#naruto au drabble

[color-coded-cryptid]

au where shisui and itachi were on the same genin team cuz shut the fuck up

and uhhh

to even it out let’s throw yugao in there, we don’t see what her genin team was

they all end up in the anbu black ops so uh hell yeah i guess

[hearts0hearts]

Hii! Can you write fic itachi x fem Reader soulmate au? So itachi after his fight with sasuke, he didn’t die but on critic conditions. Then, reader found him in forest and decide to take him in. Without itachi knowing, reader was half uchiha that born and raised outside konoha. Thank you!

𖧁୧ ꪗ𝑜u 𝑓ᧉᧉ𐑚 liᴋꫀ ℋ𝒪Mℰ ˎˊ˗

Pairing ; Itachi x fem!Half-Uchiha!Reader (Soulmate AU)

Summary ; you’ve lived your whole life in the quiet woods, the half-uchiha daughter of a mother who ran from a past you never knew. one night, a bleeding man collapses outside your cabin, and when you touch him, something in your soul shifts. you don’t know his name yet, but he feels like yours.

TW ; blood/injury (non-graphic but described), emotional vulnerability/grief, light angst, themes of loneliness and trauma,, light fluff at the end ofc

A/N ; thank u for requesting ꒰ @itsao-mine !!ヾ(๑╹◡<)ﾉ" ꒱ i love soulmate au's sm istg its so cute aaaaa,,

Words ; 4.1k

A few embers glowed on the hearth. In your little cabin, they cast long, carelessly wavering shadows. You tucked your knees into a curling posture very nicely. Set your chin upon it while staring into the flames, as if it revealed all those secrets or answered the few questions that you ventured out with. The woods remained quiet as usual. A stillness that had grown over the years and became part of your life, something you became accustomed to. Or so you thought.

In truth, you were pressed into a second skin by loneliness.

Your fingers played mindlessly along the edge of the old blanket that hung over you, the frays at the edges reminding you of the memories it carried. Your mother's blanket. She was the one who took you into this wood long before you could walk. Fleeing from a life into a village you had only known through her bitter, nostalgic tales, a place called Konoha. Once, she'd loved someone there. A man with dark eyes and a heavy name, a man too good to leave his duty behind even for her. And so, with you growing in her belly, she'd left instead.

The cabin had been built by her hands, worn but sturdy. Teachings of all the things you knew, to patch a roof, to grow herbs, to read the stars she had given you. And when she grew sick, too sick for both of you to understand, you sat by her bed, holding hands as she faded like smoke on the wind. 

You shifted closer to the fire, looking for warmth, that hardly remembered the hollow cold in your chest. Beyond the tree line, a storm was brewing, the earth felt tense and low, the wind whistled sharply against the walls of the cabin. Deep, gnawing restlessness twisted and clawed within your bones. 

You weren't sure how long you sat there in the old blanket half gone everywhere in space where memories pulled, but then, the snap.

Crack. 

You snapped upright. Your heart hammered, and you froze, listening. The forest, usually so careful and quiet, seemed to hold its breath. Another sound drifted to your ears. A slow, wretched drag of footsteps; something or someone was moving with unsteady effort through the trees. 

You rose to your feet before you could think, blanket slipping from your shoulders to a puddle forgotten on the floor. A cold certainty settled into your gut.

Someone was out there…

And they were hurt.

The cold air clawed against your skin in a rush as you blew out, mist rising just above the forest floor. You paused on the porch, standing like a statue for a heartbeat under the heavy night, and then launched yourself into the trees. Instinct was stronger than consciousness; a deeper-than-thought pull seemed to guide your every footfall toward that noise you had caught on the wind. 

He lay a short distance from the cabin, crumpled among the roots of an ancient cedar. 

A man.

Your breath caught in your throat. Sprawled across the floor with one arm tucked beneath him, his body alarmingly pale, ribbons of moonlight cut across him, revealing torn clothes as blood seeped out through the fabric, skin ghostly white beneath streaks of dirt and crimson. Dropped to your knees beside him, hovering your hands for a frantic second before daring to touch.

His wrist was slick with blood, but you pressed your fingers there, searching for a pulse,

please, please, please-

It struck you like lightning. The very moment your skin met with his, a sharp, undeniable pull from some deep place inside you snapped into place, like two halves of the same soul finding each other in the dark.

He groaned faintly, a weak sound that jolted you back into motion. ‘Focus.’ You swallowed hard. ‘Focus. Help him now.’  Driven by some unnamed pull, more like fate than choice, you hooked your arms under his, gritting your teeth as you drag him up with all the strength you could muster. He is heavier than he looks, his body limp against yours, every few steps feeling like an impossible battle. Still, you refused to let go. Not when something inside you screamed that he needed you.

Somehow, using sheer will and the whisper of a promise deep into your bones, you got him inside and kicked the door shut behind you with your foot.

You haul him onto the bed, your bed, and lay him as gently as you can. His breathing is unsteady. Every shallow rise and fall of his chest. You kneel at his bedside, brushing aside the strands hanging across his forehead. "please…" you whisper, the voice cracking under its weight, "d-don't die." The fire crackles on, unseen, as you turn toward your supplies, ready to fight fate with everything you had.

Time was now a blurring, quiet rhythm, tending, watching, and waiting. He slept most of the time, having been far too shattered as a human body could be. There were deep wounds, a gash crudely stitched across his torso, bruises blossoming dark over his bones. You have tried your best cleaning and bandaging with trembling fingers, whispering soft apologies once in a while when he flinched. 

You didn't talk to him much at first, just used words to fill the silence, an anxious hum of words with him. You would tell him about the weather, the stories your mother used to tell you, all of those little nothings just to keep the crushing loneliness at bay. But at some point, it turned around. Those words turned into something else hopes, offerings, confessions never spoken before. 

Sometimes he would twitch in sleep, and his hand would brush across two fingers in reaching out instinctively, the way a person would do to find something. Someone.

At other times when you leaned in to check his temperature, he would calm his breathing, and the tension on his brow would give in to the proximity of your presence, as if he were much better soothed by such medicine than actual medicinal treatment. Now, every time, you hated the reaction of your heart. He pondered while pacing the cabin with empty fists, ruminating over how much guilt was gnawing at him inside. It was illogical. It wasn't rational. It wasn't secure. But when you sat by his bedside at night, drawn back again and again despite yourself, you would look at him, so still, so battered by a world you didn't know, and the ache inside you would whisper: "I can't let him go." It was on that fifth night when everything changed. The fire had burned low, and you sat in the battered chair drawn up closer to the poor little bed with arms around your knees, half dozing, half listening to the soft sound of his breathing.

Then a shift slight enough to snap your eyes wide open. You raised your head just as he was doing. His eyelids, heavy but finally at long last opening fully dark, unfathomable eyes found you across the scant distance, pinning you there, sharp, piercing, and terrifyingly clear. Like he knew you. Like he had always known you. You forgot how to breathe. The world outside the cabin might as well have ceased to exist. Only him. Only you. Only the invisible thread between you, pulled taut, unbreakable.

Next couple of Days were strange. Mostly, you found him sleeping, his body broken and breathing weak. He stirred sometimes, between dream and fever dream. You tended over him, as patient as you had once been with your mother long ago, hands gentler than you knew you could be. 

You had never known his name. Did not know what battle had torn him up or lost him to. Did not know if he was dangerous.

And that terrified you.

Even now, your brain whispered caution against the impulse of your soul...

At night, you found yourself next to the bed, curled with your knees against your chest in the chair, very close to the fire. You had told yourself it was just keeping watch, but you would not even dare to continue believing that lie. 

There were moments, little things chipping away at your fear.

Sometimes his fingers would twitch in sleep. slow, reaching, even just the two faintly curling toward the edge of the mattress, toward your hand. As though he had been trying to touch something that wasn't there. 

His breathing changed whenever you came here to visit him when he was not sleeping. 

His eyes, as dark as midnight and unreadable, were wide open. Watching. 

The breath caught in your throat.

Now, with his silence compelling him, he stood still. Without words. He didn't have to, not with those eyes that followed every breath you took, every tremble in your fingers as you clutched there the wooden bowl you'd brought for him. You would think there would be a threat, a question, violence perhaps. Instead... silence. As if he listened for something more important than words. Like your heartbeat alone had told him what he needed to know.

Setting the bowl down, you took a step back, unsure. This man, whoever he was, had bled out on your floor just a few days ago. Skin too pale, frame all too weak. There was power in him; you felt it with every breath. But you could not dread him. Not really. Not with the knowledge that he looked at you as if he had known you from somewhere beyond this world.

Those days that came afterwards saw that silence shared between you shrivel into something even more significant, not awkward, but gravitas.

He spoke hardly and mostly,

"Thank you."

In a gentle, attuned raspy voice. Low murmurs escaped his lips, swallowed by pain. But somehow, what the eyes said was enough for their mouths not to sell anything short.

You fed him whenever his hands trembled too much. Without a single word of objection. Cleaned up the blood on his hands and dressed the wound, her hands steady despite the tightening in her chest every time her fingers brushed against his skin. Long after, a dull heat remained, pulsing low and confused in the tummy.

At times, he caught you enthralled by him. Not out of suspicion. Just in confirmation. As you were feeling it, too. Such burning sensations when his fingers touched yours. The breath hitched in your throat when your knees bumped against him while you were reaching to set the bed. His breath… calming. You swore you felt his heart skip a beat in your proximity. It was even worse when you sometimes couldn't stand the wild thumping of your own heartbeats. Because it would start racing each time he was around. Yet you did not know him. There were reasons for you to be afraid of him. It was only too evident he could crush you if he wanted to. But he didn't. 

He listened when you spoke, mostly soft things, idle observations about the trees or the rain, sometimes quiet truths that clung to the air too long after. But more than your words, he gave you something deeper. Silence that didn’t suffocate. Trust, in its rawest, quietest form. Some nights, you’d curl up near his bedside, arms hugging your knees, the firelight casting rippling shadows across his still frame. Even in sleep, his chakra stirred, powerful, yes, but… gentle. It brushed against yours with a strange familiarity, like two songs in the same key. Resonant. Familiar. Like a memory.

And it made you think of your father.

The way your chakra never quite fit the woods, the way your mother’s did. The way she always avoided questions about your bloodline, about why your eyes flickered dark sometimes, just on the edge of red. She said it was nothing. Just fatigue. Just nerves. But the old scrolls said otherwise. The fading Uchiha crest was tucked beneath broken seals and forgotten things. The name you didn’t carry, but still wore like a shadow.

You felt it in the pause between his breaths when you steadied your chakra with one hand, felt it in the weight of his stare when you leaned too close in the dim glow. He said nothing, not at first. But that night, when your fingers brushed while passing him a cup of water, he spoke.

“Where did you learn to control your chakra like that?”

You hesitated, eyes flicking to your hands as if they might answer for you. “My mother taught me the basics,” you murmured. “But the rest… I don’t know. It just felt right. Like something I already knew.”

He didn’t look away. Even bandaged and half lit by the fire, his gaze was cutting, quiet, but precise. “That’s not something you learn. That’s instinct.”

You didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched between you, gentle but heavy. Eventually, you said something, like you wanted to tell him this: “I’ve…heard stories about people who could see through illusions. Who could trap you in their gaze..? About a village hidden in the leaves, and a clan whose eyes turned red like fire when they were pushed too far…”

His eyes stayed on you, unreadable. “And you believe those stories?”

You exhaled, softer now. “I don’t know,” you said again, quieter this time. Silence came again. This time longer. You decided to break through once again, feeling something urging you to speak, “...when I sleep, I see things I can’t explain.”

He didn’t interrupt.

You folded your hands in your lap, voice like breath against the firelight. “Crows. A sky full of them, circling overhead. Red clouds, too. And a voice I’ve never heard in my waking life... calling my name like it’s always known it.”

There was a pause. Not of disbelief, but of recognition. Of something unsaid pressing between you both.

Neither of you said your names. Neither asked the other to.

But something in the way he looked at you… said he’d heard that voice, too.

Outside that night, the wind howled long and mournfully. Cold and sharp as though the world beyond the trees had claws and teeth. You were curled in the old chair by the fire, blanket about your shoulders, your eyes shut but your mind spinning.

He looked at you. His breath caught in his throat before he turned to look at the ceiling. He stared long, debating within himself, before the words slipped from him, low and fragile,

"You feel like home."

You didn't move. Not even a breath escaped you. But your heart, traitorous, aching thing, rose in your chest, and for the first time in years... you didn't feel like you were alone.

There are now moments, small, glittering moments, when it felt like time had stopped.

The cabin belongs to someone other than you. Where the wind outside softens, the silence between breaths becomes less than the ache.

He was casting glances in your direction. Propped against the pillows now, colour was gradually returning to his face, though movement still seemed stiff. You had adjusted his bandages and tucked the blankets around his shoulders, receiving a soft,

"Thank you," in return.

And when your hands brushed against each other, for longer this time, he did not withdraw.

And neither did you. 

You should have felt happy, relieved that he was healing, that with every breath, he could remain alive even further away from death. But your chest went heavier with each passing day. Because with every step he took toward recovery, he stepped an inch closer to departure. 

Departure? Then you are left alone. 

Completely. 

You had spent most of your life in silence, a hollow, echoing quiet. You had made yourself believe that you did not need anyone; that you were alright, alone, and that it was safer. 

He shattered that illusion just by existing. 

Somehow, he had pried open something deep within you: something long slumbering and in pain. When you fed him, there was another feeding deep inside you, an appetite so deep you had not even known it carried a name; something more gratifying than dinner, the evenings spent sitting up with him, absorbing the sound of the wood splitting in the warmth of the fireplace, with a feeling of completeness that never before existed. Not even in those days when your mother was still alive. 

He filled up all the dark places in your heart. Completed it. Matched the shape of your craving.

And now, having felt it, the warmth, the rightness, the thought of losing it again became intolerable. That night, when the moon rose silver and cold above the trees, you stepped outside without saying anything. You didn’t want him to see you like this, breaking. You sat on the old bench just beyond the porch, knees drawn to your chest. The forest swayed gently, peacefully, but your chest was burning. The tears came before you could prepare for them, soft, but then heavier and harder-not just sorrow but grief-for something you hadn’t even lost yet. “I don’t want to be alone again,” you whispered into your palms. “Not after this. Not after him.” Footsteps. You went still, wiped your cheeks fast, but it was too late. He was standing there, not close, not too far away. Dressed in one of your cloaks, still pale but strong enough. His eyes softened when they met yours, and for a moment, he just stood there. Then he stepped closer. You turned away, ashamed of your tears. "Sorry," you whispered. "I just needed air." He didn't answer. He sat beside you instead, slow, careful, and silent. A long beat passed, the atmosphere weighed down with all the things left unsaid. "I know you'll leave," you said finally, with a cracking voice. "You'll heal, and then you'll be gone. And I will go back to being no one. Alone in a house that was only warm when you were in it." His breath hitched quietly.

Your arms wrapped around yourself. "I don't even know you! Not really… But when I touched you, when I brought you in...I felt something. Like...something in me woke up, and now it won't stop hurting." 

You wiped away another tear, your voice growing raspy. "Why the hell does it hurt so much? I don't even know who you are!!!" 

You turned to face him, really turned, finally seeing his eyes through all the blur. "I just don't want you to go…" you said softly. "It’s- It's selfish! But I don’t want to lose the only person who has ever made me feel like I'm not...half of something." 

Itachi's eyes were no longer cold.

"I feel it too," he said softly. "From the very beginning." 

Your breath caught. 

"When you touched me...I felt ‘it’. It was like I had been looking for something without knowing it, and you were that. The pull...it's real."

He stared at his hands. "I didn't know what it was. I thought maybe it was just a product of pain. Or fever. Or something." 

He hesitated for a moment, then dropped his voice to a whisper. "I've done ‘things’. Things that can't be undone. I walked through blood, through shadows. I never thought...I never thought I could be allowed something like this." 

Then his eyes rose to meet yours again, slowly, searching, waiting.

"If I told you about the darkness inside of me… would you still look at me like I’m the Sun?"

Your heart cracked, soft and loud all at once.

And even though your hand trembled as you reached for him, you didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t flinch.

You placed your fingers over his heart, still tears clinging to your lashes. 

"I think I now understand...you were never meant to be alone," you whispered. "Neither was I." 

And for the first time since either of you could remember... the ache in your soul finally subsided. 

The night held its peace once again, and yet it did not feel empty. 

Seated beside him, knees almost touching, hands close but not touching. The forest surrounding the cabin was whispering as it always did.

Then his hand moved. 

Slowly, almost deliberately, and barely holding steady, it traversed the space between you. His fingers linked with yours, and just then, both of you inhaled as if this had been the first breath either had ever taken. 

His palm was so warm on yours,. It was rough yet gentle, and something deeper was moved, something primitive, something fiery with life just beneath the skin.

A mild warmth appeared where your hands touched. Light, soft, and silver, like the ghost of moonlight drifting through fog, slipped through your linked fingers. You gasped lightly, and his grip on your hand became stronger. 

Soulmate mark. 

Not a brand. Not a curse.

Older than either of you. 

Turning to him, for he was already looking, already combing your face as if he had been silently memorizing it. 

"I thought I had to die alone," he said softly, his voice cracking at the edges. "I thought that was the price of what I did in that this world...this bond...would never be mine." 

You could not breathe. 

"But if you're mine," he murmured, leading your hand gently to his chest, placing it over his heart, "I will live. For you." 

The dam within you cracked. 

You surged forward on instinct, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, and he pulled you close, not hesitating, not resisting, just holding you with a fierce need, as vehement as yours. His head fell to the crook of your neck, warm, tremulous breath tickling your skin. You didn't know who moved first, perhaps both of you, but lips met in the heart of that trembling emotion, a kiss gentle and slow. Soft.

Soft like healing. 

A kiss that tasted of survival. Of finally, finally not being alone.

His palm glided across the back of your head, as if holding on for dear life lest you be spirited away. Your hand quivered over his ribs, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart under your palm. Neither seemed to mind the fact that they were beginning to melt into each other as forests seem to hold their breath just for you.

Slight distance seemed to separate the two of you as just enough room was created to touch your foreheads together. His lashes fluttered down as he stole a glance at you, you felt heartbreakingly close. Quietly, you stole a glance at him as you whispered your question that had been living in you since the day he had fallen near your cabin.

"What is your name?"

A pause. Then he said it. 

"Itachi."

It echoed somewhere low and quiet, like a prayer, inside of you. It fitted. As if some part of you already knew. You cried as you smiled. Exhaling a breath,

 you said, 

"I'm (Y/N)."

He slightly parted his lips. His gaze grew soft, deeper, and more open than you had ever seen. He spoke the name as if he had known it all along. And maybe he had. Maybe souls veiled and whisked the name into each other long before the two bodies could meet. No need for last names. No need to bother with histories or bloodlines or questions. 

You just knew.

It was him. And it was you. That was enough. 

"I never thought," you began, your voice trembling, "that I would find something like this."

His fingers trailed down your spine, grounding you. "Neither did I."

You buried your face into his shoulder for a moment, you felt overwhelmed. There were still questions. There was still darkness to cross. For the present, it didn't matter. Not tonight. You and he sat on the bench wrapped around one another, stars blinking away quietly overhead. He was still healing. And you were still afraid. But under the hurt, something warm was now inside, living, rooting itself between your ribs. Hope.

