#naruto smut

[kamuifade]

When kakashi comes to know that you have never been able to orgasm , he takes a challenge - reading every books on “the topic” and finding out the best techniques, angles, human anatomy . Y/n had sex multiple times in life - all of them hookups mainly , she realised she is not someone who can easily come, initially she hated herself for it but gradually she accepted it - but never left the hope , only when her hope was fading Kakashi entered her life ( They started as mission buddies . But one night in a Cold dark cave with snowstorm outside changed everything . The hookups started (deep down kakashi likes her hehe) After doing it he notices it , most men didn’t even noticed. So she tells him about it doubting maybe her body is made this way , most women cant experience it anyway in real life its all fiction - from that moment onward he Reads every book, every technique, even taking advise from experts indirectly ( jiraiya-sama scene pleaseeeeeee) and then returns with a determination. And rest i leave it to youuuuuuuuuuuuuuu🙌

I tried to make this as close to the request as I could 😔

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You almost regretted telling him.

It had come up one night while the two of you were snuggling on the couch after dinner, the soft glow of the lamp casting warm shadows across the room. Kakashi’s arm was draped loosely around your shoulders, his fingers absently tracing lazy patterns on your upper arm. Without thinking much of it, you’d admitted something you’d never told anyone else—that you’d never been able to orgasm with a partner, that even alone it had always been a frustrating, drawn-out struggle. Hookups left you aching and unsatisfied no matter what you said or did. You’d long since accepted that you were simply one of those women who had a hard time finishing.

Kakashi had gone oddly silent. When you turned your head, his visible eye was contemplative. He hadn’t said much that night—just pulled you closer and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

In the weeks that followed he became a man on a mission. He read every book he could find on female anatomy, arousal, and orgasm. Thick volumes, detailed diagrams, articles that made your cheeks burn when you glimpsed them on his desk. He even messaged Jiraiya for advice. The idea of the Toad Sage giving your boyfriend pointers on how to make you come nearly made you sink through the floor.

Finally, after weeks of research, Kakashi wanted to show you what he’d learned.

You agreed, already braced for disappointment.

Now you lay naked beneath him in the soft light of your shared bedroom. Kakashi’s mask was off, silver hair falling messily around his face. His eye was soft, focused, almost hungry. The air between you already smelled faintly of skin and the faint citrus of the soap you’d both used earlier.

“Just relax love,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Let me take care of you.”

He started slow. So slow it almost drove you insane.

His mouth found yours first—deep, unhurried kisses that stole your breath. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing them open, tasting you like he had all the time in the world. You could feel the slight scrape of stubble against your chin, the warmth of his breath, the way his lips were soft but insistent. One hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head while the other drifted down your side, fingertips skating over the curve of your waist, the soft skin of your hip, leaving faint trails of heat.

When he finally broke the kiss it was only to trail his mouth along your jaw, down the column of your throat. He lingered at the sensitive spot just below your ear, nipping gently before soothing the skin with his tongue. The wet heat of his mouth made you shiver. You could hear the soft, wet sound of each kiss, feel the faint vibration of his low hum against your skin.

Kakashi worked his way lower, kissing a path between your breasts. His hands came up to cup them, thumbs brushing over your nipples in light, teasing strokes until they hardened under his touch—tight, sensitive peaks that ached for more. Then his mouth closed over one, warm and wet. He sucked gently at first, then harder, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud while his fingers rolled and pinched the other. The dual sensation sent sparks racing down your spine. You could feel the slight roughness of his tongue, the wet pull of his mouth, the way your nipple stiffened even further between his lips. He switched sides, giving the other the same thorough attention, until both were flushed, glistening, and aching. A soft, wet pop sounded each time he released one.

“Kakashi—”

“Shh.” He pressed a kiss between your breasts, looking up at you with that calm, intent gaze. “I’m not rushing this baby.”

His hand slid lower, palm gliding over your stomach, then lower still. When his fingers finally brushed between your legs you were already slick—hot, wet heat coating your folds. He hummed in quiet approval, the sound vibrating against your skin. He traced the seam of your folds with maddeningly light strokes. Up and down, never quite pressing where you needed him most. You could feel the pad of his fingertip sliding through your wetness, the soft, slick sound of it, the way your hips tried to rock up into his hand. He held you steady with a firm palm on your thigh, the warmth of his hand grounding you.

“Patience,” he murmured against your skin.

Only when you were breathing harder, thighs trembling, did he finally part your folds and find your clit. His touch was deliberate—slow, firm circles that made your breath hitch. Not too light, not too rough. Exactly the pressure that made your toes curl. You could feel the slight roughness of his calloused fingertip against the swollen, hypersensitive nub, the way your wetness slicked his skin, the building heat that pulsed outward with every circle. He watched your face the entire time, adjusting the rhythm based on every tiny reaction. When your hips jerked he slowed. When a soft moan slipped out of you he kept the same steady pace, building the heat higher without ever pushing you over the edge.

