Content Warning: 18+ (MDNI) - Establishing plot, NSFW series, College AU
Obito Uchiha x Kakashi Hatake - currently ongoing! find the link list here
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Kakashi avoided his life before Minato and Kushina—or at least, he acted as if it were a blur. Whenever it came up, he’d shrug it off and act as if the memories just faded on their own. It was easier that way. Easier to pretend he didn’t remember enough for it to matter. Easier to look unaffected.
If the memories were unclear, then he didn’t have to explain why they still hurt. The silence that followed his father’s death. The unfamiliar walls of the group home. The careful steps of the adoption. And somewhere tangled between all of it… Obito and Rin
He always remembered Obito.
He remembered meeting him.
Watching the loud and bright-eyed six year old Obito hop around their first grade classroom and make friends with anyone who could tolerate him. It wasn’t the kind of loud that was annoying–even though it kind of was–but the kind of loud that made the room feel warm with his presence. Laughing came naturally with Obito, as he filled any silence before it even fell over the conversation. He could learn about all of your favorite things and still want to know more.
Sometimes, he would talk over Kakashi or find a way to cut his sentence off without even realizing. And Kakashi? Well, he absolutely hated it at first. Wished Obito would just shut his mouth because whatever the brunette had to say was definitely stupid and definitely unimportant. It was an unfortunately common habit of his. But over time, the more it happened the more he would let him and without a single ounce of hesitation, too. Like whatever Kakashi was about to say was absolutely meaningless under his words.
Kakashi found, the more he experienced Obito the more he found himself missing his annoying habits even when they’d only just parted. It was ridiculous–knowing he’d see him again soon, at school, or loitering outside of each other’s places like they always did… Yet, the absence still settled in all too quickly every time.
And it all started with Obito bugging Kakashi at lunch because he was close with Rin.
“Hey! Old man hair, what’s that pretty girl’s name with you all the time??” He asked, his small and childlike voice breaking the stillness between them. “It’s Rin, right??”
Of course Obito approached Kakashi while she grabbed her lunch.
“Hey, personal space, Uchiha! What’s your issue?” Kakashi snapped, pushing the six-year old away from his face. “And I’m not an old man, are you stupid?”
Obito pouted, bottom lip puckered out as he took his prescription glasses off. “Hey! C’mon dude, don’t be a jerk!” He practically growled, moving to grab his shirt. “You don’t-”
“Ah, Obito, Kakashi… why are you guys fighting..?” Her sweet voice rang out from beside them.
Obito let go of him as he looked up at her.
And that was it.
Kakashi knew that something between them had shifted.
When Obito followed Rin and Kakashi as they walked home, they didn’t question it. They just took the same route they always did–sidewalk cracked in familiar places, the hum of cars passing by, the early afternoon sun beginning to set making everything a bit more muted than it was.
Obito talked the whole time.
About nothing. About everything.
Something about a teacher he hated. A story that didn’t really go anywhere, circling back on itself until he seemed to forget the point. A joke that didn’t land–but he laughed at anyway, loud and unashamed. Rin, being the sweetheart she was, always laughed with him. Kakashi couldn’t help but scowl, shoulders tight, hands shoved into his pocket as he walked a half a step ahead.
He told himself that it was annoying.
Always too loud. Too much. Too careless.
But Obito followed them again the next day.
And the day after that.
Then, one day–about a year after Obito first started trailing them home–and under all the layers of trauma Kakashi had faced within that time… it became the only thing that made him smile.
Well… that and the two friends he’d made there.
Kakashi had spent that stretch of time bouncing between places that never felt quite right. A few nights in a quiet foster house where no one spoke above a murmur, a week with a family that tried too hard to be warm, then another before he could even memorize the layout. Everything began to blur together–different ceilings, different rules, different people pretending they understood him.
He stopped unpacking after the second move.
There just wasn’t a point.
His things stayed folded in the same small bag, ready for whenever someone decided it was time to go somewhere else.
Eventually, they told him this one would be more permanent than the rest. ‘Permanent’. A group home. Temporary, they clarified, but stable. Structured. Better.
Kakashi didn’t believe them. He’d heard variations of that ever since he was forced into the state’s protection.
Still… the car ride there felt longer than the others. It was about 20 minutes from Rin, and about 10 minutes from the school is what his welfare agent had told him. His mind grew blank as the silence in the car grew heavier. He watched the streets change outside the window, committing none of it to memory as he expected he wouldn’t need it for long.
When they finally pulled up, the building looked cramped but lived-in, lights on in too many windows, voices faintly carrying through the walls. It wasn’t quiet like the foster houses had been. I wasn't careful. It felt… full.
Kakashi gripped the strap of his bag, shoulders tensing again as he stepped out.
This was supposed to be where he stayed…?
…
This was supposed to be the place he stayed.
And, for once, it actually was.
Weeks turned into months before Kakashi really noticed it. The same creaking stair on the second step. The same chipped paint near the hallway corner. The same pile of too-small shoes cluttering the entryway that never seemed to shrink, only rotate depending on who was sick, who was in trouble, who refused to go to school that day.
The group home wasn’t quiet. It never was. Someone was always crying, laughing, coughing, arguing—the walls too thin to hold any of it in. It was cramped, loud, and constantly smelled faintly of medicine and cheap detergent.
Still… it became routine.
And routine, Kakashi found, was dangerously close to comfort.
“Kakashi!” a soft shout rang out as the silver-haired second grader stepped through the door.
He paused mid-step, already slipping his small shoes off beside the pile of others. His eyes lifted, landing on the tiny figure wobbling in the hallway.
“Ah… Tenzo.” He hummed, voice quiet, eyes still a little empty from the walk home. “Are you feeling any better…?”
The four-year-old nodded immediately, long brown hair falling messily over his sweaty face. Kakashi frowned. He knew he wasn’t. The kid could barely recite the alphabet, but he already knew how to pretend he was fine—how to shoulder things quietly, like no one would notice.
Kakashi stepped closer anyway, crouching just enough to wrap his arms around him before carefully lifting him up. Tenzo felt too warm. Too light.
“Where is she?” Kakashi asked softly, referring to the caretaker. His grey eyes searched Tenzo’s wide brown ones as the small child tried to think.
Kakashi sighed, shifting the small boy higher against his shoulder before pushing open the bedroom door.
Another small boy—around the same age—popped his head up immediately, a wide, toothy grin stretching across his tan cheeks.