Later, as you helped him back inside, arm slung around your shoulders, his warmth breathing the air at your temple, he leaned just slightly into you, like it was natural. Like he belonged there. You got him settled in your bed again, blankets tucked carefully around him, and as you stood to leave, his hand reached out and caught yours again. "Stay," he whispered. You nodded, and without a word, you slipped beneath the blanket beside him. You didn't touch at first- just laid there in the quiet dark, breaths syncing like a lullaby. Then his fingers found yours again. Brushed them, lingered, then threaded between them fully. "I don't know what happens now," you murmured. "Neither do I," he said, voice almost too quiet to hear. "But I want it to be with you." And just like that, the ache inside you softened again. “two souls are sometimes created together & in love before they’re even born” - f. scott fitzgerald

𖧧 do not steal, luvs. © 2025 hearts0hearts — all words are mine. no copying • no funny business ᭢᱖ likes & reblogs r appreciated ♡•̩̩͙ ໋: n yes, my requests/asks r open

[keithisbae1]

Mission Gone Wrong Part 2/2

Another commissioned art by @sorceressmyr for another snippet. I really can't thank her enough for accepting all my commissions 🥹🥹🥹 Again I hope you enjoy the snippet

You can read part 1 here

~~~

“We’re home,” Tsunade called as she and Sakura walked through the door. “Welcome home, you two seem exhausted.” Dan walked over to greet them. Sakura was in awe of how quickly he managed to get home and even changed as if he wasn’t out stopping bad guys and rescuing her a few hours beforehand. “You have no idea, I’ll explain later.” She then looked down to Sakura eyes softening. “Why don’t you put on your favourite tv show.” 

“Okay!” Sakura grinned running over to turn on the TV. Her eyes brightened as an episode of her favourite cartoon started and she began singing the tune. Dan looked over towards Tsunade who nudged her head towards the kitchen so they could get some privacy. 

He could see how on uneasy she was and seemed to be thinking leaning on the counter in thought. “Something wrong?” “Sakura was used as a hostage.” Dan pretended to be shocked, eyes widening taking the information in. “Is she alright? Was she scared?” Of course she was, that was to be expected of any child. “That’s the thing, I tried talking to her about it, but she brushed it off and is acting like nothing happened. She seems fine… too fine.” “Perhaps she’s too young to fully understand what happened.” He was used to it in his line of work, he had seen far many kids in dangerous situations, but they were none the wiser on what was happening. In some cases, their parents were there and were playing along with it being a game. “Hmm hopefully, it’s not good to keep your emotions bottled up. Especially at this age.” Tsunade knew she probably sounded hypocritical, being a spy you had no choice but to hide your emotions if you wanted your mission to go well. Still, something about Sakura being held hostage and the way she was acting didn’t add up. 

Maybe she was overthinking, and Dan was right on her not being able to fully grasp on the situation. “Why don’t you let me talk to her.” “You?” “Sure, I’m done with work for today. I’ll let her watch her cartoons for now to calm down and see if I can find out anything.” The plan didn’t seem too bad, it was worth a shot at least. “Okay, I need to go out later for some work. You two can talk then.” “Sure.” ~~~~ 

“La la la,” Sakura sang spinning around singing the ending theme. Dan was sitting on the sofa smiling away reading the newspaper. “Papa, come dance with me.” Sakura tried to pull him up, but he declined. “I’ll pass, actually Sakura I need to speak to you.” He patted the spot next to him for her to sit, she nodded still humming away taking a seat. “Mama told me what happened.” “Oh, you mean with the bad guy?” “Yeah… the bad guy. Were you afraid?” A part of him felt guilty for leaving her behind but he knew he had to treat her like any other stranger to protect his own identity and her safety. If they knew she was linked to him Sakura and even Tsunade would be put in danger. “I was.” “Was?” “Yeah, but this mystery hero came in and saved me.” Sakura smiled beaming away. “I couldn’t see his face, but he went chasing after them like in my cartoon. He told me to go and get Mama and made sure I wasn’t hurt.” “And you weren’t afraid after that?” “Hmm, I was a little. But if I stick with Mama then next time it won’t happen. And if good guys like him are about, I’ve got nothing to be afraid of.” Sakura stated as a matter of fact. ‘I wouldn’t exactly call myself a good guy.’ She was a bit confused on what he meant by that but didn’t let it show on her face. 

“Besides, Mama said she’ll teach me self-defence.” Sakura said jumping off the couch in a stance and making little punches with her fist like she saw in her shows. “Oh, did she now?” ‘Somehow I’m not surprised.’ 

“You know I know a few moves myself.” Sakura looked at Dan up and down as if trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. “Sakura doesn’t believe Papa.” Ouch, Dan thought still he was happy to know she felt safe with ‘heroes like him’ as she would put it. 

“I’m glad you feel safe but it’s fine to be afraid sometimes.” “I know Papa.” The little girl merely giggled, she knew her Papa would rescue her in a heartbeat. He didn’t have to know that though. And with Mama as well, Sakura felt twice as safe. 

“But I will get strong too!” Again, Sakura made little punches ready for the next bad guy ready to mess with her. “I think you need to punch like this.” Dan made an ‘attempt’ to punch in the air acting like he had no idea what he was doing. 

“No Papa, you have to do it like this.” “Like this?” “No, this.” ~~~ 

“I’m back, oh?” Tsunade smiled seeing the two sleeping on the couch. After their little ‘play fighting’ Sakura showed Dan more of her cartoons and then the two had fallen asleep after a long hard day. 

In Dan’s case with his work and Sakura with all this excitement. Tsunade decided to ask Dan about their talk later and left the two to sleep.

[powerful-niya]

— (hαppч єndíngѕ.)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎'𝚜 𝙳𝚊𝚢 (𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟻)

Link to One-shot Below ↴

Wattpad | AO3

Pairing˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Naruhina 

Synopsis˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡For Hinata, self-care had always felt like an unattainable luxury. Her demanding career as an analyst consumed nearly every waking hour, leaving her with precious little time to relax. 

It was only until one night, during one of her late-night doom scrolls, she stumbled on a massage therapist's website. Desperate for relief, she booked a session, only to discover, in her fatigue, that she accidentally signed up for something far more sensual than she expected.

Content Tags˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Accidental Stimulation • Accidental/Purposeful Touching •  Adult-Life • Aftercare • Aphrodisiac • Body Worship • Breath Play • Butt Groping • Client x Masseur • Consensual • Dirty Talk • Edgeplay • Erotic • Erotic Massage • Erotic Tickling • Explicit • Fantasies & Fantasizing • Fingering • Groping • Hands Kink • Latex Gloves • Lingerie • Lubrication • Massage Therapy • Massage Parlor • Masseur • Modern AU • Multiple Orgasms • NSFW • Oil • Orgasm Denial • Overstimulation • Praise Kink • Pussy Suction Pump (Toys) • Pussy Worship • Self Care • Self Love • Sex Pollen • Sex Toys • Sexual Coercion • Scent Kink • Size Difference Kink • Spa • Stripping • Uniform • Valentine Day • Valentine's Special • Voice Kink • 2025

✨The Masseur and the Analyst✨

Overall Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚23.9K

Tumblr Post: Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚11.6K

Preview ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Hinata let out a long, exhausted sigh as she flopped onto her couch, the cushions embracing her like they did every evening.  

Same time.  

Same routine.  

With a wince, she reached down and kicked off her heels, groaning quietly to herself. 

"How is it that shoes this cute can hurt this much?" She muttered, rubbing her sore feet through her stockings, already thinking it might be time to rethink her shoe choices. 

The soothing effects of her quick massage kicked in almost instantly, sending a wave of relief through her tired muscles. She wiggled her toes, stretching them out, another long, drawn-out sigh escaping her lips from the relief.

This was the moment she'd been waiting for all day—the bliss of being back home, alone, on her favorite couch. 

Hinata reached for the glass of wine she'd poured earlier, her arm extending over the coffee table in her living room. As she picked it up, the glass let out a soft clink that echoed through her otherwise quiet apartment. 

She brought the glass to her lips and took a slow sip, savoring the way the sweet, tangy flavor danced across her tongue. A soft, contented moan escaped her as the taste settled, a warmth blooming in her chest, taking away just a bit of the tension she'd been carrying all day.

Next, she reached for her laptop, placing it on her lap before flipping it open.

The soft glow of the screen illuminated her face, revealing a familiar sight—her wallpaper, a swarm of vibrant monarch butterflies drifting gracefully across a bright blue sky, with the password prompt hovering in the center. 

For a moment longer than she intended, her gaze was trained on that single word, for far too long, as if it had trapped her in a trance. Once again, she was zoning out—a new habit she'd unknowingly picked up.

And honestly? At this point, it didn't even surprise her anymore.

Her brain was still tangled up in the stress of the day, the never-ending to-do lists swirling in her head. Even something as mindless as logging in to her laptop felt like a chore after the chaos she'd just endured.  

The endless flood of emails.  

The mountain of spreadsheets.  

The constant need to come up with fresh ideas for campaigns.

The deadlines of projects and presentations that never stopped creeping closer.  

And of course, the back-to-back meetings—most of which seemed to exist purely so her boss could hear himself talk.  

Hinata let out a frustrated groan just thinking about it all. 

"Another day down," She muttered under her breath, "You survived, girl. You did it."

She had to keep reminding herself of that—because if she didn't, she might actually lose her mind.  

Sure, being a marketing analyst had its perks—a solid paycheck, decent benefits, and a title that sounded impressive in conversations. But lately, the downsides were creeping in, threatening to overshadow everything else. The grueling hours, the relentless workload, the constant pressure to stay ahead—it all piled up until it felt like there was no escape. 

More often than not, she found herself staying late at the office, trying to catch up, or lugging her work home with her, her laptop becoming a permanent fixture on her coffee table. Even after officially "clocking out," the demands of her job seemed to follow her everywhere. There was always something that needed tweaking, always something that demanded her attention. 

Therefore, she barely had a second to catch her breath, let alone carve out time for a real break. It was exhausting, and tonight, it was hitting her harder than ever.  

At twenty-seven, Hinata had worked tirelessly to climb the career ladder. She had been raised to believe that success meant dedication, that her career should come first, and that giving anything less than her best simply wasn't an option. And she had—she'd poured her all into her work, proving her worth in every way she could.  

But lately… she couldn't ignore how much it was starting to take a toll on everything—her mind, her body, her entire life outside of work. And if she was being honest, she wasn't even sure she had much of a life outside of it anymore.

Her social life? Yeah, that was pretty much dead in the water.

Most of her friends had either moved away, gotten caught up in their own careers, or settled down with partners. Group texts had become fewer, invites to dinners or game nights were rare, and even the occasional check-in messages had slowed to a trickle. 

It wasn't anyone's fault—it was just life—but that didn't make it any easier. 

Far too often, Hinata found herself trapped in the same endless cycle: slogging through long, draining hours at work, then slipping into her quiet apartment, popping a frozen dinner into the microwave, and finally collapsing onto the couch all alone. And before she knew it, the next day would roll around, and the routine would start all over again. 

Work, eat, sleep, repeat.

A steady routine she had fallen into without even realizing it.

And her love life? Ugh. That was a whole other disaster she didn't even want to think about.  

At this point, it felt like a lost cause. Not because she didn't want something real, or meaningful—but because, honestly? 

She had no idea where to even begin.  

It wasn't for lack of trying. She'd been on a few dates, met men through her coworkers, and even attempted the whole dating app thing. 

But nothing ever clicked.

The conversations always felt awkward and forced—no spark, no chemistry, no connection. By the end of the night, she'd catch herself glancing at the clock over and over, mentally counting down the minutes until she could finally head home.

And, of course, the main reason so many dates fell flat usually boiled down to one simple fact: she was just exhausted.

Between the demands of her job and everything else on her plate, the idea of pouring any energy into a relationship felt downright overwhelming.

Hinata craved something more—she really did. But when it came time to figure out how to achieve that, she found herself completely stuck.

This…was her life now. 

Work, then returning home, only to trap herself in a quiet room for hours with no one to talk to, to share a day's thoughts with, or simply sit beside and unwind. She constantly reassured herself that it was only temporary, that eventually, things would get better. But after a few years of this daily routine, it became harder and harder to believe in that promise. 

No conversation, no company... 

….well, not entirely no company.

A soft rustling near the entrance of the living room caught her attention, and just as expected, her chubby Scottish Fold sauntered her way in, looking as if she owned the place. 

Mochi—her cat.

Within seconds, the little white bundle of fluff hopped up beside her, curling into a warm ball against her side just like she always did when she arrived home. It was her way of saying 'welcome back', though she suspected she was also angling for a treat.

Hinata reached out to scratch her head, her fingers brushing through her soft, white fur.

She let out a weary sigh.

"Mochi, why is life like this? All work, no fun," She murmured softly, her fingers trailing behind her ears before gliding down to the delicate curve of her neck, brushing against the smooth leather of her pretty pink collar.

The fluffy tabby let out a slow, unimpressed meow, flicking her tail as if she completely agreed.

She chuckled softly, nodding her head, "Yeah," She murmured, more to herself than to her, "maybe I really do need a break."

With another sigh, she logged into her computer, settling in for what she knew would be yet another hour of mindless scrolling. It was a habit at this point—cycling through the same social media websites, half-reading articles she didn't care about, and watching videos she'd forget about in five minutes. 

She wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for—maybe some distraction, maybe just something to keep her from thinking too much. 

Whatever it was, it didn't matter. 

Time blurred as her fingers lazily flicked away at the touchpad, her thoughts drifting.  

Then, something caught her eye.  

As she casually browsed through an article, a pop-up ad suddenly appeared in the corner of her screen, its bold text practically shouting for her attention:

"Relax & Rejuvenate: Indulge In What Makes You Feel Good."

"Pamper Yourself With A Massage Today!"

Hinata's scrolling came to an abrupt halt. 

The invitation in those words were so direct, so tempting, that she couldn't help but pause, curiosity already bubbling up inside her.

And then she saw…him.

Below the text was the smiling face of a blonde masseur, his bright grin and sparkling blue eyes seeming to invite her to click. 

And, well, how could she not?

Before she could second-guess herself, her cursor hovered over the ad, and with a small click, she was in. The website loaded in instantly, and at the very top, in bold, playful lettering, the header proudly declared:

"Welcome to Happy Endings! We hope you enjoy us rubbing you to completion!"

Hinata blinked, a faint flush creeping up her neck. 

Wait. What?

'Did it really just say that?' She thought, her lavender eyes darting back over the words again. 

She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or close the tab, but something about the rather… interesting heading—and that smiling blonde from before—made her keep scrolling.

Looking further, the website's design was actually very calming—pastel shades, gentle layouts, and photos of plush towels draped over immaculate tables in dim, candlelit rooms that screamed "relaxation."

As Hinata scrolled, she noticed glowing reviews everywhere she looked. People couldn't stop raving about how professional the staff was, how laid-back the place felt, and how every last ache and knot in their bodies were thoroughly worked out by the end of their sessions.

Her own neck gave a little twinge then, almost on cue. She let out a small sigh, rubbing the tender spot without even thinking about it.

"Maybe this is what I need..." She mumbled to herself, one hand idly stroking her dozing cat, while the other scroll further down the site. Her gaze wandered over the staff bios, each one blending into the next until suddenly, one name caught her eye.

Naruto Uzumaki. Owner.

Hinata froze, heart skipping a beat.

Wait a minute. That man. 

It was the same one from before. 

Sure enough, the smiling blonde in the photo was the exact same man she'd seen in the ad earlier—the blonde, blue-eyed heartthrob. 

Everything about him looked impeccably put-together. 

His blonde hair was styled just right, and he wore a crisp white collared shirt paired with neatly pressed matching pants, arms folded confidently over his chest. The fabric couldn't quite hide the subtle swell of muscle underneath, like it was almost ready to burst free.

Then there was that laid-back grin, lighting up his oddly whiskered face, showing off a row of perfect, pearly whites. Hinata found herself momentarily forgetting to breathe, her pulse quickening ever so slightly as she took in the sight of him.

"Ooh, what do we have here…" She muttered, nibbling on her lip as she shifted on the couch, trying to get comfy. Her gaze traveled over the screen, maybe lingering a little too long on the handsome blonde's picture before drifting down to read the description beneath it.

Naruto Uzumaki – Owner & Lead Masseur 

With years of hands-on experience, Naruto prides himself on delivering personalized treatments that target tension right at its source. Known for his warm smile and knack for making clients feel instantly at ease, he's earned a reputation for melting away even the most stubborn knots. Whether you're looking for deep relaxation or a rejuvenating stress release

Naruto's technique promises to leave you feeling renewed—inside and out. 

Hinata blinked. Inside and out?

Oh wow. He wasn't messing around.  

The words hung there, heavy in her mind, making her pulse speed up a little and her flush deepen. 

She read it again. 

Deep relaxation. Stress release. Inside and out.

Then, she read the words again, this time more slowly. 

Deep... Release... Inside and out.

Her brain did that little jumpy thing where it started overthinking the phrasing, but she shoved that aside. 

It was probably nothing, right? Just a weird, slightly suggestive choice of words. 

Hinata's mind drifted as she absently scrolled through the list of massage options available at Happy Endings. Most were the standard selections—deep tissue, Swedish, Shiatsu. Then there were others—hot stone, aromatherapy, lymphatic drainage, reflexology.

Then there were other traditional choices—hot stone, aromatherapy, lymphatic drainage, and reflexology. But as she scrolled further, something changed.

The options took a more… intimate turn.

Nuru.

Tantric.

Her fingers paused.

But then—there was one more.

One that stood out even more.

"Happy Ending Massage."

Hinata tilted her head, squinting at the screen.

Wait a second—wasn't that the name of the massage parlor? Happy Ending? Or was it Happy Endings with an s?

Hinata blinked, her mind momentarily stalling as she tried to recall. She could have sworn it was one or the other, but in that moment, the thought barely stuck. Because right now, she was too caught up—too distracted—by the massage option staring her in the face.

Her head tilted slightly as she skimmed the title again. 

Happy Ending Massage.

Was this some kind of premium, all-inclusive service? A special, all-in-one package that combined multiple techniques? 

Or… was it something else?

Her fingers tapped lightly against the laminated page, her curiosity deepening. It almost sounded like a massage buffet, offering a little bit of everything. But if that were the case, why was there such an emphasis on the word erotic?

Hinata shrugged it off. 

She wasn't in the mood to question it further. She was simply too tired. All she needed right now was some serious relief—no more thinking, no more working, just... happy endings.

A massage was a massage, right? 

And this one sounded too promising to pass up.

So, with a resigned sigh, Hinata clicked the "Book Now" button without a second thought.  

Almost instantly, a new page loaded, filled to the brim with a mountain of terms and conditions, liability waivers, and an endless stack of permission forms—medical questionnaires, health disclosure agreements, and all that fun, legally binding jazz.

Bleary-eyed and on autopilot, Hinata mindlessly began scrolling through the fine print. The words blended together, a mess of legal jargon and checkboxes, her brain struggling to process anything beyond Sign Here and Agree to Terms & Conditions.

At some point—she wasn't even sure when—her head drooped forward, her fingers idly hovering over her keyboard. She must have dozed off mid-form, because the next thing she knew, her chin jerked up, her lavender eyes blinking rapidly as she realized she had half-filled out a few fields in her sleep.

"Ugh, get it together, Hinata…" She mumbled, rubbing at her eyes before forcing herself to finish the last few entries.

Once she reached the booking calendar, she expected to have plenty of options to choose from—but instead, her heart sank.

Nearly every single appointment was booked solid.

The entire week. The next week. Even some of the week after that.

Hinata's lips parted in disbelief, her finger scrolling frantically, hoping for at least one opening that wasn't weeks away.

And then—

There it was.

A single available slot.

Next Saturday.

Hinata sighed in relief, clicking on the time slot before finalizing the appointment. 

"Yes, next Saturday should work," She murmured to herself, already feeling a sense of anticipation creep in. 

With the booking confirmed, she finally shut her laptop, officially calling it a night.

"Turn left in 300 meters," the GPS announced, its crisp, robotic voice cutting effortlessly through the soft hum of the car's engine.

Hinata's fingers tapped rhythmically against the steering wheel, keeping time with the upbeat melody playing through the radio. 

Moonlight Magic by Kana Hanazawa.

It was one of her favorites, a feel-good tune that perfectly matched the excitement buzzing in her chest.

Needless to say, she was in a fantastic mood. 

Because today wasn't just any Saturday.

Today was the Saturday.

After two grueling, endless weeks of back-to-back work, mind-numbing reports, and more emails than any human should ever have to deal with, the weekend had finally arrived—and Hinata was practically buzzing.

Sure, she always looked forward to the weekend. Who didn't? It was the one time she could actually unwind and escape from her responsibilities, at least for 48 hours. But this weekend?

This weekend was different.

This weekend was special.

Because in just a few short minutes, she would be arriving at 'Happy Endings' massage parlor for an appointment she had barely been able to stop thinking about since she booked it. It was the one thing that kept her going through the relentless chaos of work for the past two weeks.

But now, it was finally here! 

Grinning from ear to ear, Hinata shimmy-shimmied with excitement in her seat, her hands gripping the wheel of her Toyota Prius as it cruised through the bustling Tokyo streets. The GPS kept its steady stream of directions, guiding her through the lively maze of urban lights and busy crosswalks, all leading to the address provided by the 'Happy Endings' website.

Although some of the details were a bit fuzzy, Hinata distinctly remembered booking her appointment for 6:30 p.m.—a time that was a little later than she'd usually prefer. But since it was the only slot available, she just refused to pass up the chance. 

Her excitement was only further confirmed when a sweet notification from 'Happy Endings' flashed on her phone, reaffirming her 6:30 p.m. appointment.

⸻

 Hello there! 

Your 'Happy Ending' massage appointment is all set for Saturday, February 4th at 6:30 p.m. Can't wait to see you then! 

Chosen Masseur: Naruto Uzumaki.

⸻

Hinata's gaze drifted to the message on her phone, securely mounted on the dashboard. Her lavender eyes flicked from the road to the final line of text, and a smile lit up her face.

Of course, she had specifically booked Naruto himself as her masseur. Well…duh.

Not only was she craving some serious relief, but a small, secret part of her was excited to finally meet Naruto in person. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd look as hot up close as he did in his photos, because, you know, people sometimes turn out looking differently in real life. 

Fingers crossed that her heavenly massage would come with a side of handsome company too. 

She shimmied again, a soft, bubbly giggle escaping her lips.

"Up ahead, turn left," the GPS reminded her again, cutting her thoughts short. 

Following the GPS's directions and the familiar blue light, which signified 'go' in Japan, Hinata smoothly veered the steering wheel to the left. Her lavender eyes flitted between the road ahead and the beautiful city unfolding outside her window.

The daylight had faded, and now the evening had taken over Tokyo, yet the city was just as alive as ever. Everywhere she looked, the streets were filled with people—so many people, each wrapped up in their own little worlds. 

In the gentle glow of the city lights, she could see couples strolling hand-in-hand, friends laughing over drinks at sidewalk cafés, and office workers in crisp suits hurrying between evening meetings, glancing at their watches as they went about their business.

She let out a soft sigh. 

