Okay I’m super hype fixated on Kakashi fics rn where the virgin!reader has some undercover mission where she needs to use her body and Kakashi either has to prepare her or accompany her and smut ensues…
Good night! How are you? I wanted to request for a smut fanfic with kashi but with a little fluff moment of him saying “i love you” in the heat of the moment 👀 but also really meaning it, you know? Anyways I absolutely love your fics and hope you keep writing what you like and making our days a little better with it :)
hello, my dear anons! fluffy smutty kakashi writing is my favorite thing, so thank you for these requests. 💖 i hope this lives up to your expectations!
Title: In Loving Arms (AO3 Link Here)
Summary: Kakashi wakes into a nightmare.
Word Count: 2,152
Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, angst and fluff and smut, a little self-indulgent, probably? BUT I DO WHAT I WANT <3
Kakashi can’t sleep. Not that he expected to, really.
He’d spent weeks trapped in a nightmare, after all, only to awaken into a different one. He considered often over recent days whether he might have preferred remaining in Itachi’s gruesome torture world than face his current reality.
Though he couldn’t be entirely sure, the longer he thinks about it, the closer he leans toward tracking down the Akatsuki himself to submit to another round of ceaseless torment.
He could not help thinking it would be far easier.
The Copy Ninja’s nervous pacing around his apartment is interrupted, however, by the soft sounds of someone sliding his bedroom window open.
Assuming the Godaime is summoning him for another mission, Kakashi is surprised when he looks up to find a familiar ANBU mask hovering on the sill.
You’d been away when he awoke in the hospital—off on a mission to scout the surrounding lands for any signs of further political upheaval or infiltration by Orochimaru and his sympathizers.
Though he understood the importance of your assignment, Kakashi had been unable to suppress the sour turn of his mouth when Tenzo told him as much.
And so he’d gone away for his own mission, only to return to find his students missing.
You’d still been away when he dragged Naruto’s unconscious body back to the Leaf Village two days’ prior.
But now, here you are, breathing heavily as if you’d run the whole way to his apartment as you slipped carefully into the room and slid the window closed.
Kakashi can smell the telltale scent of a swamp on your clothes—damp and cloying, laced with sulfur and petrification—a sure sign that you’d recently been in the Land of Water.
He means to ask as much, but the moment you pull away your mask and advance on him, Kakashi is overcome with the need to feel you.
Your lips meet his barely a breath after he’s tugged his mask off, and your arms wrap forcibly around his neck, pulling him in with all your strength. Kakashi’s own hands drift to your hair and your waist, reacting to the needy way you’re holding him in kind.
Your mouth tastes like stale shinobi rations and his heart aches, wanting to make you a proper meal now that you’ve returned home.
But his body has other plans, more insistent needs he finds impossible to ignore now that you’re touching him.
Because you’re here—finally—and all he wants is to be as close to you as he can possibly be. When you break away from his mouth to hold his face and study him, he knows you’ll find the same dark circles he sees under your eyes contouring his own.
But you’re looking too close and he’s afraid he’ll give away his true feelings, so instead he says as he often does, “I need you.”
And when you respond, “I’m already yours,” it’s all he can do not to shred through your ANBU vest with a kunai just to get to you sooner.
In truth, undressing you should take longer than it does, the way your ankles and wrists are still wrapped, and with how your underlayers cling to your clammy skin. But Kakashi has been stripping away soiled shinobi clothes for nearly as long as he’s been alive, and so he dispatches them with as much ease as you tug his freshly laundered, loose-fitting uniform shirt over his head.
And all the while, your lips are everywhere they can reach and Kakashi moans gratefully when your teeth skim across the soft flesh of his throat. Your hands are in his hair, on his back, raking your nails over his arms, and his nerves light up with every familiar touch.