You were dripping down his hand by the time he finally shifted lower. Kakashi settled between your thighs, pushing them wider. The first slow drag of his tongue over your clit made you cry out. Hot, wet, deliberate. He licked you like he was memorizing the taste—long, thorough strokes from entrance to clit, then focused, rhythmic flicks that had your fingers twisting in the sheets. You could feel the flat of his tongue pressing firm against you, the tip circling, the soft, wet sounds of him eating you out filling the quiet room. Two fingers slid inside you easily, curling upward with purpose. He found that sensitive spot almost immediately and pressed against it in time with his tongue. The dual sensation had your back arching off the bed—the thick stretch of his fingers, the firm pressure against that hidden place inside, the relentless wet heat of his mouth on your clit.

“Fuck—Kakashi—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t speed up. Just kept that relentless, measured pace until your thighs were shaking around his head and your cunt was clenching around his fingers. You were so wet the sounds were obscene—slick, wet suction every time he licked, the soft squelch of his fingers pumping in and out. The scent of your arousal hung in the air between you. Still he didn’t rush. Only when your moans turned desperate, when you were right on the edge of something that felt almost foreign, did he finally pull away.

You made a broken sound of protest. Kakashi only kissed the inside of your thigh—soft, open-mouthed, leaving a faint wet mark—then moved back up your body. His cock was hard and heavy against your hip, the thick length of him hot against your skin. You could feel the smooth head dragging through the mess between your legs as he settled over you again. He reached down, guiding himself to your entrance. The blunt head of him nudged against your soaked folds, smearing your wetness over himself.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

You did. His eye was dark, focused entirely on you as he pushed in—slow, steady, filling you inch by inch. The stretch was perfect, the pressure against that sensitive spot inside you immediate and overwhelming. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. You could feel every ridge of him, the thick girth spreading you open, the way your walls fluttered and clenched around the intrusion. Heat bloomed deep inside as he bottomed out, buried to the hilt, his hips flush against yours.

Kakashi didn’t thrust right away. He stayed deep, letting you adjust, grinding his hips in a slow circle that made his cock rub directly against that place that had always been so hard for anyone else to find. The friction was exquisite—thick, hot, relentless. Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice strained.

You nodded, barely able to form words.

He hooked his hands behind your knees and pushed your legs up toward your chest, folding you open. The new angle drove him even deeper. When he finally started to move, every thrust hit that sweet spot with devastating precision. Slow at first—long, deep strokes that made you feel every ridge of him dragging along your walls. Then faster, the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your cunt filling the room—slick, rhythmic, filthy. You could hear the soft slap of skin, the wet squelch of your arousal, the low, rough sounds he made in the back of his throat.

You’d never felt anything like it. The pressure built so quickly it almost scared you—tight, coiling heat low in your belly that had nothing to do with the usual frustrating almost. Kakashi kept one hand on your thigh, holding you open, while the other slid between your bodies. His fingers found your clit again, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming—the thick stretch and drag of his cock, the firm pressure against your G-spot, the relentless circles on your swollen clit.

“That’s it love,” he murmured, voice rough against your ear. “Just like that. Let it happen for me.”

Your body tightened around him. The pleasure was sharper now, more intense than anything you’d managed alone. You could feel it rising, cresting higher with every deep thrust, every press of his fingers. Kakashi’s pace never faltered. He fucked you with the same focused intensity he’d brought to everything else—studying the way your face changed, the way your cunt fluttered and clenched around him, adjusting until every movement dragged another broken moan from your throat. Sweat slicked both your skins. The air smelled of sex and skin and the faint scent of his shampoo. Your thighs trembled against his hands. Your cunt made wet, filthy sounds around his cock with every thrust.

“Kakashi—I think—I’m—”

“I know baby, I know.” His forehead pressed to yours, breath hot against your lips. “I’ve got you. Come for me.”

The orgasm hit like a wave. It rolled through you in deep, pulsing waves, your cunt clenching hard around his cock as pleasure crashed over you—hot, overwhelming, almost too much. You cried out, thighs shaking, vision blurring at the edges. It was stronger and longer than anything you’d ever managed on your own. Your walls fluttered and squeezed around him in rhythmic pulses, milking him, the wet heat of your release coating his cock and dripping down onto the sheets. Kakashi kept thrusting through it, drawing it out, his fingers still working your clit until you were gasping and oversensitive and still coming, little aftershocks sparking through you with every grind of his hips.