“Kakashi! You’re home!” he laughed, scrambling out of bed and hopping over.
“Ah, Iruka… you look like you’re feeling better.” Kakashi hummed, absentmindedly patting his long brown hair.
Oh… he’s damp.
He pulled his hand away, wiping it quietly against his shirt.
“I feel better,” Iruka insisted, tiny hands tugging at the edge of his sweat-soaked shirt.
Kakashi sighed again.
And that was just… how life was. Picking up the pieces of broken kids in a broken home. Checking temperatures. Carrying them upstairs. Making sure they drank water. Tucking blankets tighter when no one else noticed.
He wasn’t the oldest. He wasn’t supposed to be responsible.
But somehow… he was the one doing it anyway.
So Obito, Rin, and his second-grade teacher slowly became the closest people in his life… until they were the only people in his life.
Kakashi was eventually taken in by that same second-grade teacher—first as a foster, after he watched his grades slip and his attention fade in class. Then… something more permanent.
And after that?
Life was good.
All day, every day was spent with them—walking home together again, adding Kakashi’s new home into the route, listening to Obito ramble, Rin laughing softly beside him. The cramped group home faded into something distant, something he only returned to at night until he didn’t have to anymore.
For the first time in a long time things couldn’t have been better.
Content Warning: 18+ (MDNI) - Nsfw series, kidnapping, seduction, teasing, older woman / younger man
Fem!Orochimaru x M!Reader - currently ongoing! part 1 of 2
This was an anonymously requested prompt. Thank you for reaching out! I will be posting part 2 soon!
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She always had ulterior motives.
Nothing she did was ever without purpose. Every smile, every soft word, every carefully placed touch—there was always something beneath it.
Whether it was for research, curiosity, or simply the thrill of acquiring something new, she collected chunin the way others collected trinkets.
Disposable. Replaceable. Easy to obtain.
And once she had them?
She made sure they weren’t going anywhere.
The west-side border of the Land of Fire had become one of her favorite hunting grounds. Her golden eyes lingered on the faint shimmer of the protective barrier surrounding the huge town, the corners of her lips curling in quiet amusement. It looked impressive from afar, but she knew better. The systems were outdated, the patrols predictable, and the shinobi stationed nearby were often inexperienced.
It didn’t take much to devise a plan.
In fact, it was almost insultingly easy.
First, you watch.
Wait for a group heading out on a mission or returning from one. Exhaustion always made them softer and way less cautious. Then you isolate one—never the loud one, never the suspicious one. The polite ones were best. The kind ones. The ones who thought themselves heroic.
After that?
You become helpless.
She would dress carefully, deliberately. Soft fabrics that clung in the right places. Long black hair brushed until it fell like silk over her shoulders. Makeup subtle enough to appear natural—just a hint of red on her lips and a soft pink on her cheeks. She would practice the tremble in her voice, the nervous tremble of her hands, the slight hunch of her shoulders.
Then she would wait.
And with how busy the Leaf was, it never took long.
“Please… I’m so sorry for disturbing your time,” she would murmur, voice wavering just enough. “I would hate to put more pressure on a Leaf shinobi… I’m just so scared to go home by—”
Like clockwork, they would interrupt.
“Never. Let me help you home.”
Always the same. Always predictable.
Sometimes she even rewarded them with a grateful smile, stepping closer, fingers brushing their forearms. She would squeeze them, name a sly comment on how strong they were.
Occasionally, she would hug them—pressing soft warmth against their chest while memorizing the rhythm of their heartbeat. Her next victim, already melting in her grasp.
Orochimaru had a way with men that few could resist. She was striking—beautiful in a way that lingered too long in the mind. Pale skin, long dark hair, and a figure that drew attention whether she wanted it or not. Most men looked twice. The unlucky ones looked long enough to be chosen.
She hummed softly as she slipped her hand into the shinobi’s, her grip delicate, almost shy.
They walked side by side, her thumb brushing over his knuckles like she needed reassurance.
“You know, mister…” she cooed, voice low and warm. “I could compensate you kindly for the work you’re doing for me…”
Her free hand slid up his arm, fingers rolling over the muscle of his bicep. He stiffened instantly.
They always did.
His face flushed deep red as he glanced down at her. Her hair had fallen forward, framing soft eyes that seemed to glisten under the dim light. Her lips curved into something gentle—inviting. Dangerous.
“What… kind of ‘compensation’…?”
She hummed, squeezing lightly at his arm, nails barely grazing the fabric. “How about I just show you?”
Then, without warning—
Her head slid from her shoulders, jaw unhinging as it lunged forward. Fangs sank into the side of his neck before he even had time to react. His body went slack almost instantly, chakra disrupted and his consciousness fading quickly.
Her body stepped forward smoothly, catching him before he hit the ground.
Perfect.
—
When he woke, the room was dim.
Soft, low lighting flickered across a small, unfamiliar room. The air smelled sterile… wrong. His head pounded, and when he tried to move, panic surged through him. His arms were bound tight against the chair, restraints digging into his wrists. His legs were secured, chest pinned, every attempt at movement useless.
A quiet sound slithered through the room.
Her smile was no longer sweet.
It was clinical. Curious. The kind a researcher gave their subject. The kind a predator wore while studying prey that had already been caught.
Her long, snake-like body coiled slowly around him, scales whispering softly against the floor before tightening around his torso. The pressure was deliberate—not enough to crush, just enough to remind him he couldn’t escape.
Her face hovered close, golden eyes gleaming as her tongue slid out, tasting the sweat forming along his cheek. He noticed the paleness of her skin now, and a heavy flow of purple eyeliner to define the sharpness of her personality.
“Where am—”
Her body squeezed, cutting off his breath and his words in one motion.
Content Warning: 18+ (MDNI) - Establishing plot, NSFW series, College AU
Obito Uchiha x Kakashi Hatake - currently ongoing! find the link list here
───
Obito was probably one of the worst plugs you could have.
I mean, seriously. The guy sucked.
If he said he’d pull up in an hour, it could have been thirty or not at all.
Not to mention the lack of stash.
Like, ever.
Kakashi would hit him up for nothing more than an eighth–nothing crazy–and this guy would say one of three things.
One,
“Shit my bad Hatake, I forgot to buy in this week. Hit you next week?”
Two,
“Sure, but my prices went up cuz I bought this primo shit dude”
It was in fact not primo shit.
Three,
“Aight, be there in an hour.”
And again, that meant nothing with Obito as his plug.
