— assurances of the heart. yamada asaemon shion x f!reader. sfw/fluff, only mildly suggestive. reader and shion are married. brief mention of insecurities. lots of love and romantic declaration. shion cracks a few jokes because he can't help himself. wc: 1590.
“can i ask you something?”
your hushed voice breaks the comfortable tranquility of the room, bathed in warm morning light through the closed shoji screens, perfectly diffused into a soft dreamlike glow. there’s a gentle cadence of warblers that rings out, alongside a rustle of the spring sakura trees from the other side of your peaceful sanctuary, completely out of sight from the rest of the world.
the futon you share lays in modest disarray, layers of your sleep robes draped haphazardly around the tatami mat floor. there’s nothing between the two of you, only bare forms and blushed skin that tells a familiar tale.
“of course you can,” shion responds, lazily carding his fingers through your hair as you rest over his chest, his heart rate still leveling out from your bright and early activities. “you’re my wife.”
you smile at that, still, even after you’ve been wed and living together in this home for many months now, basking in the joy that is marriage to the man that nearly swept you off of your feet from the very moment you met him.
it was his calm gentleness, paired with discipline and understanding, that drew you to the asaemon, like a clumsy moth to a white hot flame.
shion, who is calm and kind, passionate and honest, and oh so very handsome.
“why did you decide to marry me?”
your husband entertains your inquiry with a quiet chuff, endeared by such an innocent curiosity. “what brought this on?”
“just…” you cling tighter to him then, seeking shelter from your own looming insecurities. your finger traces over the shallow roadmaps of his battle scars to sooth yourself. “will you tell me?”
shion hums in thought, letting it linger in the air like a weightless down feather. his hand reaches for your own, interrupting your tender touches to his skin to lace your fingers together, a harmonious lattice of both fragility and strength.
“i took you as my wife because you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever met.”
you watch as his calloused trained fingers enclose around your much smaller hand, thankful that his eyes can’t perceive the expression you’re making, almost pitiful… doubting even.
“but…” you chew on your lower lip, still kiss-swollen. “you’ve never actually… seen me. not really. why would you think that i’m—“
shion uses his grip on your hand to tug you even closer, an effortless strength that brings you into him, a loving demand for your attention.
“why wouldn’t i think that you’re beautiful?” it’s like he knows you have a better view of his face now, because he smiles, a tender thing that compliments his fair features. his eyes remain shut, but you can almost see them sparkle anyway. “you assume that because i can’t see with my eyes that i’m unable to evaluate one’s beauty?”
you know as well as anyone that shion perceives things that others cannot, a deeper sort of sense to a person’s being that the naked eye can’t begin to acknowledge. be it something that was born from the loss of his vision, or a training element learned from his rōnin status, it's impressive how much shion can 'see' without a proper visual field.
but you’d be lying if you said you never wondered if that was enough for the ways of his heart, that not knowing your true physical appearance holds no weight to a man robbed of his sight.
“there are other ways to observe such things,” he continues, somehow sensing your rapt attention from behind his eyes that stay guarded with the fan of his eyelashes, framed with those ever-present scars.
“your hair, for example.” shion abandons your hand in favor of weaving through the strands once again, thoughtfully twirling some of it around his index finger.
“it smells of lavender and honey, like an untouched wildflower field in the peak warmth of summertime.” shion lifts the twisted section of hair up to his nose, inhaling slightly. “it puts me at ease.”
you look at your husband as he speaks, watching the curl of his mouth as his fondness begins to drip out like a calming flow of water. the heat begins to radiate over your cheeks.
“i can also sense it through touch.” his palm rests over your cheek momentarily, warm and comforting, as if he’s brought the very hearth of his love right to your already burning skin. it slides to the back of your neck, following an invisible trail over the plane of your back.
shion pauses along the way to regard specific parts of your body; the curve of your waist, the shallow dip of your spine at your lower back, and the crescent of your hipbone, places he was touching only moments ago with a much different fervor.
the entire time, you’re basking in the breathlessness of your body’s reaction to his touch, the gooseflesh it leaves in it’s wake. you can feel yourself subconsciously drawing closer to him with every inch of exploration.
his fingers grip into the back of your thigh appreciatively, steadily pulling upward to drape your leg across his midsection. even though he’s beneath you, shion makes it feel like he’s crowding you somehow, brushing the tip of his nose over your cupid’s bow until your soft giggle fills the small space left between your lips.
“and that laugh,” he says with such a fondness that it nearly breaks your heart. “you have a beautiful laugh, my love. the cadence of it melts away every ache of a long day. i can’t say i’ve heard any song that compares to it.”
somehow, in a matter of seconds, your husband reduces the question of his assessment of you down to nothing but utter certainty, a bashfulness permeating your already feverish complexion.
and all the while he didn’t make you feel silly for asking in the first place.
“besides…” shion softly smiles, finally opening his eyes to reveal the palest milky white, like winter frost against a pane of glass. “i’m sure this face is less than pleasant to look at.”
you immediately balk in offense, pushing yourself off of your husband’s chest to point a finger that he can’t rightfully see. “you listen here! I happen to think you’re quite handsome! i feel incredibly lucky to have—“
shion’s sudden bright laugher cuts you off, willing his eyes to close once again. “see that? beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as the saying goes.”
you deflect his very obvious pun and pout, something he also can’t see, but perhaps he can feel it somehow judging by the way his expression shifts in acknowledgement.
“i’ll have you know that practically every woman in the town expressed disappointment upon hearing about our marriage announcement.”
shion’s eyebrows raise at that, giving you a look of genuine surprise. “now why would they do that?”
you can’t help but sigh at his apparent denseness for his own good looks, for the fact that all the single women — even some of the married ones — secretly pined over shion yamada asaemon for years before he met you, hoping to be right here in your place.
as observant as he is, that fact seems to escape him to this very day.
“all I want to know is…” you reach for your husband’s face, a soft caress of your fingertips that only mildly catches him off guard, letting your touch trace the outlines of the marred flesh around his pretty eyes. “are you happy that you married me?”
shion pauses, if only for a second, before he responds with a tender touch around your wrist, allowing his lips to find the delicate palm of your hand and placing a kiss directly to its center.
his thumb brushes over your skin soothingly, finding your other hand still resting against his sturdy chest to curl his fingers around it. you can feel him looking at you, somehow, even in the complete absence of sight itself.
“please don’t ever doubt that you’ve made me the happiest man alive.”
there’s a sudden sting of tears along your lash line, so much warmth and reassurance blooming over your heart at his reverent declaration. “really? you mean that?”
shion closes the space and presses his lips to yours, ones that remind you of the sakura petals that often drift onto the engawa just outside this room. you instantly melt into it, a gentle kiss laden with promise, for as long as you both continue to draw breath.
your husband finally pulls back just enough to speak against your mouth.
“since the moment i laid my eyes on you.”
you can’t fight the reaction this time, letting another airy giggle dance around his senses. “i suppose i should be grateful that i married a man with a sense of humor.”
shion almost looks proud to receive your praises, curling his arms around you protectively, like you might suddenly disappear if he were to let go.
“and i’m grateful that i married such a beautiful woman that will laugh at my jokes.”
you smile then, brushing your nose against the slope of his own in appreciation of all that shion is and remains to be. calm and kind, passionate and honest, oh so handsome and decidedly quite humorous.
OLIVER AIKU x F!READER. 18+ NSFW. Soft Dom!Oliver, Reader POV, established FWB, date gone wrong (reader gets ghosted), angst if you squint, Oliver cares more than he lets on, petnames (baby + sweetheart), body worship, praise (use of 'good girl') and dirty talk, nipple play, oral (f rec), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, kissing and handholding or whatever, creampie, aftercare. WORDCOUNT: 2.8k
18+ MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DNI. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!
AIKU WEEK MASTERLIST | DAY TWO ->
Hey are you busy right now? 10:49pm
No. Whats up? 10:51pm
Can I come over? 10:51pm
You worry your thumbnail between your teeth, slumped in the drivers seat of your car with the air conditioning on blast as you stare at the glow of your phone screen. The typing bubble doesn’t immediately come up after your last hasty text, which makes you even more anxious.
You never do this. You never ask to come over to his place unannounced, and you’re sure that both of you are aware of this. It’s not that you don’t want to take initiative, but with Oliver, you hardly have to.
Sure, there’s been times when you have a really bad work week and you reach out to make plans the following day, or nights when you want a little bit of attention and simply stay up an extra hour to exchange hot photos with your friends-with-benefits who’s never shy about showing off his body, but for the most part it’s Oliver that makes the suggestions to hang out.
It’s really only ever about sex, though. Nothing more. And you’re fine with that… for the most part.
Sometimes you do wish that Oliver would be a little less skittish about his feelings or show more interest in things a little deeper than the surface when it comes to you…
He’s a good lay, that fact is certain, but he’s been relatively noncommittal. And you just had to reason with that on your own if this was going to continue.
But after a miserable night of trying to break that cycle of sleeping with a guy who won’t take it to the next level and going on an actual date with someone with the right intentions, only to find out they hardly had the decency to make an appearance at the restaurant after an hour of waiting, there’s only one person your mind thinks to call upon.
To feel better. To forget.
Oliver is good for that.
Bzz!
Sure. Give me 15 mins 10:55pm
You sniffle and blot away your streaky tears with a rough paper napkin from your center console to do your best to save your makeup and head over to Oliver’s apartment.
Within minutes of crossing the threshold of his front door, still in the dress and heels you wore to the date you never got to enjoy, you’re crashing your lips against Oliver’s and quickly straddling his lap on the couch. You paw at his bare chest, fingers roughly tangling in his hair to lick into his mouth and promptly grind down on his crotch.
Any other time, your eagerness would only get Oliver going that much faster, but his keen perception has seemingly decided to speak before his dick this time.
“Baby— Baby, slow down a sec,” he urges between every hurried kiss.
Weird. He’s usually the first one to get straight to the point.
You try to ignore him, overpower him with physical desires, but when his hands take hold of your waist and push instead of pull, you flare with annoyance.
You reluctantly stop attacking him and sigh sharply. “What?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just…” You realize that have to test out your bluffing skills in real time because you hadn’t anticipated this reaction from him. “I’m really horny.”
Oliver chuffs a laugh, untangling your arms from around his neck and forcing you to look at him. “You’re a bad liar, ya know that?”
You make a face then, and something about him… softens.
“C’mon, you come over here unexpectedly in this pretty dress and expect me to not notice that your mascara is all clumpy? And your eyes are all red and puffy. What—”
“Oliver…” You sigh again, this time long and hard, hanging your head between the two of you. “Please don’t.”
You don’t see it, but his eyes narrow, tightening his brow. “Don’t what?”
“Act like you care.”
You can feel his muscles tense underneath you, a twitch of his fingers that still rest on your waist. He’s quiet for a second.
“I can tell something is up.” He soothes his thumbs over your dress, a pacifying thing to get you to calm down. “Just thought you might wanna talk about it.”
And maybe talking about your shitty and embarrassing night of being stood up would be the better option, but you never imagined Oliver Aiku of all people would offer such an intimate kindness, especially not when your dress is already riding up to your hips and you’re practically begging him to fuck you right here on his couch. He should be drooling like a dog with a treat in its mouth.
Oliver is just better suited for things of physical nature, not the emotional kind.
“No,” you finally say.
“I don’t want to talk. I just want to forget.”
“Forget about what?” he pushes again. “What happened?”
“Oli, please. Please…” Your plea dies in your throat that’s fighting to not choke up again. Oliver couldn’t possibly understand. Because he’s happy with being alone, in that way. He’s made that pretty apparent for months now.
He hasn’t wanted more.
“Can you just… be normal Oliver tonight and pretend that I wore this dress to, like, spice things up or whatever and that nothing is wrong?” Your fingers press into his shoulders, voice wobbling despite your efforts to keep it together because whatever he’s doing is melting that wall you tried to put up.
Your eyes start to sting once again. “I just need—”
The touch of his forehead against yours stops your tirade. You feel the way his arms hold you a little tighter now, big palms pressing into your lower back, if only for the comfort.
“Shh,” he finally cuts in. “Okay, alright. No more questions then.”
He holds you close against him and rises to his feet, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist for support. You hardly need it, though.
“I gotcha, sweetheart.” Oliver’s voice takes on a gentler tone, a whisper against your skin. You feel goosebumps starting to rise, clutching your arms around his neck as he effortlessly carries you.