Only when the last tremors faded did he let himself go. A few more deep thrusts and he buried himself to the hilt with a low, guttural groan, spilling inside you in hot pulses. You felt every throb of him—the thick, rhythmic spurts of his release flooding you, the way his cock twitched and jerked as he came. Heat bloomed deep inside. His body tensed above yours, muscles locking, breath harsh against your mouth.

For a long moment neither of you moved. Kakashi’s forehead stayed pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard. You could feel the wet heat of his cum starting to leak out around his cock, the sticky mess between your bodies, the way your cunt still fluttered weakly around him. When he finally eased your legs down and carefully pulled out, you made a soft sound at the sudden emptiness. A thick trickle of his release followed, warm and slick against your inner thighs.

He rolled to the side, gathering you against his chest, one hand stroking slow circles on your back. You were still trembling. Your skin felt oversensitive everywhere he’d touched—lips swollen from kissing, nipples still tight and aching, clit throbbing faintly, the deep, pleasant ache inside you a reminder of how thoroughly he’d fucked you.

Kakashi pressed a kiss to your hair. “You okay?”

You nodded against his collarbone, voice unsteady when you finally spoke. “I… I didn’t think it was possible.”

His arm tightened around you. “It was always possible. You just needed someone willing to learn.”

You closed your eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the pleasant ache between your legs, the soft sticky slide of his cum still leaking from you. For the first time in a long time, the old frustration felt distant. Almost irrelevant.

Kakashi had done exactly what he set out to do.

And you already knew he wasn’t finished.

[kamuifade]

this is kinda specific I’m sorry 🥹💔

I really think the dynamic between a spoilt rich girl and shikamaru would be so cute together 😭 LIKE IMAGINE ONE DAY SHES KINDA RUDE AND HER AND SHIKAMARU GET INTO AN ARGUMENT?? AND IT TURNS INTO ANGRY SEX 😋 butttt even though he’s rough during it, there’s small things he does that gives reader butterflies and feels sort of flustered?? like I’d imagine maybe he pushes her into a wall but places his hand behind her head so she doesn’t hurt herself!! ITS SO CUTEEE it’s like fluff and smut ehhehehehe anyway the reader feels bad and apologies and is all soft and cute with him at the end 😇😇

Shikamaru had always known you were spoiled.

It was one of the first things that had drawn him in, weirdly enough. The way you expected the world to bend around you, the way your lower lip would push out just slightly when something didn’t go your way, the way you’d look at him like he was supposed to fix it. Most people found it exhausting. Shikamaru found it… interesting. Like a particularly complicated shogi problem he couldn’t stop poking at.

You lived together in a quiet house on the outskirts of Konoha, far enough from the noise that he could actually think. Most days were good. He’d sprawl on the porch with a cigarette while you draped yourself across his lap, complaining about whatever minor inconvenience had dared to exist in your presence. He’d hum noncommittally, stroke your hair, and somehow the problem would dissolve under the weight of his quiet attention.

Today was not most days.

It started over something stupid. A mission report he was supposed to have finished yesterday. You’d asked him—twice—to come with you to the market because you wanted the new silk fabric that had just arrived, and you’d decided you needed him there to carry things and also to look at you while you tried it on. He’d said he’d be done soon. “Soon” had stretched into the afternoon. When you finally stomped into his study, the scroll was still only half-filled and he was half-asleep in his chair, cigarette dangling from his fingers, one long leg stretched out carelessly. The air smelled faintly of tobacco and ink.

“You’re unbelievable,” you snapped, voice sharp enough to cut. “I asked you one thing. One. And you’re still sitting here like the village is going to collapse if you don’t finish that stupid report.”

Shikamaru didn’t even open his eyes. The late sunlight painted lazy stripes across his face through the half-open window. “It’s not stupid. It’s classified.”

“Bullshit. You’re just lazy.”

That got him. One dark eye cracked open, lazy and unimpressed, the usual half-lidded calm flickering with something sharper. “I’m efficient. There’s a difference.”

You scoffed, arms crossing under your chest, chin tilting up in that spoiled little way that usually made him want to kiss the attitude right off your mouth. Your foot tapped once against the wooden floor. “Efficient at ignoring me, maybe. Do you even care that I’ve been waiting? Or am I just background noise to you?”

He sat up slowly, rolling his shoulders with a quiet crack of joints. The cigarette was stubbed out in the ashtray with deliberate calm, the last curl of smoke rising between you, acrid and familiar. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being honest. You’re always like this. Everything is too much trouble. Even me.”

The air in the room shifted, thickening with something heavier than the lingering smoke.

Shikamaru stood. He wasn’t particularly tall, but the way he moved—unhurried, intentional, all lean muscle and quiet threat—made the space feel smaller. You held your ground, chin still high, even as something nervous fluttered low in your stomach. The scent of tobacco and warm skin reached you when he stepped closer, mixed with the faint clean soap smell that always clung to him.