On a typical weekday, that would have been her—darting around in those same damn heels, rushing from one errand to the next, only to end up glued to her desk. There, she'd be slogging through endless emails, drowning in spreadsheets, and later in the evening sitting through meetings with people whose personalities were as bland as the coffee they sipped. And then there was the work itself—

Hinata shook her head, her brows knitting together. 

'What am I doing? Why am I even thinking about that?' She thought to herself, tightening her hands around the steering wheel. 

No, today's supposed to be different. 

Today was about letting go, not obsessing over the hectic chaos of the weeks behind her. 

She didn't even want to dwell on that. 

It was finally the end of the week—and that was what she should focus on. Today was all about giving herself the break she so desperately needed. 

That's all that mattered now. 

With that thought in mind, her radiant smile returned—just in time, too.

"Your destination is to your left," the GPS announced. Hinata whipped her head to the left so quickly that it nearly snapped, her eyes darting back and forth until she spotted it.

"Happy Endings."

Her heart did a little flip inside her chest. 

There it was—the massage parlor, standing alone and framed beautifully by the soft pink petals of blooming sakura trees. Above the entrance, an illuminated sign elegantly spelled out "Happy Endings" on a finely crafted wooden board, its glow cutting softly through the dimming light of the setting sun.

The building itself was a warm brown structure, its windows tucked behind gentle, pale wooden sliding shutters. Below the sign were expansive glass panels, and Hinata noticed they were slightly fogged, likely from the warmth inside.

"Hm, quaint," She murmured, a delighted smile curling at her plump lips. The parlor sat on a small, well-maintained lot, and while a few cars were already parked, it wasn't crowded—just enough to tell her this little gem was a favorite among the locals. 

It was yet another reassuring sign that "Happy Endings" was exactly where she needed to be.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Hinata guided her car into the parking lot and carefully selected a spot to ease into. Once she parked, she switched off the engine and slumped back in her seat, letting the quiet wash over her for a moment. 

Just for a moment. 

Hinata took another deep breath.

This was it—her moment to finally treat herself to her very first massage.

In a burst of excitement, she sprung up in her seat and broke into a little shimmy dance right there in the car. 

"Yas, I'm really doing this!" Hinata squealed to herself, the excitement bubbling over. She knew it might seem a bit childish—if anyone happened to see her shimmying around in her car, they'd probably think she'd lost her mind.

But at that moment, she couldn't care less. 

The mere thought of finally treating herself, actually prioritizing self-care, had her heart racing. She felt empowered, beyond belief. 

And she couldn't help but squeal again with joy.

'Fingers crossed that everything turns out perfectly.' She mused with glee. With that hopeful thought in mind, she grabbed her purse and keys, swung open the car door, and finally stepped out into the cool, evening breeze. 

Hinata swung open the heavy wooden door of Happy Endings, and a gentle bell chimed above, announcing her arrival. 

Steeping inside, her lavender eyes roamed around, first catching the flicker of artfully placed candles, then drifting upward to see delicate lanterns hanging overhead, casting playful shadows on the immaculate white walls and plush brown furniture. 

The reception area. 

Somewhere in the background, she could hear the soothing strains of gentle piano music playing, flowing seamlessly with the delicate trickle of water from a nearby fountain.

It was perfect.

Exactly what she had imagined stepping into a massage parlor.

Right then, she was already giving Happy Endings major props; she felt truly welcomed. And as she looked around, everything was impeccably clean—another good sign. 

Hinata took a sniff at the air, and the scent that greeted her was exactly what she had hoped for. The sweet aroma of incense floated around her, clean and pure, like melted vanilla, instantly soothing her senses.

Making her way to the front desk, she noticed an ornate wooden counter where a statuesque woman with neatly pinned grey hair sat. The receptionist's piercing emerald eyes met hers as she glanced up from a ledger, a welcoming smile spreading across her face.

"Welcome to Happy Endings," She greeted warmly, "I'm Mabui. How may I assist you today?"

Hinata's fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her purse, nerves fluttering in her chest.

"Hi, Mabui-san," She said softly, "I have an appointment scheduled for 6:30 p.m."

Mabui turned gracefully in her chair and began scrolling through her computer. After a brief pause, she looked up with a friendly smile.

"Hinata Hyūga, correct?"

"Hai, that's me," Hinata replied softly.

"Wonderful! Is this your first time visiting us by any chance?" Mabui asked, her eyes crinkling with genuine interest.

Hinata nodding slightly, nervously twirling a strand of her long, midnight blue hair around her finger, "Hai… it's my first time," She admitted softly, her voice barely above a murmur.

The moment those words left her lips, Mabui's expression brightened instantly. Her features softened with warmth, and a wide, beaming smile stretched across her caramel-toned face. 

"Oh, how exciting!" Mabui practically gushed, her excitement spilling over like warm honey, "We're absolutely thrilled to have you here, Hinata-san. There's nothing we love more than welcoming new visitors!" 

Hinata couldn't help but let out a soft giggle, the corners of her lips tugging upward her nerves loosening just a little.

Mabui's enthusiasm was downright infectious, filling the space between them with a warmth that eased some of the tension knotting in Hinata's chest. There was something about the grey-haired receptionist that put her at ease—like she was talking to an old friend rather than checking in for an appointment.

It was…comforting.

Mabui clasped her hands together, tilting her head slightly, "So, how are you feeling today, darling?" She asked, her voice gentle but curious.

Hinata let out a quiet breath, finally releasing the strand of hair she had been absentmindedly twisting between her fingers, gently tucking it behind her ear.

"Well.." She murmured, glancing down for a brief second before offering a small, sheepish smile, "I'm a little nervous… but mostly excited. I've never done anything like this before."

Mabui let out a soft, knowing chuckle, waving a hand in reassurance, "Oh, that's completely normal, Hinata-san. Your first time can feel a little overwhelming, but trust me—you're in excellent hands. We always strive to make sure our guests feel right at home."

Rolling slightly in her chair, Mabui continued, "Now, let's get you checked in, shall we?" She pointed to a sign-in sheet on the counter and handed Hinata a pen. 

"Just sign here," She said with a friendly smile, "Once you're finished, go ahead and make yourself comfortable in our lounge—just over there." She motioned to her right, where a cute sign labeled "Lounging Area" hung from the ceiling, swaying ever so slightly.

Hinata hummed softly, giving a small nod of acknowledgment.

"I'll let you know when Naruto-san is ready for your session," Mabui reassured her, her warm smile remaining constant, never faltering for even a moment.

Turning back to the counter, Hinata reached for the pen, her fingers tightening around it as she quickly signed her name on the sheet. The motion was quick—almost too quick—her excitement getting the best of her, making her strokes a little sloppier than usual.

She exhaled softly, willing her hand to steady, but it was useless. The anticipation was impossible to ignore, tingling in her fingertips, curling in her stomach, making her handwriting a touch messier than she would have liked.

Still, she pressed on, finishing the last loop of her signature with a final flourish before setting the pen down with a quiet clink against the counter. Once she finished, she glanced up just in time to see Mabui sliding a clipboard toward her, a few neatly stacked forms clipped securely at the top.

"These are our consent forms," Mabui explained smoothly, "You should have already signed them when you booked your appointment online, but we keep a physical copy here just as a precaution. Go ahead and read through them carefully, please."

Hinata blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but quickly reached out to take the clipboard.

"Oh, okay," She murmured, her fingers running along the edges of the papers as she skimmed the fine print. 

"Arigato, Mabui-san."

"Of course, take your time," Mabui said kindly, "If you have any questions, I'm right here. And if you need anything—a bottle of water, a little snack, or even a towel—everything is available in our lounge and ready for you to enjoy. Also..."

Mabui reached for a small, elegantly designed pamphlet resting on the counter, her manicured fingers gliding over its glossy cover before setting it down on the clipboard cradled in Hinata's arms.

"Here's a handy guide outlining the services we offer here," She said smoothly, her emerald eyes glinting with amusement. Then, with a playful wink, she added, "Also it can act as a little refresher—especially for the treatment you selected."

Hinata accepted it with a grateful smile, her fingers skimming the edges as she held it close.

"Thank you," She murmured, just about to turn away when—

"Oh, and Hinata-san?"

Mabui's voice stopped her mid-step.

"Hm?" Hinata blinked, glancing back over her shoulder.

Mabui was leaning over the counter now, her arms folded, an unreadable smirk curling at her lips—one that didn't quite sit well with Hinata. 

"And I must say," the grey haired receptionist purred, tilting her head slightly, "you made a fantastic choice picking Naruto-san as your masseur."

Hinata's breath hitched, her fingers twitching around the clipboard in her hands.

Mabui's smirk deepened, and with a slow, seductive shimmy in her chair, she added, "He'll treat you real nice."

Hinata's entire body ignited.

A squeak—an actual, audible squeak—escaped her lips much to her utter embarrassment. 

Oh, kami.

Heat rushed to her cheeks so fast she thought she might faint right there on the spot. Bowing her head in a desperate attempt to hide her flustered expression, she muttered a rushed, breathless, "A-Arigato," before making the quickest escape of her life.

Her feet carried her toward the lounge in record time, her heart hammering against her ribs.

It was nothing. 

Mabui was just teasing. Right?

Right…?

She bit her lip, shaking the thought off—or at least she tried to. But thankfully, before it could spiral any further, something else quickly stole her attention.

The lounge.

The moment she stepped inside, her eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise.

The space was just as cozy as the reception area—if not cozier—like walking into the inviting warmth of someone's personal living room.

Soft, plush brown couches lined the walls, each one adorned with an array of decorative pillows and neatly draped throw blankets that practically called to her. A few guests were already nestled into them, lounging with their eyes closed or flipping lazily through magazines.

Candles were scattered everywhere, their soft, flickering glow giving the room an extra warm vibe just like the reception area. In the far corner, a small TV was mounted on the wall, its screen displaying a Japanese cooking show. 

Hinata's gaze flicked toward it absentmindedly—until she recognized it.

Rokuhoudou: Colorful Days.

A small smile tugged at her lips. 

She had watched that show before—its soothing aesthetic and cozy storytelling had always been a comfort to her. Something about the way the men brewed coffee and prepared traditional sweets with such care in their cafe made her feel at peace. 

Food was her comfort, after all. That includes food shows too. 

But before she got too caught up in watching, her attention shifted again.

In the center of the lounge sat a neatly arranged table, stacked with an assortment of magazines and informational packets from the parlor—perfect for passing the time while waiting.

Her eyes then landed on a mini-fridge nestled against the wall, its glass door revealing rows of bottled water, iced coffee, herbal teas, and a variety of other refreshments. On top, a selection of snacks was carefully arranged in small, decorative bowls—crisp senbei rice crackers, zesty wasabi peas, and neatly lined packs of Pocky, their colorful packaging catching her eye.

Of course, Hinata couldn't resist the lure of food. 

She strolled over, helped herself to a bottle of water, a pack of Pocky, and a handful of senbei crackers, then joined the three other visitors lounging nearby. Settling into her seat, she spent her time happily nibbling on her snack while skimming through the consent forms and the massage parlor packet she was given. 

Time slipped away without her even noticing, and before Hinata knew it, two of the other visitors had been called for their sessions, leaving the lounge quieter than before. Still nestled in her seat, she absentmindedly nibbled on a cracker, her fingers flipping through the massage packet resting in her lap.

"Deep tissue," She murmured under her breath, her eyes scanning the description with mild curiosity.

She turned the page.

"Swedish," She whispered next, her voice barely above a breath as she skimmed the details. Page after page, she continued, taking her time—until her fingers froze mid-turn.

Her breath hitched.

There it was.

A section marked in elegant, curling script: Happy Endings.

Her massage selection.

Her lavender eyes skimmed the description, reading it over carefully. But it wasn't the title that caught her attention.

No.

It was that word again—bolded, standing out above the rest. Erotic.

Hinata stared, her throat suddenly dry.

Wait. 

What…?

"Hinata Hyūga?"

The sound of her name cut clean through the quiet lull of the lounge, disrupting the gentle murmur of the television and the soothing trickle of the water fountain.

"Eeeek!" She squeaked, jolting upright. Her head snapped up so violently she almost saw stars, whiplash be damned, her breath catching somewhere between her lungs and throat. Her wide, startled eyes darted across the room, frantically searching for the source of the voice. 

And the moment she spotted the culprit, her heart skipped a beat. 

Oh. My. Kami.

There, standing in the open doorway of the lounge, clipboard in hand, was him.

Naruto Uzumaki.

Her chosen masseur.

Her breath hitched, her lips parting slightly as an unexpected rush of warmth crawled up her spine.

There he was.

The same man whose face was plastered all over Happy Endings' website, boasting a flawless five-star rating and glowing reviews praising his "heavenly touch" and "unmatched expertise." The very same man she had shamelessly ogled—the one responsible for her booking this appointment in the first place.

And now, seeing him in person?

He was absolutely breathtaking.

More so than she ever could have imagined.

His blonde hair was styled just as neatly as in the photos, strands brushed back, revealing every sharp, chiseled angle of his face. He was dressed in crisp white scrubs, the color standing out against his tanned skin. The fabric was loose but did little to hide the definition of his toned body. 

And those eyes.

Even from across the room, they were striking—a piercing, ocean-blue, framed by dark lashes. 

He looked every bit the professional, but there was an undeniable ruggedness to him, something effortless about the way he carried himself. 

Something that made Hinata's pulse skip violently.

For a moment too long, she just sat there like an idiot, staring, too stunned to move. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she watched him scan the room, flipping through his clipboard, eyes flicking over the other guests with a casual confidence.

"Hinata Hyūga? Do we have a Hinata Hyūga here?"

That snapped her out of it.

"Oh—shoot, that's me!" She whispered under her breath, springing to her feet so quickly she almost knocked over the pamphlet in her lap. 

"Yes! That's me!" She called, her voice bubbling with excitement and just a hint of embarrassment.

Naruto's head turned sharply, his lips curling into a broad, easygoing grin the moment his eyes met hers. 

"Ah—there she is!" He let out a warm chuckle, playfully tapping his clipboard against his palm before pointing at her, "You were hiding from me, Hinata-san."

Hinata's face burned. 

"Oh no! I just—got a little caught up," She laughed nervously, hurriedly gathering her things. She quickly stuffed her snack, the bottle of water, and the massage packet into her purse, before reaching for the forms. 

Before she could grab them, Naruto lifted a hand in a casual beckon. 

"You can bring those with you," He said with a nod, "If you have any questions while you finish looking them over, feel free to ask."

His voice.

Kami, his voice.

Smooth like melted butter. 

Hinata swallowed, offering a small nod as she picked up the clipboard, clutching it against her chest, "Oh, um—actually, I already filled everything out online, so…" Her words trailed off as she glanced up at him, unsure if she needed to do anything else.

Naruto's lips curled into a grin, eyes gleaming with approval, "Perfect! That means we can get things rolling then," He said, then pointed at the clipboard of forms in her possession, "You can leave that there on the table, I'll have someone come by and confiscate it shortly. 

Hinata nodded, setting the clipboard back down on the table. 

Naruto stepped back slightly, gesturing for her to follow.

Hinata managed a small, shy smile in return before she did just that—slipping toward the open door he held for her. Once she stepped through and the door softly closed behind her, the blonde masseur turned to greet her properly, extending his hand. 

For a split second, Hinata hesitated—but then, she reached out, her fingers slipping into his. 

His grip was firm, warm, steady. 

Hinata's heart was pounding so hard she almost forgot to breathe.

Because—oh, kami—his hand was in hers.

Big. Warm. Strong.

Thick, blue veins traced along his tanned skin, his fingers easily dwarfing hers.

She couldn't look away.

Her breath hitched as he gave her hand a gentle rock, his thumb grazing over her knuckles so naturally, that her body responded before her mind could catch up.

A simple handshake.

But why did it feel like so much more?

His touch was already doing something to her, his fingers easing the tension from her knuckles, smoothing out stress she hadn't even realized she was carrying.

Like it was second nature to him.

Like he already knew exactly how to take care of her.

"It's so nice to meet you, Hinata-san," Naruto greeted, blsessing her ears with that voice of his again. So smooth and warm—everything she wasn't prepared for.

"As you probably know, I'm Naruto Uzumaki—the owner of Happy Endings and the head massage therapist here."

And then—finally—he let go.

Hinata's fingers twitched, tingling with the warmth he left behind, still buzzing from the lingering press of his palm against hers.

"Since it's your first time with us," Naruto continued, flipping open his clipboard, "do you have any questions or concerns so far?"

Hinata barely heard him.

She was still stuck on his hands.

The same hands that—soon—would be working their magic on her body.

Touching her.

Cupping her.

Massaging her.

Her lips parted, her throat tightening, her mind spiraling far too fast in a direction she hadn't anticipated.

And Naruto just stood there. 

Waiting.

Expecting an answer.

Oh, kami.

She needed to get it together.

"Mmm…" Hinata murmured, barely able to string words together, but then she caught the sound of his soft chuckle. 

Embarrassment fluttered through her, and she quickly snapped out of it, her cheeks burning bright red. 

"I—I mean, yes, I do have a few questions," She stammered, desperately trying to regain her composure—to erase that embarrassing little sound she had just made from existence.

Her fingers fidgeted against the strap of her purse, her brain scrambling for something—anything—to shift the focus.

"Also, thank you for giving me this opportunity, and—"

Hinata dipped into a polite bow, her hands nervously smoothing over the fabric of her skirt as she forced a shy but genuine smile.

"It's really great to finally meet you, Naruto-san."

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, rich and warm.

"Aww, you're gonna make a grown man blush," He teased, shaking his head with an easy grin, "You're really sweet, Hinata-san, but," his smirk tilted, "there's no need for any formality."

His gaze flickered over her, his smile warming up. 

"I'm here for you, not the other way around."

Hinata bit her lip.

Oh, if only he knew…

In a way, she was here for him.

Sort of.

Maybe just a little.

…Okay, maybe a lot.

The mere thought sent a flutter through her stomach, and before she could rein it in, her shoulders stiffened as she straightened from her bow, standing tall once more.

Naruto caught it instantly.

His sharp blue eyes flickered with knowing amusement, his head tilting slightly as he studied her reaction like she was a puzzle he was itching to figure out.

"Aww, Hinata-san," He drawled, "Relax." 

His smirk softened just a fraction, just enough to make her heart trip over itself.

"This is your time. Your session," He reminded her, voice dipping lower, smoother. "You don't have to be so stiff with me, sweetheart."

Hinata nearly choked on air.

Sweetheart.

Oh, no.

She wasn't ready.

Not for that.

Not for him.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

Absolutely nothing.

Just the relentless pounding of her heart in her ears, drowning out every coherent thought she had left.

"O-Oh…" was all she managed, a breathless, pathetic little whimper. 

Naruto let out another amused chuckle. 

He took a casual step around her, then tilted his head toward the hallway, gesturing with a flick of his fingers.

"Come, Hinata-san," He murmured, that damn smirk still in place. 

"Follow me.

His shoes made a steady, confident thump as he guided her onward, each step echoing softly against the glazed wooden floor. Every sound—the soft creak of the boards, the gentle rustle of his uniform as he moved, even the faint tap of his clipboard against his palm—seemed heightened, magnified by the stillness around them.

Hinata followed, her lashes fluttering as she stole secret glances at him from the corner of her eye.

Ahead, the hallway was dimly lit, a long, narrow corridor lined with closed massage rooms on either side. Lanterns flickered above, their soft golden glow reflecting off the pristine walls. The air was filled with the scent of warm vanilla and lavender, a nice and calming scent—and yet, her heart refused to settle.

Every step forward sent a fresh pulse of anticipation through Hinata, her heart racing, tightening, twisting.

And then—Naruto stopped.

He gestured toward an open doorway, stepping aside with a relaxed nod, "This room's all yours," He said, motioning for her to enter, his clipboard resting casually against his forearm.

Hesitantly, Hinata stepped inside.

The moment she did, her breath caught in her throat.

The room was… breathtaking. Private. Intimate.

A warm, golden glow filled the dimly lit room, the lanterns above casting a gentle spotlight on the massage table in the center. It was draped in crisp, freshly pressed white sheets, with a stack of neatly folded towels resting at the foot, practically calling out to her. 

The entire space was designed for pure tranquility—soft, neutral tones of beige, cream, and warm browns. Graceful bamboo plants in round pots stood tall in each corner—an addition to the room Hinata found particularly beautiful.

A sleek countertop lined the far wall, showcasing an array of oils and lotions, their delicate glass bottles gleaming under the soft candlelight.

Just beside it, a small sink sat nestled between carefully arranged décor—a vase filled with fresh flowers, a glowing salt lamp, and a trio of scented candles. 

Then… there was the scent.

Hinata inhaled deeply, the rich notes of citrus and amber swirling in the air, but something else overtook it.

Him.

The moment Naruto stepped in behind her, his cologne rushed in and dominated the small space—a deep, intoxicating blend of sandalwood and spice. 

Rich. Warm. Undeniably masculine.

Her breath hitched.

Kami, he was already too much.

"Take a seat for me," Naruto instructed, waving his clipboard over towards the massage table. 

Hinata hesitated yet again, fingers fidgeting with the strap of her purse, before obeying. As she walked past him, she caught another subtle whiff of his cologne—stronger now, closer. It was the kind of scent that lingered, the kind that made it dangerously hard to focus.

Naruto followed her inside, his movements fluid, relaxed as he closed the door behind them with a soft click.

She took slow, tentative steps toward the massage table, her fingers brushing over the pristine white sheets before settling herself at the edge.

This was it.

In just a few moments, she would be right here, stretched out beneath his touch, his hands. 

The thought sent a wave of nervous excitement through her, her stomach tightening, her pulse thrumming in her ears. But she barely had time to dwell on it before she heard the rush of water.

Naruto had moved to the sink, rolling up the sleeves of his white uniform, revealing strong, tanned forearms, corded with lean muscle. He turned on the faucet, letting the heat build before pumping a generous amount of soap into his hands.

"Alright," He murmured, rubbing his palms together, creating a rich lather, "Before we get started, let's go over those questions of yours," He glanced over his shoulder at her, a teasing smirk playing at his lips.

"Hm?"

Hinata's mouth gaped slightly, her fingers gripping the edge of the table just a little tighter.

Kami.

How was she supposed to think clearly when he looked like that?

Hinata let out a deep breath, attempting to steady herself. 

Just ask. Just ask and get it over with.

"U-Um…" She started, her voice wobbling a little too high, "I was wondering—could you explain what makes the Happy Ending massage different from the others?"

The words came out too fast, tumbling over each other like they were trying to escape her mouth before she could change her mind.

And then, for some godforsaken reason, she kept talking.

"It's, uh… kind of embarrassing, but this is actually my first massage. Ever."

For a moment—just a fraction of a second—Naruto froze.

His hands hovered under the running water, shoulders stiffening as if he had just heard the most absurd thing in the world. Then, with a quick flick of his wrist, he shut the sink off, a little too aggressively, and whipped around so fast she half-expected him to give himself whiplash.

"Did you just say—?" His voice pitched up slightly, eyebrows shooting sky-high, "Your first massage?"

He shook his head in disbelief, "You're messing with me."

Hinata shrank back slightly, feeling ridiculously called out, "I—um—no?"

Naruto squinted at her as he reached for a towel, drying his damp hands, "Nah. No way. A grown woman like you, never had a massage before? That's illegal. That should be illegal."

Hinata let out a small, nervous laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, well… unfortunately, no. I've just never had the time," She admitted, shifting slightly on the table, "I work as a marketing analyst—which is really just a fancy way of saying I sit at a desk all day, hunched over a computer."

