Mmmmh if you're looking for drabble ideas, what about marking with Kakashi? He strikes me as someone who enjoys it, both leaving bites where other may see, but also his own partner marking him. Bites trailing down the abdomen, scratches from desperate scratching down the back/hips. Bruises from how tight they hold each other. Seeing those marks and getting all revved up again at the evidence of their love
Kakashi’s hands were already bruising your hips by the time the door clicked shut behind you—rough, calloused palms digging into the soft flesh hard enough that you felt the individual pressure of each fingertip, the heat of his skin searing through the thin fabric of your pants. The air in the room still carried the faint metallic tang of the training grounds and the clean scent of his soap mixed with sweat.
He didn’t bother with the lights. The streetlamp outside painted silver stripes across the floorboards and over the sharp line of his jaw as he crowded you back against the wall. His mask was still up. You could feel the warm puff of his breath through the fabric when he leaned in, the soft black cotton brushing your lips. You yanked it down yourself. The second it dropped, the full heat of his mouth crashed into yours—lips already parted, tongue sliding in deep and claiming. He tasted like the mild tea he’d been drinking earlier and something darker, hungrier. His teeth caught your lower lip and bit down until the sting bloomed sharp and bright; you gasped and he swallowed the sound, sucking hard enough that you knew the flesh would be swollen and red later.
His hands shoved under your shirt without ceremony. Rough palms dragged up your sides, thumbs pressing into the soft give of your waist until the skin ached in the best way. You felt every ridge of his calluses, every flex of tendon as he gripped harder. The fabric of your shirt scraped up over your ribs; the cooler air hit your skin for half a second before his mouth left yours and latched onto the side of your neck.
The wet heat of his tongue dragged over your pulse first—slow, deliberate—then his teeth sank in. Not a tease. A real bite, pressure building until the sharp edge of pain bloomed into heat that raced straight down between your legs. You felt the exact moment the skin broke just enough for a tiny bead of blood; he lapped it up with a low, rough groan that vibrated against your throat. The sound was filthy, almost animal. Your fingers tangled in his silver hair and yanked; the strands were soft and slightly damp with sweat from the day. He pressed harder into you in answer, the thick ridge of his cock grinding against your lower belly through both layers of clothing.
“Been thinking about this all day,” he muttered against the fresh mark, voice gravel-rough. Hot breath ghosted over the wet skin. “Watching you walk through the village. Knowing no one else gets to put their mouth on you like this.” Another bite, lower this time, right above your collarbone. He sucked hard enough that you felt the blood rising under the skin, the dull throb already starting. The wet sound of his mouth working over the mark filled the quiet room.
You shoved his flak jacket off his shoulders. The heavy canvas scraped down his arms; underneath, his black shirt clung to the lean muscle of his chest and the faint sheen of sweat at his collarbones. You dragged the shirt up and off. The moment his bare skin met the air you raked your nails down the long line of his spine—hard. The raised red lines bloomed instantly under your fingertips; you felt the slight give of skin, the way the muscle jumped beneath. Kakashi hissed through his teeth, a sharp, pleased sound, and rolled his hips against yours so you could feel how hard he already was.
“That’s it,” he breathed, forehead dropping to your shoulder. His breath was hot and uneven. “Mark me back. I want to feel you for days. Want every shift of my shirt to remind me.”
You did. Your nails scored deeper this time, dragging from the nape of his neck all the way down to the small of his back. Tiny dots of blood beaded along the deepest scratches. The metallic scent mixed with the clean sweat of his skin. He shuddered hard and yanked your shirt the rest of the way off, then your bra. The cooler air tightened your nipples instantly; he bent and took one into his mouth without warning—hot, wet suction, teeth grazing the sensitive peak just hard enough to sting. You arched into him with a broken sound. His free hand pinched the other nipple, rolling it between rough fingers until the ache was almost too much.
Then he was kissing lower. The trail of bites started between your breasts—sharp pressure, a swirl of tongue, the wet heat of his mouth sealing over the skin until the mark darkened. He worked his way down the soft plane of your stomach with meticulous care. Each bite was deliberate: the slow sink of teeth, the way the skin yielded, the wet pull of his lips as he sucked a deep purple bloom into place. You felt every single one—the bright sting, the warmth spreading under the surface, the way the air cooled the saliva left behind. By the time he reached the waistband of your pants your abdomen was a map of overlapping crescents, some already darkening to the color of bruises. Your thighs were trembling. The ache between them was a heavy, pulsing throb; you could feel how wet you were, the slickness coating your inner thighs.
Kakashi looked up from his knees. One dark eye fixed on your face, the other half-hidden behind silver bangs that stuck slightly to his forehead with sweat. His lips were shiny and slightly swollen. The trail of bites he’d left looked angry and red against your skin. He leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss right over your navel, then lower, nose brushing the soft hair above your cunt as he yanked your pants and underwear down in one rough motion. The fabric scraped over your hips; the cooler air hit the soaked folds between your legs and made you shiver.
He didn’t tease. He buried his face between your thighs and licked a long, filthy stripe from your entrance all the way up over your clit. The heat of his tongue was sudden and overwhelming—broad and wet, the slight roughness of it dragging over the swollen, sensitive flesh. You tasted yourself on his breath when he groaned. Two fingers pushed inside you without warning, thick and calloused, curling immediately against that perfect spot. The stretch burned for a second before melting into pure heat. Wet sounds filled the room—obscene, slick, the soft filthy noise of his fingers working in and out while his tongue circled your clit with ruthless focus. You clawed at his shoulders; the muscle jumped under your nails as you left half-moon marks that matched the ones on his back. When you came the first time it ripped through you hard—thighs clamping around his head, cunt clenching around his fingers in tight, rhythmic pulses. He licked you through it, slower now, tasting every tremor, until the oversensitivity made you whimper and try to push him away.
He stood. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The lower half of his face was shiny with your slick. He shoved his own pants down; his cock sprang free—thick, flushed dark at the head, a clear bead of precome already sliding down the underside. The scent of him hit you: clean skin, musk, the faint salt of sweat. He lifted you easily, strong hands under your thighs, and carried you the few steps to the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight. He crawled over you, the heat of his body radiating against yours, and paused just long enough to bite the soft inner skin of your thigh high up—hard enough that you felt the skin almost break. The sting shot straight to your cunt.
Then he pushed inside you in one long, relentless thrust.
The stretch was intense—thick heat splitting you open, the wet glide of him filling every inch until his hips pressed flush against yours. You felt the heavy pulse of his cock deep inside, the way your walls fluttered around the intrusion. He stayed still for a second, breathing hard against your neck, letting you adjust. Then he started moving—deep, rolling thrusts that dragged over every sensitive place inside you. The wet sound of your bodies meeting was loud in the quiet room. Skin slapped against skin. His hips snapped harder; the headboard knocked softly against the wall.
“Look at you,” he muttered, voice wrecked and low. Hot breath ghosted over the fresh bite on your neck. “Taking me so well. Gonna leave you covered in me. Want everyone to see.”
He shifted the angle and drove deeper. At the same time his teeth sank into the other side of your neck. The dual sensation—thick cock stretching you open and the sharp bright pain of his bite—ripped a cry from your throat. Your nails scrambled down his back, scoring fresh lines over the ones you’d already left. The skin broke in places; you felt the slight wetness of blood under your fingertips. Kakashi groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever felt and fucked into you harder, the rhythm turning rough and desperate. His hands pinned your wrists above your head for a few thrusts so he could suck dark bruises into the soft undersides of your arms—wet, open-mouthed, the suction strong enough that you felt the blood rising. Then his grip shifted to your thighs, spreading you wider, fingers digging bruises into the soft flesh as he drove impossibly deeper.
You came a second time with his teeth in your shoulder and his name torn from your throat in a broken sob. Your cunt clamped down hard around him; the wet rush of your orgasm made every thrust louder, slicker. He didn’t stop. He kept going, chasing his own release, the wet slap of skin and the filthy sound of his cock dragging through your come filling the room. When he finally came it was with a low, guttural groan against your neck—hips stuttering, cock pulsing deep as he spilled thick and hot inside you. You felt every spurt, the warmth of it, the way it began to leak out around his shaft when he finally stilled.
He stayed buried for a long moment, breathing hard, still gently rocking through the aftershocks. Then he pulled out carefully. The sudden emptiness made you clench around nothing; a thick trickle of his come slid down between your cheeks. He rolled onto his back and pulled you over his chest. His skin was hot and slightly damp with sweat. You could smell the clean salt of it mixed with the sharper scent of sex. His fingers traced the trail of bites down your abdomen—gentle now, but the skin was so sensitive that even the lightest touch made you shiver. Each mark throbbed in time with your heartbeat.
“Mine,” he murmured, almost to himself.
You propped yourself up on one elbow and looked down at him. His chest and shoulders were covered in raised red scratches, some beading tiny dots of blood that had already started to dry. There was a dark bruise forming on the side of his neck where you’d bitten him earlier, and another lower, just above his collarbone—purple already blooming under the skin. His hips bore the clear imprint of your nails. The scratches on his back looked even more vivid against the pale silver of his skin.
Kakashi’s eye tracked the path of your gaze. A slow, filthy smile curved his swollen mouth.
You answered by leaning down and sucking a fresh mark into the skin just above his heart. The salt of his skin hit your tongue first, then the faint metallic tang where your earlier scratches had broken the surface. You sucked hard, feeling the skin give under your lips, the way the blood rose to darken the bruise. He exhaled sharply, one hand cradling the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair and tightening just enough to sting. When you pulled back the mark was already a deep, angry purple.
“Your turn,” you whispered.
He didn’t need to be told twice.
Kakashi flipped you onto your stomach with effortless strength. The sheets were cool against your overheated skin for half a second before the heat of his body covered you. He straddled your thighs, the heavy weight of his cock—already hardening again—resting against the cleft of your ass. His hands slid up your back, mapping every vertebra, the calluses catching slightly on the sweat-damp skin. Then his mouth followed. He bit the nape of your neck first—hard, possessive—then the curve of your shoulder, then lower, leaving a constellation of marks down your spine. Each one was a bright spark of pain that melted into heat. When he reached the small of your back he paused, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, before sinking them in hard enough that you whimpered into the pillow. The wet sound of his mouth working over the mark was filthy.
His hands gripped your hips, thumbs pressing deep bruises into the soft flesh, and he lifted you just enough to slide back inside. The angle was deeper like this. You felt every thick inch of him dragging over the sensitive front wall of your cunt, the wet glide of his earlier come easing the way. He fucked you slow at first, savoring the way you clenched around him, the soft filthy sounds of your bodies meeting. Every few thrusts he’d lean down and add another bite—your shoulder blade, the side of your ribs, the place where your neck met your shoulder. You could feel the heat of each new mark blooming under his mouth, the way the skin tightened and throbbed.
When he finally let go of your hips it was only so he could reach under you and rub slow, firm circles over your clit. His fingers were slick with the mess of both of you. You came hard, thighs shaking, cunt pulsing around his cock in tight waves. He followed a moment later with a broken groan, burying himself to the hilt as he filled you again—hot, thick pulses that you felt deep inside.
Afterward he collapsed half on top of you, careful not to crush you completely. His chest was pressed to your back; you felt the rapid beat of his heart and the damp heat of his skin. His fingers traced the scratches you’d left on his arms earlier, then the deeper ones on his back. You could feel him getting hard again already, the evidence of what you’d done to each other clearly affecting him as much as it was you. The room smelled thickly of sex—salt and musk and the faint metallic edge of the marks you’d left on each other.
Kakashi rolled you onto your side so you faced each other. In the low light the marks looked almost black against your skin—his teeth on your throat, the messy trail of bites marching down your stomach, the fingerprints on your hips, the dark ovals on the insides of your thighs. On him the scratches stood out in vivid red, the bruises on his neck and collarbone already turning a deep, saturated purple. A thin smear of dried blood marked one of the deeper lines on his shoulder.
He touched one of the bites on your abdomen with the pad of his thumb, gentle now. The skin was hot and tender under the light pressure.
“These are going to look even better in the morning,” he said quietly, voice still rough. “When they’re darker. When you put on your clothes and still feel them every time you move. Every time the fabric brushes over them.”
His cock twitched against your thigh, already half-hard again. You reached down and wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly. The skin was hot and silky-smooth over the hard length, still slick in places with the mess of both of you. You felt the heavy pulse under your palm. He exhaled sharply, eye fluttering shut for a second.
“You’re already hard again,” you murmured.
“Can you blame me?” He opened his eye and looked at you, something soft and filthy all at once in his gaze. “Look at what we did to each other.”
He leaned in and kissed you, slower this time, but no less hungry. You tasted yourself on his tongue—musky and slightly sweet—mixed with the salt of his skin. His hand slid between your legs, fingers gathering the thick mess of come leaking out of you and pushing it back inside with two slow, deliberate thrusts. You gasped into his mouth. He smiled against your lips, the curve of it wicked.
“Round three?” he asked, already shifting so he could settle between your thighs again. The head of his cock nudged against your entrance, hot and insistent.
You answered by wrapping your legs around him and dragging your nails down his back one more time, hard enough to make him shudder and leave fresh red lines over the older ones.
Kakashi pushed into you with a low, satisfied groan. The marks on your bodies pressed together—his teeth against your skin, your scratches against his—and every time he thrust the evidence of how thoroughly you’d claimed each other only made the next movement more desperate. He fucked you slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to carve himself into you from the inside out. Every time he bottomed out he leaned down and added another bite—your jaw, the soft spot under your ear, the swell of your breast. You left matching ones on his throat, his shoulder, the place where his neck met his jaw. By the time you both came again the sheets were a wreck, your bodies a living map of bruises and scratches and love bites, and Kakashi was still holding you like he never planned to let go—fingers tracing every mark he’d left, already half-hard again at the sight of the evidence of your love written all over each other’s skin.