“That’s not true,” he said quietly, voice low enough that it almost felt like a warning.

“It is. You’d rather stare at clouds than deal with me when I’m difficult.”

“You’re always difficult.”

“Then maybe you should find someone easier.”

The words landed harder than you’d meant them to. You saw it in the slight tightening around his eyes, the way his jaw flexed once before he forced it loose again. He stepped closer still, until the toes of his sandals nearly touched yours. You didn’t step back. Your pulse was already climbing, a quick throb you could feel in your throat.

“You don’t mean that,” he murmured, dark eyes searching your face.

“Maybe I do.”

His hand came up, not gentle. Long fingers curled around your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at him. His thumb pressed against the soft hinge of your jaw, not quite painful, just firm enough to make your breath hitch. The calluses on his palm scraped lightly against your skin, rough and warm. “Say it again.”

Your pulse jumped hard against his fingers. “I—”

“Say it,” he repeated, voice lower, rougher, the lazy drawl stripped away. “If you mean it.”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out that wasn’t a shaky breath. The spoiled, sharp edge you’d been clinging to cracked under the weight of his stare. He was so close now you could smell the faint smoke on his clothes, the warm skin beneath, the clean scent of whatever soap he’d used that morning. His body heat bled into yours, making the space between you feel charged.

“I didn’t think so,” he said.

Then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It was a claim—mouth hard against yours, tongue pushing past your lips the second you gasped. You tasted the faint bitterness of tobacco and the warmer, cleaner taste of him as his tongue slid against yours, wet and demanding. You made a startled sound that melted into something needy almost immediately, the noise muffled against his mouth. His other hand fisted in the front of your shirt and walked you backward until your shoulders hit the wall with a soft thud. The impact should have hurt. It didn’t. His palm was already there, cradling the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair to cushion you even as he pinned you firmly in place. The careful protection sent an unexpected flutter through your chest, warm and dizzying.

That small, automatic care made something in your stomach twist sweetly even as heat flooded between your legs, a sudden slickness you could already feel.

He bit your lower lip, hard enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue, licking into your mouth like he was trying to taste the argument right out of you. The wet sound of the kiss filled the quiet room. “You want to pick a fight?” he muttered against your mouth, breath hot and slightly smoke-tinged. “Fine. But you’re not walking away from it.”

You shoved at his chest—more for show than anything, palms flat against the solid muscle beneath his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin through the fabric—and he caught both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head against the wall. The wood was cool against your knuckles. The other hand stayed behind your skull, thumb stroking once, almost apologetically, before he kissed you again, deeper, dirtier. You could feel him getting hard against your hip, the thick, insistent press of him through his pants making heat pulse low in your belly. Your spoiled defiance wavered; a soft, flustered sound escaped you when he ground against you deliberately, the friction sending a spark of pleasure straight between your legs.

“Shika—”

“Quiet.” He released your wrists only long enough to yank your shirt up and over your head in one rough motion. The fabric scraped over your skin. Your bra followed a second later, roughly shoved down so he could get his mouth on your breast. He sucked hard, teeth scraping the sensitive peak, the wet heat of his mouth making you gasp. You arched with a broken sound, head tipping back, the pull of his lips sending a direct line of heat down to your core. His hand returned to the back of your head the moment he pushed you harder into the wall, fingers protective even while his mouth was anything but. The contrast made your knees weak—the roughness of his teeth, the careful cradle of his palm, the wet, rhythmic suction. You felt yourself growing wetter by the second, the spoiled anger dissolving into something hotter and more desperate, the slickness between your thighs becoming obvious.

It was the contradiction that undid you. The way he growled against your skin like a curse and then immediately gentled the pressure when you whimpered. The way his free hand squeezed your waist hard enough to leave faint marks while the one in your hair stayed so careful. You could smell your own arousal starting to mix with the scent of him, warm and intimate.

He spun you around suddenly, chest to the wall, and you felt the warm, solid press of his body along your entire back—the heat of his chest, the hardness of his cock trapped against the curve of your ass. One hand still shielded your forehead from the wood, palm warm and steady, the slight roughness of his calluses a constant reminder. The other yanked your skirt up roughly, the fabric bunching at your waist, then shoved your underwear down just far enough to bare you. Cool air kissed your exposed skin for a second before his fingers found you, sliding through the slickness with a wet sound. You heard the rustle of his own clothes, the soft, frustrated curse when he freed himself. The blunt, hot head of his cock nudged against your entrance, already slick for him, and you felt the heat of it, the slight wetness of his own precum mixing with yours.

“You drive me insane,” he said against the shell of your ear, voice rough and close, breath hot enough to make you shiver. “Every damn day.”

Then he pushed in.