But he didn’t go back to him for convenience. There were better options—people who actually showed up when they said they would, people who didn’t try to upsell mid-conversation like they were running a business instead of barely holding one together.
Still. Kakashi always went back.
Old habits don’t die… they just kept showing up in his dm’s.
────
It was the first day of college, the very first class to kick off the year… and he was still late.
The startof the semester started like any other—too early, too loud, too many people trying too hard to seem like they weren’t nervous.
Kakashi, however, wasn’t.
Or at least, he didn’t look like it. Not when he’d hot boxed his car with half a joint he’d bought from a one-off plug. It didn’t taste great and it didn’t get him nearly as high as his old dealer’s but… whatever.
He took a minute, taking a deep breath before finally killing the engine of his car.
Rin practically hopped over just as he stepped out, beginning mid-story about some rumors she’d heard recently. Kakashi was pretty much used to it at this point–Rin being everywhere, always. Moving a little slower than usual, he pulled on his black surgical mask and locked his old black car before the two began to walk to class.
Community college was a funny thing–faces you’ve seen since you were a kid flooding the hallways as adults. Some drove nice cars, some dyed their hair… some disappeared years ago without explanation.
“Mmm, okay so remember how I told you that I saw Kotetsu and Izumo together the other day? Well, I overheard Genma,” she had a drink in each hand and passed one to him without missing a beat, continuing her sentence as they started walking toward their classroom together.
His was cold and bitter–no sugar.
Hers looked like it came with whipped cream and several pumps of rainbow.
Despite how he looked, Kakashi was genuinely interested in what she was saying. His usual RBF resting on what parts of his face were visible and it always made him seem so… mean. When in reality, Kakashi was kind and soft spoken and always made room for his best friend’s run on sentences.
The two made it to class early—early enough to pick their seats, early enough to settle in before the room filled with noise.
Side by side, like they always had.
Then, the first bell rang as the small crowd of students finally settled in.
Rin had immediately stopped gossiping, waving Kakashi off as a ‘I’ll finish telling you later’. He hummed softly in response. Not that he would say more than that anyways.
Kakashi knew about half the people sitting in this room when he glanced around. Asuma, Gai, Kurenai.. People he’d been friends with since he and Rin became friends.
Names blurred together as they were called—one after another, all names he’d grown up with, nothing really sticking out… Until one did.
“Obito Uchiha?”
Rin and Kakashi both looked up at the same time before tilting their heads to one another.
Their eyes met for half a second—just enough to say ‘so you heard that too?’
“There’s no way,” Rin whispered, her voice uncharacteristically… hurt.
Kakashi felt his body tense, his grip tightening subtly around his cup without him even realizing it. The muscles in his shoulders drew taught, his stomach twisting faintly. This reaction came on too fast–too sharp to ignore–and he couldn’t quite place why. He’d sworn those old, childish feelings were long buried… Nothing more than something he’d outgrown.
So why did they still put him on edge like this…?
There’s absolutely no way it could be Obito after this long.
Silence stretched for a moment too long before the professor moved on like nothing had happened.
Like it hadn’t meant anything…. Because, in reality, it didn’t. Just another absent student in her class.
Kakashi leaned back in his seat, voice low after letting the name hang between them for a beat.
“If it was really our Obito,” he murmured, “he’d be twenty minutes late.”
And late he certainly was.
The door creaked open just enough for a tall figure to slip through, shoulders broad as they brushed the frame. He didn’t apologize. Didn’t even look up.
Just moved.
Head down, hood up, weaving through the rows like each one was too bothersome for him before dropping into a seat all the way in the back.
He pulled his phone out… then he was gone.
Like none of this really mattered to him.
Kakashi and Rin stared, and not subtly either.
They watched him sink into the chair, watched the familiar slouch, the way his lip pulled into a pout when he was just slightly pissed off…
Then—
They looked at each other.
“Holy fuck,” Rin whispered. Kakashi didn’t answer right away.
Because this time, it actually was him.
Not another cousin with the same last name as him who looks vaguely familiar, not another spikey haired brunette with dark eyes and an attitude..
This time… it was him. Taller. Bigger—wider. His shoulders were muscular.. he had a large scar over the right side of his face… But somehow? The same haircut.
Huh.
Kakashi blinked a few times.
The years they missed didn’t matter as he studied Obito—not with the way recognition hit all at once.
Same posture.
Same habits.
Just… older. Rougher around the edges.
Different.
And not.
Kakashi’s grip tightened slightly around his cup again, mind going blank as something heavier rushed in to fill it.
Memories, and loud ones too.
“Holy fuck,” he echoed under his breath. Finally, a confirmation that yeah...
hey guys! sorry for the lack of posting, I have quite the events happening in life rn. I'm working on requests right now! so until I've finalized them to post, have my kakashi x obito where kakashi is a stoner and buys weed off of Obito, thanks.
This torturously slow pace was not curated for no reason.
Nah. Tenzō knew just the way to keep you squirming underneath him. From time spent sneaking off together, quickies, and long conversations between missions—he’d slowly discovered that you loved the feeling of being filled. Being full..
And tonight was no different.
He didn’t even allow a single breath between you once you opened his door, warm palms pressing your hips to the wood and forcing it closed behind you two. You could tell the mission he’d been assigned to didn’t go quite as planned. Oh how frustrating it was when a simple mission goes awry.
...
He’d sized you out easily twenty minutes ago, and God, did he love the way your slick hole fluttered as his digits slipped in and out. His calloused fingers were deep inside, so deep it made your stomach twitch and clench. The lube was the only thing grounding him to whatever heaven he was about to float off to as it dripped down his aching wrist. He knew he was fully addicted to the feeling of you sucking him back in so desperately, he swore he’d almost cum twice from watching you alone.
Your cock was twitching anxiously at your stomach now, leaking pre like a god damn fountain as he slipped his fingers from you. “Good. That’s a very good boy.” He practically whimpered, thick arms now pinning you to his bed. He loved this position. Missionary made it easy to praise you for taking him down so well..
A win-win because you could watch his face turn when his swollen cock pressed further into you than the last slow thrust. But… you’d never tell him that.
You only had a moment to savor the moment between you before he was reaching for his exposed length and pressing it back to where he’d stretched you out previous.
“Good boy..” he panted again, beautiful dark eyes gazing into yours with a pinched brow. With a soft groan, he gripped his own cock excitedly before pressing just the tip inside. He looked about ready to cum from just that.