It’s a short stride from the living area to his bedroom, cast in nighttime hues and warmth from the street lights below, the soft glow that highlights the differing tones of his eyes that stay trained on you as he lowers you to the edge of his bed.
“So is this a new dress?” he asks, hooking a finger under the shoulder strap.
You nod silently before Oliver is craning down to press a trail of kisses to the curve of your shoulder, pulling the strap of your dress out of the way as he works his way down.
He hums, and you promptly shiver.
“Pretty as a flower.”
You swallow hard, taken aback by his shift in demeanor. His mouth is hot against your skin, a chill rolling down your spine as his tongue flicks over your neck before sucking on it softly.
When you whimper and reach out to tug on the waistband of his sweats, Oliver shushes you again and grabs your wrists with gentle strength.
“Relax, baby. Let me help, yeah?”
He leans into you, his lips finding yours in the darkness as his hand reaches for the zipper at your back. His fingertips run over the length of your back as he brings the zipper down and peels your dress away from you, painstakingly slow and a little too thoughtfully.
It leaves you stunned silent.
Oliver positions you on the bed, your head laid perfectly against his pillow that smells comfortingly like his shampoo, nervous at the way he takes his time admiring your silhouette, nearly bare in the bra and panties that don’t match at all because you weren’t actually expecting to have sex tonight.
And you think that maybe Oliver has put the pieces together by now, why you came over here in a rush in this outfit with smudgy makeup and refusing explanation, but he’s forgone his previous attempts to get it out of you.
The look in his eyes now says he understands what you want.
His large hands cup your tits, kneading them over the thin material that still covers them, listening to the way you breathe deeply against his palms. When you automatically arch into the touch, he smoothly guides one hand behind you to unclasp the hooks of your bra and slip it off of you.
You hear Oliver hum with appreciation, and it makes you shudder once again. You can see that lopsided smirk of his through the shadows, usually smug but now something else entirely different.
“Been thinkin’ about you all day, baby.” His tone is warm, hushed and husky as he brings himself lower to kiss across your collarbones. His indigo mess of hair tickles against your cheek and all you can do is whine with need.
He slow to work his way down until his tongue circles around one of your stiff nipples, immediately blowing on it until you’re keening at the sensation.
“Oli…” you whine again.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Oliver smiles. “You just look so damn cute in my bed like this.”
Usually, Oliver says something really brazen to get you to blush, but even just that comment has your cheeks feeling hot already.
He takes his time giving each of your tits the proper attention, keeping a hand on whichever one isn’t occupied by his mouth, all the while you moan and squirm beneath him.
His lack of haste has your head spinning.
Eventually, he moves further down, kissing gingerly around your navel and your hips while his fingers curl under the waistband of your panties.
But he doesn’t yank them off in his typical fashion, only pulls them down one inch, then another, until his stubbly lips are kissing directly over your mound.
His teasing is starting to make you feel like you might explode. The slick ache between your thighs has you pushing your hips off the bed which only makes Oliver coo at your impatience.
You’d smack him if you didn’t catch the gleam in his eyes that makes your mouth go dry, a look that carries a patience to attend to you just the way you need, not the way you want.
“Shit,” he marvels as he slips the lace over the length of your legs, parting your thighs with a gentle firmness. “Already so wet. Must’ve really needed me, huh?”
“Y-Yeah, I did,” you weakly admit. “I do.”
“’Course ya do, baby.” Oliver lets some of that smug confidence that you’re well acquainted with slip out as he settles between your thighs, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive inner areas leading to your now exposed core.
Oliver lets his tongue drag over the length of your cunt, entrance to clit, before kissing your center so heavily it has you gasping for air. You thighs twitch under his grip, framing his handsome face as he dives right in.
“Fuck,” he groans against your folds, kissing from left to right, up and down. “You taste so damn good.”
Your fingers tangle into his hair, nails scratching his scalp and tugging at the root as he eats your pussy like it’s his favorite meal. He sucks your clit just how he knows you like it, over and over until you’re coming undone with a wobbly cry of his name.
But Oliver doesn’t stop there.
He spends so much time with his face in your cunt that your entire lower half is left trembling from the orgasms he delivers. His tongue eagerly accepts your release, arms pulling you impossibly closer to his mouth like he can’t get enough.
You’re left dizzy and breathless by the time Oliver pulls away, the scruff of his jawline glistening with slick and spit, licking his lips as he finally rids himself of his sweats that have grown uncomfortably tight.
“You alright, sweetheart?” You feel his stubble against your cheek, the warmth of him hovering over your pliant body as you search for his gaze and give him a nod.
Oliver grins proudly. “Good girl. Eyes on me, then, ‘kay?”
You blink through the haze of euphoria he’s plunged you into, looking at violet and green hues as he guides the head of his cock to your entrance, thrusting his hips enough to slide himself almost halfway in on the first stroke.
You both moan in tandem, simultaneous sounds of pleasure racking through you as his cock stretches you open, a welcome feeling of fullness hitting the very heart of your core.
“So fuckin’ tight, baby. Takin’ me so well, hm? That’s it.”
Oliver’s filthy mouth lights a fire under your skin, his pace slow and deliberate and downright mind-numbing. He’s not rough or demanding, no harsh slapping of skin echoing off the walls as his neighbors are used to, but a meaningful rhythm that has tears wetting your lash line once again.
But it’s a different flood of emotion about to hit you this time.
“O-Oli—”
As if he can sense that you’re about to break, Oliver brushes his nose with yours, voice low and reassuring.
“S’okay, baby. I’m here.”
He entwines his fingers with your smaller ones, holding your hands above your head as he kisses you so deeply it squeezes your heart with a frightening intensity.
You’re almost not sure that it’s him.
Oliver fucks you just like that, uncharacteristically close and intimate, letting you thoroughly taste yourself on his tongue and pressing you softly against the mattress. You moan together as his cock strokes your walls in all the right ways, building up that delicious pressure every time he sinks himself deep.
Your sounds of pleasure begin to heighten, pitchy breaths still muffled against Oliver’s mouth, a desperate rock of your hips to increase the friction you need.
Oliver responds in kind, releasing one of your hands to slip between the heat of your bodies. He presses his thumb to your sensitive clit, moving in firm gentle circles until you’re chest heaves against his own.
“One more, yeah?” His voice effortlessly coaxes you closer to the edge. “C’mon, cum for me, baby.”
The precise stimulation makes you shake, the corners of your vision going white as you shatter beneath him, tears trailing down the sides of your face and you sob and stutter out his name in desperation.
Your mind completely melts, every nerve in your body surging with the shock of pleasure.
Oliver drinks you in, groaning unabashedly as your cunt squeezes him so tight that it kickstarts his own release. He draws out a curse, almost panicked as his cock twitches with every thrust that paints your walls white with his cum.
There’s a liminal moment, maybe seconds or even minutes, caught in the comedown that’s left you boneless, mind completely devoid of everything that happened before you got here.
Oliver lets you catch your breath, hands smoothing over your tired body and kissing the tears that streak your temples.
It could be your imagination, but it feels like the two of you eventually start breathing in sync.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” He eventually says. “I’m gonna go get some water.”
He peels himself away from you with a satisfied groan, making sure you’re comfortable before tugging his sweats back on to go out to the kitchen.
You wish your voice would have asked him what the hell is up with him tonight, but nothing comes out.
When he returns, you sip on a chilled glass of water while Oliver dabs a cool towel over your face, taking care to be gentle when he places it between your thighs. You almost watch in awe, thankful that he’s being so attentive by also downright confused about his behavior.
“Feeling okay now?” He asks before placing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “You want anything? Hungry?”
That’s when you deflate, embarrassed by the light churn in your stomach. “A little. I didn’t really get to eat dinner...”
Oliver doesn’t follow up with a prying question this time. He retrieves one of his shirts and a pair of shorts from his dresser instead, placing them in your lap.
“Then how about you get comfy and I’ll order us something? There’s makeup wipes in the bathroom.”
You look at him with playful incredulity. “Since when do you have makeup wipes in your bathroom?”
“In case you ever came over and wanted to take your makeup off.”
He answers so matter-of-factly that you lose any rebuttal you might have had, watching as he kisses your cheek one last time before exiting his bedroom again.
Maybe there was never any pretending when it came to caring.
And what you don’t know as the two of you lounge on the couch well past midnight, you draped in his too-large tshirt and baggy shorts, fresh faced and legs draped over his lap, eating takeaway and watching bad late night TV…
Oliver has decided that he’s never going to let you go on another shitty date again.
a/n: Nepenthe (nuh-PEN-thee) is a mythological potion that relieves emotional pain by inducing forgetfulness. The word is used to describe anything that soothes grief, provides comfort, or offers an escape from mental suffering.
— happy birthday. enjin x f!reader. sfw/fluff. reader is part of the cleaners. there's a party (no alcohol mentioned). brief make out sesh. you tease enjin for once. he’s still a menace by design. wc: 1347.
your return to cleaner hq was a slow one, the persistent landscape of waste overstaying it’s welcome for your long journey home that ended well after sundown. you accepted a mission early this morning with little fuss, because it was a simple job, but the con was that it was quite a distance away. but it didn’t matter to you. a job is a job.
you stretch your arms and legs as you make your way inside, heading toward the main hall where a steady thrum of voices can be heard from the other side of the doors that separate you. and you know exactly why.
enjin may keep his real name a locked-tight secret, but just about everyone at cleaner hq at least knows when his birthday is.
as is tradition — told by long standing members — every year there’s a congregation in the main hall to celebrate enjin. which you can’t help but to validate, because as infuriating and impossible he may be, enjin treats the cleaners like his family and never leaves a single one behind. he’s deserving of recognition, and one day a year is more than enough attention for a ‘humble janitor.’
and it would be poor form to not at least make an appearance, even if you are pretty exhausted from the drive home.
you slip in relatively unnoticed, scanning the room to survey the sporadic gathering of friends, eating and drinking and having a good time. you wonder how long some of them have been here tonight, sharing their best enjin stories over the years, no doubt some of them a bit crass in nature.
and speaking of enjin…
“hey there, sweetheart.” he chimes once you reach his eyeline. he uses that petname so often that no one so much as bats an eye about it anymore. “you’re finally back. was startin’ to think you didn’t like me or somethin’.”
your eyes roll only slightly, a grin creeping across your mouth because you sometimes question why you tolerate enjin’s insufferable behavior on any other day, but today you decide you can give him a pass.
he leans back in his chair, one arm draped over the back that’s far too short for someone his height, and the other bringing his cigarette to his lips. he eyes you almost too carefully.
“so what’dya get me for my birthday, hm?”
you sigh deeply; you’ve never been more done with his shit than right now, because of course he’d pull something like this in front of almost the entirety of the cleaners staff.
and all their eyes are on you, unfortunately. and you have to think quick.
so… you do the first thing that comes to mind.
you approach enjin, watching him watching you as he exhales smoke from the corner of his mouth. his hair looks a bit tidier than usual, the undercut sharp and fresh (riyo’s doing, you assume), an almost expectant toothy grin painting his features.
and you’re about to wipe it clean off.
you don’t even break stride as you sit yourself sideways over the expanse of his lap, looping an arm around his neck while the other cups his jaw in a fluid motion to steady him. you can see, for just a split second, the way that enjin’s golden eyes go wide before you lean in and firmly plant your lips on his.
there’s a clamor of noise that fills the room then, gasps and yelling and even a few raunchy howls from all of enjin’s buddies as you all but command his mouth to let you in. and let you in he does.
your tongues tangle for a brief moment, the taste of smoke igniting a burning fire between you as enjin slips one of his hands over your thigh to squeeze the plush of it.
his strong hands pull you even closer, and you respond with cat-like affection against his chest. it’s almost hard to breathe for a moment, the two of you stealing the very air from each others lungs until there’s a dizzy feeling in your heads.
just as enjin starts getting a little too enthusiastic, you playfully nip at his bottom lip before wriggling out of his grip and getting back to your feet to leave the room just as fast as you entered it. you make a show of wiping his spit from your mouth as onlookers process what the hell just happened.
and enjin, as you predicted, is left stunned and silent over your bold, brazen display.
a string of laughter and barking ring out as he rushes after you, catching the door just as it’s about to close on him and slipping out into the empty hallway with you.
“hey—” he gently grabs your arm to spin you around, towering over you with a giddy grin and flushed cheeks, his dimples beaming in full display. “what was that all about?”
you try not to let your own rush of adrenaline shatter the facade you’re trying to maintain, folding your arms over your chest as you lean against the wall. “you asked for a birthday present, right? that was it.”
enjin huffs out a laugh before properly crowding your space, one hand rested at your hip while the other cups your face, stroking his thumb over the high point of your cheek.