It was a single, deep thrust that punched the air from your lungs. The stretch was intense—thick, hot, filling you completely in one relentless slide. You cried out, fingers scrabbling against the wall, nails catching on the grain. The wet sound of him sinking into you was filthy and loud in the quiet room. He didn’t give you time to adjust—just set a hard, punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the air with every thrust. His hand stayed between your forehead and the wall the entire time, a constant, careful barrier even as he fucked you like he was trying to prove a point. Every thrust dragged against that perfect spot inside you, sharp and overwhelming, the friction of his cock dragging along your walls sending sparks up your spine. Your spoiled, angry protests had long since dissolved into broken little moans and gasps, the sounds punched out of you with every snap of his hips.

“Still think I don’t care?” he ground out, teeth grazing your shoulder, then biting down just enough to make you shudder. The sharp sting mixed with the deep, relentless pleasure. “Still think I should find someone else?”

You couldn’t form words. The stretch of him, the heat, the way his body caged yours so completely—it was too much. You could feel every ridge, every thick inch as he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, the wet sound of it growing louder, filthier. Your inner walls fluttered around him, slick and greedy. He reached around, fingers finding your clit with practiced accuracy, rubbing tight, relentless circles that made your knees buckle. The wetness of your arousal coated his fingers. The only reason you didn’t slide down the wall was his arm banded around your waist and that stubborn, gentle hand protecting your head. You could smell the musk of sex now, heavy and intimate, mixed with the lingering tobacco on his skin.

“Shikamaru—ah—slow—”

“No.” He bit the side of your neck, not hard enough to mark permanently, just enough to send sparks racing down your spine. His breath was hot against your skin, and you could feel the slight dampness of it. “You wanted my attention. You have it.”

He pulled out suddenly, the sudden emptiness making you whimper, the cool air against your soaked, open entrance a sharp contrast to the heat of him. Then he spun you again and lifted you like you weighed nothing. Your legs locked around his waist on instinct, arms looping around his neck. You could feel the slickness of your own arousal smearing against his stomach. He carried you the few steps to the low table in the corner, swept the mission scrolls aside with one arm in a careless cascade of paper, and laid you down. The second your back touched the wood his hand was under your head again, cradling, always cradling, even as he shoved back into you with a groan that sounded almost pained. The stretch was even deeper like this. You could see his face—flushed, eyes half-lidded and dark, the usual calm completely gone. A thin sheen of sweat already gleamed at his temple. He looked wrecked. Hungry. And still, every time he braced himself over you, one hand found its way beneath your skull, fingers gentle in your hair while the rest of him was anything but. The wet, rhythmic sound of him fucking into you filled the room, punctuated by the soft creak of the table.

“Look at me,” he ordered, voice low and rough, slightly breathless.

You did. Your eyes were wet. You weren’t sure when that had happened. The intensity of his gaze made your stomach flip with that same flustered, butterfly feeling even as he drove into you hard enough to rock the table. You could feel every thick inch of him, the heat, the way your walls clung to him on every pull-out.

He slowed—just a fraction—watching your face as he rolled his hips in a deep, grinding thrust that made your toes curl and your breath stutter. The friction was exquisite, the head of his cock dragging over that sensitive spot inside you until your vision blurred. “There you are,” he murmured, almost soft, the words a stark contrast to the way he filled you so completely. “There’s my girl.”

The tenderness in the middle of the roughness made your chest ache. You reached up, fingers trembling against his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of stubble and the heat of his skin. He turned his head and kissed your palm without breaking rhythm, the soft press of his lips a sharp contrast to the hard, claiming thrusts, then caught your wrist and pinned it beside your head, interlocking your fingers with his. His other hand stayed protective under your head. The dual sensation—hard, claiming thrusts and those small, careful touches—had you trembling, the spoiled fire in you completely banked into something softer and more vulnerable. You could taste the salt of your own skin when he leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth, the wet heat of his breath mixing with yours.

He fucked you like that until you came with a sharp, startled cry, walls clenching around him so tightly he cursed under his breath. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, your free hand clutching at his shoulder hard enough to leave crescents, the wet sound of your orgasm audible as you pulsed around him. He followed a few thrusts later, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a low, guttural sound against your throat, hips stuttering as he rode it out. You felt the hot pulse of him, the wet heat of his release filling you, the slight overflow already starting to trickle out around where you were still joined. Even then, his hand never left the back of your head.

For a long moment the only sound was the two of you breathing, heavy and uneven. Sunlight still striped the floor. Somewhere outside a bird called. The air smelled thick with sex—sweat, arousal, the faint lingering tobacco.

Shikamaru didn’t pull out right away. He stayed there, forehead pressed to yours, weight carefully braced on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush you. His thumb stroked slowly behind your ear, soothing. You could feel the residual tremors in both of your bodies, the sticky heat where you remained joined, the slow trickle of his release starting to seep out around his cock.

