Mikan Neru | Blue Archive

The soft glow of the holographic projector cast a warm, ethereal light across the dimly lit chamber, illuminating the subtle sheen of sweat on Mikan Neru's brow. Outside, the perpetual twilight of Kivotos held sway, a hushed promise of adventures yet to unfold. But here, within the quiet sanctuary of her workshop, a different kind of intensity was brewing. The scent of ozone and polished metal mingled with something far more intoxicating – the subtle perfume of a shared secret, of an unspoken desire that had simmered between her and the Sensei for weeks. She adjusted a delicate circuit board, her fingers, usually so precise with tools, now trembled with a nervous energy that had nothing to do with malfunctioning machinery. Her gaze, when it flickered towards the figure seated at the workbench opposite her, was a confession in itself, a silent question that pulsed with an undeniable longing.

Sensei watched her, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He’d been drawn to Mikan’s meticulous nature, her quiet brilliance, the way her brow furrowed in concentration, and the almost imperceptible blush that would creep up her neck when he praised her work. Tonight, however, there was a different kind of brilliance about her, a nervous anticipation that radiated from her like heat. He’d intentionally lingered, offering to help with a late-night diagnostic, knowing that the solitary hours and the shared focus could easily bridge the gap between their professional roles and something far more intimate.

“Still having trouble with the resonance calibrator, Mikan?” Sensei asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air. He leaned forward, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, focused entirely on her. He saw the way her pupils dilated, the way her chest rose and fell a little too quickly. The air crackled, not just with the hum of electronics, but with the nascent spark of attraction.

Mikan’s voice was a soft breath, barely disturbing the silence. “It’s… recalcitrant, Sensei. The harmonic frequencies are proving… elusive.” She tried to keep her tone professional, but the slight tremor in her words betrayed her. Her mind wasn't on harmonic frequencies; it was on the way Sensei’s gaze lingered on her lips, the way his presence filled the space with an overwhelming warmth. She’d imagined this, countless times, the quiet intimacy of the workshop, the shared purpose, and the subtle shift from mentor to something more. Every stolen glance, every casual touch on the arm, had woven a thread of unspoken desire between them.

He rose and walked slowly around the workbench, his movements deliberate. He stopped behind her, his presence a tangible force that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. He didn’t touch her, not yet, but his proximity was a caress. He could feel the heat radiating from her. “Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice laced with a playful hint of mischief, “it just needs a different kind of… adjustment. A more hands-on approach.”

Mikan’s breath hitched. She closed her eyes for a fleeting moment, savoring the raw anticipation. She knew what he meant, and her heart, usually so steady when dealing with complex calculations, was now beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing against the sleeve of his coat. “Sensei…” she whispered, the name a plea, a surrender.

His hand, warm and firm, settled on her shoulder. It wasn't the professional pat of encouragement he’d given her countless times before. This was different. His thumb traced a slow circle on the fabric of her uniform, sending shivers down her spine. “You’re very tense, Mikan,” he said, his voice softening, becoming a tender caress. “Let me help you relax.” He gently turned her to face him. Her eyes, wide and luminous, met his, and in their depths, he saw a reflection of his own burning desire.

The holographic lights seemed to dim further, the sounds of Kivotos fading into an indistinct hum. All that mattered was the space between them, charged with an electric current. Mikan’s hands, which had been fiddling with a discarded tool, now found their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if seeking an anchor in the rising tide of sensation. Her lips parted, a silent invitation. Sensei needed no further prompting. He lowered his head, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was at once tender and urgent. It was a kiss born of unspoken words, of suppressed longing, of a shared journey that had finally led them to this precipice.

Her lips were soft, yielding, and tasted faintly of peppermint. The initial tentative press deepened, their tongues entwining in a dance of discovery. Mikan moaned softly into his mouth, a sound of pure pleasure that sent a jolt of raw arousal through Sensei. He deepened the kiss, pulling her closer, her body pressing against his. He could feel the delicate curve of her waist, the soft swell of her breasts against his chest. Her hands moved from his shirt to his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer, as if she could never get enough of him. The world outside, the looming responsibilities of Schale, the intricate mechanics of her beloved Blue Archive, all dissolved into a haze of pure, unadulterated sensation.

Sensei broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of passion and wonder. Her face was flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips swollen from their embrace. She looked utterly beautiful, a delicate bloom unfurling under his touch. “Mikan…” he breathed, the name a reverent whisper. He gently cupped her face, his thumbs caressing her flushed cheeks. “You’re… incredible.”

Her response was a shy, trembling smile. “Sensei… I…” she started, but her voice faltered. She wasn't sure how to articulate the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that were overwhelming her. All she knew was that she wanted more. Much, much more. Her gaze dropped to his lips, then to the subtle rise and fall of his chest. She wanted to explore every inch of him, to feel him closer than was ever possible with mere clothing between them.

He understood. His own desire was a raging inferno now, stoked by her eager response. He gently guided her back to the workbench, carefully clearing away the tools and schematics. The cool metal of the bench was a stark contrast to the heat that courhom her skin. He then turned his attention to her uniform, his fingers finding the buttons of her blouse with practiced ease. Each button that was undone was a step further into the abyss of their shared intimacy. The fabric parted, revealing the delicate lace of her bra and the smooth expanse of her skin beneath. He paused, his breath catching in his throat. Mikan Neru, the brilliant technician, the quiet genius, was also breathtakingly, exquisitely beautiful. He lowered his head, his lips tracing a slow, reverent path from the hollow of her throat to the swell of her breasts. She arched into his touch, a soft cry escaping her lips as his tongue teased the lace, then the sensitive flesh beneath.