Naruto winced playfully, shaking his head, "Oh no, your poor back. That's so tragic, Hinata-san."

"Oh yes, truly tragic," Hinata sighed dramatically, rubbing her lower back for emphasis, "I'd love to tell you otherwise, but honestly—my back gave up on me years ago."

Naruto's lips twitched, and then—he laughed. 

A deep, rich chuckle slipped from his lips, warming the space and her heart along with it. 

Hinata let out a soft, breathy laugh of her own, her shoulders relaxing just a bit—especially after realizing she had managed to make the ridiculously handsome blonde laugh. 

Like, oh my gosh, what?!

She hadn't expected to feel this comfortable so quickly, but something about Naruto's easygoing nature made it impossible not to.

"I just—I don't know," Hinata admitted, gesturing vaguely with her hands, "I figured it was about time I actually did something for myself for once. Then I stumbled across your website, read through the services, and thought, 'Maybe a massage is what I need.'"

Naruto hummed, nodding as he leaned back against the counter, arms crossing over his broad chest, "Hmm, so basically, you were drowning in work, at your wit's end, and in desperate need of some proper relief, yeah?"

Hinata's face heated instantly, "Well—!" She choked, flailing for words before groaning and covering her face with both hands, "Okay, yes! That basically sums it up."

Naruto let out a satisfied chuckle, pushing off the counter, "Well, in that case, let me be the first to say—you made an excellent decision coming here." 

He gestured broadly to the room, arms extended, "Welcome to the world of relaxation, hun."

His grin stretched wider, "And just for the record—" He paused, tilting his head slightly, those soft baby blue eyes locking onto hers. 

"I really appreciate you sharing that with me, Hinata-san."

Hinata beamed, cheeks flushing redder, "O-Of course."

For a brief moment, Naruto just stared her, his expression shifting—not just playful now, but genuinely… intrigued. There was something almost thoughtful in the way his eyes lingered on her, like he replaying the words she said over in his head. 

He hummed in amusement. 

"Now, about that question of yours…" He began, snapping himself out of his thoughts, "The Happy Ending massage option we have available here is… well, let's just say it's in a category of its own."

Hinata bit her lip, her heartbeat stuttering.

Oh. 

The way he said it, the way his voice dropped just a little, made something deep in her chest tighten. She wasn't sure if it was anticipation, nervousness, or just the lingering effect of him thanking her so casually earlier, like she had shared something special. Like he actually cared.

It made her want to kick her feet, and giggle into her hands like a silly, silly schoolgirl.

"It's more erotic, more intimate…" Naruto went on, watching for her reaction.

Hinata caught it—the tail end of what he said, anyway.

Her lips parted slightly, a breath hitching in her throat as her mind whirled, catching up to what he was saying.

"Now, don't get me wrong," He continued, his tone as easygoing as ever, "it still works just like a deep tissue massage."

He lifted a hand, gesturing casually as he spoke, "I'll be working through every muscle—your neck, shoulders, arms, back, legs…" His gaze briefly swept over her, as if mentally charting every spot he'd touch, every area he'd press and knead.

"Loosening up every knot, releasing all that built-up tension you've been carrying."

Hinata nodded slowly, her mind grasping for some sense of normalcy in his explanation.

That… that didn't sound bad.

She did need a deep tissue massage.

Her job had her sitting for hours on end, her muscles locked up so tightly she barely remembered what it felt like to be relaxed. 

So that seemed exactly what she needed. 

But then, she looked up and noticed the blonde masseur's smirk changed.

Not drastically.

Just slightly.

His gaze turned a shade darker, something undeniably suggestive flashing behind his blue eyes.

"But the key difference of the Happy Ending massage option," He continued, his voice dipping lower, "is at the very end of your session."

Hinata's brows furrowed, confusion flashing across her face.

"The end?"

Naruto chuckled softly.

"Hai. At the very end—especially for you—" His eyes locked onto hers, unwavering, "I'm going to wrap it all up with something…special." He paused, just for a second. 

"A sweet release. A proper orgasm."

Hinata froze.

Her brain completely short-circuited.

Did he—

Did he just—

Did she hear that correctly?

Her face went up in flames, her fingers clenching her purse strap as tight as she could, the only thing keeping her grounded, reminding her that this was real. That she was, in fact, awake.

"O-O-Orgasm?!" She squeaked, her voice pitching so high she barely recognized it.

Naruto's grin only widened.

"That's right, Hinata-san."

Casual.

Nonchalant.

As if he had just told her the sky was blue.

Hinata gawked at him, completely and utterly shocked beyond belief.

She wanted to deny she heard him correctly.

She wanted to ask if this was some kind of joke.

She wanted to faint on the damn spot.

This is what she signed up for?

This is what 'Happy Ending' meant?

All this time?!

How could she have been so reckless?!

Twice—that word, erotic, had flashed before her eyes. Twice, she had seen it, registered it… and yet, each time, she brushed it off, convincing herself it was just part of the all-inclusive massage experience she had conjured up in her head. 

She knew she had seen it.

And yet, instead of stopping to question it, instead of reading between the lines like any rational person would, she let her excitement get the best of her—rushing headfirst into booking the session without a second thought.

Too hasty. Too quick.

Now, sitting here, her pulse hammering, reality finally sinking its claws in, she could hardly believe it.

What had she gotten herself into?

All the while, as she spiraled deeper into the chaos of her own thoughts, Naruto remained where he was—calm, composed, waiting. His smirk lingered, his sharp blue eyes watching her every reaction with quiet amusement.

But then—

His smile began to fade.

Slowly, that teasing smirk softened, replaced by something more cautious, more observant. His head tilted slightly, his blonde brows drawing together as he took in her silence, her stiff posture, the way her fingers had gone white-knuckled around her purse strap.

His hands lowered, the playful edge in his demeanor slipping just a little.

"…You okay, Hinata-san?"

His voice was gentler now, his gaze carefully scanning her face for any signs of discomfort. 

"If this isn't something you're comfortable with, we can make adjustments." He offered, his voice steady, reassuring, "Just remember, this session is all about helping you relax, not adding to your stress."

Hinata blinked, her mouth opening and closing, her pulse still racing. And then—before she could even think, before she could stop herself—

"No, no—I want it."

The words just…tumbled out. 

What. The. Hell. 

Naruto's brows lifted slightly, his smirk making a slow return.

"…Oh?"

That single word carried so much weight, dragging heat all the way down Hinata's spine.

Oh?

OH?!

Hinata's heart slammed against her ribs, realization crashing down on her far too late.

What the hell had she just agreed to?

Her mouth opened, as if to take it back—to retract the words—but the way Naruto was looking at her, studying her so intently, made the thought die on her tongue.

Especially with him looking so fine.

Kami.

This would be any woman's dream, wouldn't it? To be pampered by a man this strong, this handsome? To have those skilled hands of his gliding over her body, rubbing her down, taking care of her?

He was built for this. Trained for this.

And… if she was being honest… she secretly wanted it.

More than she should.

More than she—

Wait—what?! What the hell was she thinking?!

Her face grew redder and redder, blinking, waiting for him to… say something. Anything.

Naruto hummed, low, considering. 

And with that—he broke the silence.

"Well, alright then."

His smirk returned. 

"But before we officially move forward, there are a few things we need to go over first."

He pushed himself off the counter, moving with that same easy confidence, grabbing his clipboard and flipping it open.

"First off, let's talk comfort levels."

Hinata inhaled sharply, gripping the fabric of her skirt, feeling the heat pulse through her entire body.

Comfort levels?

Oh kami.

"This section requires you to be a little more open with me, Hinata-san," Naruto continued smoothly, flicking through the forms, "That means skin-to-skin contact. Now, you don't have to be completely naked if that makes you uncomfortable. Most of my clients—" He paused, looking at her pointedly, "—especially first-timers—keep their underwear on. Totally up to you."

Hinata's brain short-circuited. Again.

Naked.

Naked?!

Oh. 

She had not thought this through.

Her fingers twitched, "I… I can keep my underwear on?"

Naruto nodded, his expression remaining completely professional despite the nature of the discussion—a skill in itself, "Of course. This is all about what makes you comfortable."

Hinata exhaled slowly, feeling at least somewhat relieved.

Then, Naruto's voice dipped lower.

"Though, if you want the full experience, skin-to-skin contact allows me to work deeper into the muscle tissue. It helps with circulation, tension relief, and overall relaxation. The less restriction, the better the results."

Hinata swallowed hard.

Circulation. Tension relief. Relaxation.

Okay. Okay, that all sounded… reasonable.

Logical.

Totally not like she was about to get stripped down and touched in ways she'd never been touched before.

Right?

But then…

That naughty little voice deep in the back of her mind whispered temptingly.

Would that be so bad?

To experience his hands gliding over every inch of her body? To have those strong fingers kneading into her skin, pressing into all the places that ached?

To finally, finally satisfy those intimate cravings she had been forced to repress?

Naruto glanced up at her, curious but patient, "Still with me?"

Hinata nodded stiffly, her pulse pounding in her ears, "Y-Yeah… still with you."

"Good."

She swallowed hard, then, in a barely audible whisper, murmured, "I-I'd like to keep my underwear on, please."

Naruto gave a simple nod, "Alrighty."

He jotted something down on the clipboard before glancing back up at her.

"So, next, I will use a variety of oils during the session, all tailored to your needs. Some focus on deep relaxation, others on muscle recovery, and some—" His smirk twitched at the corner, "—heighten sensitivity."

Hinata felt her entire body lock up.

Heighten. Sensitivity.

What the hell did that mean?!

Naruto, clearly picking up on her internal struggle, let out a low chuckle,  "I'll go with whatever you're comfortable with," He assured her smoothly, "And I'll let you know exactly which oil I'm using before I apply it. But if you're unsure…" His smirk deepened slightly, "I can always mix a custom blend—one that covers everything. Keeps things… interesting."

Hinata didn't trust herself to speak, so she just nodded again, her throat too dry to function properly.

"Alright," Naruto continued, completely at ease as he flipped to the next page, "Last thing—orgasm control."

Hinata nearly choked on her own saliva.

"O-O-Orgasm control?!"

Naruto grinned, tapping the pen against his clipboard, "Yup. You have two options here."

He held up a single finger.

"One: You let it happen naturally. I work you up, and when your body decides it's ready, you let it all go."

Hinata gaped at him.

She wanted to interrupt—to say something—but he held up a second finger.

"Two: You hold back until I give you permission."

Hinata made a sound.

It was somewhere between a squeak and a wheeze, but it definitely didn't sound human.

Naruto's grin only widened.

"That one's my personal favorite, but, again, all up to you."

Hinata just sat there, her lips slightly parted, completely and utterly at a loss for words. This was so much more than she expected—so much more intense than she ever could've imagined.

She had only intended to get a simple, straightforward massage.

And now this…

She couldn't even breathe.

Her heart pounded so rapidly it was starting to scare her, her thoughts tangling into a frantic mess.

It wasn't just about the massage anymore.

No.

This was more than that. So much more.

This was self-care. Attention. Intimacy.

Everything she had denied herself for years.

It was all right here.

In one session.

With him.

Right then and there, that naughty, reckless part of her came rushing back in again.

It whispered—no, it purred in her ear.

"Do it."

"Let go."

"Treat yourself, girl."

And for once—just once—Hinata wanted to listen to it. She had spent her entire life playing it safe, following the rules, sticking to routine.

Always composed. Always responsible. Always predictable.

Never risky.

Never self-indulgent.

And for what?

For what?!

For years of pent-up frustration? Of loneliness?

For a life where she never once let herself chase desire?

No.

Not this time.

This was her chance—her moment—to take something for herself.

To do something wild.

Something reckless.

Something that made her feel alive.

She had come here to take a break from the norm.

To let go.

To finally, finally stop thinking so damn much.

And the answer was right in front of her.

Blonde. Blue-eyed. Smirking like he already knew exactly what was running through her mind.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself.

Then, slowly, deliberately—

She lifted her chin and met his gaze.

"…Okay."

Naruto's smirk widened.

"Yeah?" He stated, more as a confirmation than a question.

Hinata bit her lip, her nerves all over the place, before finally nodding.

"Yeah. Let's do it."

Naruto's grin broadened, flashing those stupidly perfect pearly whites—up close and personal—in a way that made her stomach flip and her womanhood clench in anticipation.

Kami.

She had never been so aware of her own body before.

It was ridiculous.

"That's the spirit," He praised, his approval as warm as it was reassuring. "I promise, you won't regret it, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

There it was again—that pet name, slipping so effortlessly from his lips.

Hinata barely stifled a whimper, clutching her legs tightly together, desperately willing herself to stay composed.

Naruto's eyes flicked to her midnight blue hair, and he tilted his head, "First, let's start by putting up your hair. It's beautiful, by the way."

Hinata blinked, caught off guard, "Eh?"

"Your hair. The color." He smirked, moving toward one of the counters, grabbing something, "It's unique… kinda mesmerizing, actually."

Hinata's face turned red.

Before she could even process the compliment, Naruto was already in front of her, his strong hands reaching toward her.

"May I?"

She nodded quickly, her embarrassment spiking.

Of course, she had forgotten to put her hair up before coming here. Who in their right mind forgets something so simple when going to a massage parlor?!

So embarrassing.

But then—

Her breath hitched the moment she felt him touch her.

Warm.

Firm.

His palms cradled the sides of her head, gathering the silky strands with practiced ease. His fingers skimmed the nape of her neck, collecting ever strand in those large hands of his, sending a shiver trailing down her spine. Every brush, every subtle tug as he gathered her hair into a loose bundle, was oddly intimate. 

Kami.

She hadn't expected this to feel so… nice.

He was so close, his masculine scent wrapping around her making her head spin.

And it was just him fixing her hair.

What the hell was she going to do when he actually touched her?

"There we go," Naruto murmured, successfully twisting her hair up into a messy high bun, securing it with a hair tie. 

Hinata exhaled the breath she didn't know she was holding.

He stepped back slightly, admiring his work.

"Looks good." He smirked. "Now, onto the next part."

He nodded toward the massage table, "Alright, go ahead and slip out of your clothes. Lie down for me—face down, head resting in the cushion." He instructed, motioning toward the head of the table. 

Hinata froze.

Right.

She had agreed to this.

She had literally just said yes to this.

Her fingers twitched, her heart pounding, but Naruto's voice broke through her hesitation again—casual, reassuring, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

"I'm gonna step out for a moment to grab a few extra things for your session. No rush—take your time. When I get back, we'll get started." He gestured toward the counter, "Oh, and you can set your belongings over there if you'd like."

Hinata glanced down at her purse, nodding softly.

His smirk softened just a little, a flicker of something almost teasing behind his gaze, "Don't run away on me now, yeah?"

Hinata squeaked, gripping the hem of her skirt so tightly, she thought she might tear it.

Naruto chuckled, turning on his heel and heading for the door, his presence lingering in the room long after he had stepped out.

Hinata sat there in the silence, her mind spinning, replaying everything that had just unfolded, struggling to fully grasp the weight of her impulsive decision.

Her hands trembled.

Her entire body felt like it was on fire.

And now…

Now, she had to undress.

She covered her burning cheeks with both hands, squeezing her eyes shut as she kicked her legs in a flustered fit.

Kami help her.

Because she was so screwed.

Hinata exhaled deeply, her head resting against the plush, rounded cushion of the massage table, her face settling into the designated opening.

She was down to her underwear now—her finest set, ironically enough.

It wasn't something she had planned. She certainly hadn't woken up this morning thinking, 'Oh, today seems like a great day to wear my sexiest lingerie, just in case I end up half-naked in front of the most gorgeous man I've ever met.'

She groaned inwardly.

Who was she fooling?

Of course, she had. Of course, she planned it. 

And now… here she was.

Half-naked. Face down on the table, waiting.

Her fingers tensed against the plush fabric beneath her, and she forced another breath through her nose.

Relax.

The room was calm, quiet, soothing—everything a massage parlor should be. Soft, tranquil music drifted through the air, blending with the gentle trickle of the water fountain built into the dark tiled wall. 

The warmth from the flickering candles was nice against her skin at least, warm and heady, designed to lull her into relaxation.

And for a moment—just a moment—it worked.

She closed her eyes, letting the tension drain from her muscles, trying to focus on the peaceful ambiance.

The water.

The music.

The peace.

The soft, steady rhythm of her own breath.

But then—

She became aware of something else. 

A new sound. A new rhythm. 

The pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears, loud, unrelenting—drowning out the music, the fountain, everything.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Her nerves coiled tighter.

Her body, despite the comfort of the table, remained on edge.

She couldn't get Naruto's words out of her head. Everything he had said, everything this massage entailed—it was nothing like what she had originally imagined when she recklessly booked the appointment. 

Not even close.

This was… something else.

Something thrilling.

Something undeniably intimate.

Something she knew would be life-changing. 

Once again, her mind began to scramble. 

But just as she felt herself begin to lose it, just as she was starting to come to terms with how utterly exposed she was—

A knock at the door shattered the quiet.

Hinata stiffened, her breath catching in her throat.

"Hinata-san? Are ya ready, hun?"

That voice. 

Naruto was back.

Hinata jolted upright, her head lifting from the cushion, heart hammering, "H-Hai! I—I'm ready!" She blurted, scrambling to press her face back down into position.

"Alrighty!"

The door clicked open.

Then came, footsteps.

Soft, steady, confident.

Each one sent her heart racing faster, thudding in sync with his approach.

And then—Naruto's voice.

"Good girl."

Hinata squeaked.

A literal, tiny squeak escaped her lips before she could stop it. Her entire body went rigid against the table, toes curling in mortification.

Oh, kami.

Did he just—

Was he—

He was messing with her, wasn't he?

It didn't help that he chuckled, the sound deep, amused, far too satisfied with himself.

"Relax, Hinata-san."

His voice was low, just as before, a warm murmur that sent a gentle shiver down her spine.

The door snapped shut behind him, sealing them off from the rest of the world.

Just the two of them now.

She heard the clink of bottles, the faint rustle of movement as he set something down on the counter closest to her. 

"You're so tense, honey."

Hinata sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers curling into the soft fabric of the table beneath her.

But she couldn't move.

Not when she felt him so close.

Not when every hair on her body stood on edge, her skin prickling with the undeniable awareness of him.

He moved again.

Slow, measured steps, drawing closer—so close, she swore she felt the heat of his gaze trailing over her bare back, over the smooth curves of her body.

Her breath hitched, her stomach twisting as she imagined it—imagined him looking, taking her in, seeing her just in her underwear. 

She sucked in a breath. 

But then, his footsteps changed direction, striding away from her, this time toward the farthest counter. It was then, she heard the faint sound of liquid being poured, the crisp snap of a cap closing, the controlled whoosh of water running as he washed his hands again. 

Her heart pounded against her ribs, her mind spiraling.

The anticipation coiled inside her, tight and heady.

Then she heard it. 

The soft, muted slip of gloves being pulled on.

A quiet sigh left Naruto's lips, as if he were centering himself, rolling his shoulders, flexing his fingers. 

She then heard more footsteps from him, and a brief shuffle of movement, and soon, something warm and weighty draped over her lower half. A towel, she realized, the fabric pressing lightly against her skin, a subtle barrier between her and complete exposure. 

"Alright, sweetheart."

His voice. Deep. Right above her. 

Close enough that she could feel the heat of his presence at her back.

"Let's begin."

Continue Reading on Wattpad Or AO3.

||Previous Chap.||

[hazardous-who]

Modern Vampire and Reincarnated Witch AU

Pairing: Obito Uchiha / Kakashi Hatake

( In which Obito is a vampire who has lost it all, and Kakashi is reincarnated as a human with dark magic in his blood. )

🚩 Warning for blood and death.

Obito had lost everything.

It started with being shunned from his family, to losing Rin, then losing Kakashi too.

All of his people of importance now gone. Nothing left for him in this world. No love, no family, no place that would ever truly feel like home. No one to confide in that was like him, who only appeared to be human, but was nothing of the sort.

He had become something bitter and mean due to his loss, something pathetically lonely, but couldn’t find it in himself to stop living. Knew Rin and Kakashi would want him to live, no matter the odds. So he held on and endured, blending himself among humanity.

It was just another dull day, where Obito had been on his way home, wandering down the streets at night until he had heard commotion from a nearby alley, the scent of blood hitting his nose just as quickly as the body that was suddenly crashing into him all at once. A startlingly familiar face stared up at him, expression something wild and scared, with pale skin painted black and blue and a nose spilling fresh waves of crimson.

A look so foreign to the man he once knew, but indefinitely Kakashi.

There was a series of footsteps resounding from the alley the man had initially manifested from, a small group of men with bats and pipes quickly making their way closer. An unfriendly bunch that clearly meant to do harm, but judging by the blood already coating their weapons and the man before him, it was apparent they had already actually done a fair bit.

The approaching threat caused fingers to claw desperately at his jacket, a voice he hadn’t heard in years sobbing a broken plea, frightened by the approaching individuals.

“Please help me.”

It had been a long time since Obito had last lost control of himself.

The bodies were unrecognizable when he had come back to, panting as he regarded the bloodied concrete and the sides of the buildings heading the alley. He was soaked in it, grimacing as he pulled flesh from beneath his nails. They smelled so foul he didn’t mind the waste of a fresh meal for once, their blood filled with drugs and toxins he’d much prefer to avoid if he could help it.

He startled when he remembered the man who had ran into him, frantic as he turned to see where he had ran-

But he hadn’t gone anywhere.

In fact, he had knocked out just a few steps away on the sidewalk. If that was because of whatever beatdown he endured or from watching Obito eviscerate his attackers, he didn’t know.

What he did know was he was now in an incredibly complicated position.

- Ending Notes

Little thing from between fics I wrote a while back that never got finished, it was originally gonna be multichapter story with LAYERS, but I had more drive for other things. So you guys can have this- I’m unsure if I’ll actually end up continuing or polishing it or anything. I honestly have a few vampire AU fic wips in my arsenal right now aughhhh...

[tired-biscuit]

general!kiba becomes a soft sex addict when he finally realizes that the rubbing n kissing and cuddling you love doing feels better than just fucking you <3

18+ fem!reader / cw: soft, lovey-dovey handjob and fingering, mentions of an imbalanced power dynamic. royalty AU.

series masterlist

your husband’s tenderness comes out to play at nighttime — when he’s absolutely sure that it’s safe from being seen by prying eyes.

hand to heart, you must admit that you’d thought of his initial reluctance to exhibit actual, proper intimacy towards his own wife as an oddity of sorts. being the softer sex by default, or perhaps it being the consequence of how you’d been raised, his hesitance has left you feeling somewhat baffled in the beginning of your arranged marriage.

after all, his way of caring is, in fact, nothing like what you’ve read about in the romance novels you still shamefully hide in the darkest corner of your dresser even to this day. he is not even anything remotely similar to the things you’d picked up from hushed bits and pieces of gossip coming from the young, giggling maids that are constantly running about the halls of your new home, as well as the subjects merely brushed over in the chatter of the noble ladies you’re sometimes burdened to sit down to engage with over lunch, simply because your high status — and your birth right — compels you to do so.

and speaking of those women; no matter which company you end up in, they all end up looking at you in the exact same way. with saddened eyes, both the maids and the prestigious women of the court all gaze at you like they almost pity you.