“You take that so well.. you born to take me, huh?” He asked. “Mm? why so quiet all of a sudden?” He asked with an edge that would usually have you snapping at him.
Not now though. Not when he just buried himself to the hilt.
You could barely speak at this point, like taking him was the only thing your mind could comprehend. He gave you a moment before you were gasping out a response.
“Y-Yes..” you managed, indulging him in his monogamy kink. “J-Just f’you.”
if there was one thing to know about Yamato- This guy was the furthest thing from a bachelor.
To say the least, he falls easily and hurts the hardest. One taste of you and he was done for—completely hooked. You had him wrapped around your finger like a boyfriend. He didn’t want anymore from anyone. He wanted to feel only your gummy walls suck him completely dry, taste your salty slick with pure satisfaction.
The soft thrusts were pure torture and you could tell so easily by the tremble of his hips. He wanted to go faster, hell, he could keep pace all night if he wanted to. But you didn’t let him, moaning so sweetly and wriggling under him when he slowed. Punishing him with quietness when his thrusts picked up.
“Fuck you’re so fucking good, baby.. hah.. let me cum in you,” he panted, his sweat dripping to your chest. It was like a question but.. not.
Was he really that close already?
You could feel him leaking inside you, slick begging to coat your walls in more. And how could you say no to a face like that?
Your fingers moved to cup his cheeks, forcing the attention back into his eyes. “Go ahead.” You smile, moving one of your hands to wrap around your own cock. “You wanna cum together, Tenzō?” You asked innocently, your hole fluttering around him.
You swore you’d never seen him nod his head quicker. “Oh god yes,” he panted. His hips found a faster, more satisfying rhythm for him—hips pounding into the round of your ass, small whimpers escaping his trembling lips. “Good boy.. shit.. good.. nggh..”
That’s when you could feel him spilling into you like he hadn’t cum in years. That hot feeling in your lower belly flooded your own senses and caused you to cum over your own stomach, hands trembling as you came to.
His head slumped forward as your back unfurled into the bed again. “Shit..” he sighed, head hanging over you.
“You haven’t pulled out yet,” you smirk as you clenched around his dick growing softly.
“Nngh-“ he gasped. “Don’t,” he shook his head, “I’m.. fuck..” He panted, your hips rolling back once more just to get a reaction out of him.
This was way better than any sake he could have offered to free the night in.
───
Sorry for the lack of posting, I’ve been super busy. Here’s a quick little one shot for you guys. Thanks for waiting for it <3
Content Warning: MDNI (18+) - Pussy eating | use of femme anatomical terms
Kakashi x FTM!Reader
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This.. wasn’t like Kakashi.
Or at least—not the Kakashi he had built for the shinobi world.
Aloof. Quiet. Fast. Useful.
A weapon, even.
That version of him kept everything at arm’s length, except for the nights he curled into your bed, mask discarded, head resting on your chest as he talked about the ridiculous trials Lord Hiruzen put him through after pulling him from ANBU.
Structure had always been his shield.
Tonight, he stood without it.
Tonight, he sits on the edge of the bed like he’s waiting for orders that never come, shoulders loose in a way you’ve never seen before. No mask. No headband. No armor. No ANBU shadows clinging to him anymore.
Just a man who has finally stepped out of the dark and doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.
“You don’t have to just because I want to,” he says quietly, eyes flicking to yours. Not avoidance—checking. Measuring your comfort the way he used to measure threats.
“I want to,” you tell him. “Just.. be good. Listen, okay?”
That makes him pause.
Kakashi Hatake—copy ninja, prodigy, living archive of other people’s techniques—goes very still at the idea of learning something this way. From you. Not from a book. Not from overheard jokes or half-remembered scenes in those dog-eared novels he rereads.
“…Alright,” he says at last. Soft. Honest. “Then teach me.”
Tonight, at dinner, he was quiet. Contemplative.
You noticed the immediate difference. It was like he was tense again, anxious even, nervous to talk about whatever was on his mind.
So you speak up.
“Kakashi,” you spoke softly to not startle him. Even if he is former ANBU.
“Hmm?” He replied almost immediately, his grey eye moving up to meet yours.
“What’s on your mind?”
He hesitates.
“Kakashi?”
“It’s..” his eyes glanced away from the eggplant miso you’d made. He sighed.
“I want to eat you out.. err.. suck.. your dick? I-“
You don’t mean to, but you cut off his stuttered sentence with a small chuckle.
He looked up at you a bit alarmed, words sinking his throat.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“
You shook your head, cutting him off again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh but you’re really cute when you’re nervous.” You replied, gently rubbing his shoulder. “It’s okay. We can try it.” You nod.
His eyes light up.
Now here he was, both eyes focused on you from between your bare thighs like you were the only thing remaining in the world to him.
When he leans down, it’s careful. Almost reverent. Like he’s approaching something fragile instead of something hungry. His hands brace on either side of you, giving you space, giving you control. You guide him with quiet words at first—where to focus, what feels grounding, what feels good, what doesn’t.
He listens. Fully.
“That’s it,” you manage through a gasp. The flat of his tongue rolls over your clit, his hands twitching excitedly as they held your thighs open. You could feel just how excited he was, the nervous hot breath escaping his nose was making your hips grow warm.
The sensation was tangible everywhere in your body.
His tongue was awkwardly dancing along, eyes desperately following yours for praise or encouragement..
“Suck, baby, keep your tongue flat.” You instruct, moving a free hand into his hair to pet it. His eyebrows furrow up, his eyes are glossy, and he looks like he could cry. You’re pretty sure he’s melting now.
You feel it in the way he adjusts immediately, mouth contouring to the shape of your clit in it. His mouth learns you like he’s memorizing a new terrain—not to conquer it, but to understand it.
Now he checks your breath instead of rushing.
And when he settles back in? It’s with more confidence
“Fuck,” you whine, your own fingers flexing in the sheets—because you know damn well if it were anywhere on him it would hurt.
There’s a moment where he pulls back just enough to look at you, hair falling into his eyes, swollen and glossy lips parted.
“…Like this?” he asks.
The vulnerability in it hits harder than anything else.
“Yes,” you murmur, fingers threading into his hair to move it from his pretty eyes. “Just like that.”
Kakashi exhales, something uncoiling in his chest. You can tell—this is new for him. Not just the act, but the trust. Letting someone guide him. Letting himself be clumsy. Human.