“thought you didn’t want them to know?”
and it’s true; you’re the one that made the decision to keep the relationship between the two of you on the low, because being coworkers could make things messy as it is. and you didn’t want your close connection with enjin to affect your own perceived capacities as a member of the cleaners.
the only person that knew before now was semiu, and that’s because she could read you like a book whether you liked it or not. thankfully, she respected that it ‘wasn’t her secret to tell,’ so you’ve successfully been sneaking time alone with enjin for months when other eyes weren’t paying attention.
but now the game that you started is finally over, and truth be told, standing here now, it was worth it to see the mildly irritating shit-eating grin on his face right now.
“happy birthday, enjin.”
he sighs happily, touching his forehead to yours which undoubtedly isn’t comfortable for his back. “shit, now i can kiss you whenever i want.”
you chuckle under your breath. “relax, tiger. lets not gross them out too quickly, oka—”
enjin kisses you right there, the same way he’s kissed you behind locked doors and empty rooms and in the secrecy of the truck. and being that the hallway is currently empty, you decide you don’t mind it. it’s nice to not have to worry about hiding it anymore, because you actually like enjin and all his infuriating charm.
but it feels like he’s about to devour you whole, pressing you between him and the wall, pawing at you like an animal and this is hardly the time or place. you utter his name twice between kisses before he’s finally letting you up for air.
“you better head back in there. can’t have the guest of honor going missing from his own party.”
“come join me,” enjin says almost too quicky, desperate to leverage with you. “c’mon, i’ve missed you all day. and it’s my birthdaaaay—”
“okay, fine.” you reluctantly agree just to shut him up.
enjin ends the exchange with a kiss to your forehead, draping his arm over your shoulders before swinging open the door back into the hall.
“hey everyone, have you met my girlfriend?!”
you whine and cringe at enjin’s call of attention to the entire room that proceeds to cheer even louder than before. you immediately hide part of your flushed face in his coat.
well… at least now you can tell pretty much everyone all at once, right?
— help me with my zipper. haitani ran x reader. suggestive, reader wears a dress. wc ~300.
"hey, could you come help me with my zipper?"
you swear you hear ran enter the walk in closet faster than a dog hearing it's favorite word. if he had a tail, you imagine it would be wagging like crazy.
see, your husband loves to dote on you. it's his favorite pastime (even more than sleeping).
"of course, my love." his smooth voice rolls over your shoulder, saccharine and dipped in honey and adoration.
as he stands behind you facing the floor length mirror, his amethyst eyes salaciously drag over your body in it's reflection. as tired as his eyes look naturally, there swells a hunger beneath his lowered lashes that, even after being married for over a year, still leaves the back of your neck feeling warm.
ran's hands lay at your waist, a familiar touch that continues to seep comfort and a daring heat into your bones. his love hasn't seemed to waver at all since the moment he confessed it to you. his touch always conveys a deeper pleasure than his words.
you hear him hum appreciatively as his palms glide down to your hips, lengthy deft fingers flirtatiously squeezing you in his grasp. you let him have his fun, coyly catching his gaze in the mirror as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth to stave off the excitement vibrating under your skin.
you feel him move to the small of your back, where the aforementioned zipper sits unreachable to your own hands. ran puts the pull tab between his fingers, and slowly moves it.
only your dress starts to feel looser.
"i meant up, ran." you let out an airy giggle, because you should have known your husband would have something up his sleeve the moment you let him touch you.
"oh," he remarks quietly, like a tiptoe over the plush carpet in the bedroom, eyes heavy with mirth and hedonistic intention as his lips trail the curve of your shoulder with a feather light touch.
you feel a brush of his lilac hair over your ear, his next syllables dancing their way to your hazy mind.
MUDANO NAITO x FEM!READER. 18+ NSFW. Soft dom!Mudano, Reader is part of the Oni Agency stationed at Rasetsu Academy, implied (private) relationship, shower sex, nipple play, clit stimulation, fingering, mild breath play/erotic asphyxiation, sex against the wall (If you don't think Mudano is strong enough to lift/hold you just read ch 140), P in V, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, lots of intimacy, praise, unspoken feelings, occasional POV switch, aftercare implied. WORDCOUNT: 7.2k
18+ MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DNI. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!
If there’s one thing that you’ve never had issue with sharing with Naito Mudano, it’s comfortable silence.
Being the undeniable stoic type with a penchant for all things efficient, you knew from the beginning that Mudano wouldn’t ever be the first to engage in conversation (at least the kind that didn’t have a clear purpose in mind) or make propositions outside of his straight and narrow mindset. Frivolity is a mystery to him, and the thick walls of discipline he’s encased himself in aren’t forgiving to cheeky banter or whimsical adventure.
And despite that, you think it’s exactly what drew you in to him—his unshakable resolve and a mental fortitude strong enough to hold even the heaviest of burdens. You’ve learned over the years of collecting fragments of information about him that some of that conviction of his was born from things like grief and regret, things he doesn’t talk about, things you probably can’t fathom. But nevertheless, it’s shown you the kindhearted nature that Mudano exudes, albeit in unconventional ways.
Efficiency. Sternness. Silence.
It’s all of these traits that he possesses that eliminated any sense of doubt you had upon growing closer to him, because a man like Naito Mudano wouldn’t waste time on something he wasn’t implicitly sure of. Opening your heart to someone had never felt more safe and secure than in Naito’s capable hands.
There might not be any grand romantic gestures between you, cuddling or canoodling or keeping conversation just for fun, but there’s warmth in the spaces you’ve reserved for each other in your hearts, however minimal it may be.
You appreciate that about Mudano—his way of keeping his affections undeniably special.
Some people might say that his unwillingness to allow you to accompany him on missions is a sign that he doubts your competency or skills, but you’re well aware that his motives are only to keep you out of harms way, and nothing more. He cares far too much to put you in deliberate danger if he can help it.
So to say you’re surprised to be sharing a quiet hotel elevator ride with Naito, deep in the concrete jungle of metropolitan Tokyo, would be an understatement.
It was a simple enough mission—more of a personal request from Rasetsu’s principal since he’s unable to leave the island of Onigashima himself—that seemingly determined that your presence wouldn’t result in extra worry for the straight-laced professor.
(And perhaps the mysterious and obviously more lighthearted admin of the school even had a part in swaying Mudano to let you be his mission partner this time around. After all, he’s one of the few people that know what you and Mudano are to each other, and the Principal has always been quite encouraging about it.)
That’s not to say you weren’t excited to get some one-on-one time with Naito either, since he tends to structure his days and class schedules quite diligently, and he’s certainly not one to engage in public displays of affection at any given time. Moments for just the two of you are ones you keep close to the chest, so getting his undivided attention for a little while sounded like an absolute treat.
“We get to share a room,” you muse as you place your things on the chaise in the corner of your hotel room, admiring the view outside the window.
“It conserves the Academy’s budget.” Naito dryly explains, placing the briefcase which contained the reason for this evening’s mission on the floor. “And it’s easier to keep an eye on things. It’s more efficient.”
He can’t just say that he wanted you close by.
“There you go again.” Your laughter bounces off the plain neutral walls, stepping over to the bed to test its comfortability for the night. The sheets feel soft enough as you run your fingers over the fibers. As your eyes move about the room, something catches your attention. Not for it’s standout features of flashiness, but on the contrary, its glaringly simple existence.
The very modern ensuite bathroom, very unlike the traditional wash rooms at Rasetsu. Which isn’t a problem, but it hadn’t even crossed your mind until the very moment your eyes swept over it.
“We’ll have to use the same shower.”
Mudano stands quietly, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his slacks as he ascertains what you mean. His eyes drift to the threshold of the bathroom, then meet yours for a moment before offering a simple solution to the perceived dilemma.
“Ladies first.”
“No, you can go first,” you quickly counter as you sit at the edge of the bed. “I’m sure you’re way faster than me.”
He eyes you again for a beat before reaching for the knot of his tie. “Very well.”
He gives the tie a practiced tug from around his neck and places it on the bed, proceeding to methodically undo the buttons of his dress shirt. His fingers move dexterously, inching to reveal the bold bodysuit underneath. Tattoos of a past that you’ve only caught glimpses of in rare moments you’ve been brave enough to ask about. Naito isn’t secretive, just private. His avoidant details tell you far less than the work itself, the inky black patterns laid over his collarbones, across his chest, down his sternum and…
There’s a pause before he reaches the last button, and it takes you a second too long to realizes he’s stopped undressing because you’re staring at him.
It’s mildly embarrassing; it’s hardly the first time you’ve seen your own lover without a shirt, and a few times he’s even been kind enough to allow you to remove it for him, but this setting makes things feel uncharacteristically… foreign. Exciting. So much so that you let your mind wander to those stereotypical movie scenes of steamy romance and how it might look between you and the man who you’ve definitely seen naked, just not naked and wet, a pleasant sheen over defined muscle and dripping from*—*
“Would you like to join me instead?”
Your line of sight darts back to his coal black gaze, relaxed and far too neutral, so you can’t be sure if his mouth was actually moving just now or if you imagined his voice inside your wildly delusional head. The latter is certainly far more plausible.
But the way his eyes narrow a fraction, like he’s telling you he won’t ask twice, confirms the doubt.
“Oh… I— If you think that would be… Um, more efficient?”
God, you sound like him right now. You want to laugh at yourself, but your levity gets caught in your throat over the entire situation at hand. Your palms feel a little sweaty, your nerves making your fingers twitch against the freshly creased linens.
You’ve been intimate with Naito, but you’ve never showered with him before, and for some reason that feels way more personal than sharing a bed.
There’s a pause, silence that’s typically comfortable between the two of you, but in this moment feels thick and unnerving and has your thoughts running a mile a minute.
But then you hear Naito sigh.
“It wasn’t a suggestion with efficiency in mind…” He finishes with the last button of his perfectly pressed shirt, revealing in full the decorated markings of his lean but strong body as it slides off of his shoulders.
The quiet shift of fabric being laid onto the bed is the only thing that cuts through the tension in the air before he finishes his sentence.
“Only indulgence.”
You feel an immense heat crawl up the back of your neck. You’re not sure that it’s actually Naito Mudano standing in front of you right now, if not for the too familiar unyielding weight of his pitch black eyes. Since when did he cast aside efficiency for blatant indulgence? And during a mission, no less.
Well, the hard part of the mission is over, anyway…
You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. It feels like your mind is buffering to blurt out any sort of answer, but trying to stay focused on his generous suggestion while ogling at his shirtless form only makes things terribly difficult for your poor brain to keep up with.
You like to think he’s blissfully unaware of the effect he can have on someone like you.
Without breaking stride, Naito pulls his belt from the loops of his trousers before tossing it to the bed and making his way to the bathroom.
“I won’t wait long.”
You know he wont, but you’re not sure why you still hesitate, feet planted to the floor like they’ve taken root all of a sudden. Perhaps it’s because you’re used to the idea of this being quite impossible with the bathing arrangements at Rasetsu. Thanks to the traditional setup and a firm boundary on mixed bathing, for students and teachers, the thought of sharing a bath with Naito never really crossed your mind aside from being some sexy faraway fantasy that you were sure he’d never bring up on his own.
You’ve gotten so used to the same routine that the sudden crumbling of those walls built around it leaves you slightly anxious.
The sound of running water pulls you from your thoughts, a realization that Naito is probably already in the shower, which means you have about thirty seconds to decide if you’re going to take him up on his offer or leave it to be desired.
Twenty-nine…
Twenty-eight…
You force your feet to move, rather quickly pattering into the bathroom and starting to remove your clothes, trying to ignore the distracting flutter in your lower abdomen.
For all you know, Naito could end up hating this, failing to grasp the whimsy and finding it easier to just continue to bathe alone when you head back to Rasetsu in the morning and never speak of it again.
But there’s a chance he might enjoy it too, otherwise he likely wouldn’t have given it a passing thought to begin with.
He could just be doing it for you, too. But as thoughtful as that is, you’d like to think he has at least a small reason to want to do it for himself. He deserves to be a little selfish after spending countless hours thinking about others.
The glass shower door has already begun to cloud with steam, leaving Naito as a waning indistinct figure on the other side. No sooner do your panties fall to your ankles are you sliding into the rather cramped space directly behind him.