to be fair, how can they not? to a stranger’s eye, your spouse is seen as nothing but a big, intimidating brute that’s acquired himself quite the reputation of being utterly ruthless on the field. every inch of him is covered in scars, deadly weapons and grime, and he’s always wearing that irked scowl on his face that makes him look older than he actually is. his footsteps are so heavy as he walks alongside you, they make the iron that he carries on him at all times clink.

in contrast, you’re such a delicate little thing when compared to him. with your inexplicable poise, gentle mannerisms, kind face, pretty gowns and the blue blood that’s coursing your veins, you could be called his polar opposite.

but all of that grace of yours is to be used for what, exactly?

to be mounted by some common man every night, who just so happens to have lucked out only because he’s great at wielding a sword and shouting orders at an army of men who are just as dirty as him? to have all of your sinless attributes tarnished and besmirched by his greedy hands that have surely been covered by someone else’s blood more times than yours had been with soap?

he’s a warrior. you’re unblemished royalty — well, not any longer. the only embrace you’ll ever receive from a man like him is the suffocating kind. an embrace, whose only purpose is to hold you still on top of the bed as he proceeds to tear through your expensive regalia, and has his way with you again and again; breeding you until you birth him a child he’d never even considered of helping you raise in the first place.

well, that’s what you’d thought before, at least. what everyone has thought.

however lately, not as much — as far as your opinion about him is concerned. others still see him as a bastard who’s only good at baring his teeth and putting up a fight, sure, but for you, the turmoil doesn’t last as long. no, being his wife, you get the fortune of quickly learning that there actually is some kindness hidden inside your supposed brute of a husband’s heart, as well as the fact that there are plenty of reasons as to why he tends to keep that kindness at bay — at least until you’re alone, that is.

for one, it’s not seen as proper for a person of his and your rank to publicly fawn over their spouse in this day and age; that much is obvious. secondly, he’s actually awfully clumsy and remains stuck in the wrong mindset. your union is still fairly young and thus makes him rather addled and inexperienced when it comes to handling a wife and fulfilling her needs and wishes, as well as the overall married life that she brings into the house he’d never even once dared dream of owning before. sometimes he simply forgets that it isn’t just him that he has to worry about anymore.

lastly, being the top brass of the royal military, working under the command of your father, his position makes him obligated to represent all things virile and pertinacious whenever he finds himself in the company of others; all things so stereotipically — and insufferably, much to your dismay — male.

that one is the peskiest of the three. it’s a lesson that’s been drilled into him ever since he’d been a young boy. a lecture that’s taught him that he must function in this world with no squeamish reactions, no fear, no mercy, no tears, and the most important one of them all — definitely no heart; with the rare exception of it being laid down on a silver platter for the sake of the kingdom whenever its rightful ruler demands it.

all that matters is devoted loyalty. utter submission and respect towards the hierarchy. now that you think about it, perhaps he’s not all that much different from you, despite being male. he’s just as much of a prisoner to a system with a defined set of rules just like you are.

but while you’re attending your fancy tea parties, he’s willing to die for his homeland if it were to request his life as sacrifice, and has made that deference evidently clear with his actions every single day. while you’re attempting to charm numerous social circles, he’s willing to draw his sword, face war head-on and kill in the name of his country, too.

and that last part, the cold-blooded killing of soldiers and young men — sometimes boys, for fuck’s sake — that are just trying to serve their rulers exactly like he does and that he sometimes has to do as a goddamn job, really tends to bring out the worst in his nightmares.

———

he’s thrashing on top of the bed by the time you finally get him to wake up.

the room is dark. dawn barely peeks at the corners of the limitless night sky that still has a long way to go from appearing bright and clear. and whilst the semi-darkness is supposed to bring a sense of tranquility to your private chambers, comfort and whatnot, you can’t help but notice how there’s palpable tension hanging over the entire space as you reach out a wary hand for your husband.

you watch as he pushes up from the bed and starts to gasp for air in a series of short, and what you could almost call petrified, breaths the moment he comes back to. shock riddles you — you’ve never seen him act so disheveled before. he’s trembling all over, visibly squirming in his attempt to realize his surroundings. the way his palm presses to his forehead with a soft smack before he runs his fingers through his now-mussed chestnut hair causes your lungs to tighten all of a sudden. it’s even worse when you see him shudder again and rub it in self-soothing circles over his heart instead.

he looks… scared. jittery. your fearless, strong as a bull — and stubborn just as one — war general looks terrified.

“hey… hey, it’s all right; you’re all right,” you try to whisper towards the shadowy silhouette of him whose shoulders you pretend not to see involuntarily shake once more at the merest sound of your voice. he’s skittish like the herd of deer that you sometimes see hanging around the edge of the woods during your walks in the garden; that is before they see you as well and scurry off to god knows where. it’s so peculiar.

and as a result of it, you’re talking to him, cooing and whispering as if he’s a wounded animal. perhaps he is one, because when he turns to look at you, the expression that sits on his face makes him look like he didn’t expect to see you there at all; much less to see you extending a helping hand in his direction with eyes so kind that he’d melt on the spot if he were any more conscious than he is as of this exact moment.

the sight of the pure confusion mixed with the evident fear and disapproval that now swirls in his wide open brown eyes saddens you greatly. it’s as if he’s already so used to consoling himself all on his own that he’s been almost caught by surprise by the fact that there’s someone else there this time around, willing to selflessly soothe him without any hidden motives at all.

his chest keeps rising and falling in a way so rapid that it causes his nostrils to flare and the vein in the side of his neck to protrude against the tan skin. you can see the ridge of it in the moonlight whenever he tilts his head at just the right angle and swallows the saliva that’s gathered in his cotton-filled mouth. it’s not supposed to be there in what should be the most serene hours of the day. he’s supposed to rest.

perhaps you can help with that.

“it’s all right,” you repeat. your tone falls flat but remains calm for the sake of his dignity that you know matters to him immensely as you apply weight to your hip so that you can lean over and caress his face. it’s probably better than treating him like a baby; the last thing you want to do is upset him. “it was just a dream; whatever it was, yes?”

sweat immediately sticks to your fingerpads as you touch him. he’s slick with liquid salt; is absolutely drenched in it. it makes his hair damp. his skin is so hot that it feels like he’s running a fever. the dead that he’s put into their graves have come to haunt him in his sleep as punishment, so he flinches against the touch you place on his cheekbone, producing a low sound that almost reminds you of a whimper, but immediately gives at the tenderness you apply behind it.

the noise he’s just made melts your bones. you try to shut it out because indecent thoughts start to pour at it, as well as simpathy.

still only half awake, he rubs the sleep from one eye with twitchy fingers and another quivery exhale before you ease him back onto the pillow with a small amount of effort and a gentle push to his chest. you rub the space where his heart lies, the silken soft hairs tickling your digits. the goose feathers inside the pillows rustle under his weight as he turns to his side and presses himself against you so closely that there’s no space of emptiness in-between anymore; not even a ghost of it.

it’s pure instinct to push closer towards the sense of almost motherly safety that you exude now and that he hasn’t experienced ever since he was a child. it’s an action he does without thinking, because if he did think about it, he wouldn’t initiate it in the first place. he’s curled up into himself like the house cat does whenever the room gets too cold because the flame in the nearby fireplace gets snuffed out. with his nose smushed against your chest, he sighs as you hug him and rest your chin on the top of his head.

his hair brushes your jawline as he nuzzles his face even deeper into you, and you can’t help but secretly relish the vulnerability he’s putting out into the open at long last. minutes pass, the blue on the sky gets lighter. every breath he takes turns depeer and more calm as he inhales your scent — subtle notes of lavender soap mixing with the warmth of sleep — and listens to the sound of your peaceful heartbeat whilst trying to tame his own into a similar rhythm.

he catches the way your pulse stutters as he wraps his arm around you at some point and digs his fingers into the small of your back, but he’s simply too exhausted to acknowledge it in that cocky way he tends to use as of late. his callouses make your skin tingle; the sensation causes your thighs to rub together almost unwillingly as he falters for a mere second before he strokes along the curve and leaves feather-light touches that make you want to shiver in the same way he did earlier, though for an entirely different reason.

his almost unbearable body heat pours into you, limbs sticking together because of the sweat that hasn’t gotten the chance to dry up yet. shamefully, you must admit that it warms you up on the inside, too. you’re not sure if your sudden greedy arousal has arrived, plaguing your mind, body and spirit alike, because of the intimacy that stems from how open he is with his emotions at this exact moment, the late hour, or the fact that you’re both completely naked underneath the covers, but it causes you to drag your nails across his strong back until you’re reaching the nape of his neck and digging your fingers into his hair like a whore which you certainly aren’t.

you’re trying to soothe him, to not make him feel scared anymore, but instead he’s kissing your chest, leaving small, warm patches of saliva across your collarbone and everything to surround it. with each messy kiss and lazy flick of tongue, you can feel the subtle graze of his canines dragging across the skin, making a certain kind of heat begin to pulsate at the apex of your thighs.

he just wants to feel you beside him. feel your warmth, scent, love, soul intermingling with his. without any words spoken because it’s too early for that and he’s not ready for it yet and his brain still feels far too sluggish. without any consequences and shame for being a soft-hearted kind of man for a change. he wants to thank you in the best way he knows and to not feel as alone.

arousal grows and grows inside your core, whether you want it to or not. it drips, turning you slippery between your legs; so wet that all you can do is trouble your bottom lip with your teeth and breathe through your nose as you feel a droplet of it slide down the inner side of your thigh. it’s embarrassing and sinful — how hot and bothered you are getting during what is supposed to be a sweet and tender moment between a wife and her husband. how dirty you’re becoming; all of your princess teachings lost to a mere thought of a cock stuffing you full.

kiba doesn’t seem to mind the sin, though. he only grunts something incoherent in reply to your soft whimper and the needy tug that you place upon the roots of his hair as soon as he wraps his mouth around your nipple and starts to suck.

you can see how goddamn innocent he looks despite the scar; pressed against the fat of your breast and with his eyelids terribly heavy both with sleep and lust. can see how comfortable he’s gotten; with his face buried between your tits in a way that makes him seem like he’s right at home. it makes his thick eyelashes flutter. makes his cock hard, until it’s poking against your tummy, leaving a thin trail of sticky wetness behind.

his cheeks are pink and warm, and his cupid’s bow has been smoothed out from the way he languidly keeps suckling on your sensitive bud. sometimes he even nips at it gently, making you not only feel, but also see lightning flash before your very eyes. he’s still stroking your back with his hand, reaching over to slide his fingers over your hip and to sneak them right between your legs where the shameful wetness gathers in copious amounts you’d never admit to yourself of being able to produce.

all of his affections are slow, sleepy, but they drive you absolutely wild. pulsating, white-hot heat drops upon you like the most treacherous mistress as he cups your pussy, spreads your lips gently apart and starts to rub small circles over your clit, making you unknowingly part your legs just so that he can touch you better. you squirm, lifting slightly, and he uses the chance to slide his other arm under your side, pressing the flat of his palm on the middle of your back just so that he can keep you from pushing away.

“so wet, princess,” he rasps softly, his voice still deep from slumber. “what are we gonna do about it, mm?”

everything is a blur after that. somehow you end up with his cock between your hands; smearing the precum that’s gathered from tip to base, making him grunt gruff obscenities as he presses his forehead against your own. your hips wiggle from the way he’s stuffed your tight princess cunt, as he lewdly calls it, with two of his thick fingers; pumping nice and easy, still spoiling your clit with his thumb.

he looks so good with his jaw locked in tight like that, kiss-bruised lips slightly parted and a subtle tick of concentration and obvious strain repeatedly appearing in his cheek. his muscles are taut, brow furrowed, hair slicked back and sweat of a different kind than the fearful one earlier sits on his skin now. his eyes are so dark, they make his pupils barely visible even if they’re blown wide open.

you’re just touching each other — exploring, taking your time, not fucking nor talking. instead you’re kissing. panting. he’s throbbing as you use both of your hands to stroke him, leaking precum whilst his hips keep pushing in and drawing back so that he can fuck your fist better, his balls tightening at the feel of it. you’re throbbing and gushing slick because he’s bullying that soft, squishy part inside of you that makes you want to wail in absolute pleasure even though you’re still so embarrassed by the wet squelches it produces.

he’s left such big lovebites marking your neck and bossom that the maids will surely talk about it in the morning, as will the ladies of the court. they’ll call it ghastly and bestial and an insult to god. they’ll say it’s blasphemy, which will only spur him on to give you more of them because he’s a good-natured but annoyingly wicked delinquent by heart, not a killer.

surprisingly, neither of you seems to care about what kind of consequences you’ll invoke later when it’s time to face your duties as princess and general — yes, even you. you just can’t bring yourself to care whilst quickening the roll of your hips so that you can fuck yourself faster on his fingers, still learning the mechanics of it, whilst he whispers your name like a chant with a voice so hoarse that it cracks as he watches you do it. you just can’t do anything else but listen and cling onto him for dear life and just feel.

he wants to say so many things. that he doesn’t sleep well because he sees the faces that had begged him for mercy, and sees the throats he’d sliced in response to said pleas, and feels guilty because he did in fact drag the knife across from one end to the other so many times that it’s become muscle memory. that he feels like he tosses a chunk of his own life into purgatory each time he has to take someone else’s life for the sake of the country, even if he roars in apparent delight as he does so.

he wants to tell you that he’s fond of you for not questioning him why he comes to bed so late at night and leaves long before you’d even begun to stir awake. that he appreciates the things you do — like the way you copy his actions that he does during the day and wrap yourself around him like a human shield when the night is long and the nightmares plague his defenseless mind, even if his body is armed and there’s a blade always hiding underneath his side of the bed. that you’re a good wife. that he might learn to love you, if he’s actually capable of it and lives long enough to do so.

but he can’t say it. the pride is drilled too deep, the soldier in him holds the leash too tight. the walls he’s built around himself will come crumbling down at some point; some hidden, more genuine part of his psyche knows they will. not yet, though. not so soon.

so for now, all he does is watch as you break into a million little pieces on his fingers and scream for god to help you like the pure little thing you are. all he does is hope that the way raw affection pools and glimmers in his amber eyes at the sight of your fucked out face is enough.

it’ll turn into love at some point, the affection. it’ll smooth out the sharp lines and edges of his face, brighten his grin into something a little more charming instead of feral, and will turn his eyes into a golden shade of honey.

a sugary kind of nectar, that he now swears he tastes on his fingers as he pulls them out of you and licks them right clean.

it’s sweet enough to drive the tastebuds wild. it’s sweet enough to give him equally as pleasant dreams.

[obito-in-disguise]

Was totally going to abandon this account and writing in general but then I read a sweet comment from someone and now I'm not going to!

[opttagoyeo]

"Ah wait, Naruto-san." she pleaded, her voice sounded so desperate she thinks, but her blonde crush immediately turned his body as he heard her. His body facing towards her, and his chest so broad even at this distance that Hinata just secretly likes it a lot. Likes to appreciate the physical attributes that her crush have attained during his life.

It was nice. Hinata thought.

To call him like this, and give him the most important thing to start their day. It was astonishing that she could experience this occasion. She should relish this feeling, she knew she should be.

A gentle hm left his lips yet it struck the indigo-haired woman's heart, that's right now starting to thump a little louder than before. Her hands started to sweat, especially the right one, to relax herself a little bit..she found her pencil skirt to clutch onto to gather some strength, at least

May god help her to not mess this up or else-!

"Hinata-san?"

His voice snapped her out of her reverie, adding to her lists of embarrassment that she might just remember again tonight before she slept. She smiled timidly to him, as her eyes fluttered, gazing at him.

Yes.

She can do this.

It's quite easy, isn't it?

Hinata prepared herself, clenching her fists to calm her annoyingly loud heart that's quite stopping her from making a move from her crush. This was getting dragged on! She doesn't want to waste his time.

"Ano.. Naruto-kun..," she started, and then what now? What should she say next? Her eyes gaze downwards, finding some strength and then.. and then suddenly she stared back again to his azure eyes.

Those eyes she adored the most.

Quite frankly, it was hard not to get hypnotized by such beautiful eyes, but Hinata has some other stuff to focus on. "I want to give you this before you go, " her right hand immediately acted upon, finding something in her blazer's pocket and rummaging through it swiftly.

"Before I go? Okay!"

"Is it a candy or wha—" Naruto freezes right on his spot when he makes out what Hinata actually wants to give to him.

Her fore finger bends a little to meet her thumb, forming a heart shape. A finger heart, while her whole face is beaming with joy and love. Soft cheeks were stained by the usuals rosy pink yet it added to Hinata's cute charm.

"My heart." she finished it with a wink that can make even a blue haired pale skinned man blush and faint!

Naruto froze in his position, jaw slacked with his eyes wide. Earning some weird glance from the people walking. It took him some minutes to gather himself, dumbfounded at this sudden move from his co-worker. His mouth felt too dry for now, not trusting his voice to come out and question Hinata, what the hell just happened?

She however is almost near malfunctioning, her face so red it can rival Sasuke's favorite tomatoes he always ate every hour, every minute and every seconds. Her hands were already on her side, trembling furiously. "GoodbyeNaruto-kun!" She then dashed immediately in the opposite direction, leaving Naruto on his own, in the middle of the hallway leading to the floor's elevator.

Wh-what's that?!

His right hand then covered his face, before crouching unconsciously on the ground.

My heart, her voice echoing on his damn mind. Soft timid voice that started to enamored him right away.

Hinata's heart, huh.

She's giving it to him, that recklessly?!

His face sets to a crimson color, the sound of his heart palpable even at a far distance. He mumbled to himself, "Why did I think it was so cute?!!"

Later that night, Naruto had barely any sleep because his mind continuously replayed what happened during the afternoon. Hinata's voice and face looming over his mind.

He's doomed.

[nbsakura]

There have been several attempts on Mei’s life; I think. Constantly stamping down resurrectionists and whatnot. She took down the caste-system, so I imagine it was many who previously benefited who wanted to see her dead.

Terumi Mei, the Godaime Mizukage is many things, merciful, kind, intelligent, deemed the strongest in her village. None of these traits apply to those who endanger her home, and her people.

There are rumors of how Mei handles traitors, and none of them are pleasant.

[evaofkonoha]

shisui & itachi roadtrip nonsense

In Arizona

"Wha---what is that?" Shisui asks, eyes narrowing as he leans in closer to the glass case.

"I believe that is the Thing," Itachi deadpans, caught somewhere between annoyance and amusement at the novelty of this road-side stop.

Shisui narrows his eyes at the gray mass tucked in the case. "Do you think it's real?" He whispers.

Itachi rolls his eyes. "Probably not. It appears to be a paper mache craft project."

"Ah c'mon Itachi! The magic is in believing!" Shisui chides, looking up at Itachi with sparkling eyes. Shisui knows he is charming and insanely persuasive, hence why they keep making stops at every roadside attraction in the continental United States.

"It's not very convincing," itachi remarks, taking in what is supposed to be proof of the extraterrestrial but really feels like a waste of time.

"Then close your eyes and believe."

"I won't be able to see it then."Shisui smiles back at him.

"Exactly."

In Colorado

They camp for a night in the Great Sand Dunes National Park, because one of Itachi's goals for this grand roadtrip is to hot up as many National Parks as possible. The sand dunes are magnificent as they are astonishing.

"Isn't in crazy how all of a sudden there's just… sand. Like, sand everywhere," Shisui remarks, letting a handful of it slip through his fingers.

Itachi smiles softly.

"It's a little unexplainable, isn't it? I'm sure there's a reason why this is here, but it's almost more magical to not know why and instead just be amazed that it's here at all."

Quirking an eyebrow, smirk growing, Shisui quips, "Oh so now you're filled with mystery and adventure?"

The next day, Itachi buys a so-ugly-it's-cute Bigfoot Christmas ornament in a junky shop in Colorado Springs. When asked what compelled him to buy it, Itachi just responds with a cheeky grin,

"I don't know, kind of reminded me of you."

Shisui pouts a little at that.

In Oklahoma

Itachi's head whips to determine if what he saw in his perriferal is actually real. Interestingly enough, it is.

"Pull over there," he says, voice tinged with an edge of urgency.

Shisui follows where he is pointing, crossing the highway to find… Alvin and the Chipmunks?

Itachi's already half-crawling into the backseat to grab the camera. "You have to get my picture."

Shisui sits stunned at the events unfolding, not quite processing what is going on before it finally hits him that they are now pulled into the parking lot of a Marijuana despinsery so that Itachi can get his picture with three massive and slightly unnerving chipmunks. Of course he loves Itachi, so he takes the camera and gets out of the SUV.

In Arkansas

Their adventures have taken them to the Ozark mountain range, specifically to the small town of Eureka Springs, nestled and built into the mountain side. It has quirky, tourist shops, interesting restaurants, and a sex shop right in the middle of town. And not just any kind of sex shop, but a slightly trashy one.

So of course, Shisui just has to go in it.

Hand in hand, Shisui leads (drags) Itachi amongst the families visiting the little town towards the shop. Not one to be too embarrassed about his sexuality usually, the location and lack of any subtlety has a small blush growing on Itachi's cheeks. He finds himself keeping his head down and hoping his bangs will keep him from being recognized (as if he knows any of these people).

They make it into the shop, which smells very strongly of lemon intense, and immediately Shisui's eyes light up at the cheap lingerie sets and sex toys scattered about with seemingly no rhyme or reason.

They spend the next twenty minutes pursuing---at least Shisui is---occasionally stopping when Shisui finds something to menace Itachi with.

Making their way to one of the back corners, away from the very open windows to the street or the front counter, Shisui pulls Itachi in close for a kiss.

"You're cute when you blush," he whispers against Itachi's lips. Of course, Itachi blushes just a little bit at the compliment.

"And you're annoying."

"You find it endearing. Honestly, I'm a little horny. Want to get something and maybe go find a place to try it out?" Shisui nuzzles against Itachi's cheek. "I saw a maid set that you would look so cute in back by the window…"

Itachi pulls away with a blush and a scoff. "And the mood is dead."

They ended up not getting the cheap maid costume, but a few other things. Needless to say, the mood was not entirely dead.

This was fun to write. I couldn't sleep so I worked this out on my phone. If you have a state you would like to see them visit, don't hesitate to tell me! This is a fun little writing exercise and I would love to add more to it <3

[chadsuke]

no i am not planning out a massive naruto fic about a pairing no one else gives a shit about. what are you saying.

[thedevotedhealer]

Zombie apocalypse AU coming soon~

[keithisbae1]

Mission Gone Wrong Part 1/2

Art commissioned by the amazing @sorceressmyr to go with the snippet below. I hope you enjoy 😊

Part 2 is here

~~~

“Mama, can we get this one too please?” Sakura asked pointing to the packet of sweets on a higher shelf. “You know eating too many sweets is bad for you.” But nonetheless she grabbed a packet for her.

“Only one though.”

Sakura could only grin skipping happily ahead.

“All right, what else is there?” Tsunade muttered to herself looking at the list of groceries they needed. As Sakura waited for her by the end of the aisle, she watched as two suspicious looking men carrying what Sakura could only think of was stolen goods?

Quick, hurry, hurry. One of them was thinking opening the door for the other guy. They looked quite beat up too, but she was too far to know for sure.

She knew better than to follow but her fascination for adventure and curiosity tend to get the best of her, so she looked behind to make sure Mama wasn’t looking and wandered off after. The door in question led outside an alley much to Sakura’s surprise and she quickly dashed behind a trash can to spy watching them.

“You think we lost him?” One of them panted, perhaps they were injured. “I took care of him, no worries about that.”

Are they bad guys?

Of course they must be, just like the ones in her shows. They indeed were hiding/carrying items, but she couldn’t quite figure out what they were entirely.

“Oi, what are you doing here?” Sakura squeaked feeling herself being lifted from her hiding place, having no idea there was another behind. The other two seemed shocked as to how she got there.

“When did she get here?”

“You idiots! Weren’t you two careful?” The ‘boss man’ Sakura labelled him as in her head yelled at them. “Well, we DID have to go through an entire building! He was already on our case!”

“Doesn’t matter, take care of her.” He shoved the little girl into another man’s arms, and he froze looking down at her and back at the man.

“Hey! Is that necessary? She’s just a child, what could she possibly do.”

“What part of take care of her don’t you understand? We can’t risk any witnesses, including a child.”

“I’m sorry, I got lost,” She tried to explain/lie hoping they would let her go. The two did seem hesitant and whilst she had no idea on what exactly ‘take care’ meant she knew it was bad. If only she stayed with her Mama.

“But-”

“Do as I say, who do you think you-” The man was interrupted as another figure jumped on top of him promptly knocking him out.

Papa! Sakura instantly recognised the person but knew better than to scream his name. He was wearing a mask since it was daylight, but Sakura knew of his ‘work’ and recognised his eyes.

Dan was surprised to see her there but made sure not to get too off guard. If they knew he was related to her, she would be in even more danger.

“Stay back, or I’ll-” Despite the threats they both knew he was not capable of doing anything to the innocent girl, so instead he gently placed her down surprisingly and told his friend to leg it. They knew he would most likely be distracted making sure the child was safe, thus giving them time to escape.

“Are you hurt?” Dan went to check on the girl, Sakura shook her head no. “Good, listen I need you to go to your parents, anyone. Lead them over here and they can call someone to take care of this guy.”

“Okay.” She nodded and ran around the building.

It wasn’t likely that he would be able to catch up to them, but he needed to get out of here before Tsunade came along.

As Sakura rounded the corner she saw her Mama outside, perfect! Well maybe not, it seemed she was aware that she ran off again and Sakura knew she would get into trouble later. However, her first instincts were to do what Papa said, before the guy woke up.

“There you are! What did I tell you about-”

“Mama, you have to come with me quickly!” Sakura tried to pull Tsunade’s hand with all her might to move her, but the woman didn’t budge.

“Slow down,” she picked up the little girl settling her with one arm.

“What’s gotten you so worked up?”

“Over there.” Sakura pointed to the alleyway where she just came out of. “There were some bad men and they tried to hurt me.”

“Eh?” Tsunade quickly ran over to the area thinking/hoping that it was her imagination and playing. Indeed, there was a guy who Dan had previously knocked out laying on the floor. No one else was there though. How’s he so fast, Sakura thought but at least the bad guy was still unconscious.

Tsunade spotted a weapon that had fallen and had promptly slipped it under the trash so Sakura wouldn’t see it and be spooked by it. She doubts Sakura was fully aware of how much danger she was in.

“How did you…” Escape?

“I got lost. A stranger saved me, but he… he left…” She won’t say it was Dan but felt safe knowing she had a Papa who could protect her.

“See, this is why I tell you to stick by me.”

[powerful-niya]

— (вεтωεεη υs.)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚hαppч nαruhínα mσnth єvєrчσnє!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟹𝟷: 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝙶𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 + 𝙲𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗 - (𝙽𝙷𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝟸𝟹)

Link To Oneshot Below ↴

Wattpad | AO3

Pairing˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Naruhina

Synopsis˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡If you had to choose between doing what you love and being with who you love, could you make that choice?

Naruto and Hinata, the top figure skating duo from Japan, have effortlessly conquered every challenge they've encountered on the ice together. But now, they're up against a new challenge—one that's found in their hearts, rather than on the ice.

This challenge is a love unplanned—a love constrained by a strict contract, putting them both in a very difficult position.

Regular Tags˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Caught In The Rain • Competitive Skating • Competitive Sports • Contract • Contractual Obligations • Costumes • Drama • December 28 • December 31 • Figure Skating • Forbidden Love • Friends To Lovers • Heavy Angst • Hurt & Comfort• Ice Skating • Love Confessions • Modern AU • Mutual Pining • Partner Skaters • Pretending • Professional Skaters • Romance • Sports AU • Stolen Glances • Tryst • Unplanned Love • Work Partners to Lovers • 2023. 

NSFW Tags˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Body Worship • Bus Sex • Butt Groping • Celebrity Bus • Cock Worship • Couch Sex • Dirty Talk • Desperation • Desperation Sex • Fantasies & Fantasizing • Flexibility • Longing • Loss of control • Love Making (at first) • Marathon sex • Multiple Orgasms • Overstimulation • Praise Kink • Pussy Worship • Riding • Rough sex (soon after) • Sex in a crisis situation • Size Difference Kink • Spanking • Stripping • Striptease • Stockings • Unprotected Sex  • Vaginal Sex  • 2023. 

Overall Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚17.1K

Tumblr Post: Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚4.3K

Preview ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Pretending can be a tricky game. 

For some people, it's a breeze—they can slip in and out of different personas as easily as flipping a switch, putting on a convincing act at the drop of a hat or a snap of their fingers. 

Some people actually have a closet full of masks for their pretending, ready to wear whichever one fits the moment perfectly to hide behind. They switch between these masks as easily as changing clothes, effortlessly adapting to any situation like it's second nature.

Like if it was nothing, nothing at all. 

For others, pretending is a struggle—a constant effort that takes a lot of trial and error before they finally get the hang of it.

But for Naruto, pretending wasn't just difficult. It wasn't a minor bump in the road he'd get over soon. It wasn't something he'd get used to or get good at with time or a bit more effort.

No. 

He didn't have the luxury of switching between masks or hiding behind them whenever he wanted, like some people. Pretending wasn't a game or something he did for fun—it was a draining, relentless battle that wore him down every single day.

Pretending was, without a doubt, the hardest thing Naruto had ever faced—the toughest challenge he'd ever had to endure.

And he'd faced plenty of challenges.

As one of the top Japanese male ice skaters in the world, he'd been put through the wringer more times than he could count.

Countless hours of grueling practice, intense competitions, and crushing expectations had pushed him to his limits time and time again, demanding that he give nothing less than his absolute best. 

Each session was a test of endurance for him, and every routine was a shot for him to outshine the competition.

After all, Naruto was a pretty driven man, always pushing himself past the limits set by others to prove himself and excel. And on top of the grueling physical demands, he also had to confront the doubts cast on him as a male skater—doubts that seemed to shadow every step he took.

It was tough. 

Really tough. 

Every time he laces up his skates and hits the ice, he's up against a challenge. But it's one he actually enjoys—the ice, the skating, the music, the cheers, the sweat, the exhaustion, and, most of all, proving everyone wrong.

He loves proving all the doubters wrong—naysayers who said he couldn't do it and the debbie downers who whined that ice skating was a women's sport. 

Naruto even gets a kick out of showing up the critics who claimed he was confused about his identity, out of touch with himself, and that ice skating made him less of a man.

Indeed, proving those people wrong by doing what he loved was fun.

Naruto has spent countless hours on the ice—skating was all he'd ever known, the rhythm of the blades, the chill of the rink, and the thrill of the performance were deeply ingrained in him. Every glide and spin had become second nature, an integral part of who he was.

But there was one thing that stood apart from all of that…

Or rather, one person.

Hinata Hyūga. 

His skating partner.

Naruto stood in the designated waiting area near the rink, his eyes fixed on her as she skated across the ice gracefully. He watched Hinata from the sidelines, waiting for his cue, the precise moment when the music would signal him to join Hinata on the rink.

But for now, it was just her. Just Hinata.

And Naruto watched her in awe. 

He was always in awe of her. 

The blonde skater watched almost in a trance as his partner performed with her opening solo for the prestigious "ISU Grand Prix Of Figure Skating" in Hollywood, LA, California. 

The intensity of the competition was palpable, and the stakes had never felt higher.

The entire arena was hushed, with only the soft scraping of her white skates on the ice, the sweeping classical music, and the occasional gasps and murmurs from the crowd breaking the silence. Every spectator, even the judges, held their breath, captivated by Hinata's mesmerizing performance, all eyes glued to the rink.

Naruto's included.

Hinata's costume dress was a breathtaking piece, its fabric fluttering around her like the delicate feathers of a swan gliding through a gentle breeze. The lights from the arena overhead danced off the glittering embellishments of her costume, causing her dress to shimmer and shine. 