The anger had burned itself out, leaving something raw and quiet in its place.

You felt it first—the guilt, sticky and uncomfortable, rising in your throat. Your earlier words echoed in your head, sharp and unnecessary. You’d been bored and restless and spoiled, and you’d taken it out on him like he was the problem instead of the person who put up with you more patiently than anyone else ever had. The careful way he’d protected your head the entire time only made the regret sharper. You could still feel the phantom press of his palm against your skull.

Your voice came out small, almost hesitant. “I’m sorry.”

He made a soft questioning sound, not moving, breath still warm against your lips.

“I didn’t mean it,” you whispered, eyes lowering. Your free hand came up to rest lightly against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart and the slight dampness of sweat on his skin. “About you not caring. Or finding someone easier. I was just… being awful. I know you care. You always do. Even when I’m the worst. Even when I’m rude and demanding and—” Your voice caught. “I felt it. The way you… the hand behind my head. Even when you were being rough. It made me… it made me feel all fluttery and soft and I hated that I started it.”

Shikamaru lifted his head enough to look at you properly. The storm had left his eyes; what remained was the familiar, exhausted fondness he reserved only for you. He brushed a strand of hair from your cheek with the backs of his fingers, slow and deliberate, the light touch sending another small flutter through you.

“You’re a lot of trouble,” he said quietly, the words almost fond. “But you’re my trouble.”

Your lower lip wobbled. You hated how soft you felt all of a sudden—how the fight had stripped you down to something needy and apologetic. You turned your face into his palm when he cupped your cheek, pressing a small, shy kiss there, tasting the faint salt of his skin.

“I really am sorry,” you mumbled against his skin, voice small and cute in a way you rarely allowed. “I’ll be good. For the rest of the day, at least. I’ll bring you tea and I won’t complain about the report and I’ll sit quietly while you finish it. I promise.”

A tiny huff of laughter left him, warm and low. He pressed a slow kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth, lingering, the soft press of his lips gentle now. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

You pouted weakly, the expression soft and almost playful now instead of spoiled. He kissed that too, gentle this time, tasting the residual heat of the argument that had burned itself out between you.

Eventually he eased out of you, both of you wincing at the sensitivity. The wet sound of it was soft and intimate. You felt the immediate gush of his release and your own arousal starting to trickle down your thigh, warm and sticky. He didn’t let you get up right away. Instead he tugged you carefully into his lap right there on the floor, wrapping a discarded blanket around your bare shoulders and tucking your head under his chin with practiced ease. One hand stroked lazily up and down your spine, soothing over the slight marks his fingers had left. The other stayed curled protectively around the back of your neck, thumb brushing the spot he’d bitten earlier in slow, absent circles. You could still feel the faint ache of the bite, pleasant now.

You melted into him completely, all the spoiled edges gone soft and pliant. Your fingers traced idle, apologetic patterns over his chest, following the lines of muscle under his open shirt, feeling the residual heat of his skin and the slight dampness of sweat. The butterflies were still there, quieter now, fluttering every time his thumb stroked that careful path against your skin.

“I like when you do that,” you admitted quietly after a while, voice muffled against his collarbone. “The hand thing. Behind my head. Even when you’re being mean. It makes me feel… safe. And a little flustered.”

He was quiet for a second. Then his arms tightened just a little around you, protective. “Habit,” he said, the word soft. “Can’t have you getting hurt. Even when you’re asking for it.”

You smiled against his collarbone, small and genuine, the last of the earlier tension dissolving. You could still smell the sex on both of you, warm and intimate. “Still sorry.”

“I know.” He pressed another kiss into your hair, lingering, breathing you in. “Next time you want attention, just say so. Less work for me that way.”

You giggled—soft, a little watery—and nuzzled closer, tucking yourself more securely against him like you were trying to make up for every sharp word. “Okay. I’ll try. I’ll be better.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating through both of you, warm and accepting. Outside, the afternoon light was starting to turn gold, painting the scattered scrolls in warm tones. Neither of you moved to pick them up. The sticky evidence of what you’d done together slowly cooled between your thighs, a private reminder of the fight that had turned into something far more intimate.

[kamuifade]

Here’s an idea, in a sense it would take place in an au but what if Kakashi kept teasing you and joking with you about his motorcycle and bending you over it and fucking you 🫣 and one day you challenge him and he finally does it. 

You should’ve known better than to challenge him.

