes that were singed and torn at the edges. Her hair, the color of spun moonlight, was fanned out in a messy halo. But it was when the woman groaned and her eyelids fluttered open that Mahiru’s fear was completely eclipsed by a profound, magnetic awe. The woman’s eyes were the most astonishing color she had ever seen. They were not brown, or blue, or green. They were a brilliant, piercing yellow, the color of pure citrine, glowing with an internal luminescence that seemed utterly otherworldly. For a moment, those stunning yellow eyes held a flicker of confusion and exhaustion before they closed again, and the woman fell into unconsciousness.

Driven by a compassion that was as much a part of her as her own gentle, honey-gold eyes, Mahiru moved forward. She knelt beside the stranger, her usual caution warring with a powerful sense of concern. The woman was beautiful, with high cheekbones and a determined set to her jaw, even in slumber. Her name, as Mahiru would soon learn, was Wendy. A powerful witch from the world of *Release That Witch*, she had been caught in the backlash of a dimensional transportation spell gone awry. But for now, she was just a mysterious figure with captivating yellow eyes, bleeding from a shallow cut on her temple, who had fallen into the lap of an angel.

Mahiru spent the next hour tending to the stranger. She gently cleaned the cut, her touch light and practiced. She managed to maneuver the woman onto her sofa, covering her with a soft blanket. Every so often, Mahiru would find her gaze drawn back to the woman's face, waiting for another glimpse of those incredible yellow eyes. Her own eyes, a warm caramel hue that some might call golden, felt pale and mundane in comparison to the sheer, vibrant intensity she had witnessed. She felt a strange pull, a fascination that went beyond simple curiosity. It was as if those eyes held secrets of magic, of other worlds, of a life so vastly different from her own quiet, structured existence.

When Wendy finally awoke, it was to the gentle aroma of chicken soup and the sight of Mahiru Shiina sitting in a nearby armchair, a book resting in her lap. Wendy’s senses, honed by years of surviving in a world of political intrigue and magical warfare, were on high alert. Her hand instinctively went to her side for a weapon that wasn't there. Her sharp, yellow eyes scanned the room, cataloging every detail of the impossibly clean, strangely lit space. Then, her gaze landed on Mahiru. The girl looked soft, harmless. An angel, if the legends were to be believed. But it was Mahiru's eyes that held Wendy's attention. They were the color of warm honey in the morning sun, gentle and full of a quiet, unassuming light. They held no malice, only a hesitant concern.

"You're awake," Mahiru said, her voice as soft as her appearance suggested. "I made some soup. I thought you might be hungry."

Wendy sat up slowly, a dull ache throbbing in her skull. "Where am I?" she asked, her voice raspy but carrying an undertone of authority that felt natural to her. Her gaze was direct, her yellow eyes seeming to probe Mahiru’s very soul. It was a look that had unnerved kings and generals, but Mahiru, while a little intimidated, did not flinch. She simply found herself lost in their golden depths.

"My apartment," Mahiru answered simply. "In Tokyo. Japan." She paused, realizing how insane that must sound. "There was a flash of light, and... you appeared."

Over the next few days, an unlikely routine formed. Wendy, a brilliant mind from *Release That Witch*, quickly grasped the concept of being in another dimension. She was a pragmatist, and while her situation was dire—cut off from her magic, her kingdom, and her friends—panicking was not an option. Instead, she observed. And her primary subject of observation was Mahiru Shiina. She watched the way Mahiru moved with an effortless grace, transforming simple ingredients into delicious meals. She listened as Mahiru patiently explained the wonders of her world: electricity, the internet, automobiles. It was a world of bewildering, non-magical magic, and Mahiru was its gentle, unassuming high priestess.

Mahiru, in turn, was utterly captivated by Wendy. The witch possessed a confidence and a raw power that the ‘Angel’ of her high school could only dream of. Wendy spoke of leading armies of witches, of building cities, of fighting demonic beasts. Every story she told made her sharp yellow eyes gleam with a fierce intelligence and a passion that Mahiru found intoxicating. The tag of "Yellow Eyes" was becoming more than a physical descriptor for Mahiru; it was a symbol of strength, of another world, of a thrilling and dangerous beauty she had never known. She found herself deliberately seeking out that gaze, feeling a jolt in her stomach every time Wendy’s luminous yellow eyes met her own.

The romantic tension between them grew in the quiet moments. It was there when Mahiru would bring Wendy a cup of tea, their fingers brushing for a fraction of a second too long. It was present in the evenings when they sat on the sofa, the television murmuring in the background, their shoulders almost touching. Mahiru would pretend to read, but she would be acutely aware of Wendy’s presence, of the faint scent of ozone and strange herbs that clung to her. Wendy, for her part, found an unexpected peace in Mahiru’s presence. The Angel’s gentle nature was a balm to her weary soul. She had spent so long fighting, leading, and planning that she had forgotten what it felt like to simply be cared for. And she found herself mesmerized by the warmth in Mahiru Shiina’s soft, golden-brown eyes, a stark, beautiful contrast to her own piercing gaze.