He’s proud of himself, and you can feel it. Not because he suddenly knows everything—but because he knows you’ll tell him. Because this isn’t a mission. There’s no failure state. Just shared breath, soft sounds, and the quiet realization that this, too, is a way to come home.
He hesitates for just a second.. wanting to taste more of you.
His tongue slipped lower, letting himself taste your insides. A little reward to himself.
“Sh-Shit.. fuck, Kakashi..” You panted, back arching as his tongue roll inside then out with ease. “God, good boy..” You praised without even thinking.
And this time? You were sure he melted completely.
He moaned into you, calloused hands gripping your hips tight. His eyes fluttered shut, taking his time with tasting you now. You could feel your slick rolling down his chin as he tongue-fucked the shape of him into you.
Your hands waste no time gently pushing his hair to the side again, watching him enjoy himself.. getting off on the taste of you alone.
You could feel the toll the strain of his pants was taking on him—the tips of his fingers were definitely going to bruise your thighs and hips.
“Fuck, is tasting me getting you off, Kakashi?” You asked. You already knew the answer, but asking anyways was more satisfying than you’d be willing to admit.
In a sweet and ragged moan he replied with a shakey ‘yes’.
That had your mind swimming.
Your hands lace back into his silver hair, pulling him as close as you could keep him. “Keep going, you’re doing good.” You hummed, scratching his head lightly.
Kakashi responded with immediate submission, melting into your body with absolute pleasure. His mouth moved back up, sucking that small bundle of nerves into his mouth to worship you with all the patience in the word.
You felt his head bob, eyes latched onto you again… and he’s practically eating every desperate movement. One hand moved to hold your lower stomach, wanting to feel the way it twitches when he finally drinks you down.
He whined softly into you, hands trembling at the skin he was clamping onto. “G-Good.. just like that baby.. fuck.. I’m.. close-“
Without a single ounce of hesitation, his tongue found a better pace that made you moan his name loud enough to bounce off the walls. Kakashi’s eyes fluttered open all the way to watch the way your face twists when the vibration of his moan finally sent you over the edge.
You can feel the clench in your stomach release, holding his silver hair as you finally came. The pulsing feeling in your body left your mind hazy, your eyes a bit watery.
Kakashi’s mouth drank in everything slowly, helping you come down from your high. He smiled, a big goofy grin that was all too confident.
Later—when you’re both flushed and tangled together, when the world feels distant and safe—he rests his forehead against your stomach and lets out a small, almost embarrassed huff of a laugh.
“…I think,” he says, voice low and warm, “I’m glad I was fired.”
And for the first time since he left ANBU, you believe him.
Your initial knock goes unanswered. Counting the seconds after the third rap echoes into the thick wood.
One…Two…Three…Four…
Just as your hope begins to dwindle the door slides open with caution, just enough of a sliver for half of his face to be visible. He’s still in uniform, melted droplets of snow clinging to his hair. He hasn’t been home for long.
His eyes roam down to the dish clutched in your hands for a long beat, schooling the confusion itching at the corner of his mouth when he looks back up at you.
“…What is it?” He asks, voice even, but undoubtedly surprised.
“Oh, right, sorry…” You shift your hold on the dish a little higher, warmth leeching through the cloth.
“Tanjiro mentioned it was your birthday and…” Your voice flickers with uncertainty, catching how he subtly stiffens.
“I just wanted to drop this off.”
Silence stretches between you two, thick and crueler than the frigid breeze that grabs at your hair. You fidget with the warm cloth, rolling the fabric between two fingertips. The proof of your efforts feels more silly now than kind.
“So, you made food.” Giyuu’s shoulders deflate, resigning himself to the reality of this situation.
“Yes,” you nod. “But if you don’t want it, don’t feel obligated.”
His brows knit enough to be noticeable against the normally still planes of his face. Mulling over your offer with something heavier than the situation calls for. Finally, he sighs and slides the door open the rest of the way, stepping aside.
“It’s too cold to be standing outside,” his arm sweeps inward to invite you inside. “Come in.”
Your head ducks as you cross into his home quickly, bringing a cold draft in behind you. A stale warmth greets you. There’s minimal furniture, a small table and hearth the only visible pieces. No decorations. If you hadn’t known better you’d figure he just moved in.
“I can take that.” Giyuu offers when you look lost and reaches for the wrapped bowl.
You slip off your shoes and set them neatly aside, stepping up from the genkan with socked feet. Giyuu silently leads you down the hall, setting your dish on the small table.
“I can help set the table?” You need something to do, a way to busy your hands.
“Not necessary.” He replies, setting two cushions on opposite sides for you both to sit on.
Clinking dishes sound from the next room, disrupting the unsteady silence as you sit there uselessly. It is his birthday, he shouldn’t feel obligated to do everything. Then again, this isn’t your home and you’re already intruding enough as is.
Giyuu sets everything down with methodical movements, bowls placed with accompanying spoons and chopsticks set neatly to their sides. Untying the knot atop your dish lets loose a savory steam, rich and homey. His fingers stutter briefly, suddenly uncertain.
“Something wrong?” You ask with bated breath, awaiting a harsh critique.
“No,” he corrects his posture and resumes portioning the soup. “It’s salmon and daikon.”
“Yeah,” your lips lift, eager to grasp at any solid start to a conversation.
“You like it, right? Tanjiro mentioned that too.”
Giyuu hums a short response, continuing to serve you both. He fills your bowl first and gives himself a modest helping, careful not to take too much.
You wait anxiously as he settles and takes the first bite, searching for the barest hint of approval.
“It’s good.” It’s hardly effusive, but you didn’t make this for him to praise you. It’s just enough sincerity to smooth over your nerves. You nod through your relief, picking up your own spoon.
Conversation doesn’t fill the space naturally. Giyuu won’t initiate and you can’t find it in yourself to push beyond mentioning the weather or recalling your trip to the market earlier. He’s polite as always, humming under his breath in quiet acknowledgement.
Small talk fades quickly, muted slurps and clinking utensils the only ripple in the monotony. Silence swells between you two until even Giyuu fidgets uncomfortably. The bowls are empty, save for the droplets of broth that cling to the ceramic. His hands feel wrong no matter where he rests them—the table improper, his lap too formal.
Sensing the worsening awkwardness you start stacking bowls and gathering utensils. “Where can I put these…?”
“I got it.” The dishes are out of your hands in an instant, his shadow disappearing down the hall.