Her hands, no longer nervous, were now actively exploring him. She unbuttoned his shirt, her fingers brushing against his chest, feeling the warmth and firmness of his skin. The scent of him, a clean, masculine aroma, filled her senses. She longed to feel him completely, to shed the last vestiges of their professional separation. With trembling fingers, she unfastened the clasp of her bra, letting it fall away. Sensei’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of her bare breasts, their peaks hardening into exquisite little buds under his gaze and the cool air. He couldn’t resist any longer. He leaned in, his mouth closing over one of her nipples, suckling gently at first, then with increasing intensity. Mikan gasped, her back arching, her fingers digging into his shoulders. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced, a heady rush of pleasure that made her legs feel weak.

He continued to worship her breasts, his mouth moving from one to the other, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Her hips instinctively began to move, seeking more of his touch. She could feel the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against her, a promise of what was to come. “Sensei… please…” she whispered, her voice hoarse with desire. “I want you…”

His gaze, burning with unspoken passion, met hers. He gently pushed her down onto the workbench, the cool metal a sudden shock against her bare skin. He then slowly, deliberately, unfastened the buttons of her skirt. The fabric slid down her legs, pooling around her ankles. She was now clad only in her panties, a delicate scrap of fabric that did little to hide her growing excitement. Sensei’s eyes devoured her, his gaze lingering on her thighs, the curve of her hips, the dark patch of hair between her legs. He knelt before her, his hands reaching out to gently caress her outer lips. Mikan whimpered, her breath catching as his fingers explored her, finding the sensitive folds and teasing them with exquisite care.

He was learning her body, her responses, with an almost scientific precision that mirrored her own approach to her work, but with a far more sensual outcome. Her legs parted instinctively, inviting his touch. He dipped a finger inside her, finding her slick with anticipation. She was wet, so wet, a testament to her desire. He circled her clitoris with his fingertip, and Mikan cried out, her body clenching around his finger. “Oh, Sensei…” she moaned, her voice barely a whisper. “Don’t stop…”

Sensei’s own arousal was reaching its peak. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with an intoxicating mix of lust and tenderness. “I won’t, Mikan,” he promised, his voice rough. He then slowly, deliberately, peeled away her panties. Her body was now fully exposed to his admiring gaze. Her skin was pale and smooth, her curves exquisite. He kissed her inner thighs, his tongue tracing the delicate skin, drawing closer to the heart of her desire. Mikan trembled, her head thrown back, her hands gripping the edge of the workbench, as his mouth found her. Her gasp was loud as his tongue enveloped her, teasing and stimulating her with an expertise that sent waves of pleasure crashing through her. She was spiraling, losing herself in the exquisite sensations, her moans filling the quiet workshop. Her world narrowed to the feeling of his mouth on her, the rhythmic pressure, the exquisite teasing. She arched her hips, trying to get closer, to deepen the connection. This was beyond anything she had ever imagined, a pure, unadulterated explosion of pleasure. When the climax finally wracked her body, it was a series of powerful, shattering waves that left her breathless and trembling, her nails digging into his hair.

After she had recovered slightly, her breathing still coming in ragged gasps, Sensei rose. He met her dazed, ecstatic gaze with a look of pure adoration. He was flushed, his own desire evident, but he waited, giving her a moment to regain her senses. He then reached for his own clothes, his movements deliberate. He quickly shed his shirt and pants, revealing his own hardened arousal, a testament to their shared passion. He knelt before her again, his eyes locking with hers. “Now, my Mikan,” he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. “It’s my turn.”

Mikan’s heart pounded. She watched, mesmerized, as he positioned himself between her legs. The cool metal of the workbench was forgotten as the heat of his body pressed against her. He entered her slowly, tentatively at first, his tip finding her wetness, easing its way inside. Mikan gasped, her fingers splaying on his back as she took him in. He was so warm, so full, stretching her to her limits, yet fitting perfectly. He filled her completely, a sensation both overwhelming and incredibly welcome. He paused, letting her adjust to his presence within her. Her eyes met his, and in that shared gaze, a new level of intimacy was forged. He began to move, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust was deeper than the last, sending waves of pleasure through Mikan’s entire body. She moaned his name, her voice raw with emotion. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him on. The sounds of their lovemaking filled the workshop, a symphony of soft moans, sharp gasps, and the rhythmic thud of flesh on flesh. The world outside, with its endless complexities, ceased to exist. There was only this moment, this perfect union of two souls, two bodies, intertwined in a dance of pure ecstasy. Mikan felt herself climbing again, the pleasure building with each powerful thrust. She met his rhythm, her hips rising to greet him, her body arching as she neared the precipice. “Sensei… oh, Sensei…” she cried out, her voice cracking. He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. She felt the familiar tightening in her core, the build-up of an unstoppable force. Her climax was imminent. As he drove into her one last time, Mikan screamed his name, her body convulsing around him, a torrent of pleasure washing over her. She felt his own guttural groan as he followed her into the depths, his seed filling her, a testament to their shared passion. They collapsed together, limbs tangled, hearts beating in unison, the lingering echoes of their lovemaking a sweet, intoxicating melody in the quiet of the workshop.

Slowly, as the last tremors of their climax subsided, they disentangled themselves. Sensei gently helped Mikan sit up, his hands still on her, offering support. Her body was slick with sweat, her skin flushed, her hair tousled. She looked at him, her eyes filled with a newfound depth, a profound intimacy that went beyond anything they had shared before. “Sensei,” she whispered, her voice soft but clear. “Thank you.”

He smiled, a tender, loving smile that reached his eyes. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. “No, Mikan,” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “Thank you. You are… everything.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a gesture of deep affection and commitment. The workshop, once a place of work and solitary focus, had become a sanctuary of their shared passion, a testament to a bond that had blossomed in the quiet corners of Kivotos, a testament to the enduring power of Mikan Neru’s heart, now intertwined with his.