Her costume was the perfect fit to the competition theme: Black Swan. 

Hinata's dress was a striking blend of black and white, split down the middle. The left side was a deep, velvety black, adorned with shimmering sequins that caught the arena's light with every move she made. 

The right side of her dress was a pristine, snowy white, contrasting beautifully with the dark side, adorned with tiny sparkles and swirls. 

Her long gloves followed the same theme, one black and one white, each decorated with delicate sparkles that extended from her hands up to her forearms, matching her dress perfectly. Her usually long, midnight blue hair was elegantly styled into a neat bun on the top of her head, completing her flawless look for the competition. 

Naruto wore a matching outfit to hers, of course. 

He wore a one-piece costume that began with a pristine white at the top, gradually transitioning into a deep black down his toned torso and legs, with white swirls accentuating the color shift.

His right sleeve was all white, while his left sleeve was solid black, creating a striking contrast similar to Hinata's costume.

His costume fit the theme, sure, and it matched his partner's costume, but it was nowhere near as spectacular as Hinata's.

No way.

Hinata seemed to nail the theme perfectly, gliding in sync with the music—a classic piece that everyone would surely recognize.

"Swan Lake" by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. 

She surely embodied a swan, her every movement smooth and graceful, just like a swan gliding effortlessly across a lake. The way she floated across the ice, her costume shimmering with each turn, made it look as if she was dancing on air.

Naruto couldn't help but be completely mesmerized by how beautifully Hinata brought the theme to life. 

She was utterly breathtaking.

Graceful yet powerful—that's how Hinata always skated. 

Watching her was like peering straight into her soul with each performance.

She poured everything into her routine. 

She always did. 

From her delicate facial expressions to the emotions that flowed through her movements, and the graceful sweep of her arms as they reached out and then drew back—each performance was a stunning story told through her skating.

This time was no different.

As Hinata performed her solo tonight, she told a powerful story about the strength that comes from being vulnerable. Her movements to the music spoke of the courage it takes to expose one's true self, capturing the delicate balance between strength and authenticity.

It was truly extraordinary.

And on top of that, Hinata made the routine they'd been perfecting for months—through countless rehearsals, late nights, and early mornings—look so damn effortless. 

Hinata glided smoothly from one move to the next, transitioning seamlessly between spins and jumps, just as they had practiced together, just as she had come to memorize down to the finest detail.

Her spins were flawless. 

Naruto watched in awe as she effortlessly transitioned into a fast-paced layback spin, finishing with a graceful camel spin that left delicate circular marks on the ice. 

Her jumps were just as stunning, with perfect double axels and triple lutzes that had her soaring and spinning through the air, leaving the crowd breathless.

She landed on her blades with a satisfying clank each time, back on her feet like a true professional.

Hinata nailed every move flawlessly, putting on a jaw-dropping performance that would definitely set the bar high for the other skaters and likely earn them both some serious points with the judges.

But Naruto wasn't thinking about the competition at all. 

He wasn't thinking about their potential scores. He wasn't concerned about the judges' opinions or even his routine when it was his turn to join Hinata on the ice.

No, he wasn't thinking about any of that.

Naruto's focus was solely on her, the woman dazzling him from the ice, whose lavender eyes occasionally met his own. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Frequently, Hinata glanced at him as she danced across the rink, her lavender eyes seeking him out from the waiting area, hidden from the audience.

Each time their eyes locked—deep blue meeting soft lavender—it felt like the world around them melted further and further into a blur…

…until it was just the two of them. 

The audience's loud wows and awes, the judges' scrutinizing looks, the flashing cameras, the bright arena lights, the announcer's voices, and even the stadium itself—all of it just faded away.

It was only them—just them.

And soon enough, Hinata wasn't skating for the crowd but for…

…him.

It was always like this between them: fleeting, longing but secretive looks where their gazes created warm, private moments just for them. 

Every time they performed together, whenever their hands touched or their bodies brushed close, they were drawn into a private world of their own making. 

Those looks they exchanged, every second of every day, were a silent yearning for something they both desired but couldn't fully embrace—a longing that always seemed just out of reach.

Naruto couldn't ignore what he felt. He couldn't pretend. 

Sure, he could try. 

Sure, he could push his feelings aside. He could convince himself that what he felt was just a passing phase, and that he will just get over it soon. 

Sure, he could try to act like it didn't bother him and play along, but deep down, he knew he'd only be lying to himself.

The feelings he had been struggling with for so long were impossible to ignore now.

A mistake that's come to consume him. 

When Naruto first teamed up with Hinata, he signed a contract that was clear about one thing: no intimate relationships. 

As long as he pursued ice skating professionally with a partner, he wasn't allowed to fall in love or let emotions get in the way of his career.

He knew that.

They both did. 

Naruto always understood what he was signing up for, knew the strict rules, and was clear on what was expected of him.

Because of this, he knew he shouldn't be feeling this way and was fully aware of the risks of letting these emotions take over. He knew exactly how his coach would react if she found out—what she'd do if she discovered his secret.

Their secret. 

Naruto knew the stakes. 

If their secret were ever discovered, it would mean the end of their figure skating careers.

Everything they'd worked so hard for—the endless hours of practice, the sacrifices made, the competitions won, the fame they'd gained, and their very dreams—were at risk of being ruined.

All because love had somehow crept in and gotten in the way.

Suddenly, the music built to a crescendo, growing louder and louder all around, snapping Naruto out of his thoughts.

His cue to take the ice. 

"Damn it," He muttered, shaking his head to snap himself out of it. That was a mistake—a big one. 

He couldn't afford to space out. 

Not here. 

Not now.

He took a deep, steadying breath, pushing aside the swirling thoughts and annoying emotions that clung to him. 

Then he exhaled, letting it all go.

It's showtime. 

Naruto rubbed his hands together to shake off the tension, and took one more calming breath.

"Here goes." He whispered to himself, before finally, darting out onto the ice.

The icy chill of the arena hit Naruto instantly, chilling his face, body, and legs. The cold air blended with the crisp, slippery feel of the ice beneath his skates. 

Naruto could never grow tired of it—the ice. It was a feeling so familiar, as natural as breathing to him at this point. Every time he stepped onto it, it felt like reconnecting with an old friend he always looked forward to seeing again.

And it felt that way now. 

His taut calf muscles tightened with each powerful push he gave his legs, his black skates carving a swift, graceful path across the ice.

The ice hummed a satisfying, almost musical whisper under Naruto's skates, grounding him in the moment. He mentally rehearsed his routine, syncing with it as he joined Hinata on the rink.

Hinata was already in position, gliding effortlessly across the ice toward him. In that moment, Naruto could see nothing but her—her radiant smile, the rosy flush on her cheeks from the cold, and the sparkle in her lavender eyes. 

He met her in the center of the rink with a big grin, and they seamlessly slipped into a synchronized spin. They twirled around each other, close yet so far. 

They didn't touch—just gazed at each other, eyes locked the whole time. 

Blue meeting lavender, once again.

The sight of Naruto and Hinata finally skating together, their chemistry ignited instantly, sending fireworks of excitement across the entire arena. Their connection was evident even on the arena's TVs, causing the crowd to instantly erupt into a frenzy. 

Gasps and cheers merged into a collective roar that filled the entire space.

The announcers, just as thrilled, could barely contain their excitement over the intercom.

"And here he comes, folks—Naruto Uzumaki, joining his partner Hinata Hyūga after her stunning introductory solo!"

"The way they connect is absolutely breathtaking. Just so breathtaking. This is partner skating at its finest, and we are in for a treat tonight, folks!"

Now together, Naruto and Hinata instantly transitioned into their routine, as they'd done it a million times before.

Just for this moment. 

Hinata took the lead, maintaining their synchronized spin as she gracefully lifted one arm to the rhythm of the music, watching as Naruto mirrored her movements flawlessly. His arm swept down and up above his head in a sweeping arc, just like hers, as if she were looking into a mirror.

She moved her other arm the same way, and Naruto followed suit. 

Next, Hinata extended her hand toward him this time, her fingers forming a dramatic claw before slowly curling into a fist as she pulled away, and Naruto mirrored her.

But they never quite touched. 

Each time they reached, they always pulled back. 

Reach. Retreat. Reach. 

Closer and closer, but never quite touching. 

Like a cycle. 

A painful one.

This part of their routine always spoke to them. It shouldn't have—really. It shouldn't have had any impact on them, but..

…it did. 

It perfectly mirrored the feelings they had for each other, always managing to leave a poignant ache in their hearts—a longing for something they both wanted but couldn't have.

No matter how many times they repeated it. 

No matter how many times they practiced it.

The ache remains.

Naruto's eyes revealed such pain, such raw emotion as he watched Hinata glide backward from the center of the rink, moving away from him and further along the ice.

She kept her knees slightly bent, her legs extending and crossing each other like the delicate sway of a ballet's legs. Her skates traced elegant arcs on the ice as she spiraled backward, leaving a long trail behind. 

But even as Hinata drifted away from Naruto, her hand stretched out toward him, her eyes pleading for him to take it. 

Naruto followed her, reaching back.

His arm stretched out through the cold air, determined to bridge the gap between them.

They reached for each other, incorporating a few individual spins where they spun perfectly in sync, even landing together, before turning and reaching out again.

They drew out the moment for dramatic effect, with Hinata gliding smoothly backward and Naruto advancing just enough until their hands finally….

…met.

But when their hands finally touched, it seemed to ignite a powerful rush of warmth that pulsed through their gloves and into their palms like a heartbeat, spreading through their bodies in soothing waves.

The sensation felt incredible—better than anything they had experienced before. 

They had touched countless times, but this..

This was different.

The moment Naruto's large fingers slid between the gaps of Hinata's smaller ones, and curled around her hand, a deep, unparalleled warmth unfurled in both of their hearts. 

The surprising intensity of the warmth made them both gasp softly. Their fingers instinctively tightened around each other, the connection so strong and reassuring that they couldn't bear to let go. 

Not now.

Not so soon. 

Keeping her hand in his, Naruto guided Hinata's arm over her head and twisted her in a graceful spin perfectly in sync with the music. He skated himself over in a smooth glide, positioning himself directly behind her like her shadow. 

Close behind her, he began sliding his hands gently along her arms, and Hinata couldn't hold back the slight moan that escaped her lips. 

Naruto touched her now, and he took it slow.

Along her chest, his gloved fingers brushed the fabric of her costume, feeling the rise and fall of her breath. His hands moved down the gentle curve of her torso, tracing the contours of her muscles, and he felt her body react to his touch almost instantly, with soft shivers and quivers.

Finally, his hands reached her waist, holding her hips firmly yet gently.

Even in the cold of the stadium, with a chill all around them, Hinata felt warm beneath his fingertips.

She was savoring the moment, just as she always did, whenever she was in Naruto's arms.

His touch was always gentle, but now, to Hinata, it felt almost heightened. Every brush of his fingers felt like a trail of fire on her skin, each caress sending electric shivers down her spine.

It was like time slowed to a crawl, and all she could feel was Naruto.

His breath as it brushed against her ears and cheeks, warm and steady. The heat of his toned body as it pressed so close to hers, making her acutely aware of every inch of him...

And his touch...

Hinata always treasured the moments when Naruto touched her. 

Those fleeting instances when his hands met her skin always seem to send a delightful warmth coursing through her body, radiating like a beacon. Whether his strong yet gentle hands glided along her arms, gripped her hips, or lifted her into the air, a soothing, irresistible heat enveloped her whenever he made contact with…her body.

It shouldn't have felt this way, but it did—like a perfect antidote to her touch-starved dreams.

Hinata glanced back at him with a breathless look that made Naruto's heart skip a beat. Her lavender eyes drew him in every time, their expressiveness saying more than words ever could. 

And as he gazed into them now, they seemed to speak to him, whispering…

"Please touch me more, Naruto-kun. Touch me."

It was a gentle, unspoken plea, a tender whisper in her eyes as she looked over her shoulder at him, standing tall behind her.

Naruto bit his lip. 

Truly, he wished he could touch her more. 

Her body always responded so beautifully to his touch, expanding and contracting as if he were the air she breathed, always returning to him with a graceful, magnetic pull. It was intoxicating.

He craved more. He craved—

The blonde skater took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. Again. 

Reluctant as he was, and how good it was to hold Hinata, he knew he had to put an end to it.

After all, this was a serious competition.

With that realization, Naruto broke away from their intimate moment, shaking off the titillating effect of touching Hinata, and his expression turned serious again. He refocused and shifted his attention to the next part of their routine. 

But when he did, it seemed as if time snapped back to its usual pace, flowing normally like it did for everyone else.

Naruto grasped her waist firmly, and as if on cue, Hinata bent her knees, poised and ready, just like he was. 

The split-second cue he had been waiting for.

With a smooth lift, he sent her soaring into the air in a high twist. Her dress billowed out around her in a perfect spiral, drawing gasps from the crowd as it fluttered like a blooming flower.

Naruto watched as she flew high into the air, spinning gracefully. And in that quick moment, he caught a glimpse of her smile. 

There was an unspoken trust in that smile, a deep trust in him. Because she knew that whenever she fell, he'd always be there to catch her.

Just like now. 

As Hinata began her descent, Naruto was ready. He lifted his arms high and, with practiced precision, caught her around the waist.

He felt that familiar rush of relief and joy, knowing Hinata was secure in his hands after her aerial stunt. Safe and sound. 

Naruto held her close for a moment, savoring the warmth of her body against his, before gently lowering her back to the ice.

As they continued skating together, the audience seemed to blur further and further away until it was only the two of them, as if no one else existed. 

They looked into each other's eyes and suddenly...

Time didn't matter.

The competition didn't matter.

The judges or their scores didn't matter.

It was just them.

Just like in all their performances, Naruto and Hinata stunned the crowd with their chemistry. They moved together on the ice with such closeness, showing raw emotion through their every move and expression that the audience could actually feel. 

It left everyone breathless. 

The music was captivating from start to finish, flowing through every part of their routine. Every spin, every lift, and every glide of their skates across the ice, the music was there, as if guiding them. 

Hinata's grace paired perfectly with Naruto's strength, like yin and yang. Their choreography, whether synchronized or solo, blended together on the ice, revealing not just their countless hours of practice but also the deep understanding they shared. 

Their love. 

It was evident, no matter how hard they tried to hide it.

Their synchronicity was almost magical, like they were of one mind, one body, one soul. 

When Hinata jumped, Naruto was right there to catch her. 

When she spun, he spun, matching her moves perfectly. 

Whenever she reached for him, he was always ready to clasp her hand and guide her.

There was no escaping what they felt. 

The longer their performance went on, that feeling between them seemed to intensify.

It was new and exhilarating, different from anything they had felt before in previous performances or practices, as if it began anew the moment they first touched tonight.

Every time their hands touched or their eyes locked, that feeling inside them just kept growing stronger.

But reality would ruin it for them each time, reminding them that no matter how strong their feelings were, they couldn't act on them.

They couldn't.

They shouldn't.

They…

Hinata couldn't take it anymore. 

As their routine continued, she began to feel the full weight of everything. 

The unspoken feelings she'd been holding in, the constant longing to be close to Naruto, and the pressure to maintain their perfect image—it was all starting to overwhelm her.

She'd managed to keep it together for so long, but even she had her limits.

Tonight, she reached her breaking point.

As they approached the end of their performance, instead of the usual thrill that would sweep over her, she was overwhelmed by a deep, profound sadness.

Naruto sensed it immediately. 

He knew her too well not to notice. 

As the music began to wind down and the final chords echoed through the arena, he drew her into a tight embrace at the center of the rink. Their bodies were pressed close, the warmth of their breath mingling with the chilly air. Their faces were so close he could feel her every breath on his skin, and their eyes met, saying everything words couldn't express.

They held their position, panting and sweating, mostly satisfied, until the last notes of the music faded into silence.

But as soon as the music ended, the applause from the crowd surged through the stadium, a thunderous wave of sound that echoed endlessly in their ears.

With that, Naruto and Hinata reluctantly pulled away, masking their true feelings behind the broad smiles they had perfected and displayed time and time again.

They waved to the audience and the flashing cameras, even taking a hand-in-hand bow to mark the end of their performance.

The announcers' voices boomed through the speaker in no time, hyping up their performance with excitement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, what a show! Let's hear it for Japan's premier ice skating duo, Naruto Uzumaki and Hinata Hyūga! 

"Give these two a big round of applause for another unforgettable performance!"

The announcers gave them one last shout-out, showering them with praise and cheers that would've made Hinata feel overjoyed on another day—grateful, accomplished even. 

But not now.

She didn't know what had came over her.

She didn't know why she had done it. 

Yet, she turned to Naruto, her face showing a sadness she couldn't keep hidden anymore. Her eyes, usually so bright and joyful, were now clouded with a deep sorrow that instantly wiped the smile from Naruto's face. 

And before he could even speak, to react even, she spoke to him, whispered to him. 

She whispered one word, and he heard it clearly. 

"Gomennasai."

Hinata let go of his hand and sped off across the ice, leaving him behind before he could say a single word. 

He gasped and reached out toward her retreating figure.

"H-Hinata-chan!" Naruto called out, but she didn't respond. She didn't turn back or slow down; she just kept skating, moving further and further away from him until she vanished through the designated gate leading backstage.

The blonde stood there, frozen, as the cheers of the crowd faded into the background. Yet, even now, he could still feel the warmth of Hinata's touch lingering in his outstretched palm.

Naruto frowned.

'Pretending is difficult for you too, isn't it, Hinata-chan?'

Continue Reading On Wattpad Or AO3.

— (⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ 𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆)

[hazardous-who]

♥ Forsaken God and Shrine Maiden AU

Pairing: Obito Uchiha / Kakashi Hatake

Where Obito is a God from a time long past, known for his part in a catastrophic war due to the loss of his mortal love, Rin. Obito, who overtime lost any semblance of followers and whose last place of rest would eventually fall into ruin. 

One day, however, a father and his child started appearing, clearing overgrowth and cleaning stone. Being kind to Obito’s resting place.

Obito would watch them, invisible to mortal eyes lest he want himself to be seen. He had been alone and forgotten for so many years he could no longer identify the feeling that swelled in his chest when he saw the pair making their way up the path to his shrine each time. He felt it especially when the child, who he had eventually learned was named Kakashi, having heard his father call for him time and time again, would whisper things to his grave when his father wasn’t near to listen.

“I read you have a love of a color like brilliant sunset, but that everyone only ever brings you red flowers… I know if I was only ever brought one color flower, even if it was my favorite, I would start to tire of it- So I brought you orange tulips today.” He had smiled so softly as he had set the flowers carefully down, in the place where his loyal followers would once place offerings. His first offering in centuries. “Even if it’s not your favorite, I hope it’s something fun to look at because it’s different.”

Obito had honestly not cared for the color of red in the slightest, always agitated when he would be brought anything of such color in offering. Red reminded him of his family, of blood and heartache and war. Orange however… Was his favorite. He had almost forgotten what the color had looked like, no flowers of the sort anywhere near the place he was bound.

Little did he know at the time that he had accidentally bestowed a treasure upon Kakashi. Favor from a god. Something rare and powerful, and something Obito had only ever done once in his life, back when Rin was still alive. Had bestowed her long life so that she could stay by his side… But it did little to save her from the greed of others, who wished to drain the blessed blood from her veins and harness such powers for themselves.

His blessing was a curse, and now Kakashi bore it all the same as Rin once had, but he was completely unaware of it. Unable to stop the way in which it would alter the child’s life in such terrible ways.

The pair suddenly stopped coming one day, leaving Obito to watch as all of the work they had done would slowly be undone, as if they had never been there at all.

It had been several years until the next time someone entered his shrine after that, the person hidden in such a way he could not make out their face. Enchanted with a magic that kept their very being suppressed. Obito was always aware of them yet couldn’t quite see them no matter how hard he looked. But there was something so familiar, something he felt when the stranger brought him orange tulips.

- Ending Notes

I'm still working hard on 'To Lose Is To Gain' as it currently is, but I ended up taking a small detour when a new possible fic idea to pursue in the future came to mind. So here's a little drabble of said idea ! I'm not sure when or if I actually will pursue making a full fic out of it, but I'm definitely happy enough with it that I have several ideas flying all over the place if I do. Though I also have plenty of other drabbles that I'm feeling the same way over. Oops.