While you remain seated and contemplate your next course of action Giyuu is stuck in a similar dilemma. Pacing the expanse of his kitchen slowly, one hand tucked under his chin in thought. How could he show gratitude for your gift while keeping the time you spend here at a minimum. Blue and white flash in the corner of his vision, snagging his attention. A thin porcelain bottle tucked away on the highest shelf—long forgotten.
It was a generous gift from Urokodaki to celebrate Giyuu making the rank of hashira. Now all it did was sit there and collect dust, nothing more than a useless knickknack. He takes a breath before doubt sinks in and grabs the bottle along with two small cups.
When Giyuu kneels at the table he doesn’t ask if you’d like any. He sets both cups down without so much as sparing you a glance. The bottle feels heavier in his hands with your eyes on him. His thoughts wander too far, overpouring accidentally. The liquid domes at the top, just shy of spilling.
“Oh, sake?” You wonder aloud, catching the aged, woody scent of dried fruit.
He nods and slides the less filled cup towards you, pale amber liquid rippling against the sides.
“If you don’t want to drink,” his eyes drop to the cup’s rim. “I understand.”
“No no, it’s fine.” You pick up your cup with both hands and bow your head towards him.
Giyuu lifts his along with you, about to bring it to his lips when your confused frown catches his eye. He pauses and raises a brow.
“You have to toast first.” You smile through it, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.
Your hands are the only ones to move, a gentle plink sounding when the cups connect.
“Happy birthday, Tomioka.”
You sound genuine, your smile easy and bright—given out too freely. His conscience shoves him back to the present where you’re already setting your cup back onto the table, still smiling.
Quickly he tips his own back, swallowing the entirety of it in one gulp.
A subtle grimace tugs at his lips from the smooth burn lingering in his throat. Regardless of that, he reaches for the bottle once more.
“Whoa there,” you grab the neck of the bottle and pull it just out of his reach. “You’re gonna be sick in the morning at that pace.”
Giyuu’s jaw ticks, a minuscule clench of his teeth.
“Alright, then you pour.” Eyeing the awaiting cups pointedly.
“Perfect.” This time you give him half the amount he had before.
“So,” you top off your own cup. “What do you usually do to celebrate?”
His mood visibly shifts at your question. It’s not the aloof nature he’s most known for, no there’s something deeper if you squint hard enough. A weight to his eyes that sits all too comfortably.
“I don’t.” He clarifies quickly.
“Ever?” Your eyes bulge with embarrassment at your boldness, waving your hands out in front of you.
“Oh!—Wait, please don’t answer that. I overstepped.” To drown out the scolding thoughts hammering against your skull you finish off your drink. Shuddering as the warmth travels down into your stomach.
Giyuu shrugs, swirling the sake before draining his cup. You’ve both abandoned the restraint of small sips.
“They’re nothing special, especially mine.” He doesn’t give you the breathing room to follow up. Focusing his attention on refilling both cups. The bottle acting as a physical meter showing how much longer he’ll have to entertain this.
It’d be easy for you to call it a night here. Thank him for sharing the sake and wish him one last happy birthday and see yourself out. Avoid prying into territory that isn’t your business in the first place. However, you do neither.
“That sounds…lonely.” You slump backwards, leaning on your palms to look over at the hearth. Its warm glow casting shadows on the blank walls.
His sigh penetrates the air sharply, not annoyance, just hollow indifference.
“Ya know, I almost didn’t come today.” The admission slips out too freely, no longer caged by your fear of rejection.
Giyuu looks over at you, open and attentive.
“I thought you’d slam the door in my face…” Your eyes crinkle at the ridiculousness of the thought now.
Internally he winces, is that what the average slayer thought of him? Cruel and ungrateful?
His head shakes, brows pinching together with mild frustration at the reputation he’s built for himself. “I wouldn’t do that. Although, I suppose I can’t blame you for feeling that way.”
Giyuu taps his glass against the table, losing count on the amount of cups he’s downed already.
“Whew,” you can smell the alcohol on your own sigh, cheeks tinged with the kind of warmth only alcohol can achieve. Curious, you extend forward and pick up the bottle, surprised by its lightened weight.
“Didn’t take you for a drinker, Tomioka.”
He watches you study the peeling label, wiping at the layer of stubborn dust with your thumb.
“It was a gift.”
“Yeah?”
He nods curtly, “Urokodaki.”
“Ah, that makes sense. For?”
This time his pause sinks into your chest like honey. You’re just about to backpedal and apologize when he clears his throat.
“Becoming a hashira—in his opinion, anyway.”
“In his opinion?” You parrot back to him, disoriented by the wording choice.
Giyuu tilts the bottle to pour the last of the sake into his cup. Hearing the hollow thunk ring as he sets it down eases some pressure in his chest. His eyes drag down the side of the porcelain to follow a lone drop skating down to the table.
“I’m not the water hashira, not really.” Giyuu’s reply holds the steadiness of truth, not a trace of doubt within him.
“I don’t deserve that title.” His last gulp goes down too easily.
You clasp your cup tighter and bite your tongue, containing the urge to argue his own point back at him.
“Why do you say that?” The porcelain cup dinks against the wood as you set it down clumsily.
A log crackles from the hearth, demanding the room’s attention. On its last breath, the embers begin to dull in color. Neither of you noticed the dimming light or chill settling in.
“Excuse me.” Taking the opportunity to run from this topic, Giyuu stands and tends to the fire. He adds a few more logs, arranging them in a way to increase the burn time. He takes his time with the task, even brushing away some ash that’d been kicked up to stall. He knows once he turns around he’ll have to face those big, honest eyes of yours looking back at him like he’s worth something.
Shuffling fabric sounds to his right, soft footsteps padding towards him unevenly. Then the lightest tug on his sleeve, two of your fingers curling into the fabric to brush against his inner wrist.
“You work too hard to think you don’t deserve anything.”
For the first time tonight, Giyuu can feel the room tilting, the fluidity in his own posture more apparent.
“I’ve made mistakes…” His spine straightens only to loosen again. This grief is an old friend to him now—familiar and safe.
“And that warrants a lifetime of punishment?” Your grip on his sleeve tightens.
Both of you fall into a stalemate, rebuilding distance between you brick by brick.
Your voice breaks the silence first, too small for the spacious room. “You deserve good things too...” Your eyes sweep over to the table where you shared a meal. “…To celebrate.”
He stares at you, unblinking and still, waiting for the inevitable. For you to change your mind and wise up to the pathetic excuse of a demon slayer standing before you. You don’t. Instead you hold his gaze with stubborn defiance. You’re all rosy cheeks and glassy eyes, his brain short circuits when it finally clicks into place. You’re beautiful. A fact he hadn’t let himself truly see until now. He wanted to keep you at distance just like everyone else and now he’s certain he’d never forgive himself if you walked out that door right now.
“How about we just sit for awhile?” You offer gently, nodding towards the hearth.
Without waiting for his response you sit crossed-legged beside the ash pit, holding onto his sleeve to coax him down with you—not that there’s any resistance on his part. Your gaze wanders to the fire, orange and yellow flickering together in a slow dance while small flecks float into the air. Giyuu’s eyes find something equally bright to pour his attention into. Drinking in the sight before it vanishes. Your soft skin illuminated by the warm glow, chest rising in slow, even breaths.
An unfamiliar sensation grows inside him, aching with loneliness while simultaneously holding onto hope.
“Can I ask you something?” Your head turns towards him to find he’s already looking at you.
“What’s so bad about letting yourself enjoy life?”
Air fills his lungs, that much he’s sure of, but his lips won’t cooperate. One shoulder shrugs as he shakes his head, hair falling over his eyes.
You don’t push him to respond, it was never about him admitting anything to you. His internal reflection is more than enough.
“Can I try to make today special for you?” Your fingers inch along the hardwood, brushing your pinky against his.
Giyuu’s throat works to swallow, suppressing the urge to cough when it goes down wrong. His fingers flex outward once, hesitant and unsure, before giving in and turning his hand over. Your palms press together, his rough and worn from the grueling hours of hard work he refuses to acknowledge. His fingers lace with yours and that’s all the confirmation either of you needed.
Giyuu caresses your wrist experimentally, thumb drifting higher to feel your pulse flutter. His eyes dart down to your joined hands, running his thumb along your knuckles to ensure this was real. Your lips catch his attention next, soft and pillowy, he wonders what they’d taste like right now.
Slowly you lift your hand, fingers drifting to his jaw with the same care one uses with a frightened animal. His breath catches when they slide over the smooth edge, skin tingling under your touch. To your surprise he doesn’t pull away. No, Giyuu leans in closer, eyes fluttering halfway. Your bottom lip brushes against his, holding for any last shreds of doubt before you both finally give in and press your lips together.
He kisses you slow, moving his lips blindly against yours with clear novelty. Giyuu breaks away when the need for a fresh breath takes priority. Leaning forward he rest his forehead against your hairline and just breathes you in.
“I’m not really—I mean—“
“Shhh,” you hush him softly. Trailing your hands up his haori sleeves until you reach his shoulders, pressing firmly into the muscles there.
“This is your last present.” You place a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Just enjoy it.”
Your fingers wrap around the collar of his haori, easing the restrictive fabric off his shoulders and down his back. Once it’s pooled around his hips, your touch is focused back on his chest and shoulders, roaming over clothed skin one careful movement at a time. He turns wooden beneath your caress, eyes begging for permission he doesn’t know how to ask for.
A quiet nod, a soft smile, and his body relaxes into yours. Wherever you take him, he’ll follow your lead.
You kiss him again, less timid, more heated, and nudge him backwards with your weight pressing into his. Giyuu leans back on his forearms for support, losing himself to your gentle tentativeness.
Your kisses start to migrate lower, tracing the contour of his throat, mapping out the edge of his collarbones. All the while your fingers work deftly at his buttons, each pop exposing more skin. Your efforts are rewarded with a shaky exhale, palms sliding down his bare chest to feel the warmth, stopping over his heart to confirm he wants this just as badly as you.
Giyuu jolts when you chuckle against his skin, the carefree sound anchoring him back to you.
“You can touch me, it’s okay.” Gently you guide his hands to your waist, squeezing for encouragement.
His nails dig at your skin, reacting to the allowance before his mind could catch up. Holding you so closely like this he can feel everything. Each inhale and exhale, your warmth, your heartbeat, how your body curves and dips. His mind working to map out how you might look beneath all your clothing. Heat rushes to his reddening cheeks, tucking his chin towards his shoulder to hide.
Luckily you’re too busy to notice, kissing down the length of his torso, lips lingering over every scar and freckle like marked destinations. Your descent halts near his crotch, making out the faint shape of his erection. Just as your fingertip is about to smooth over the bulge a firm grip catches your wrist. Giyuu says your name, low and pleading, for what he isn’t sure.
“Do you wanna stop?” No judgment in the question, if Giyuu hit his limit for the night you’d back off right here.
He chews on the question, uncertainty waging war between curiosity and longing. Giyuu isn’t completely oblivious to pleasure, he’s handled himself before. But never like this, never with someone.
“No,” he answers slowly and loosens his grip on your wrist until you slip free.
“Close your eyes, it’ll make it easier.”
Giyuu follows your suggestion, focus pouring into all his other senses instead. The crackling fire a soothing soundtrack to go along with your rustling clothes. He can’t see what you’re doing, but he can feel that you’re closer. A sudden swipe down his covered shaft nearly sends him out of his skin. Thighs clamping shut around your torso to still you.
“So sensitive.” He can hear the smile in your comment.
“Trust me, okay?” Coaching him through it as you undo his belt and tap his hips. Taking the hint he lifts them so you can shimmy his pants down.
You get the waistband just past his upper thigh when his muscles tense again, a signal that’s as much skin he’s willing to show. It’s enough to reach what you need and you don’t ask for more.
His eyes squeeze tighter once the open air hits him, cock twitching from the exposure. Knowing your eyes are on him right now has his stomach doing somersaults and when your hand finally wraps around his cock his world crumbles.
The groan he lets out rumbles deep in his chest, too loud for his liking.
“W-wait—Wait just—“
Wet warmth surrounds his tip, the resulting moan the loudest noise you’ve ever heard from the usually soft-spoken man. You hum approvingly. His noises encourages you to take him further, feeding your own need to find out just how loud he could really get.
You take your time with him though, this is a birthday gift after all. Easing your tongue over his slit, suction clement while you bob your head only a few inches deep. Pride basking in every little twitch and sharp exhale you pull from him, despite his best efforts to subdue his reactions.
You slurp up the spit dragging down his shaft, running your tongue along a vein too tempting to ignore.
All the sake he’d downed earlier has his thoughts choppy. Eyes snapping open against every instinct that wants him to clam up and hide. He needs to see your face and god is it the prettiest sight he’s ever witnessed. Tousled hair and hollowed cheeks, hooded eyes lifting to meet him halfway.
“Ah—sh-shit!” Gritting his teeth doesn’t stop the moans from interrupting himself. Broken warning just shy of making it out on time.
Hot, salty cum dribbles down the back of your throat, forcing you to choke it down around his girth. You pop off with a wet cough, stunned, but nowhere near upset.
His apology comes just as quickly as he did. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—“
Your shiny, swollen lips trail across his hipbone, instantly draining all the air from his lungs.
“Mm-mn, don’t apologize.” There’s a quiet rasp to your voice that wasn’t there before and the way his cock jumps at the sound doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Just wasn’t prepared, that’s all. It happens.” There’s a hint of pride tucked in there too. Making the water pillar bust in three minutes is an achievement in your eyes.
Giyuu nods, mostly to get past this so he doesn’t have to stew in his own mortification. That’ll come later.
“So…” He’s not sure how to go about this now and your airy giggle does not help with giving direction.
“So, we go again.” You’re not the type to cheap out on gift giving. One quick little blowjob isn’t near close enough to meeting your standards.
“That’s really not necessary you’ve—fuck—“
Your lips wrap back around him, hand taking care of the rest. The pleasure that erupts within him pales in comparison to what he felt earlier. Too overwhelmed with the sensation his body can only give in to you and your perfect throat.
Whimpers leak out without restraint, hips bucking up into your mouth with no sense of rhythm. Your head moves at a leisurely pace despite his eagerness. Enjoying the way Giyuu writhes in response
“I can’t,” Giyuu whines, arms shaking and giving out beneath him, forcing him flat onto his back.
Your mouth peels back, licking at his tip while you lazily stroke him. “Mhm, yes you can, Tomioka.”
“Giyuu.” He corrects, voice strained.
“Giyuu,” you amend with a sly smile.
Giyuu’s hands reach for you without fear, fingers grasping at your strands like they’re the last tether he has to reality. The reality where he doesn’t have to spend every waking moment hating himself. Where it’s okay to indulge and let yourself want, even if only briefly.
When that familiar feeling begins to build once more Giyuu almost doesn’t believe it’s real. Moans morph into breathless whimpers and elongated gasps, face scrunched so tight his ears buzz.
You won’t need a warning this time, you can feel how close he is. You brace yourself on his hips, willing your throat to relax completely and take a final inhale through your nose. Pleasure filled cries echo off the walls as he comes, hips lifting off the floor to bury himself fully inside your tight throat.
Once he’s emptied his body gives out immediately, limbs falling boneless against the hardwood, breathing heavy and uneven. Sweat clings to his chest, neck and forehead. Dark, damp strands stuck to the sides of his face.
Once your own breathing subsides to a manageable tempo you crawl to his side and lay next to him, resting your head on his outstretched arm. Giyuu already looks lost to the world, glass-like eyes drooping, not a thought bouncing around in his head. Real quiet.
You don’t disturb the earned peace, giving yourself away to the sounds of cracking wood and his slowing breathing.
“Happy birthday, Giyuu.”
a/n - not who i’d normally write for, but i couldn’t pass up the opportunity for my bday buddy to get some action.
You were already breathless when he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other lifting your thigh higher against his hip as he rolled his body into yours with slow, deliberate force. You could feel it in the way his abs tightened every time he thrust, in the way his mouth parted with every ragged breath he tried to hold back — barely.
“Satoru—” You gasped, but he cut you off with a deep, aching groan.
“Say it again.” His voice was low, almost a growl, broken at the edges like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to worship you or fuck you into the mattress. “Say my name like that again—shit—feels so good when it comes off your tongue.”
His blindfold was still on, pressed tight across his face — but you knew he could still see you. It was Satoru, after all. He could see everything, even the things you tried to hide. But still, the moment felt more raw like this. Like the blindfold wasn’t to protect you from him, but him from himself.
“You don’t get it,” he murmured as he leaned down, nose brushing yours. “You don’t get what you do to me. How fucking hard it is to hold back.”
The grip on your wrists tightened slightly — not painful, but firm enough to remind you exactly who was in control.
Then he fucked into you again, slow but deep, all the way in until you felt full to the brim with him. You gasped, moaned, clawed at the sheets beneath you, but Satoru didn’t let up.
“You feel that?” His tone was rough velvet, sinful and soaked in reverence. “You feel how perfect you are around me? Like you were made for me. Like this body—” he snapped his hips forward and swallowed your cry with a bruising kiss “—was fucking built to take me.”
You whimpered against his mouth, and he smirked, low and wicked.
“Aw, baby. Look at you.” He dragged his lips along your jaw. “So fucked-out already and I’ve barely started. What’s the matter? Can’t take it?”
“I—I can,” you breathed, barely able to think with the way he was grinding into you now, dragging each motion out, making you feel every stretch and every ridge of him.
“You better,” he hissed, a shiver in his voice. “Because I’m not stopping. Not until you fall apart for me. Not until I’m so deep inside you that you won’t ever forget who you fucking belong to.”
And yet, he was whining under his breath. Soft, needy sounds he couldn’t bite back every time your walls clenched around him. He was unraveling even as he held you down — desperate, not just for your body but for your voice, your cries, the way your eyes rolled when he praised you.
“You take me so good, shit—so good—like this little body was just made to be mine.” He licked into your mouth like a man starved, voice rasping and hungry. “You ruin me, y’know that? Always fuckin’ ruin me.”
You were losing your mind. Every thrust slammed into the deepest part of you, the weight of his body keeping you pinned while his words — his worship — flooded every inch of your brain.
He let go of your wrists only to pull the blindfold up, just slightly. Enough for one bright, burning blue eye to lock with yours.
“You wanna see me lose it?” he breathed, voice trembling. “Wanna see what you do to me?”
And you did — because the second he let the blindfold fall away, something in him snapped.
He started slamming into you now, hips brutal but controlled, that perfect balance of power and restraint that only he could maintain. And he was moaning now — loud, messy, completely wrecked by you.
“I’m close—fuck, I’m so close—don’t stop looking at me—stay right there—” His words collapsed into a gasp when you clenched around him again. “God, fuck, you’re gonna make me come just like that—inside this perfect fucking body—fuck, please—please—”
And when he did, it was with a gasp of your name like a prayer and a curse all at once.
He didn’t stop right away. He rocked into you slowly, breath shuddering, lips brushing yours as he let himself be completely vulnerable for just a moment.
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