You’re greeted by the intricate patterns that adorn Naito’s back, shimmering in waves like a heavy rain on a spring evening as he lets the water beat down onto his shoulders. His hair hangs heavy, a waterfall of tar black that molds to the curves of his neck.
It’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, in a strange way. It’s most definitely not the first time you’ve seen him stripped down—physically speaking—but as the cascade of water soaks into his hair and glides down his back, its almost as if his exterior is being washed away right before your eyes, softening his edges, giving way to the part of himself he holds far too deep for anyone to reach.
It’s much warmer inside the enclosure of the shower, the air thickening with every ticking second. Your eyes roam the planes of Naito’s body, firm musculature of a well-trained soldier with markings from shoulder to spine and down to his thighs.
You know what they mean, what purpose they serve—a constant reminder of his past, forever etched into the surface of his skin like a punishment that never fades.
You’re not left to dwell on it for too long, because a look over his shoulder shifts your attention. You stand awkwardly away from the water, clutching your arms as the billowing steam against the cool air leaves you goose-fleshed. You’re not sure why you feel so nervous.
Naito wordlessly reaches out to pull you closer, positioning you in his place in front of the hot stream of water. He stands at your back as you near instantly let yourself relax as the warmth beats down into your tired muscles, releasing the day’s tension with a sigh.
“How’s the temperature?” It’s a quiet thrum at your ear, an earnest question.
“It feels good…” The water pressure begins to melt you, inevitably bringing a rumble of pleasure up the column of your throat like a cat’s purr. “Really good.”
The day has been long, a few hours on the Shinkansen left you stiff, and walking through the shadows and alleyways of Tokyo to avoid Momotaro detection really put a strain on your legs. You’re just thankful nothing went awry this time for you to have to fight. Relatively speaking, this assignment went off without a hitch. No mishaps, no wounds to tend to, no need for backup or sudden retreat.
“This is nice,” you playfully muse to break the quiet.
“I wouldn’t get used to it.” His answer keeps the same indifferent tone, albeit a little softer this time. It’s not said from a place of unwillingness, but reinforcing the normalcy for when you both return to the school. Always the sensible one.
“Well then,” you sigh as you let your head fall back, welcoming the downpour of calming water. “I guess we’ll just have to enjoy this while we can.”
“Yeah…” He responds definitively. His fingers softly clutch your hips, as if you might disappear into vapor if he were to let go. The way his hair drips onto the back of your neck makes you squirm a little.
You stay like that for a short length of time, just appreciating the atmosphere and the company of one another in silence, as you always have.
After one long minute, you feel Naito steadily pull you against him, enough to feel his rigid chest against your back, a slight tickle of his breath that makes you bristle with a chill.
“Is this okay?” His voice is smooth and hushed, barely audible through the soft din of the shower, like caution has overtaken his senses, like he won’t move without your blessing. Like he’s tentatively proceeding one small step at a time. You wonder if it’s less about perception or analysis and more about… something else.
And then it dawns on you that this is a new experience for the both of you, a new kind of nakedness and vulnerability within the realm of physical intimacy. Neither of you are ignorant of the expectations here, but it’s still fresh. Unknown. You’re definitely more nervous than he is, but his habitual check-ins always have a knack for easing you out of it.
Every step forward in your relationship together has been treated just the same—Cautiously, observant, assessing every touch and movement for the rights and wrongs.
And there’s been very little wrongs.
You hum thoughtfully, tilting your head to the side when you feel the featherlight touch of his mouth against your shoulder. “Yes. More than okay.”
It’s faint, but you hear the breath he releases, slowly, as if he’s allowing himself the reprieve to let his hands and his lips wander over your dewy flesh. Not with confidence, nor reluctance either, but acting with the utmost deliberation in his actions.
It’s slow and appreciative, tracing an imaginary line with the press of his lips, working his way up the column of your neck as his slick hair drips tepidly onto your skin that’s now beginning to burn up.
You allow yourself to fall into bliss, savoring such a rare and unexpected occurrence. If you were anywhere else, any number of things would redirect Naito’s disciplined laser focus, a machine with well-oiled cogs that are constantly rotating to keep duress at a minimum and be prepared for any threat or disruption.
But here, in this small space devoid of danger, that exact focused attention has fallen completely onto you, and that in itself is something you hadn’t anticipated being quite as heavy as it is.
Naito is an intense man; his emotions are as sharp and hard as granite, oftentimes difficult to decipher, but there’s never any doubt conveyed in the reverence he exudes for the person you’ve become to him. Something to cherish, something that perhaps makes him feel a little more normal… Whole, even. Less like a soldier and more like a piece of something bigger than himself.
You feel the way his arm wraps around you, coiling you into a firm embrace while he sprinkles your damp skin with affections. You’re pressed safely against his chest, sturdy enough to be a reliable failsafe should your knees happen to buckle under his pointed attention while the steam of the shower continues to swirl in plumes around you like a veil, hiding you away from any intrusion that might interrupt such a perfectly intimate moment.
Naito’s touch migrates, fingers gliding over skin like topography he’s fought to memorize. Your breath hitches as he trails up over your breast, palm brushing over your nipple before giving a polite squeeze.
You sigh and arch into his touch, silent in your request for more. He takes your non-verbal permission, letting his thumb sweep slowly over the stiffening bud. You hum in pleasure before choking out a soft moan as Naito adds more pressure, pinching the sensitive pert flesh between two fingers.
The stiff metal of his ring against your nipple has you gasping, a telltale sensation rolling down your spine and making your core flutter desperately for attention.
“N-Naito…” Your voice falls off with a slur of a whisper, barely able to move your tongue the way it needs to. He’s already found the strings to begin unraveling you, the thick air and relaxing massage of the water only aiding in his advances.
Naito remains quiet, pitch-black eyes narrowing the more he watches you react to his touch. It’s not a look of smug power or control, but rather a misunderstood gaze of admiration, like seeing a rose blooming in his hands in real time. A privileged sight.
You press back against his chest then, almost involuntarily as your head starts to spin the more he delivers such attentive touches. Each point of contact stirs that reservoir of desire deep within you. His lips that caress your most tender spots, rolling your nipple between two fingers that produces needy little moans. His hand at your waist that dutifully steadies you, and without you even realizing it, encourages a soft rock of your hips against his groin. It’s all gotten you dizzy beyond belief, and so very slick between your legs.
As if reading your mind or your body language—or both— Naito slips a hand between your thighs that already threaten to tremble under his touch.
He unmistakably presses the pads of his fingers to your clit, giving way to a sigh from your relaxed mouth as they begin a slow and steady pace to circle around the bundle of nerves. The heat immediately begins to blossom in your core, a pleasure so tender that it threatens to tug at the delicate strings of your heart.
Naito patiently gauges every one of your reactions, the way you arch against his chest, your intake of breath, reading into your sensitivity levels and using them to his advantage to deliver waves of pleasure to your center.
You’d never really know it, the way it’s buried behind his permanent indifference, but he’s always studying you, a rooted desire to claim all familiarity over you, a curiosity he’s never had before with anyone else.
To Naito Mudano, people were just people for the majority of his life, but somehow you’re different. It borderline fixates him to your existence in this cruel life he’s come to know far too well. You’ve begun to flip his proverbial axes, alter his very existence, feeding into an undiscovered need. Naito has fallen victim to a fabled alchemy beyond what lies in textbooks and myth, an all encompassing shift to his perpetual blood-stained world.
It’s an attachment he swore he’d never allow, a weakness to his weary soul that can’t ever see the light of day so long as he draws breath.
Not out of shame, but out of fear.
Only right now, he’s evidently heeding to your earlier suggestion, to savor the moment, to indulge in every feasible aspect of you until he’s had his fill. Because sneaking around Rasetsu is fine, but it’s become apparent to him that he’ll never get you like this while within the walls of the school.
Your head tilts back and rests against Naito’s shoulder, losing yourself by the second as he precisely unwinds you with the deftness of his fingers. He swipes softly over your entrance, bringing your arousal to join the water that continues to gently trickle between your thighs.
He displays no urgency, no rush to have you finish as quickly as possible, but a slow and steady build up instead, to let you experience the greatest amount of pleasure he can deliver to you. The concept of efficiency has started to take on a whole new meaning.
You bite down on your bottom lip, muffling your moans to quiet yourself when Naito brushes his nose against your cheek.
“You don’t have to do that here.”
Oh.
You’ve gotten into the habit of keeping a low profile on your relationship while at Rasetsu, because in Naito’s eyes, knowledge can be a weapon in the hands of the wrong people, should it slip through the cracks. The likelihood of someone walking by his room or an otherwise empty lecture hall or staff office keeps you hyper aware of having to mask your connection him. It’s all necessary precautions you’ve agreed to take for the sake of lessening his worries of protecting you.
But here, there’s no one to worry about. The mere probability of anyone relevant, whether Oni or Momotaro, being within earshot of this unsuspecting hotel room in the middle of Tokyo is surely a fraction of a percent.
As you process your surroundings, the vice of your teeth slowly releases your bottom lip, allowing your sounds of pleasure to morph with the newfound shape of your mouth.
They’re clear and salacious, soft pitched moans and choked out curses, properly projected into the thick steamy air. And all the while Naito pays close attention, lidded gaze stuck on your expression as his fingers smooth through your folds and over your clit at an effective pace.
Your nerves feel taut as he inches you closer to climax, lashes fluttering helplessly through each pulse of want deep down in your core.
Naito noses at your exposed jawline, laving his tongue to lick at droplets of water that trail down your neck. Everything feels hot; every touch point now somehow more searing than the water temperature. His teeth gently scrape over your pulse, a hindered growl creeping out from deep within his chest.
As if he’s enjoying this too.
“F-Fuck, Naito—” you whine desperately as the telltale crest begins to peak, nails sinking into the black ink of his arm. He exhales sharp against your neck, adjusting the rhythm of his fingers against your bundle of nerves accordingly to get you over that edge.
Watching. Listening. Feeling. He analyzes your body language so fluently it’s downright overwhelming.
Your legs begin to shake, muscles tense and gradually your moaning crescendos into a breathless pitch. You haven’t even realized that your hips started rocking unsteadily against the friction that his fingers are already providing, chasing that sensation like a primal instinct.
Then you feel it— the tightly wound knot in your core breaks*,* vision faltering as you ascend into climax. Naito watches you fall apart, dark clumped lashes hanging low over the endless void of his irises that drink you in with such weighted intensity.
Like he’s observing nature with the most intimate front row seat.
You pant through the aftershocks, ever thankful that you’ve got someone capable to hold you up because you’re not sure your legs are at all reliable now, and it’s almost hard to breathe in the heavy vapor in the air.
Naito’s pace over your clit gradually slows to a soothing sluggish calm, nuzzling into your cheek appreciatively, like praise for a job well done. The beat of your own heart in your ears overtakes the hush of the shower, drifting you into a fog of ecstasy.
You sense a shift then, the water that was cascading down over you disappears, followed by a sobering chill of wet tile against your back. Naito rests a hand against the wall, bracing himself closely.
If it were anyone else, they’d be pissing themselves in this position, effectively cornered by one of the most revered Oni known for his impeccable combat skill and brutal strength. A measured terror. A monster in all regards.
But to you, he’s the one you trust implicitly with your life without a second thought about it. He is safety, a shelter, a protective shroud from the brutality of the world you exist in.
He brings his hand between your thighs once more, slipping his fingers through your folds before pressing softly against your entrance. You can’t help but keen at the action, hips writhing with the shallow intrusion.
He pushes past the opening of your center to slide two of his slender fingers inside your walls that are already eager for him, a gentle pulse around the digits that coax him deeper and deeper.
The back of your head pushes against the tiled wall, knees drifting further apart to invite him in like a guest of honor. Naito’s palm cups against your mound, protectively so, as his fingers slide in and out of your slippery cunt at a slow exploratory pace.
Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, kneading into muscle with every glide of his knuckles, gasping at the way his palm grinds so perfectly over your clit.
Naito continues to crowd you, damp hair brushing your forehead, the pitch black of his eyes locked onto you to really watch you fall apart this time.
You do your best to maintain the eye contact, lashes fluttering with every subtle curl of his fingers into that precise spot inside you, mouth in a wide ‘oh’ shape, eliciting pleasurable sounds in the very tight space between you.
He leans in another inch, lips grazing the corner of your mouth as he speaks in a low register.
“Can you handle more?”