That was the thought that kept looping through your head as Kakashi’s leather-gloved hand clamped firmly over your mouth, muffling the long, broken whine that tore out of your throat. The glove was thick and soft, the leather warm from his skin and already damp with your breath and the tears that kept slipping down your cheeks. You could taste the faint salt of them on your tongue where they had soaked into the seam, mixed with the clean, rich scent of well-worn leather. Your eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering, vision blurring at the edges while your nails scraped desperately across the sleek black leather of his motorcycle seat. The seat was still warm from the ride, the heat seeping into your palms and the insides of your thighs where they pressed against it. The smell of leather and exhaust and him—motor oil, faint cigarette smoke, clean sweat—was thick in the humid night air of the alley beside the bar. Somewhere down the block a car stereo thumped faintly; closer, the single security light above the side door flickered, casting long, shifting shadows over chrome and black metal and the two of you tangled against it.

His other hand gripped the back of your thigh hard enough to bruise, the leather of his glove creaking softly as his fingers dug into the soft flesh just below the crease of your ass. He hauled your leg up and open, spreading you wider until your spine arched and your cheek pressed against the cool metal of the gas tank. The contrast was dizzying—warm leather under your palms, cool chrome against your face, the hot, thick stretch of his cock buried inside you. The new angle let him sink impossibly deeper. The thick shaft dragged slowly along that swollen, aching spot inside you on every stroke, the ridge of the head catching and rubbing until your toes curled hard inside your shoes. The blunt head kissed your cervix with every deep thrust, a sharp, dizzying pressure that made fresh tears slip down your cheeks and soak into the leather of his glove. You could feel the wet heat of your own arousal dripping down your thighs in sticky trails, cooling in the night air, the scent of sex rising between your bodies—musky, sharp, unmistakable.

You whimpered into the glove. Moaned. Tried to say his name and only managed a muffled, desperate sound that vibrated against his palm. Your free hand scrabbled for better purchase, fingers slipping on the polished seat, then curling tight around the edge until your knuckles ached. Every time he pulled almost all the way out, the drag of that thick ridge along your walls made your cunt flutter and clench, the wet sound of it obscenely loud in the narrow alley—slick, filthy, rhythmic. Every time he sank back in to the hilt, the head of him pressed against that deep, sensitive place and your whole body jerked, the stretch burning sweet and overwhelming, the pressure so intense it bordered on too much.

Kakashi bent over you, chest pressed to your back, the leather of his jacket creaking softly with every shift of his weight. The zipper teeth bit lightly against your bare spine where your shirt had ridden up, cool metal against overheated skin. His breath was hot against the shell of your ear, damp and uneven, voice low and smug and filthy as hell, the words timed to the slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

“There it is,” he crooned, grinding deep so the head of his cock stayed pressed right against that aching spot. You could feel the pulse of him inside you, the way his cock twitched when your walls squeezed. “Told you I’d take you for a ride, didn’t I bunny? Months of you serving me drinks with that little smirk, acting like you didn’t want it. Acting like you could handle me.” He gave a shallow thrust, then another, keeping the pressure constant until your thighs trembled and more of your slick dripped down onto the leather seat beneath you. “Feel how deep I am? How full you are? That’s what happens when you challenge me, sweetheart. Your cunt’s so fucking wet it’s dripping all over my bike.”

You clenched around him hard enough that he hissed through his teeth, the sound low and pleased, the leather of his glove flexing against your mouth as he adjusted his grip to keep every sound trapped. Your cunt was soaked, the wet sounds of him fucking into you growing louder—slick, filthy, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing off the brick walls. Every time your walls fluttered and sucked at him, he gave you more of that arrogant praise, voice dripping with satisfaction.

“Listen to that; you’re absolutely soaked. Messy little bunny. Bet you’ve been thinking about this every time I ordered a drink—wondering what it’d feel like to have me this deep, bending you over my bike the way I promised.” Another hard thrust, the bike rocking slightly under the force of it. The chrome handlebars gleamed under the flickering light. Your skirt was bunched uselessly around your waist, panties shoved aside and soaked through, the thin fabric sticky against your skin. One shoe had half-slipped off from the way he’d manhandled your leg open. “Should’ve shut that pretty mouth of yours instead of challenging me. ‘Put your money where your mouth is,’ you said.” He thrust harder, sharper, and your eyes flew open as the head of his cock punched against your cervix again. Tears spilled faster, the salt of them sharp on your tongue where they had soaked into the glove. “Guess I did.”

Your shift had ended an hour ago. The bar had been quiet enough that you’d been wiping down the counter when he walked in like he owned the place—helmet under one arm, black leather jacket still on, silver hair messy from the ride and falling into one dark eye. He’d leaned on the bar the way he always did, one brow raised, that lazy half-smile curving his masked mouth, the silver of his eyebrow piercings catching the low light.

“Still thinking about it?” he’d asked, voice low enough that only you could hear over the soft clink of glasses. “Or you finally gonna stop pretending you don’t want me to bend you over that bike and ruin you?”