One rainy evening, much like the one when Wendy had arrived, a city-wide blackout plunged the apartment into darkness. Mahiru gave a small gasp of surprise, while Wendy remained perfectly still. A moment later, a soft, golden light bloomed from Wendy’s cupped hands. It was a simple light spell, the first bit of magic she had been able to summon since her arrival, now that her body had started to acclimate. The light cast flickering shadows across the room and illuminated her face, making her yellow eyes glow like a cat's in the dark.

Mahiru stared, utterly spellbound. "It's beautiful," she whispered, inching closer. She reached out a hesitant hand, not to the light, but to Wendy’s cheek. Her fingers were trembling slightly as she cupped Wendy’s face, her thumb gently stroking the skin just below one of those mesmerizing eyes. "Your eyes," Mahiru breathed, her voice thick with emotion. "They're like captured suns."

Wendy’s breath hitched. No one had ever looked at her with such open, unguarded adoration. Fear, respect, loyalty—yes. But not this. Not this soft, profound wonder. The magical light in her hands flickered as her control wavered, her heart thumping a heavy rhythm against her ribs. She covered Mahiru’s hand with her own, pressing it more firmly against her skin. "And yours, Mahiru Shiina," Wendy murmured, her voice a low, intimate rumble that sent shivers down Mahiru’s spine. "Yours are like the dawn. Gentle, and full of a promise I never thought I’d see."

The space between them vanished. Wendy leaned in, and Mahiru met her halfway. Their first kiss was tentative, a soft exploration. Mahiru tasted of sweet tea and something uniquely, gently her. Wendy tasted of ozone, power, and a loneliness that Mahiru felt an overwhelming urge to soothe. The kiss deepened, becoming more certain, more hungry. Wendy’s arm snaked around Mahiru’s waist, pulling her flush against her body. Mahiru gasped into the kiss, her hands tangling in Wendy’s silvery hair. The small magical light in Wendy's other hand extinguished, plunging them back into darkness, but it didn't matter. The only light they needed was the fire they were igniting in each other, a fire reflected in a gaze of honey-gold and a piercing stare of brilliant yellow.

Wendy lifted Mahiru into her arms with an ease that spoke of her hidden strength, carrying her from the living room into the quiet sanctuary of the bedroom. She laid Mahiru down on the soft sheets, the faint moonlight filtering through the window painting her in shades of silver and grey. Wendy hovered over her, a silhouette of power and desire. All Mahiru could see clearly were those two points of light, those hypnotic yellow eyes, burning with a passion that mirrored the frantic beating of her own heart.

"Are you sure about this, Angel?" Wendy whispered, her voice a husky caress in the dark. The question was a formality; she could feel the answer in the way Mahiru’s body trembled beneath her, in the way Mahiru’s hands clutched at her shoulders, pulling her down.

"Yes," Mahiru breathed, her voice barely audible but firm. "Wendy... I want you."

The clothes melted away under Wendy’s deft, eager hands. Mahiru’s perfect, porcelain skin was revealed, a canvas for the moonlight and Wendy’s adoring gaze. Mahiru, in turn, was a little more hesitant but no less determined as she unfastened the simple tunic and trousers Wendy had been wearing, which Mahiru had provided. She discovered a body that was lean and athletic, crisscrossed with faint, silvery scars that told stories of battles fought and won. Mahiru traced one on Wendy’s ribs with a feather-light touch, an act of reverence that made Wendy’s breath catch in her throat. This was a vulnerability the great witch from *Release That Witch* rarely, if ever, allowed.

Wendy's lips began a slow, meticulous exploration of Mahiru’s body. She kissed the hollow of her throat, the gentle curve of her collarbone, the soft swell of her breasts. Mahiru arched into her touch, soft moans escaping her lips. Every touch was electric, every kiss a brand. Wendy’s experience was evident; she knew how to build pleasure, how to coax and tease, how to listen to the silent language of a lover's body. She worshiped Mahiru's form, and Mahiru, the 'Angel' who had always been admired from a distance, felt truly seen, truly desired for the first time in her life. She was not an untouchable ideal; she was a woman, trembling on the verge of ecstasy under the hands and mouth of a witch.

Wendy’s mouth trailed lower, over the smooth plane of Mahiru’s stomach. Mahiru’s fingers fisted in the sheets, her back arching as Wendy’s tongue finally found the hot, wet center of her desire. A shocked, blissful cry tore from Mahiru’s throat. She looked down, and through the haze of pleasure, she saw Wendy’s head nestled between her thighs. Wendy glanced up for a moment, and even in the dim light, Mahiru could see them—those incredible yellow eyes, glowing with a fierce, possessive heat as they watched her come apart. The sight was overwhelmingly erotic. The knowledge that this powerful, magical woman was devoted entirely to her pleasure sent a fresh wave of fire through her veins. The world dissolved into pure sensation, a spiraling vortex of bliss with Wendy's masterful tongue and those burning yellow eyes at its core.