His words shoot straight to your pussy, clenching around his fingers with want. You whimper as you nod your head, nails gently digging into shoulders for stability, a desperate rock of your hips against his palm. The look on his face right now says he could swallow you whole, but you’re only too willing to surrender, pliant all the way down to your bones.
Naito pointedly presses the pads of his fingers firmly into the spongey spot inside your walls, delivering a shock of pleasure that leaves you gasping for air.
In the same instance, he moves to apply pressure around your throat, lithe fingers of his free hand wrapping around your neck to squeeze over the artery that supplies the oxygen to your brain.
It’s gentle enough to not choke the life out of you, but an accurate measured amount to leave the desired effect.
You moan more deliberately now, eyes rolling toward the back of your head as you’re plunged into a surge of euphoria. It feels so good that your mind begins to fray, bursts of fading white clouding your vision.
Naito seems to know every button to press, every carefully calculated combination to access your body’s maximum dopamine release. He curls his fingers more deliberately, a rapid tap tap tap against that front wall of your core while holding pressure to your neck.
It’s all you can do to cry out in the flood of pleasure, one moan blending into another as the wave hits without so much as a second of interruption. Your lash line pricks hot with tears, camouflaged by the wetness of the shower and your own sweat that tacks strands of hair to your face.
“N-Nai…” Your breath falls off, mind going numb to everything except the crescendo of your second orgasm. You look desperately between the black pits of his eyes, ready to fall into them at any given moment.
“Show me,” he says in a light command, his voice tickling the shell of your ear. “Show me how it feels.”
With a faint squeeze of his hand and a few more motions of his fingers, you’re hurdled into another wave of release, tears falling as you cry out his name like mercy on your tongue. Naito then lets up from your neck, returning the oxygen back to your brain to carry your high even further. Your weak fingers grasp at his shoulders, paw at his chest, sobbing as the seconds pass for you to come down once again.
Naito uses every opportunity to properly drink you in, his mouth ever so slightly parted to quell his own breathing. His chest aches so tenderly, something he’s felt before in his time of knowing you, but still can’t put into any words himself. He wants to be sure before he says them, because he values his resolve.
He retreats his fingers from your heat, a loss that brings you back to earth, back into the shower that’s done nothing to get either of you clean. Not that you mind, of course.
On the contrary, you think you’d give pretty much anything to not ever have to leave this place.
“You’ve done very well.”
Naito’s thumb traces the vein in your neck, as if he’s feeling exactly how hard your blood is pumping under the surface of your skin. His other hand snakes behind your lower back, as if he were holding a delicate bruised flower.
To feel his touch is like feeling heaven against your skin. And though he refuses to believe in such a place, you have half a mind to believe that it exists right here under his very palms.
You beam under his praise, hands reaching for his face to coax him closer. Naito thumbs over your jawline, his breath fanning over your dewy lips, just out of reach.
“Can I continue?”
Your eyes flutter to focus, feeling dazed enough to certainly last you the night, but you’d by lying if you said you weren’t feeling utterly greedy for Naito’s attention now.
You lean in, barely enough to skim your lips against his own as you give a response no higher than a whisper.
“Please—”
It’s all you’re able to manage before he’s crashing his lips to yours, both tender and ferocious somehow. He hardly has to ask for any more permission; your mouth parts on instinct to allow him to deepen his kiss, slipping his hand from your throat to the back of your neck. He guides you so confidently as he presses your already pliant body between him and the slick tiles at your back.
Now that you’re this close, you can feel how hard he is, his length bearing down against your burning hot skin. It’s then that another wave of desire rolls through you, slipping your hands between your bodies to trail them over the ridges of his toned muscles, blindly tracing the patterns of black ink solely from memory, if only to relish in the way he holds back a small shudder at your touch.
Everything about Naito is measured. His tongue moves in a fluid dance against your own, stealing every breath you can take in the little space he gives you to break for air. For a moment there’s only a symphony of touch between you, smoothing your fingers over the plane of his tattooed chest while he rather uncharacteristically slips a hand over the curve of your ass and gives it a proper squeeze.
There’s something about it that makes you smile to yourself, the idea of the most composed ace of the Oni Agency’s Battle Unit displaying such blatant brazen behavior.
Wanting.
Claiming.
Naito’s touch shifts further down, gripping into the plush of your thigh and slowly hiking it up to brush over his hip. The wet slip of skin on skin feels tantalizing, even more so when his cock rests directly over your mound, nearly causing you to vibrate with desire to have him closer, so much closer…
Before you can whine for more, Naito brings his other hand down and lifts you off of your own feet. There’s only a split second of panic as you’re robbed of your footing before you realize just how steady he holds you, straddled to his waist like you weigh next to nothing.
You knew he was strong, inhumanly so, but you can’t fight the dizzying whirlwind that now flutters in your core over the display of sheer effortlessness. Your pussy clenches like it’s begging to be filled.
And Naito obliges almost too quickly, looking down between the two of you to properly align the head of his length with your slick cunt. He lowers you just enough to breach the tip through your entrance, drinking in the way you reel from the minimal intrusion alone, pressing your nails into the frame of his shoulders until you’re marking him with crescent shaped indentations.
He’s kind enough to start slow, letting every inch sink into your wet heat as he gently lowers you onto his cock, keeping his grip firm under your thighs, all the while holding an intense focus on the way you take him in.
You can hear the smallest reactions fall from his lips, restrained as ever, holding steady to his practiced composure. But you want him to let loose, to not hide so diligently behind that calm collected demeanor of his.
You whimper his name breathlessly, letting him plunge himself deeper into you with every shallow movement. You notice the way his brow tightens just a little behind his bangs, his hardened muscles flexing under the cloak and pattern of black ink.
You tilt your head slowly, placing your wet lips to his cheek, caressing those two inked lines that adorn them with a soft kiss.
“Feels so good. You feel so—”
All at once, you feel pressed into the wall and the full length of his cock sink into you. Naito strains with a barely there groan, fingers gripping into your ass like he needs something to ground him.
You cling to his back, arms now wrapped around his shoulders as you gasp at the fullness of him, ever so patient to let himself make the connection that feels so impossibly complete. Your toes curl, legs dangling helplessly as your walls clench around him, nerves alight and heart hammering in your chest.
Naito conceals his face in the curve of your neck, breath hot on your skin as he pulls back out of your pussy only to thrust back in fully. He creates a rhythm like that, slow and deep and dizzying, pleasure rolling in like waves of the unyielding ocean.
He huffs under his breath as you softly moan into his ear, suspended between the euphoria of him and the hard reality of the tiles at your back. What you wouldn’t give to never part from him like this, to abandon duty and remain here where you can both live out the rest of your days being wrapped up in each other instead of senseless conflict and violence.
And it’s like Naito knows what you’re thinking exactly when you’re thinking it, because he picks up his pace enough to drown out those thoughts, sounds of your pleasure echoing off the walls that drip with desire and condensation. The entire room is shrouded now, mirrors and glass opaque with vapor, like barriers away from the world you don’t need to think about right now.
“Tell me again,” that soft sturdy voice commands you, dripping down the back of your neck and into the spaces of your spine like molten honey.
You know that he doesn’t often seek reassurance, so the logical explanation falls in line with keeping you from drifting too far away from him. He wants you here, present in this shower for as long as the water runs hot, for as long as he can keep you in his arms, safe from everything.
“… so good.” Your mind sluggishly crawls back to him, the existence of him like gravitational pull to ground you. The fullness you feel starts to tip you over the end of your emotions, tears welling in your eyes and holding back the sob lodged in your throat. “It feels so good, Naito.”
Your nails gently rake over his back, thighs squeezing his hips that keep driving his cock into your center. The coil in your tummy tightens almost painfully, your walls spasming with every long drag of his length, attentive and heavy.
Naito adjusts his grip, tilting your hips ever so slightly that his next thrust nearly sends a shockwave through you.
“There, right there—” you pant through the sharp pleasure, chasing the release that feels so tight it might tear you apart. “Please, don’t stop—”
Naito hears your pleas and follows them to the letter, face still tucked away, the softest grunts bouncing off the wet tile behind you. You’re thoroughly pinned, the weight of him pressing you back into the shower wall with undulated force.
Time freezes in a way, your lives awash in this bubble of your own making, focused solely on each other, a luxury of circumstance. The heat of your bodies, stripped of worry and flooded with everything you haven’t yet said to one another.
Sometimes, words just aren’t necessary.
There’s flames licking wildly through your core now, reapproaching the precipice of your release despite the ache and exhaustion. But you welcome it, for the way he’s entwined himself with you so completely he’s practically given you his own tattoo over your beating heart. A mark of permanence.
Your fingers slip through Naito’s hair, giving the black strands a firm enough tug to coax him away from your neck and face you again.
Your lips beg for his, little eloquence in the way you moan around his tongue wantonly, cupping his face in your hands that fight the tremble of overstimulation.
Naito hums with a low growl between your teeth, receiving and delivering with the same intensity. His fingers grip you so hard that you know they’ll leave bruises in their wake. He so thoroughly drowns himself in your pleasure that it naturally coincides with his own, a tension building swiftly in his rhythm the more he bleeds his devotion into his precise strokes and heavy kisses.
You chant his name over and over between your lips, sickly sweet and out of breath, letting every bit of air you manage to get into your lungs belong to him.
He could have the whole of you and you wouldn’t dare protest.
It takes you a moment to realize that Naito’s breathing has labored too, not severely but enough to notice the way he’s started panting against your mouth when you pull away.
Your eyes lock, nose to nose, the solidness of him so much more present as he pushes his cock so deep it gathers the stars and puts them in the center of your pupils.
Your fingers glide over the back of his neck, a touch lingering at his nape so featherlight it makes him bristle, and a second later he’s claiming your mouth again, an urgency laced in the depth of kiss before he thrusts harder. Pointed. Telling.
There’s a muffled moan, a rigidness to him as he stutters his hips. You feel your body beginning to melt into him, limp and spent, a fragile climax threatening to shatter you completely.
His abdomen tightens, a final thrust that pins you to the wall with no other option than to take it, as you’re so willing and ready to.
Naito’s mouth parts from yours if only to let the faintest sound fall away from his lips, breathy and titillating, the twitch of his cock nestled deep inside your cunt signaling the flood of his release just as your walls desperately squeeze around him.
You come together like that, so close and connected that its any wonder where he begins and where you end. And even still, you long to bring him impossibly closer, hot palms caressing his face and leaving little room to breathe through your shared orgasm. His air is your air, his being is your being.
And you’d be none the wiser to think the same of the other way around with the deep penetrating look in Naito’s eyes, a swirling pitch of intensity and reverence.
You practically go limp against him, noting the way his own shoulders go softer without relenting his grip on you. The comedown is slow, savored in a way, an absence of desire to separate, to let this end.
“Will you let me wash your hair, Naito?” you finally say after a minute, weakly nosing at the crook of his neck as if seeking shelter.
His fingers knead into your flesh, absorbing the tremble he can now feel in the muscles of your legs. “Will you be able to stand?”
You curl into him slightly, a smirk creeping across your kiss-swollen lips. “No.”
Naito quietly chuffs at your response. “Then how do you hope to—”
“You’ll hold me up… right?” You cut him off before he can finish his admittedly sensible question.
There’s a silence that follows, that same shared comfortable quietness that’s now only accompanied by the spray of the long forgotten shower, lukewarm and still beating down against the floor.
Your eyes don’t see the fleeting, barely-there twitch at the corners of his mouth.
“Yeah… I’ve got you.”
Naito allows you to wash his hair then, strong arms dutifully wrapped around you as your hands swath him in a different indulgence. All the while, he watches you carefully, silently, calmly enamored in your determination to give him something he’s probably never thought of in his lifetime.
MUDANO NAITO x FEM!READER. Birthday fic, fluff, sprinkle of angst, secret/long distance relationship, reader is part of the Oni Support Unit in Kyoto, brief descriptions of blood/injuries/death, Japanese New Years traditions, fleeting interactions, nervous tension and yearning, tiny mention of alcohol (not consumed), Kyouya is your wingman, allusion of height difference (Mudano is canon 183cm), midnight kiss (kinda), very shoujo romance. WORDCOUNT: 4.3k
18> TO FOLLOW. REBLOGS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED ♡
NEW YEARS EVE — A day that everyone around the world celebrates. A chance to ring in new luck and happiness and give wishes to the gods to be in their benevolent hands. Some wish for good fortune, others wish for love. Some appreciate the passage of a new year intimately with family or a partner, while most throw parties with all of their closest friends until well after the pointed stroke of midnight.