You’d been tired. Frustrated. And so fucking turned on from months of his teasing—the way he’d linger at the bar after closing, the way he’d watch your hands while you mixed drinks, the way he’d drop those quiet, filthy promises every time you leaned across to set his glass down—that the challenge slipped out before you could stop it.

“Shut up and put your money where your mouth is, Hatake. Or stop talking about it.”

He’d gone still for half a second. Then that smile had sharpened, dangerous and delighted, and something hungry had flickered behind the lazy half-lidded look he usually wore.

“After your shift,” he’d said simply. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

You hadn’t. The second the last customer left and the locks clicked, he’d been there, catching your wrist in one gloved hand, the leather warm and firm against your pulse. He’d led you out the side door into the alley where his motorcycle waited under the single flickering security light. No more teasing. No more games. Just the sound of his zipper, the cool night air on your bare skin as he shoved your skirt up and your panties aside, the blunt pressure of two leather-covered fingers sliding through your folds to find you already dripping. The texture of the leather against your clit had made you gasp; the heat of his fingers, even through the gloves, had made your hips jerk. He’d made a low, approving sound at that, then lined himself up and pushed into you in one long, relentless stroke until you were stuffed full and shaking, the stretch burning sweet and overwhelming, the thick heat of him forcing your walls to yield inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt and you could feel the press of his hips against your ass.

Now he was fucking you like he had something to prove—deep, thorough, almost lazy in how thoroughly he was taking you apart. Every time your cunt clenched and fluttered around him, he gave you more of that filthy, arrogant praise, voice a low rumble against your ear that made your walls tighten in response. The leather of his jacket was cool against your overheated back; the zipper teeth scraped lightly with every thrust. You could smell him everywhere—leather, oil, the faint musk of arousal rising between your bodies.

“That’s it baby. God, you’re soaked. You’re making a mess of my seat.” He shifted his grip on your thigh higher, fingers digging into the soft flesh, the leather creaking as he kept you spread open so he could watch the way his cock disappeared into you on every stroke. You could feel the drag of every thick inch, the way the head of him kissed your cervix and then pulled back, leaving you empty and aching for half a second before he filled you again. “Look at you—bent over my bike like you were made for it. Arching so pretty for me. Taking every inch like a good girl even while you’re crying into my glove.”

Your free leg trembled so hard you weren’t sure it would keep holding you up. Kakashi didn’t seem to care. He just kept that firm grip on your other thigh, keeping you open, keeping you arched, keeping the angle perfect so that every stroke dragged over your sweet spot and ended with that deep, overwhelming press against your cervix. The leather of his glove was warm now from your breath and tears; the faint scent of it mixed with the sharper smell of sex and motor oil. Your nails had left little crescent marks in the seat. Your shirt had ridden higher, cool air kissing the undersides of your breasts where they pressed against the warm metal of the tank. Every time he thrust deep, the pressure against your cervix made stars burst behind your eyelids; every time he pulled back, the wet, filthy sound of your cunt releasing him filled the alley.

He slowed deliberately, pulling almost all the way out until only the head of him stretched your entrance, the thick ridge of it catching on your rim, then sank back in with a long, controlled thrust that made your eyes roll again. The head of his cock kissed your cervix and stayed there, grinding in tiny circles while you shook and whimpered, the pressure so intense you could feel it in your teeth. More of your slick dripped down, coating his cock, soaking into the leather of the seat, the scent of it thick and musky in the humid air.

“Feel that?” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “It’s not too much for you, is it bunny?” Another slow grind. Your cunt fluttered helplessly around him, the wet heat of you clenching and releasing in helpless pulses. “Cry for me. I want to hear every little sound you make while I’m wrecking this pretty cunt over my bike.”

He started moving again in earnest—longer strokes, deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the brick walls. The bike rocked with every thrust. Your moans turned into broken, high sounds muffled against leather. Your vision swam. Every deep thrust punched a soft, punched-out noise out of you that he seemed to collect like trophies, answering each one with more filthy praise. You could feel the heat of him inside you, the way his cock pulsed and thickened, the way your walls stretched and fluttered around every thick inch.

“That’s my girl. Knew you’d look perfect like this. Knew you’d feel even better—hot and tight and dripping all over me.” His free hand left your thigh only long enough to slide between your bodies, leather-covered fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, precise circles in time with his thrusts. The texture of the leather against that swollen, oversensitive nub was almost too much—rough and firm and perfect. The dual sensation—deep, relentless fucking and that firm pressure on your clit—made your whole body seize. “Come on baby. Come for me while you’re bent over my bike like the filthy girl you are.”

Your body was already there, teetering on the edge, every nerve screaming. The pressure built and built until it shattered. You came hard, cunt clamping down around him in rhythmic, desperate pulses, a long broken sound muffled against the leather of his glove. Tears streamed freely now, the salt of them sharp on your tongue. