NORIKO YAMANAKA
The door clicked shut behind him.
Noriko stood perfectly still for three heartbeats — one to verify he was truly gone, two to ensure he wouldn't return — before she moved to draw the curtains across the shop's front windows, making sure not to rush lest her inner turmoil become apparent.
Only then did she allow her shoulders to drop.
Good heavens.
She pressed her palm against the counter, steadying herself. Her breathing remained even through sheer force of will, but her mind was racing in a way that would have horrified her etiquette instructors.
Shinobi had always terrified her. Even before marrying into the Yamanaka clan, she'd understood on an intellectual level that these were people trained to kill, to deceive, to operate outside the normal boundaries of civilized society. Living among them hadn't lessened that understanding.
But this particular young man wasn't dangerous simply because he was a shinobi or a genius prodigy. But he was also charismatic. Clever. And apparently utterly shameless.
He just stood there. Noriko's hand tightened on the counter edge. With his—with that—completely exposed. Like it was normal. Heavens be with her.
It wasn't normal. Nothing about that had been normal. The sheer audacity of greeting her as if they'd met for tea, making small talk, complimenting her appearance, all while that obscene thing hung out for anyone to see.
And why did that have to be so visibly large?
She shouldn't be thinking about this, but it wasn't a normal size. She'd been married long enough to know what normal looked like, and that had been—
Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip. Goodness gracious, Noriko, do not think about it. That way lies fainting.
She'd worked very hard not to look at it directly. Years of noble training had given her the ability to maintain eye contact during uncomfortable conversations, to keep her gaze fixed at precisely the correct level. But peripheral vision was traitorous, and the knowledge of it had made thinking clearly nearly impossible.
And he'd had the nerve to call her by her first name. Noriko-san, like they were friends. Like he hadn't been—
She'd used his family name. Proper distance. Appropriate formality. And he'd just—
Compose yourself, Noriko. You're spiraling.
She straightened her spine, smoothed her dress, and turned toward where her troublesome daughter still knelt on the floor.
Ino hadn't moved. She was still there, in the exact position Noriko had found her in, covered in….
Don't think about it. Don't.
But she couldn't not think about it. The evidence was splattered across Ino's face, her hair, her chest, soaking into her purple top. The smell hung thick in the air, unmistakable and somehow overwhelming. Noriko or anyone else, for that matter, would be prepared for it.
Anger flickered through her. Not at Ino…. well, not entirely at Ino. More on the situation. Being put in this position. At having to maintain composure when what she really wanted was to shriek like some common merchant's wife and demand to know what in heaven's name her daughter had been thinking.
But that would be undignified.
And the truly infuriating part was that Ino looked happy. Despite everything. Despite the mess, despite being caught, despite the thoroughly debauched state of her. She had this dazed, satisfied smile on her face like she'd just received the world's greatest gift.
Noriko felt her eye twitch.
Your daughter is covered in a man's seed in the family shop, and she's smiling. Wonderful. Just wonderful.
She moved closer, her steps measured despite the chaos of her thoughts. The girl swayed slightly, still not fully present. Her platinum blonde hair was a disaster, her makeup completely ruined, and—
The smell intensified as Noriko approached. Strong, masculine, utterly inescapable. It made her stomach flip again.
"Can you stand?" Noriko asked, her voice coming out perfectly level. She counted her heartbeats while waiting for the answer. One. Two. Three.
Don't ask for details. You don't want details.
"I... think so?" Ino's voice was hoarse, rougher than usual.
Of course it was hoarse. Noriko's mind helpfully supplied several reasons why that might be, and she firmly shoved those thoughts into a mental box labeled 'Never Think About This Again.'
"Did he hurt you?" The question came out sharper than intended.
"No!" Ino said quickly, then seemed to reconsider. "I mean... my throat hurts a little. And my jaw. But he didn't—it was just—he's really big, Mama, and it was hard to—"
"That's quite enough detail, thank you." Noriko's voice could have frozen water. Inside, she was screaming. Please stop talking. For the love of everything refined and proper, please stop talking.
Ino ducked her head, looking guilty but still with that underlying satisfaction that made Noriko want to shake her.
Several seconds of silence passed. Noriko used them to practice breathing techniques she'd learned from watching her husband meditate.Your daughter just described that man's anatomy. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Maintain composure. You will not think about that. You will not.
"I'm…. I'm sorry, Mama."
Noriko raised a brow, and her daughter continued.
"For... for closing the shop? During business hours?" Ino's voice was small, uncertain. "I know you told me—I mean, there were customers who might have—"
Noriko stared at her daughter.