There’s not a soul on earth that doesn’t celebrate this day in some way or another, and you’re far from an exception.
You had to hold back your excitement upon hearing the news that Mudano would be bringing his class to Kyoto this year to celebrate the turn of the new year, only a polite acknowledgement drifting over your face when one of the other nurses at the base commented on Kyouya’s rather loud announcement that his best friend was coming to see him for the holiday.
And despite his forward nature, the Commander is at least respectful enough to not call you out on it until after the room has cleared out.
“So, how long has it been this time?” He playfully inquires while cleaning up some old bandages.
Your instinct is to check your immediate surroundings, not wanting any loose information to slip by someone in passing. Because what goes on between you and Naito Mudano isn’t common knowledge.
In fact, it’s a locked tight secret.
“I don’t know. Maybe a month or two? Three?” You absentmindedly roll up an empty futon while trying to remember the last time you and Mudano were able to cross paths properly. You think this might be the longest stretch of time you’ve been away from each other.
Since moving to the medical unit here in Kyoto, and having a steady stream of patients thanks to the more frequent rise in battles with the Momotaro, you’ve hardly been conscious of time itself. Days blend together here at the main base, in mortal wounds and bloodshed, dirty hands and dreaded trips down into the lower levels to dispose of the bodies that don’t make it through their injuries.
Hardly any room for the melancholy you feel in your heart.
You and Naito have been entangled for quite a while now, but his stipulation to pursuing any romantic involvement was to keep it confidential, a private affair even to normal everyday colleagues, because that kind of information falling into the wrong hands could lead to catastrophe for either of you.
Mudano is well known to the Momotaro as an opposing elite soldier for the Oni Agency, and you’re aware that the last thing he wants is for you to end up being a pawn for the Momo in a desperate attempt to try and cut him down; Or worse, to be unable to do your own job helping other Oni wounded in combat if something were to happen to him on the battlefield.
And that’s what led to your relocation, because in Mudano’s eyes, the separation keeps both of you in a levelheaded mindset, distractions kept to a minimum. What you really know is that he’s doing his due diligence to protect you from the threat of loss.
And himself, though he’d never openly admit to that.
The only people that know about your relationship with the Rasetsu professor are Masumi and Kyouya, his two closest friends. The only reason Masumi found out is thanks to his intimidating level of perception in even the most minute behaviors, but thankfully he really didn’t give much of a care for the information to bother doing anything with it. Kyouya, on the other hand, was told in bare confidence, which surprised you given his outgoing and chatty personality, but also showed you just how much Mudano trusts him with this secret.
So you were thankful you were able to move to Kyoto’s main base with the Commander of the Support Unit, that very friend who is probably just happy that he can gossip to someone about Mudano’s ‘grand undercover romance.’
“And to be reunited on New Years Eve of all days,” Kyouya muses, turning to you with an easy smile. “Have you ever celebrated Danocchi’s birthday with him before?”
“No… I haven’t,” you answer simply, a drop of sadness in the admission.
Kyouya was the one to tell you when Mudano’s birthday is in the first place, despite immediately following up with the fact that Mudano doesn’t typically reveal that to people on his own. Or even celebrate it at all.
It’s been your own little secret for a long time now, waiting for the right year to tell him ‘happy birthday’ in a way that isn’t just an impersonal phone call. You want it to be special. Memorable.
And having him here in Kyoto might just be the perfect opportunity.
Formalities are kept at the very forefront upon Mudano’s arrival with his troupe of students, giving only polite acknowledgement in passing down the main corridor. You watch him command the group of kids with stern discipline, while doing his part as an educator to teach them the significance of this location hidden beneath the Kiyomizu-dera Temple.
You worry that your gaze lingers too long on his familiar dark features, coal-black eyes that do little to meet yours in the flurry of Kyouya’s welcome, so you try to busy yourself in the supply room before any of the students notice you yearning for their teacher from afar.
As much as you want to embrace Mudano, to give him some sort of affection, you know that doing it in the presence of so many people would cause too much of stir, and effectively jeopardize your security. But you can’t help but feel slightly uncomfortable in your own feelings, having to hold back so much that you want to show to him. So much that you want to tell him.
‘I’ve missed you. I’m so glad you’re here. Happy birthday.’
You stack and restack gauze pads, check the stock of antiseptic and clean linens, anything to make it look like you’re just a medic doing their job. It’s not enough to distract you, but it’s enough to make things look normal from an outside perspective.
After a few tedious minutes, you hear the sound of the shoji screen sliding open and closed, assuming it’s only a nurse looking for something for a patient. But when you turn, you’re met with the stark shadowed frame of Mudano himself, hands resting in his pockets, that same neutral look on his face.
And your heart promptly skips a beat.
“How’d you manage to escape the commotion?” you ask lightheartedly.
“Kyouya is giving the students a quick tour of the base.” His response is dry, sharp like his shirt collar, smooth as ice.
“I see.” You fumble with the stack of sheets, carrying on with your typical tasks to blend in even thought you’re the only two people in the room right now.
“You made it here pretty early. It’s barely noon yet.”
Mudano watches you quietly — a careful, considerate gaze. “I wanted to give them more time to see Kyoto.”
You turn to smile at him, eyes softening, warm admiration filling your heart. “That’s certainly nice of you to do.”
He meets your eyes, if only for a second, before averting to elsewhere in the room, a casual hand brushing over the back of his neck. He’s as handsome as ever, just as you last remember him — crisp shirt and an expertly knotted tie, that jet black hair falling over his eyes that you’ve caught yourself nearly falling into, those bold dark lines that adorn his right cheek. The nice thing about Naito is that his propensity to favor routine means that he’s not likely to change while you’re apart from one another.
It almost makes the long stretches of time feel just a little bit shorter.
“We’re staying at an inn nearby,” he finally says. “We’ll be coming back to Kiyomizu-dera before midnight to partake in the festivities.”
You smile again, because that’s just like Mudano — impossibly formal and direct to a fault, avoiding any attention to his acts of kindness that others point out between his straight-laced timekeeping and demanding training exercises. To you, it’s endearing, a bashfulness hidden under all that hardened demeanor born of war and sacrifice.
“You gonna let the kids rent kimonos too?” You finally take a few steps in his direction to carry on the conversation.
“It’s quite a popular New Years tradition down here… And you wanna give them the full experience, right?”
Mudano picks up on the way you’re trying to convince him of the idea, that knowing smile you’re giving him. Nothing gets past him.
“It was mentioned on the train ride here.”
You raise your brow playfully. “So you’ve already thought about it?”
And he’s quick to shut it down. “It was the students’ idea.”
You take another step forward, now close enough to let his scent cut through the sterility of the environment, herbal and musky, with a hint of bright citrus. You’ve longed for this smell again.
“Are you gonna wear one?” You feel like a schoolgirl asking, resisting the twitch in your fingertips to reach out and play with the end of his tie, to show him some sort of familiarity.
Mudano pauses again, a barely there choked sound emitting from his throat, a fraction of hesitation before honing in on the warm expression you’re giving him.
He crosses his arms habitually. “It is tradition...”
You nod. “Exactly. Kyouya and i will dress up, too.”
That’s when you catch Naito’s eyes drift over your figure, silent but heavy, as if he’s appreciating the thought to himself. Your heart hammers against your chest, cheeks burning up, every nerve catching fire. He didn’t even have to say anything.
Mudano then quickly looks at the shoji screen, a faint pattering of footsteps now heard in the hallway that effectively breaks your private little moment. You reflexively tear away and pick up a few items, hiding your disappointment in the interruption from view.
As if it did much to conceal it from a perceptive man like Naito Mudano.
The nice thing about major holidays like New Year’s Eve is the resulting decline in Momotaro activity. More civilian presence means less opportunity for battles to be initiated, especially around high traffic tourist areas like Kiyomizu-dera.
Which means the Kyoto base is pretty bare bones this time of year. The only Oni coming and going are conveniently in the area, opting for a quick check-up on old wounds or a refresh of bandages. Light work for what the norm usually brings in. And it gives you comfortable time off.
You make a stop at home and dig out your winter kimono, taking somewhat longer in your preparations now that you know that Mudano is here. The added bonus of his birthday stirs the butterflies in your stomach, excited and nervous as to how you’re going to approach the subject. And how he’ll take it.
Knowing Naito, he probably wouldn’t let himself be angry over something quite trivial and will likely brush off the entire fuss of it. But you’re determined to make it impactful regardless, because even in all the time you’ve spent apart he’s become incredibly important to you. A pillar in your future, an example of strength and determination.
And that’s something to celebrate in your eyes.
The crowd that’s gathered at Kiyomizu-dera is nothing short of impressive, more packed than it usually is on any given day, the area surrounding the temple full of cheerful energy and warm smells from food stalls. There’s plenty of soba noodles for good luck, souvenirs for remembrance and chances for prayer.
You wander around the grounds in search of Mudano and the others, hands tucked in the sleeves of your kimono to combat the slight chill in the air. A call of your name turns you around, and there’s Kyouya waving you over, clad in his traditional attire and a bright festive patterned haori for the occasion.
Right next to him is Mudano and his class, and it takes everything in you to act as casual as possible.
He’s wearing a muted gray kimono set, color blocked and perfectly fit to his tall stoic frame. His feet are absent of the rollerblades that he usually sports, efficiency seemingly left behind in favor of a night of lighthearted celebration. A miracle, some might say.
Your eyes meet, and Mudano’s facial expression shifts ever so slightly. Suddenly the barely-there bite of the winter air is gone, the warmth at your face heating you from the inside out.
You can’t be sure if he’s feeling the same thing as you are, but you’re fighting every desire to kiss him without a care as to who sees it. It feels like electricity under your palms, maintaining the secrecy of your relationship, an itch that’s sure to drive you crazy tonight when he looks like that.
“Well don’t you look stunning!” Kyouya cuts in cheerily, pointing out your outfit. “But didn’t you wear this kimono last year, too?”
“I— Well, yeah, I did.” Your face feels even hotter under his harmless comment, and you probably wouldn’t feel embarrassed at all if Mudano weren’t standing right in front of you. “But so what? It’s my favorite color.”
The peachy playboy laughs. “Relax, I’m just teasin’ ya! Anyway, now that we’re all here, what should we do?”
You hear a clamor of voices behind them, Mudano’s students all talking at once, excitedly proclaiming all their desired activities.
‘I wanna eat soba noodles!’ ‘I want more souvenirs!’ ‘Let’s go take pictures!’
“Quiet down,” Mudano slightly raises his voice, eyes closed and exasperated. He crosses his arms like he always does, though much more formal looking in his current ensemble.
“We’re going to the temple to pay our respects and say our prayers. Then, we can go eat.”
“You always have an itinerary, dontcha, Danocchi?” Kyouya nudges Mudano with his elbow, only for the already mildly annoyed professor to begin the hike up to the temple for everyone else to follow suit.
“So, who’s the girl?” One of the kids asks aloud, and your mind completely blanks.
Because you hadn’t come up with a cover-up as to why exactly you’re hanging around their teacher tonight. You’re looking like a deer in the headlights when Kyouya suddenly places a hand on top of your head.
“She’s my apprentice!”
A complete lie, but an excellent save. You feel your lungs deflate with relief as the doctor rambles on about the commander training he’s not actually giving you.
You decide to thank him for the assist later.
The group of you reaches the main hall where visitors offer their prayers for the new year. You hope for the safety and good health of all your friends, a beautiful and early spring, and above all else, a peaceful world where Oni and Momotaro don’t have to be at war with one another.
And that, in turn, would result in your freedom to be with Naito, as you want to be. Openly.
You step off to the side away from the altar and realize that Mudano never approached to pray, standing rather inconspicuously to monitor the area with his diligent awareness even in such a large crowd.
“You know nothing is likely to happen, right?”
You close in on him nonchalantly, placing yourself next to him and looking out toward the crowd waiting to give blessings. “There’s too many tourists.”
“I never let my guard down.” Mudano responds, confident and curt. And you take no offense— It’s just the way he is, the way this world has made him.
“Right. Well, I know that everyone always feels safe under your watchful eye.” You shift subtly, enough that no one would notice the way your arm brushes against his own. You long to feel his warmth in the winter chill.
“Me included.”
There’s silence between you then, a nonverbal understanding that Mudano would do anything to keep you in safe hands, even if they’re not his own.
You wonder if now is a good time...
“Hey, Naito?”
His eyes shift over to you, and he gives a soft response. “What is it?”