Mahiru’s climax was a shattering, vocal release. Her body convulsed, and she called out Wendy’s name, a prayer and a plea. Wendy drank in her release, holding her hips firmly until the last tremor had subsided. Slowly, she moved back up, covering Mahiru’s slick body with her own. She kissed her deeply, tasting her own climax on Mahiru’s lips. Mahiru was breathless, her skin flushed, her honey-gold eyes hazy with pleasure.

"My turn," Mahiru whispered, a new, bold confidence in her voice. She shifted, reversing their positions with a surprising fluidity. Now she was the one looking down at Wendy. She saw the surprise and raw hunger in those luminous yellow eyes. The witch who commanded armies was now lying pliant and wanting beneath her. The power of that realization was a potent aphrodisiac.

Mahiru, the ‘Angel’ from *The Angel Next Door Spoils Me Rotten*, had learned much from observation and quiet study, and she applied that same meticulous attention to Wendy’s body. Her touch was different from Wendy’s—softer, more questioning, but no less effective. She explored Wendy’s scars, her taut muscles, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Wendy’s controlled breaths started to grow ragged. When Mahiru’s mouth closed over her, Wendy threw her head back with a sharp gasp, her fingers digging into the mattress. Mahiru’s gentle, determined lapping was a sweet, relentless torture. Wendy, who had faced down horrors, found herself completely undone by the tender ministrations of this girl from another world. She watched Mahiru through half-closed lids, the sight of the sweet, perfect Angel pleasuring her so devotedly sending her spiraling higher and higher. Her own release was a guttural cry, her magic flaring uncontrollably for a moment, causing the lights on the street outside to flicker and a soft golden aura to shimmer around their bodies before fading.

Exhausted and sated, they collapsed into each other's arms, their slick bodies tangled together in the sheets. For a long time, they just lay there, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing and the gentle rain that had returned. Mahiru traced patterns on Wendy’s back, her head resting on the witch’s chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of her heart.

"I never..." Mahiru started, her voice soft. "I never imagined anything like this."

Wendy stroked her hair, her sharp yellow eyes softened with an emotion Mahiru couldn't quite name. It was a look of profound tenderness, something Mahiru now knew was reserved just for her. "Neither did I," Wendy admitted. "In my world, connections like this are a luxury. A weakness, some would say. But with you... it feels like strength."

They made love again as the dawn approached, this time slower, more intimately. It was a dance of discovery, a synchronization of two souls from disparate worlds. Mahiru learned the strength in Wendy's hips, the exact spot behind her ear that made her shiver. Wendy learned the way Mahiru’s breath hitched when she whispered her name, the way her golden-brown eyes darkened to a molten amber right before she came. Their gazes remained locked, a constant, silent conversation. The theme of "Yellow Eyes" was not just a tag; it was the story of their connection. It was the primal, magical fire in Wendy's gaze meeting the warm, steady dawn in Mahiru’s, creating a light all their own.

As the first rays of sun painted the room in soft pastels, they knew their time was finite. Wendy’s magic was returning fully, and she could feel the pull of her own world, a faint but persistent hum in the back of her mind. The parting was inevitable. But there were no tears, only a solemn, heartfelt promise. They shared one last, lingering kiss, a seal on the memories they had created.

Wendy stood once more in the center of the living room. She held Mahiru’s hands, her thumbs stroking the back of them. "I will find a way back," she said, and it was not a hopeful wish, but a statement of fact. The determination in her citrine yellow eyes was absolute.

"I'll be waiting," Mahiru replied, her own eyes shining with unshed tears, but also with a new strength Wendy had helped her find.

Wendy produced a small, smooth grey stone from a hidden pocket in her robes. She murmured a few words in a language Mahiru didn't understand, and the stone began to glow with a familiar, soft golden light. "So you don't forget the color of my eyes," Wendy said, a small smile playing on her lips as she pressed it into Mahiru’s palm. With a final, loving look, Wendy focused her energy. The air crackled, the violet light flashed, and just as suddenly as she had arrived, the witch was gone.

The apartment was quiet again, just as it had always been. But it felt different. It felt bigger, emptier. Mahiru Shiina stood there for a long time, the enchanted stone warm in her hand. She brought it to her cheek, its light pulsing in time with her own heartbeat. She walked to the mirror and looked at her reflection. She was still Mahiru, the perfect Angel. But something had changed. Deep within the warm, honey-gold of her irises, a new fire flickered, a secret knowledge, a reflection of a magical, impossible love. It was the lingering glow of a witch's passionate, unforgettable yellow eyes.