By the time he realizes you’ve yanked his pants off, Kakashi’s knees are already up against the edge of his mattress, and he separates from you just long enough to climb onto the bed. He’s still kneeling when you wrap your arms back around him, reaching down between your bodies to gently stroke his erection with just enough pressure to make him hiss at the contact. Your hand is slick with something cool against his skin, and he wonders how he missed you grabbing the bottle.
You lean down and flutter your lips across his collarbone and shoulders as he wraps his arms around you again and you climb gracefully into his lap.
Kakashi is enveloped in your warmth before he even knows you’re ready for him. He moans embarrassingly loud at the feeling, tucking his face against your neck in a failed bid to muffle the noise.
“I missed you,” you whisper against his ear as you sink down onto him again and Kakashi feels a now familiar sensation unfurling in his chest.
It’s warmth and gratitude.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Relief and contentment.
“I was so worried—ah.”
Love.
An emotion he’s long since identified, though he hasn’t given voice to it yet.
Because Kakashi knows, deep down, he is unworthy of such a thing—that even if you say it, there is no way you could ever mean it. Not for him.
As your hips undulate against his once more, Kakashi’s fingers dig into the flesh of your waist as he mouths at your neck between gasps of pleasure.
And then Kakashi realizes; you don’t know yet.
You’ve only just returned to the village. There’s no way you could have heard that he’s failed his students, lost them. That he is unworthy of the title of sensei, just as he’s unworthy of being called student or friend or guardian or son.
For days, he has been desperate to feel anything but loss and shame. And that his desperation, Kakashi squeezes his eyes closed, afraid if he looks at you he will lose his nerve because maybe—just maybe—he could trick you into saying it back to him just this once.
You feel so good around him—all around him, everywhere—and he just wants that feeling to cascade from now into forever.
“I love you,” he says, eyelids still pulled tightly closed as he feels the telltale prickle of tears in his Obito’s eye.
He registers your gasp and the way your confident movements stutter and then stall.
Your hands rove from his shoulders to his face, pushing his untamable hair out of his face before cupping his cheeks. Your thumb glances over his scar, a motion you use often when you want him to open his eyes and look at you.
So he does, and with the sharingan focused on you, he can see every minute detail of your face, even through the blur of his traitorous tears. He easily reads the uncertainty and surprise and something else in your eyes.
Love, he realizes, even as he also sees the way your eyes shimmer unnaturally in the low light of the room.
“I love you, too.”
It’s the first time since his father died someone has said those words aloud to him, and Kakashi is mortified by the pitiful sound he makes in response.
He knows it’s wrong—greedy and selfish—to want more of you, but he can’t help it, and he claims your mouth again as he maneuvers you onto your back, still buried inside you in way that makes you both moan wantonly with the transition.
His forehead is pressed to yours when he starts moving again, noses bumping and lips brushing so softly he can barely feel it, but he knows your mouth his there, whispering praises and reassurance.
Repeating those words again and again like a mantra, like you’re overflowing with them.
He drinks in every syllable as he presses into you, filling you with his needy body as he memorizes the way your voice sounds against his cheek, mumbling how much you care for him, telling him he’s perfect and good to you.
“I love you so much, Kakashi.”
And he is not proud of the fact that he loves to hear you whine and plead with him as he fucks you, but he does. The way your voice climbs higher and higher and higher as you beg him, “please, please, more, all of you” is like a song; a sound he’d listen to every moment of the day if he could.
You feel so good, your legs wrapped over his hips to drag him deeper, your arms draped over his shoulders, hands clasping his neck and his back as your foreheads remain pressed so tight together.
It’s the closest you’ve ever been to one another, he’s sure, and he never wants it to end.
It does, though, inevitably, as he cums as deeply inside you as he can. His cheeks warm at the gratified moan you release against his ear as you pull him into a sweaty hug, relishing the feeling of him seeping through you.
Kakashi nuzzles against your throat, teeth skimming over your pulse. He breathes you in—the scent of sweat and sex and swamp and you.
He doesn’t want to pull out; doesn’t want to leave your body, yet, and you don’t make him. Instead, you let your legs relax and tangle them with his, holding him in some awkward-froglike splay of your legs as if it’s the most natural thing you’ve ever done.
Kakashi is ashamed.
He’s tricked you into thinking he is some lovable thing worthy of you, of your body and your care. He can’t look at you, even as you ask him to, brushing his sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead and running your thumb over his scar again.
He’s afraid if he looks at you, his disloyal eye will loose tears over his cheek and he can’t do that because then you will know something is wrong.
You will ask him, and he will have you tell you that he has failed another team; that once again Kakashi the Friend Killer has fallen short of the lofty expectations set for him. Fallen short of honoring the memories of those he loved before you, those who entrusted the future to him.
“Kakashi, please look at me.”
He can’t. He won’t.
He presses impossibly closer, worried he might be hurting you by settling too much of his weight against you, but he just wants to linger in this gentle space a little longer. Tomorrow, he resolves, tomorrow he’ll tell you everything, and whatever you do—curse him, slap him, spit in his face as he deserves—he will accept it. Accept that he is unworthy of you and your love.
The same as everything else.
“I’m so sorry, ‘Kashi.”
It feels like vertigo, how quickly his stomach drops even as he cuddles closer to you, trying to hide within your radiating warmth as if that will save him from whatever might come next.
“Tenzo told me everything while I was waiting for Lady Tsunade to read my mission report and I… I’m just so sorry,” your voice hitches and even without the sharingan, your pain and your grief are so clear.
He wonders if this is the end. Perhaps tonight is your parting gift to a man destined to destroy; to be alone.
But instead of pushing him away, your grip around his shoulders tightens, “I should have been here.”
It takes several heartbeats for Kakashi to understand the full meaning of your words, but once he does, the tears he’s felt building in his left eye breech the levy of his eyelids and he cannot control them as they cascade down his cheek.
Because you knew. You’d known the whole time.
And you still came here. For him. You still loved him, you’d said as much.
Kakashi’s lips are greedy and deliberate as they map each curve and dip of your jaw, finding the space between your shoulder and neck before traversing the line of your collarbone and then up the seam of your throat to find your mouth.
It’s waiting for him, ready to return the fervent, sloppy kisses he plasters there. Your hands thread through his hair and you arch your back to press your chest closer to his and he cries out because he is so grateful.
So loved.
And after you’ve showered together—limbs far too tangled around one another to be properly cleaned, but after you’ve at least rinsed the worse of the grime from your bodies—Kakashi climbs under the sheets with you and pulls you tight against him, lacing his arms and legs around you like he is weaving a tapestry with your bodies.
He whispers those new words against your hair and cannot believe his luck when you say them back, punctuate them with a firm kiss to his apple of his throat.
And then, finally, secure in your embrace, in spite of all the pain and disappointment and uncertainty, Kakashi Hatake finally allows himself to rest.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Kakashi has no idea what do do with you. Trying to drown his sorrows and confusion in alcohol also proves to be futile, as you are sitting right at the bar with Genma hanging all over you.
~ X ~
Welcome back! It’s great to be able to post another chapter for this fic ^^
This chapter… is very jumbled and disjointed. This is my intention, however. With the theme being “Intoxicated” and me taking it literally, I tried to describe the strangeness of being drunk as much as I could. Still, little tw for people who aren’t comfortable with that :/
Thank you all so much for the support! The next chapter will be posted at the 28th of June! :D
~ X ~
He didn’t understand you. At all. One moment, you were pushing him away and the next, you drew him into your bedroom and comforted him. Comforted him with your touch, your kisses, your soft yet strong words. A shudder wandered down Kakashi’s back at the mere memory of that evening.
The entire day of remembrance was always hard on him. The battle of the Kannabi bridge may have birthed a war hero, but it also killed a hero in its own right way too soon. Like every year when he was in the village, Kakashi had spent the entire day in front of the memorial stone, silently conversing with the shameful voices inside his own head. Replaying the memory of that fateful day in his head countless times, accompanied by questions, doubts and shame. He could’ve been faster. He could have fought off the Iwa—shinobi and stopped him from injuring his eye. He could’ve been stronger, more understanding, less stuck up about the rules… So many ‘what-if’s’ and none of them would bring the solace Kakashi so desperately needed.
When the storm came hailing down on him, he welcomed the feeling. Being soaked to the bones, drenched and suffocated by the rain in a sense was freeing. Finally, the weight on his shoulders became physical. Finally, the rain hid the few tears spilling over. Finally, he could be truly and utterly alone, out in the storm with his thoughts and shame hanging over him.
pov: you believed there was a monster behind those stoic eyes, and you’d do anything you can to witness the darkness hidden within.
content/warnings: dom! fem reader who becomes bratty! sub reader, oral (m receiving), overstimulation, vaginal sex, megumi takes it from behind that’s my boi, hair pulling, biting (save me), FERAL MEGUMI FERAL MEGUMI, degradation, orgasm denial, slight mindbreak, overall filth, angry sex, implied corruption kink, unedited fic sorry for typos and mistakes
note: @noritoshiikamo so it seems like writing smut for feral megumi is now my way of coping to stress from school asghjkl screw physics man my brain is fried
masterlist !
Megumi was just so damn pretty.
He was close enough that you’ve finished counting his lashes, and now you were moving on to memorizing the rhythm of his blinks. You sighed, chin clutched at the palm of your hand as you watched him discuss something about curses.
You weren’t listening, but that wasn’t a new thing.
You never listened to anyone, especially not to Principal Yaga who forced Megumi to tutor you just so you wouldn’t get kicked out of Jujutsu Tech for your failing marks.
recently just found out gojos fingers are 6.25 inches long , can yoh pleas write a fan fic where it’s all about gojos hands ? i have a severe and rare case of an extreme hand kink that was confirmed by my doctor pleas i just need gojos hands to finger the fuck out of me while he talks about his hands
Honestly did not think this was request was as bad as the other ones in my submissions!
Gojo does have big hands I’d like to think they’re smooth because he gets work done quickly I don’t think he’s doing grueling work with his hands 😂
Anyways let’s continue (this is all speculation on my part)
SOURCE A:
As you can see why crouched Toji reaches about Gojo’s shoulder, when fully stood I assume he would reach a little over.
SOURCE B:
Here both Gojo and Toji are semi-crouched and again Toji is only slightly shorter than Gojo.
SOURCE C:
A different angle, Gojo has his legs spread making him shorter and Toji is crouched in order to plunge the knife. Toji is still short than Gojo but not by a lot.
SOURCE D:
Here Toji is free falling and is stretched to his full height, if we crop Toji and place him at the same standing point Toji is taller than Nanami, BUT we need to account for the fact Nanami is crouched so standing Nanami and Toji would be similar in height.
OK SO basically... Some people are speculating that the worm is a curse manifestation of Megumi and Tsumiki’s abandonment, they also think that the words the worm spoke are Megumi’s last words to Toji. JUST A THEORY
I’m not completely sure but I think the worm was saying something like “papa hug me” or something along those lines...
hi can you please write a short story about how the ready puts an icecube inside her 🐱 and then gojo puts the icecube in his water and drinks it pls thank you
I’m sorry WHAT ... ICE CUBE 🧊??? IN A DRINK 😭 WHAT IN THE WORLD I CANT, but here’s him putting sugar in his coffee. I KNOW that coffee is super sweet!!!
mmm Toji worm tho, it feels like an ugly pet now tbh, imagine it all cute and wiggling towards u and nudging ur hand like cmon
It’s cute I’m ngl, or maybe I’m that down bad for Toji that I’m willing to accept him with his worm and all 😭 I HEARD A CRAZY THEORY ABOUT THE WORM 😭 the worm got theories!!
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