You feel like you have the jitters, nervous excitement zapping it’s way over your skin. You fuss with your hands, and you know you’re running out of time before the others find you both here.
“I just wanted to say—”
“Sensei!”
Suddenly, a few students come running up. Your lips purse together, the words swallowed down.
You should’ve known it was too short of a window.
“Doctor Playboy said he knows where the best tempura is!”
“And where we can find matcha ice cream!”
“Yeah, we’re all done praying so lets go!”
What follows is a walk around the Kiyomizu slope, packed with locals and tourists alike to enjoy the unique businesses and shops. All of Mudano’s students start haphazardly leading the way, sprinting forward to only stop for smells and small trinkets while the adults briskly follow and weave through pockets in the crowds. You watch Kyouya crack jokes to Mudano, who hardly reacts at all, but you like to think he’s having fun with the whole experience.
You pass by young couples sharing bites of mochi, old married partners linking arms to stick close to each other in the bustle of visitors, and you can’t help but wish you could do the same with Naito someday.
Even right now, all you want to do is grab hold of his sleeve to avoid getting lost in the sea of people, to have him reach for your hand and gently guide you through the thick maze of celebration.
Instead, you let him trust that you’re capable of keeping up all on your own.
In a weird way, this could count as a ‘date.’
You’re spending time together, never mind the firm degree of separation to maintain your discretion. You hear friendly arguing between the rowdy bunch of students cutting through your thoughts, a reminder that it’s not just the two of you here, and there was no explicit implication made that this was intended to be treated as a ‘date...’
Though, Mudano isn’t the type to give such designations for your more private moments, either.
Short visits while on agency appointed missions, nighttime phone calls while he grades exams at his desk, even the time he kissed you under the moon at Rasetsu before you transferred here to Kyoto…
You’re not sure if Naito would consider any of them dates, but for you, it’s all the times you’ve felt the happiest, so your heart chooses to see them that way.
And despite not being able to share mochi or link arms with him, you’re happy now.
After a few hours of meandering, enjoying hot toshikoshi soba and pulling Kyouya away from the sake bars, you all head back to Kiyomizu-dera shortly before midnight to enjoy the long awaited ceremonial bell ringing.
You look out over the main hall’s stage, supported by the lattice structures below that overlooks the mountains, a dense fog layering the trees in the distance. The entire sky is overcast, the moon’s glow pushing through the thick winter clouds.
You’re standing between Mudano and Kyouya, hands bracing the cold wood of the railing, your nails idly scratching at the material out of nerves. The night is almost over, which means that Naito’s birthday is almost concluded, and you still haven’t gotten to tell him.
You look down at the cliffside, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, wondering if you’ll just have to wait until next year once again.
But Kyouya notices your uneasiness like an elephant in a room, and turns toward the students that are busy snapping scenic photos and selfies in their kimonos.
“You know, kids, see that overlook across the temple grounds?” He points in the general direction. “It’s actually the best spot to get photos of the Kiyomizu-dera main hall.”
And it’s enough to grab the young ones’ attention, a brightness in their eyes.
Kyouya smiles like he’d absolutely not doing this on purpose. “What say we head over and I take a big class photo of you guys? C’mon—”
The group easily agrees and moves to head toward the area he’s pointed out, with Kyouya in tow after he shoots you a quick wink of understanding.
He’s not a half bad wingman, you think.
You feel a little more relieved when Mudano makes no move to follow, seemingly accepting the opportunity from his friend to take his students off his hands for a few moments.
Now it’s just the two of you again, wistfully staring out into the warm glow of Kyoto, a featherlight fall of snowflakes emerging from the clouds overhead.
It’s the perfect setting, a romantic view alone, no distractions.
It’s now or never.
“Naito—”
He turns his head, eyebrows lifted only a hairsbreadth.
You take a deep breath, the chilly night air awakening your chest, releasing it with relief.
“I’ve missed you a lot these past few months.”
You look over to find Mudano quietly observing you, mouth almost unnoticeably parted, a barely there dusting of snow now sprinkled through his black hair.
He’s everything you could ever wish for on a night like this.
“What was it you were going to tell me earlier?” he asks.
You face him fully now, close enough to reach out and take the fabric of his sleeve between your fingers with a gentle tug, and you smile.
“I wanted to tell you—”
That’s when you suddenly lurch forward from someone bumping into you from behind. You’re cut off by the surprised sound from your throat and brace your hands out as you lose your footing.
You crash into Mudano’s chest with a small ‘oof,’ and that’s when the warmth of him engulfs you.
His arm comes around to steady you, protect you, as if on instinct. The citrine musk of his cologne fills your senses, and you feel yourself relax almost instantly, melting into his rigid chest.
“Are you alright?” It’s a soft reassurance, like a blanket being gently placed over you.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for—”
You look up from your landing spot, closer than you anticipated, directly into Mudano’s pitch black eyes that reflect back the orange glow of the beautiful lights around you. You lose your breath, enamored by all that he is, every endeared feeling bubbling up in your chest like a flock of birds.
It’s weightless, your love for Mudano.
You slowly reach your hand up to cup his face, chilled fingertips against warm flesh, rising onto your tiptoes to place a kiss right between the two distinct tattoos across his cheek.
“Happy birthday, Naito,” you whisper against his face, lips caressing the dark ink laid over his skin.
He makes the quietest sound, his lingered grip holding you just a little tighter now. You can feel him exhale the air from his lungs, his breath dancing into the air around you, and for one singular moment, time stands completely still.
It feels like the safest place you’ve ever known, to be embraced in his hold, the flush of warmth against your palm as you caress him gently, only a fractioned testament of your affection for him.
And then the first chime of the bell rings out.
You can’t help but giggle to yourself, because you nearly missed your chance completely, mere seconds away from the turn of the new day. The new year, in fact.
The throng of visitors around you comes to life as each sound of the bell carries over the temple grounds, symbolizing the cleansing of the old year and ushering in a brand new one, full of hopes that all their prayers will be answered in due time.
Mudano reaches for your hand, strong fingers pulling it away from his face.
Your expression drops, wondering if perhaps you stepped over a line. There’s so many people around you, and you let yourself get too caught up in the moment to remember that fact.
But he only turns to place his lips over your open palm, a reverent kiss in all his hardened manner, a soft glide of his thumb over your wrist as if to appreciate the blood that flows through your veins, that keeps you alive, for him.
You wonder if he can feel the rapid uptick in your pulse where he gingerly holds you in place.
“Happy New Year,” Mudano finally says, an absence of the restraint he’s upheld all day to keep the two of you under the guise of just being acquaintances.
He says it with sincerity, in those dark eyes of his, a kindness that weaves itself into your soul.
You smile brightly, savoring this moment that you’ve been longing for, listening to each distinct ring of the temple bell solidifying the memory of this night for years to come.
— two minutes. itoshi sae x reader. slight nsfw. implied long distance relationship. you visit him in spain. sae speaks some spanish. wc: 1729.
it’s been two years since you last saw sae.
your feet carry you to the ocean, bright sparkling atlantic water that kisses the coastline of spain, suitcase clattering behind you on uneven brick paved walkways as you take in the unfamiliar scenery.
your flight was delayed. twice. so for a busy and regimented man like sae, you were instructed to ‘just come find him’ when you eventually landed. easier said that done when you’re in a country you’ve never been to before, but you’d manage. because you want to be self-sufficient enough for a self-sufficient man like itoshi sae.
so you follow his location from your phone.
sae has always been transparent about letting you see where he is at all times, even after he left to come halfway across the world permanently and chase the one skill he’s definitively excellent at. you’ve gotten to see his little blinking blue circle bounce from country to country over the years you’ve been apart, wondering what exciting sights he’s probably not that excited about.
but most of his time is undoubtedly spent here in spain.
you’ve always wondered what it is he does here in his new home. what his place looks like, where he goes to eat, what he eats, who his friends are, if he’s made any (knowing sae, it’s unlikely)… and you could always ask over text but he’s also not the best conversationalist and he rarely posts anything personal on his socials. some would say he’s frighteningly unplugged in a digital world, but you know that it’s just an inconsequential part of sae’s life.
still… it’s been nice feeling some sort of lingering connection with him in the form of a simple round dot on your phone screen all these aching months apart.
his location leads you to a beautiful beach — breathtaking you’d say — and it only takes you a few minutes to find him, his currant hair contrasting the hue of the ocean, surprisingly casual unbuttoned shirt catching the breeze as he dribbles a soccer ball between his bare feet on the hot sand.
“you’re practicing in the sand?”
sae does little to tear his concentration away from his drill, but you know he knows it’s your voice. “yeah.”
“isn’t that… hard?”
“that’s the point.” sae moves the ball about the uneven peaks and valleys that his feet leave behind in the sand, the blunt cut of his bangs wisping in the gentle breeze. he controls the ball with less difficulty than you’d expect from having such soft shifting terrain below their feet, but then you remember that itoshi sae is a true prodigy of his time.
he eventually concedes, picking the ball up and finally — finally —looking your way, those mirrors of jade that you haven’t seen in two whole years meeting your gaze and once again stopping your heart. with a welcomed pause of admiration.
breathtaking.
a man of few words, sae approaches you and places a simple kiss to your forehead, using his free hand to pry your fingers away from your suitcase handle before you can object.
“c’mon.”
──
spain has changed sae.
not completely, and not even drastically either; he’s still the same dry-mannered guy that left tokyo-haneda airport and never looked back. he still wears the same unimpressed expression, stoic and stern and all things that make him the relatively intimidating guy that he is.
but it’s changed him in rather minute ways.
he feels warmer — physically, that is — his body having absorbed much of the bright shining european sun. and as you walk with him, arm hooked around his own as your luggage trails behind him, you notice he’s not as pale either. it hasn’t sunken in enough to affect his personality, sure, but he looks good regardless. he, without a doubt, fits in with the climate and the tones of his surroundings.
a bittersweet thought, perhaps, because there’s a chance that with every passing year that sae stays here, the chance of him returning home diminishes that much more. being away from him has been hard, but you waste little time dwelling on it as you run your fingers over the his sunkissed arm.
──
sae’s palette has also changed. as long as you’ve known him he’s been attached to simple meals, a strict diet and those healthy kombucha drinks you never developed a taste for. but as you sit at dinner — in a restaurant with a thrum of laughter and a boisterous atmosphere that you never would have guess sae would put up with — he halfheartedly meanders over the tapas spread as he answers your myriad of simple but curious questions about his new life. he even helps himself to a spoonful of your paella, all while maintaining that hardened look of boredom that you’ve missed in the oddest of ways.
“there’s a band playing outside!”
sae hums in acknowledgement, resting his chin on his knuckles. “happens a lot here.”
“do you like it?”
“do i like what?”
“the music, silly.”
“oh.” he pauses, as if to remind himself of the sound, letting it dance it’s way into his ears. “yeah.”
you smile so big it makes your eyes crinkle. “do you wanna dance with me?”
“i don’t like it that much.”
and then you laugh. conversations like this affirm to you that sae is still sae, no matter where he goes.
──
sex with sae is different now too. there’s something more intense, connected about the way he fucks you. not that he was a careless lover in any way before taking the deal to play for re al, but perhaps he’s subconsciously learned a thing or two during his time spent in a culture that thrives on passion.
sae’s eyes are just as fervent as ever, though. rich jade irises hold a steady gaze to your own, taking in every expression you make as he thrusts with precision. like he’s studying you, observing your pleasure in real time, digesting it into his soul.
not only is there a obvious improvement in his physical features, but sae now has a heightened, more forward body language that he didn’t really have before. he moves like a languid rolling wave, doing well to press his weight into you in just the right way. his fingers trail delicately over your skin, a palm groping the globe of your ass to angle your hips in a way that has you seeing stars.
it’s been two years, but it feels like sae hasn’t ever let a single detail about your body slip from his memory. you’re like a book he’s read a thousand times, and never tires of.
“mi amor.” it’s a hush of a whisper against your mouth, and you know enough spanish to decipher the two small words. my love. a quiet declaration, spoken in a different tongue but in the same voice that’s sent shivers down your spine for as long as you can remember.
after all this time, sae still knows how to make you feel part of him, like the sea meets the shore, the dependent trust that you still fit in a space meant only for you.
you rest your hand against his face, as if to convince yourself he’s no apparition and this isn’t a sick fantasy you’ve concocted in your head from the weight of missing him, stroking the high point of his cheek as he delivers waves of pleasure that make it hard to focus. if you blink, he might disappear.
but sae engulfs your hand with his own, pressing his forehead to yours, the soft brush of his hair against your cheeks that keep you right here in this bed with him. where you belong.
“eres solo mía.”
──
it all feels like a dream, even as you sit high on the stool at the island counter draped in one of sae’s shirts, the bifold doors in the adjacent room opened to fill the space with the morning melody of birds and a calming breeze. a serenity unlike any other.
you don’t want to go back.
“you’re different.”
sae shifts his gemstone eyes in your direction only briefly, quietly and diligently peeling the fresh orange in his hand in just a pair of relaxed shorts. “am i?”
“yeah. in a good way.”
“hm.” sae breaks into the flesh of the fruit, the citric aroma filling your nostrils as he holds out a broken piece to you. “if you say so.”
you bite into the orange, bright and tangy on your tongue, like a revival of familiarity between you and the one person you’ve never been more happy to be in the same room with again.
“going home is gonna suck.”
you say it with a humorous tone, but even as sae washes his hands with his back turned to you, you know he sees right through it. you’ve never been able to slip anything past him. not once.
“so stay as long as you’d like.”
you’ve always admired how simply everything comes to sae, like the answer is always right in front of everyone’s noses and they don’t have the sense to just look down.
“sae…”
“i’m going for a run,” he switches before you can unpack what he just said, pushing the plate of remaining orange in front of you. “i won’t be long.”
he leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead, like a habitual thing. there’s few things sae has patience for, and kissing you feels like he could do it every day for the rest of his life and never once complain about doing it.
he heads to the door to put his running shoes on, sticking close to his typical daily routine despite you being here. and that’s okay, because sae doesn’t make you feel like you’re in the way of that, but rather… he’s already made room for you to be part of it.
leave it to a prodigy like itoshi sae to make two years only feel like two minutes.
OLIVER AIKU x F!READER. SFW/FLUFF. Pro Player!Oliver, Established relationship, reader pulls a funny prank on Oliver, domestic goodness, shenanigans, sprinkle of brattiness on readers part. WORDCOUNT: 2.3k
18> TO FOLLOW. REBLOGS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED ♡
<- DAY ONE | AIKU WEEK MASTERLIST | DAY THREE ->
You and Oliver have been dating for just over a year now.
Having just moved in with him three weeks ago, you’re still getting used to coming home to the smell of rich Italian spices wafting from the kitchen, getting scuffs and grass stains out of training kits while doing laundry, and having to share a bed with a 190cm furnace every single night.
But you’ve never felt happier.
The welcome mundanity has already started to settle in; Oliver wakes up early to go for his morning run and you make your coffee at your leisure before heading out for the day. Some evenings are spent with a movie on the couch, others are celebrated with soirees hosted by his football club.
Oliver especially enjoys it when you surprise him at his training camp, because it gives him the chance to boast about taking you home— to your shared home.
Everything fell into place so easily. Your life while dating a professional athlete had never felt more… normal.
Ding!
Your phone chimes on the kitchen counter as you make a grocery list for the week, and you curiously see a notification from you group chat of closest friends:
OMG look at this old interview of Oliver I just found!
You open the link to the attached video, noting the three year old timestamp and a rather younger looking Oliver Aiku right after he was scouted for the league.
It’s a talkshow format, two interviewers asking the new center-back player about his upbringing and where his passion for football came from, as well as his rather scandalous endeavors with amateur models and socialites yearning for a tabloid spread with the coined “Serie A Serial Playboy.”
All things you’ve heard straight from Oliver’s mouth regarding his early more immature years while exploring your budding relationship. He’s since settled down, but it’s still entertaining seeing him a bit more lean, exuding charisma and much cockier than you know him to be now.
At the end of the segment, the hosts play a rapid fire round of questions with Oliver, intended to be fun and off the cuff. You smile with every answer that’s all too predictable to you, nearly answering in tandem along with him.
His favorite football player?
Virgil van Dijk.
His favorite type of food?
Anything spicy.
The movie he’s seen a hundred times?
Jurassic Park.
What career would he choose if he didn’t play football?
Teaching.
His favorite season?
Summer.
His favorite animal?
…
Wait— You don’t think you’ve ever consciously asked Oliver what his favorite animal is, and you’re surprised that it’s never really come up in conversation before. It’s so basic and yet you can’t really fathom a quick guess as you stare expectantly down at your screen.
Even Oliver seems to hesitate to answer the question himself, but it only takes a beat and that signature grin of his to bring about his final answer.
“Chicks,” he responds. “I like seeing lots of chicks. It’s… healing, ya know?”
Oh, you cheeky bastard, you say to yourself, absolutely no shock or surprise written across your face. Of course he’d say something that would make the show hosts laugh while also reinforcing his unofficial moniker at the time.
But this playful answer of his hatches an idea in your head, one to liven things up around the space you both now share.
You quickly take to the internet to search for what you need, scouring sites and corners of the world wide web you didn’t even know existed until you found the perfect catalyst to a rather genius prank.
-
You do you best to be as nonchalant as possible waiting for your order to arrive, checking the tracking movements and praying the delivery would be inconspicuous and, most importantly, when Oliver wouldn’t be home.
This proved to be quite difficult with a man as observant as Oliver, quirking a brow over you insisting on checking the mail yourself for three consecutive days, but thankfully you were able to slip the package past him without suspicion.
You wait until he’s out at training to execute your plan, conveniently heading out for a girls day right after so you wouldn’t be home when he got back.
Oliver returns that day with a curiosity for the tented piece of paper seemingly waiting for him on the kitchen counter. Upon inspection, there’s a small yellow object that accompanies the handwritten note:
‘I heard you like lots of chicks, playboy. Find all 100 99 of them and you get a prize. Good luck! — ♡’
Oliver sees the first offender next to your note, a tiny yellow chick ornament, what he assumes is used in crafting of some sort. He picks it up and turns it in his hand, scoffing playfully at your little joke.
While you’re out chatting with your friends, you receive a text from Oliver, a photo of him holding the first tiny chick and the note.
Challenge accepted, pretty ;)
-
“Oli, I’m home,” you announce yourself later that evening, a few shopping bags in hand before you notice the small pile of plastic chicks on the counter.
“Forty-two!” You hear Oliver come out of the hallway, towel-drying his hair. “Not including the freebie you gave me.”
“Impressive,” you commend in sing-song, noticing that all the quite obvious ones you placed about the apartment have already been confiscated.
“I thought maybe you’d find them all, but…” You fake a look of disappointment over your shoulder. “Perhaps I overestimated you.”
Oliver playfully scoffs, coming to wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder. “That’s because I wasn’t really trying at all.”
“Mhm. Of course you weren’t.”
“At this rate you should have thought about better hiding spots.”
“And yet…” You sigh, continuing to tease him for his lack of progress. “You still have less than half.”
“Brat,” he playfully chides, rubbing his stubble on your cheek just to hear you groan in annoyance. You know as well as he does that it’s all in the name of affection, and more importantly…
There’s now a game to be won.
-
Over the next week, more and more chicks are discovered in rather peculiar places: One having been shoved inside one of Oliver’s spare training shoes, another hiding in the house plant near the window, and even one inside the toilet paper tube that Oliver definitely wouldn’t have found if he didn’t ever change the roll himself.
Every time you get a text from him, you immediately light up.
I WILL find them.
In my protein powder? Really???
Imagine my surprise when I notice something inside the pocket of my shorts and pull out one of these CHICKS in front of my coach…
That’s it I’m having Sendou come over to help me tomorrow
(That last one you deny him on grounds for cheating.)
Weeks pass, and by the time he discovers chick number eighty-nine, Oliver starts to reach his wits end. He’s all but flipped the furniture upside down, opened every cabinet and checked every corner. He’s even tickled you breathless to get you to tell him where the rest of the infuriating little birds are, but you never yield.
The frequency of discovery begins to dwindle as time goes on, and sometimes Oliver goes days without finding a single chick. You even start to genuinely forget where the remaining ones are, wondering if the final few will only be discovered once the two of you decide to completely move out of this apartment.
There’s a time where Oliver and his team lose an important match, which understandably rattles him and sours his mood. He returns home late, after you’ve already gone to bed for the night, left to deal with his frustrations on his own.
After showering, he opens the medicine cabinet in search of relief for his pounding headache, and after moving a few things around he sees one of those stupid little plastic chicks staring back at him.
Oliver can’t help but laugh, reminding himself how much he adores you.
He starts to keep one of the chicks in his training locker, like a good luck charm, and Lorenzo eventually calls it their team mascot.
Your little prank has started to leave big impressions in Oliver’s life, and on days when he’s unsure of himself or when you have spats and arguments among yourselves, he thinks about those damn chicks.
How could something so small offer him such clarity in the most unexpected ways?
Maybe it's because they're from you.
-
It’s months later, and Oliver joins you on the couch to catch up on one of your TV shows, resting his head in your lap before presenting you with one of the few remaining chicks.
“Where was this one?” you ask curiously.
“In the bedroom… In one of my high school trophies I have up on the wall.” Oliver mumbles.
You point an unserious finger to his chest, grinning triumphantly. “I told you that you should dust more often.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he responds only half-bitterly, taking you by the wrist and kissing your palm despite his exhaustion.
“That only leaves one more, ya know?” Your eyes wander to the glass jar that’s been living on the kitchen counter, full of those little yellow chicks with a bold sticky note with the number ‘98’ written on it.
“Can we just say I found them all and you give me my prize anyway?”
“Oli, that’s not—”
“I have looked… everywhere.” He groans like a child, clearly winded from playing the longest game of his life. “You drive me crazy, woman.”
“Clearly you haven’t looked everywhere—”
Oliver pounces then, manhandling you until you’re flipped onto your back and giggling so loudly that it makes his heart flutter. He could never be mad at you over something like this, and you both know that.
But Oliver hates losing.
“Is this some sort of trick?” He stares down at you, brow raised in thought. “Some sort of message where I’m supposed to realize that the last one is some sort of metaphor and the final chick is actually you?”
You reach up to brush your fingers over Oliver’s jawline, eyes softening at even the mere suggestion that he came up with all on his own.
“You’re such a romantic, Oliver Aiku.”
He groans again, doing a terrible job at hiding his smile before leaning in to kiss you, something bold and reverent, willing to throw in the towel and concede to victory.
You might very well be the last chick that Oliver has been searching for in life.
-
“Okay, baby, I’m gonna be leaving in a few minutes… I know, I know, but you know how Sendou is. Always acts like he’s gonna be on the cover of Vanity Fair… Yeah, the other guys should be on their way, too… Okay… Love you too, baby.”
Oliver hangs up the phone, grinning like a lovesick fool he never thought he’d be if he asked his younger self about it.
But he’s never felt happier.
It’s a whole year later; You’ve just gotten a promotion at your job, and Oliver’s team has just secured a spot in the UEFA Champions League. The consensus was to have one combined celebratory dinner at the best restaurant in the city proper, inviting your coworkers and friends and Oliver’s entire team to give praise to your recent successes.
Oliver adjusts his tie in the mirror, about to grab his keys to go pick up his best friend and star striker companion when his eyes drift over to his dresser like there’s one last thing to retrieve before he heads out.
He takes a heavy pause before meandering over to it, sliding open the very bottom drawer. It takes a bit of rummaging, but eventually, once he gets to the bottom, he finds what he’s looking for.
In the back corner covered with old t-shirts sits a small velvet box.
Oliver bought you a ring ages ago, the exact moment he knew he had no intention of ever letting you go. But he could never find the right time to present it to you, nervous like a damn boy in middle school asking his crush to go to the dance with him.
It makes him feel utterly silly.
But if there’s going to be any night he pops the question, this night is just too perfect to pass up.
He opens the box to take a glance at the jewelry inside, only for something else to fall out and bounce unceremoniously onto the floor by his feet.
He shifts carefully, eyes roaming the carpet for the unknown whatever-it-was that…
...
And then he locks eyes with it.
A tiny, yellow plastic chick.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he laughs incredulously to himself.
You’ve known about this ring every since you started this scavenger hunt that seemed to have no end. Oliver was convinced he had it right when he said you were the last chick, thinking he saw right through your cleverness.
How wrong he was.
You never said anything, not even so much as hinted at the fact that you had knowledge of Oliver’s one and only secret he’s ever kept from you.
Suddenly, he feels really stupid for making you wait this long.
Oliver proposes to you that night, not just with a ring, but with that last tiny chick in hand, too.
Because even out of a hundred, you’re the only chick he wants to spend the rest of his life with.