Of all the things to apologize for. Of all the possible transgressions in this situation—the public nature of it, the lack of discretion, the sheer recklessness—Ino was apologizing for locking the door.
I don't know what to do with this child. Noriko held herself from shaking her head, for she might hurt her. Let's get her cleaned.
Noriko measured her words, "I've heard enough of your apologies for one day, Ino," she said, and somehow she still managed to sound reproachful; going the opposite of what she meant. Ino's eyes immediately welled with tears.
Oh, not this. Please not this. Please do not cry.
But it was too late. The tears spilled over, and Ino made that particular hiccupping sound she'd been making since she was six years old when she wanted to get out of trouble.
And it worked. Heavens know; it always worked.
Noriko felt her anger deflate like a punctured balloon, replaced immediately by guilt.
You made her cry. Excellent work, Noriko. Noriko wondered whether this was the milestone defining her as a bad mother, and not the education she imparted to her to reach this ungraceful state.
She moved forward, hesitating only briefly before pulling Ino into a hug. Her nose wrinkled at the first contact. The girl was sticky, and the smell was even stronger at this proximity. But maternal instinct won out over fastidiousness.
"Shh," she murmured, stroking Ino's hair. "It's alright. Just breathe."
Her fingers encountered something sticky in Ino's hair, and she very carefully pretended she hadn't noticed. The smell, though—that was harder to ignore. It was everywhere, clinging to Ino's skin and clothes, thick and manifestly masculine.
It wasn't unpleasant, exactly. Which felt wrong to say or even think. It should have been unpleasant. It should have been offensive to her sensibilities.
Instead, it made her stomach do that flip again.
"I love him, Mama." Ino's voice was muffled against Noriko's shoulder, broken and earnest. "I know I shouldn't—I know Dad doesn't approve—but I can't help it. I just... I love him."
Noriko's arms tightened around her daughter.
"You know, he always eats what I make," Ino continued, the words tumbling out between sobs and wet giggles. "Even though I know it's horrible. It's always horrible. But he eats it anyway and says it's good and I know he's lying but I don't care because—because... I don't know why, but I like it. I'm horrible, but I love it. And he remembers stupid little things I say, and he—Mama, he listens. No one listens like that. And he's—he's an idiot, and he makes me so mad, and then he says something and I—" She shut her eyes hard, as if she could squeeze herself smaller. "I know it's not sensible. I just—when he walks in I can't—"
"Breathe properly?" Noriko supplied gently.
"Yes," Ino pulled back to look at her with a shaky smile. "Exactly like that. He makes me feel special, like the only one, even though..."
The boy is dangerous indeed. Withholding a sigh, Noriko smoothed a strand of hair from Ino's face, carefully avoiding the sticky patches.
She understood. Heaven help her, but she did.
Eishin Sasayaki was dangerous. Bold, confident, charismatic, and Roguishly handsome, it drew innocent young women, yearning for adventure and passion like moths to flame.
If she were a decade younger—if she'd met him before marriage, before duty, before everything—she might have fallen for those charms too. Those clever compliments, that easy confidence, the way he looked at a woman like she was the most fascinating thing in the world.
She'd been in Ino's position once. The beating heart of the thing. Not shame, feeling. Big, unmanageable feeling. Noriko knew the shape of it. She had been young once in a different place with a different boy, and then…. arrangements had been made, and life became a ledger of duty stacked beside affection. Shinobi life had taught her pragmatism. It hadn't erased memory.
And that was why she'd defended Ino's attraction to him in front of Inoichi, even knowing her husband was right to be concerned. Even knowing the young man was trouble.
Life as a kunoichi was hard enough. The shinobi world was merciless in ways her noble upbringing had never prepared her for. If Ino could have this—this feeling, this experience of being loved, of choosing her own path—then maybe the eventual heartbreak would be worth it.
Maybe it would make her stronger. Help her grow. Let the girl have her heart once before the world hardens it.
Or maybe Noriko was just making excuses because she couldn't bear to crush her daughter's dreams the way hers had been crushed.
"I'm not angry," Noriko said quietly. It wasn't entirely true, but it was true enough.
Ino's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really." Noriko paused, then added, "Though I would appreciate if future... encounters occurred somewhere other than the family shop during business hours."
A watery laugh bubbled up from Ino's throat. "I'll try, Mama."
"You'll do more than try." But there was no heat in it.
"You, uh… you won't tell Dad?" The question was small, anxious.
Noriko sighed. She should tell Inoichi. A proper wife would tell her husband that their daughter had been found in such a compromising position. A proper mother would ensure there were consequences and never a next time.
But she looked at Ino's tear-stained, hopeful face and heard herself say, "We will… postpone that conversation," she said. "For now. Provided you show me better judgment henceforth."
"I will. I will, I promise." Ino nodded so vigorously the remaining pins finally surrendered, and more hair fell to her shoulders.
"Very well. Come on now," Noriko said, gently helping her daughter to her feet, then guiding her toward the sink at the back of the shop. "Let's clean your face first."
Ino followed docilely, and Noriko wet a cloth, beginning to wipe away the mess while trying with all her might not to think what she was cleaning.
"Go upstairs and take a bath," she instructed once Ino's face was relatively clean. "A long one. Use the lavender soap."
"You're sure you're not mad?" Ino asked, her voice shy, uncertain in a way that made her seem much younger than she was.
Noriko managed a small smile. "I'm sure." A pause, and then she added, "I will keep this…. time a secret between us."
Ino's answering smile was swift and blinding. A smile that had won her sweets from vendors since the age of five. She threw her arms around Noriko's neck, squeezing too tightly.
"You're the best, Mama! The absolute best! I love you!"
Then she was gone, practically bouncing up the stairs to the family quarters above the shop.
"Do not run on the stairs," Noriko said automatically, because some scripts never left the tongue, and was rewarded with the rhythmic pat-pat-pat of feet going up too fast anyway.
Noriko stood alone in the sudden silence, listening to her daughter's footsteps fade.
That child's moods change faster than the weather in the rainy season.
She shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. Then she glanced down at herself, and the smile vanished.
Her dress. Her beautiful, carefully maintained dress now had stains across the front from hugging Ino.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
Her sense of propriety bristled. This would need special cleaning. She couldn't just hand this to the regular laundry service—they'd ask questions. She'd have to do it herself, which meant—
She moved to the sink, intending to at least rinse the worst of it, and caught her reflection in the small mirror mounted above it.
There was a smear of it on her chest, where Ino had pressed against her. The fabric hadn't absorbed it fully. It was too thick, too viscous. It sat there, visible and obscene against the dark teal of her dress.
Noriko blinked, then her hand moved up automatically, fingers touching the stain.
This is inappropriate…..
But she didn't stop. Her fingers scooped some of the substance, and she found herself staring at it with a fascination that horrified her.
It was warm still. Or maybe that was just residual heat from Ino.
Before she could think better of it, before her noble upbringing and years of propriety could stop her, she brought her fingers closer to her nose.
The smell intensified. Musky, distinctly male, somehow both foreign and compelling.
Her breath quickened. That flip in her stomach became something more insistent, more uncomfortable.
She'd been curious about what Ino had swallowed. The thought had been there, hovering at the edges of her mind since she'd first seen her daughter's state. Ino had definitely swallowed it—Noriko was certain of that—and now she couldn't stop wondering what it tasted like.
With such a strong smell, the taste would be—
Her tongue peeked out, just slightly. Her cum-stained fingers moved closer to her lips.
She froze, fingers a breath away from her mouth. What are you doing? She stared at herself in the mirror.
A proper noble lady. A respectable clan wife. About to….
Shame crashed over her like cold water.
She snatched her hand away, turned on the sink, and scrubbed her fingers vigorously with soap. Then she splashed cold water on her face, once, twice, three times, until the heat in her cheeks subsided and she could breathe normally again.
You will never think about this again. Never.
She dried her hands, smoothed her dress, and forced her shoulders back into proper alignment.
There was work to do. A shop to clean. A smell to air out before customers returned. Flowers to gather from the floor. An afternoon's worth of business to salvage.
She could do this. She'd maintained composure through worse.
Though frankly, I'm not certain what could be worse than this.
Noriko took one more steadying breath, then turned to face the chaos of her shop.
One step at a time. That was how nobles handled crises.
With grace, dignity, and absolutely no acknowledgment of the mortifying thoughts that would haunt her for the foreseeable future.
— — — — — — — — —
A/N: Hey guys!
I missed the last post and I'm really sorry about that, things have been a bit rough on my side lately. Don't worry, I owe you a chapter, and I will deliver it once life cools down a little and I get the time to write properly.
That aside, Noriko is not one I planned at all. She wasn't literally an OC, but she didn't even have a name, and in retrospect, I should have chosen a better name (It's too close to Naruko, and more than once I wrote that instead). I had only thrown her in, for the cliff, but now I think I like her, also, she is a MILF!
Anyway, thanks for your support, and let me know what you think.
PS. You can read up to 8 chapters ahead at patreon.com/vizem