[tired-biscuit]

This is probably flithy af but I can picture General Kiba wanting to hide from a certain someone or something (mostly since he got into a load of trouble). So in a moment of desperation you let him hide underneath your gown, and when that certain someone who wishes to speaks with him comes in, he is nowhere to be seen. However the moment you express that, he begins to eat you out while hiding- 💀

18+ fem!reader // cw: oral (f!receiving), risk of being caught (poor shino, man djisjshshd), mentions of alcohol. royalty AU.

series masterlist

kiba comes barging into the dining room still dressed in his fancier attire that you rarely ever see him wear.

aiming your gaze up at his face that’s progressively blooming with a blush so feverish that it turns him entirely red from one ear to the other, you can immediately tell by just one look alone that he’s drunk as a lord.

his hair is wild. it sticks in various different directions despite the fact that you’ve spent a good ten minutes or so combing through the thick chestnut curls that sit atop his head. it had been done with the sole intention of ridding them of knots and making them look at least semi-presentable, but kiba being kiba, he had fussed about it endlessly, of course.

atop of that, the top three buttons of his white shirt are undone as well; revealing his dark chest hair and the faded scars that adorn his tanned skin with numerous lines of milky white. they stretch across his entire body in various shapes and sizes. it’s like a trip down memory lane.

they’re slashes, the scars. well, most of them are at least. some are consequences of too rash decisions. reminders of too prideful misjudgements that he had gotten back when he’d still only been a young, mindless rookie. green, eager to become a fearsome warrior and yet far too wet behind the ears to fight with a sense of patience like he does now, that he’s older and has more experience under his belt.

other scars meanwhile, are still rather fresh. jagged, irregular lines; cut so deep into the flesh that their ridges are prominent even now, as they’ve healed over.

on more than one occasion, you’ve felt them underneath the tips of your fingers. enemies and opposing soldiers from neighbouring countries seem to have a preference to aim directly for his heart whenever push comes to shove, however nobody besides you has managed to actually graze it beyond surface level so far.

still, even if they aren’t anywhere near to being as deep as the phantom ones you’ve inflicted, they’ve still been etched into him for all eternity. battle wounds that had been gained during the war that he now says he had won just for you. or for your hand in marriage, so to speak.

it’s a sugary lie, you think. there is no way in hell, heaven and earth that he’d conquered an entire war just for the sake of being allowed to bed you and have you writhe underneath him with your big, doe eyes like the innocent virgin you’d once been. even he’s not that dumb... right?

however, now that you think about it, you still have no clue whatsoever about what kind of deal he’d struck with your father back then. what exactly he’d been promised as a reward if he were to lead your country to victory. to be fair, you couldn’t have known because you weren’t allowed to — the great mahogany doors had been sealed shut during the entirety of the meeting, and the guards, who had stubbornly refused at allowing you to listen in on the conversation, weren’t of much help either.

by the time it’d been done and over with and the doors had at long last been pushed open, you’d chickened out. had hidden behind a corner and hadn’t dared toss even the shortest of glances at who would — unknowingly, to you — soon become your future husband, whilst intently listening to his heavy footsteps and the dreadful clinking of weaponry to follow.

husband.

you’d never associated the term with a brute like him until just recently, even though the reason as to why he wanted to become one in the first place remains an enigma for you.

perhaps the mere idea of being able to have you whenever he’d please, to possess the chance of fathering children with blue blood running through their veins instead of his common one, and to climb up the social ladder with such profound ease are the reasons as to why. after all, they are all more than good enough to persuade a man into risk. to fuel him with motivation all until he’s sliced through enough enemies with his sword that he’s proclaimed a winner. to give him a driving force sufficient enough to blindly head into warfare and win.

or perhaps, deep down, he’s just lonely. perhaps he needs a warm body to wrap his arms around because he’s gotten sick of the cold ones that he’s ruthlessly slayed over the years. perhaps he needs a tender touch and kiss to the cheek every now and then instead of a war cry and carnage. a ‘welcome home’, followed by a warm meal. children that joyfully run up to him whenever he sets foot through the front door and who he cherishes so much, not because of the blue in their blood, but because of the red that is all him, him, him.

nevertheless, the union has been set in stone no matter the reason. and yet, a small, cleverly hidden part of you continues to remain hopeful that it is the second one that is true; that the more sympathetic side of him, which you’re patiently uncovering layer after layer, is actually genuine. that what he whispers into your ear at night, saying how much he appreciates you and how lovely you are to him, is not merely a mistruth used just so that he can bury himself deep inside you until your nails are scratching at the faded remnants of those exact scars, but that his heart is actually slowly growing fonder of you just like yours is of him.

you know that he’s no knight in shining armor, no prince that will pick up your fallen handkerchief and bow down before you when he reaches out to hand it back. you’re well aware of that because you’ve seen him train plenty of times now and have seen the way he fights; how he acts during and after it. you’ve seen the deadly, almost feral look in his eyes. the muscle that’s been pulled taut. the brutal strength.

if he’s absolutely lethal whenever he’s merely practicing, you don’t even dare imagine what he’s actually like out there — on the field, facing actual enemies. covered in blood and grime, fighting tooth and nail. until there’s no man left in him, only beast.

still, you can’t help but hope that there’s more to him than that. it’s all you can do, really.

well, sort of.

“why, hello there, princess.”

gods, the teasing little nickname, which just so happens to be your official title at the same time — how he manages to make it not sound like that, you have no clue — rolls off his tongue in a prominent slur and makes you look up at him with a soft tilt of your head.

he’s standing beside the door, leaning back and pressing one shoulder against the wood for extra support. judging by the big, complacent grin that forms on his face as soon as your eyes meet, as well as his somewhat hunched, relaxed posture, you realize that he’s actually way more under the influence than you’d thought initially.

you’re supposed to remain perfectly stoic like the noble woman you are, however the sight of him trying to stand straight and failing is almost too entertaining to watch, despite how odd it is to see him act so vulnerable out in the open.

it’s considered a cherished rarity, so it’s no wonder that you can’t help but indulge in it a little. relaxing your face, you allow your brows to raise so high up that they could reach your hairline if they wanted to.

perfect.

brief silence lingers as you both take a second to assess each other. however, when you finally open your mouth to ask him what sort of nonsense he’s gotten into this time, he just gives you a wink, and just like that: he’s gone. crouching and slipping underneath the table you’re sitting at — no wait, he’s actually crawling underneath it.

your brows knit tightly together instead as you try to peer under it, intently listening to the little snickers he keeps letting out. is it possible that he’s pulling you in on some twisted joke, or…?

“what in heaven’s name are you—”

“shh!” he shushes you immediately, and then bam! — he groans when he slams the top of his head against the table on accident. that must have hurt. “for fuck’s sake, woman! keep quiet; i’m hiding!”

his answer makes you sigh, deeply. the childish antics that are unfolding before you are causing you to feel pure exasperation after the long night you’ve just endured in your father’s castle. rubbing one temple, you indulge him by using a significantly lower tone to mutter, “and from who are you hiding, if i may ask?”

“shino,” he answers simply before yet another boyish chuckle makes his voice crack. the sound makes your heart clench. you try not to focus on it too much because it just makes you hope all the more intensely. neither of you had a decent shot at being kids. “he is out to get me.”

your voice rises higher in pitch this time as you say, “wh-what; out to get you…? what on earth would cause him to do that?”

“shh!” he shushes you once more, and when you peek underneath the table for a second time, his brown eyes are twinkling with mischievous delight despite the glaze of booze obscuring it from view. his grin is crooked and lazy as he presses a finger to his lips and crudely whispers, “i think i can hear him coming over here… whatever you do, don’t tell him where i am. understood?”

“why?” you inquire, giving him a pointed look.

“because,” he says matter-of-factly and with an eye roll that you’d never believe he’s executed unless you’d have seen it for yourself, “i simply do not wish to deal with the lecture he’s surely planning to throw my way tonight.”

“lecture?”

“he tends to nag me to the goddamn bone whenever i step out of line.” which is quite often.

you stare at him in silence for a quick moment before asking, “and what am i supposed to say if he starts wondering where you are?”

kiba shrugs. “just make something up.”

“i can’t lie!” you immediately hiss in protest, frowning. it even causes a snobby upturn of your nose to appear, which he surprisingly finds to be highly amusing and cute. especially as you part your pouty lips to mutter, as if in shame, “it’s sin.”

“i’m sure god will forgive you if you do it just this one time,” he responds smoothly even if the sentence comes off in a tipsy sort of mumble. the wording of it makes rapid heat begin to sear your face. especially as he takes both of your hands into his own, gives you the same pleading stare that your childhood dog had given you on so many occasions during dinner every evening, and adds, “lie for me this one time, princess. i beg you.”

so used to him being covered in scars and whatnot, you fail to notice the fresh bruising that covers the knuckles of his right hand and that definitely wasn’t there before you’d left.

silence settles between you once more. it’s calm this time. comforting and safe. broken only by the sound of a kiss being pressed to your left hand where the wedding ring resides. it tempts you to soften your gaze. tempts you to lose a defeated breath as you run your fingers through his hair that makes him look more like a heathen than anything else, and to gently tug at the roots, too.

watching him as he angles his head further into your touch without any sort of hesitance that normally stops him from enjoying affections like these, he really looks like he could start purring any second now. if it weren’t bad for his health, perhaps you could get used to this version of him. alcohol melts down the walls that he insists on keeping around himself. turns him gooey and soft. trusting.

“well?” he asks whilst kissing the center of your palm that you had just been using to caress his cheek. the tingle of warmth his lips leave behind even through the glove you’re wearing turns the drumming of your pulse a bit quicker.

“…oh, fine. i will try, but i am not making any sort of promises that it will actually work.” your eyes narrow even if your heart is beating so fast now that you can barely breathe properly. damn him and his big brown eyes for real this time. he can be such a womanizer whenever he wants to be. “but just so you know, it’s pointless anyway. he will see you underneath the table as soon as he steps into the room.”

his lips break into yet another grin as he looks at you and shakes his head. “no, he won’t.”

you quirk a brow, angling your head to one side. “what do you mean by th— oh! hey!”

urging you to keep quiet again with one more sharp shush as soon as you let out a small noise of surprise, you now feel him try to squeeze his burly body underneath the multiple skirts of the fancy, and gigantic, ball gown that you’ve decided to wear for the party you just came back from.

the fabric rustles as he keeps pushing up one layer after the other, creasing the smoothness of the dress that your handmaiden had spent ages perfecting just so that it would look striking and even more importantly; that it would impress the other guests.

not that it matters, but it worked. all night, you’d been receiving compliments and repetitive glances. turns of heads. bows. curtsies. even the tiara, that had been sitting atop your head until just recently, had been paired with the dress and the jewels so well that you’d even invoked some gasps as soon as you had entered the ballroom.

your husband doesn’t really seem to care about such things, though. pearls, diamonds, gems, they are all just mere trinkets to him. to be fair, he’d given you a nod of approval when he’d laid eyes on you whilst you were receiving your finishing touches, but to him, you are still prettiest right after taking a bath.

when you’re naked in more ways than one, your soft skin still gleaming with the water droplets that you’d missed whilst wiping dry. when you’re pure, raw, vulnerable. defenseless, with no fancy clothes, heavy jewellery — with the exception of the ring that matches his own — or complicated hairstyles to hide behind.

when you’re not even a princess, per se. just you.

though, he does like to fuck you senseless whenever you’re wearing nothing else but the crown… but that’s a story for another time.

the thought is broken by the way he makes you jump in your seat when you feel his warm hands rest on top your thighs all of a sudden. clearly startled that he’s managed to reach all the way to your wretched undergarments, you are just about to start fussing and kicking him out from underneath your dress, when the door swings open and in comes strutting nobody else but the military advisor himself; shino aburame.

desperately switching from fight mode to trying to keep your cool amidst all the chaos you’ve definitely not signed up to be a part of at a late hour like this; it’s hard not to scoff in frustration at the man that stands just a small distance away from you, now.

shino stands with his chin held high in the air and his expression schooled into his signaturely impassive one that makes him look like he’s almost bored with the fact to see you sitting there, with your spotless silverware and little plate of untouched dessert that you’d skipped eating at the party.

staring at him, you simply can’t comprehend how someone so aloof can manage to make even the most neutral expression look sassy. if you weren’t raised to be such a lady, you would certainly make him know that the mere sight of him annoys you to a certain degree.

after all, after the entire ‘disturbance’ ordeal that went down in your husband’s study just a few months ago — amongst other things — you still have yet to grow a liking towards the everlastingly bland advisor.

he hasn’t exactly made any effort to apologize for what he’d said in your presence, but to be fair, you haven’t exactly seeked him out for it either.

of course, there is still plenty of time to do so, you suppose. things can change. perhaps you’ll make peace at some point and the entire thing will clear out on its own. who knows what the future may bring?

still, you don’t look exactly pleased as you watch him quickly scan the room, left to right, then right to left. you notice the way he pays extra attention to the curtains that frame the big windows and the possible hiding spaces that may be in the room. how his gaze lingers on every nook and cranny that would perhaps, just maybe, be able to conceal a big, burly man in the shape of his superior.

by the time his dark, coal-coloured eyes finally land upon you, you’re resembling a statue at the table from how hard you’re focusing on staying completely still. your body is tense, spine ramrod straight, fork clutched in a gloved fist that’s so tight it looks awfully unlady like. if somebody were to paint a picture of a frightened fawn, you’d be the perfect source of inspiration for it.

exchanging looks with him, you hope that mr. aburame takes your tense posture as a sign of nervosity that’s been invoked because of him, and not because your drunken idiot of a husband — who’s still hiding underneath your dress, mind you — is now stroking your thighs with his thick fingers and has his face pressed so close to your most private parts that you can feel his warm exhales even through the soft linen of your braies.

he’s just so close to your—

“i apologize for bursting in here completely unannounced, my lady,” shino drawls in that indifferent tone that makes you wonder if he’s reading everything he says from some invisible text nobody else but him can see. “i was not aware there was someone in the room.”

“it’s quite all right,” you reply a little bit too fast, trying so hard to keep your voice steady in both pitch and pace. “you needn’t worry about it.”

gods damn your husband. curse him. kill him. the little spark of jealousy that he feels in his heart whenever someone calls you ‘my lady’ coaxes him to press a careful kiss right at the apex of your thighs. goosebumps form over your entire body as the shiver rushes through you in response to the affection, however much to your good fortune, most of them are hidden by the dress and the silken gloves that reach all the way up to your elbows.

he lingers there. applies steady pressure to your clit with his lips and dampens the linen with his warm saliva until it’s sticking to your pussy, exposing the little button of nerves even further. the fabric silences his laggard ministrations, you’re that lucky at least, but if you aren’t able to keep yourself in-check for long enough—

oh, fucking hell. the sole of your shoe lifts and presses against his thigh in warning as you attempt to close your legs and keep him at bay. he’s kneeling before you like a sinner would before a god, his pants stretching at the top of his legs, but as if he’s adamant to keep you suffering for as long as possible, you feel his scorching hot hand wrap around your bare calf instead. feel how he runs it up and down as he strokes you in the most devilish ways possible whilst he noses his way even further between your thighs.

fighting to keep your breathing calm because you just can’t shake him off no matter how much weight you apply to your foot that’s still positioned on his thigh, you realize that this man is an outright incarnation of sin. he’s an incubus. a demon.

“well… i think it’s better if i head out, then,” shino says, and all of a sudden you remember that he’s still standing there, and that you are, in fact, not alone in the room and are probably looking utterly foolish; panting like that. “so that i can leave you to your food, and all that.”

“mm, yes,” is all you can manage. blinking slowly, it’s impossible to keep your vision focused. your eyes insist on rolling back into the inside of your skull, but if you could only last just a while longer, you might not even need to lie and burden yourself with even more sin. “i think… i think that’d be a wise idea indeed, advisor.”

you watch him cross the room with a laggard turn of your head that follows every single one of his movements. he’s still dressed in his fancier clothes as well; the outfit perfectly tailored to suit his firm, lean stature, his shoes clean.

he’s just about to exit the room and you’re just about to finally relax and be alone with your nymphomaniac of a spouse, when shino whips his head to the side and lingers by the door just like his superior had done only moments prior.

“before i go; do you by any chance know where your husband might have gone?”

why yes, dear advisor, he’s right here in the room with us; hiding under my dress, licking me right through my underwear.

“no,” the lie falls from your lips like it’s pure instinct, but it tastes acidic. it’s like you’ve just sank your teeth into an exceptionally sour lemon. “i can’t say i’ve seen him ever since we came back from the party, so sadly i have no clue on his current whereabouts.”

“ah,” shino says before he takes one step further out the door and rests his hand on the frame of it. “well, if you do end up seeing him, please be so kind as to tell him that i need to speak with him. urgently.”

“of course,” you nearly sigh out whilst your toes curl in your pretty shoes. the linen is so wet with saliva and arousal now that kiba’s breaths feel cool instead of warm. your underwear must be borderline see-through from how many times he’s ran his tongue across your sticky, clothed slit. when he presses the point of it at your most sensitive spot again and starts making little circles, it’s good enough to make you want to let out a wanton moan.

the urge to whimper and mewl is strong, but you manage to suppress it by biting into the inside of your cheek hard enough that it draws blood. still, curiosity manages to get the best of you as you look at shino and ask, “though, if i may intrude just a little, what exactly is it that you wish to speak to him about?”

you expect a secretive, non-explanatory answer like ‘nothing that needs to worry you, my lady’ or perhaps, ‘it’s confidental; military related’, however shino pleasantly surprises you when he lets out an exasperated sigh of his own and bluntly says, “he got into a fight with one of the guests just before we left.”

oh.

“pa-pardon?” the stutter rolls off your tongue both because you’re taken aback and because you’re being pleasured. come to think of it, you distinctly do remember kiba disappearing the last couple of minutes before you’d gone home together, as well as him returning with a rather feral grin sitting on his face and sweat coating his brow, but you’d have never thought—

“yes,” shino replies with the subtlest twitch of lips. “he’d, uh… broken a certain young lord’s nose with his fist.”

you blink. “which young lord?”

“lord uchiha.”

“i see.”

kiba’s grip around your calf tightens at the name in an almost protective manner. you can feel the bluntness of his nails digging into your flesh so harshly, causing hints of pinching pain, that it makes you drop your fork with a soft thud when it lands on the rich red table cloth.

he’s got his whole mouth pressed tightly against the soaked softness of your cunt. it’s like the adrenaline spurs him on. like the jealousy and possessiveness and the endless urge to protect you all convince him to take even more risks than usual. the sweetness of your slick, which he can fucking smell the scent of, now, drives him so wild that he’s become utterly careless. if you don’t watch out, he’s going to tear right through your underwear to get to you, no matter if the sounds of shredding fabric will quite likely be percepted by his trusty advisor.

bringing your hand close to your chest, you ask, “why?”

“to play the role of a knight in shining armor or to defend his lady’s honor, what do i know what happens inside that head of his,” shino utters, and you’re not entirely sure if he’s impressed or not with how dispassionate his tone sounds. with a small jerk of his chin, he gestures to you as he adds, “apparently lord uchiha had some rather tasteless things to say about your… union. this made my superior take matters into his own hands, which has consequently left me to deal with a rather sticky situation. i doubt lord uchiha will simply forget about this entire ordeal.”

something stirs within your heart at that.

sticky, indeed.

“thank you,” is all you reply with because the man underneath your dress, your knight in shining armor, is nearly feasting upon you by now. “that will be all.”

but it’s not all, because as soon as shino steps out and closes the door behind him, leaving you alone at long last; your legs are parting all on their own, welcoming your husband in as your thighs hug the sides of his head and squeeze with appreciation.

he tears your undergarments to shreds just like you’d expected him to before he immediately digs in. it’s messy and hot and desperate, the way he slurps and licks at your cunt. it makes you lean back against the backrest of your chair and makes him groan out the filthiest of curses just because of how dazed he is getting from it.

if you keep tasting so sweet, he’s going to have to end up fucking you on top of the dining table. with your legs propped on top of his broad shoulders and your tits pushing further out of your tight corset because of the force of each thrust that he’ll ram straight into your dripping wet hole, which he now feels fluttering around his tongue.

yeah, right on top of the table.

just like the dessert you are.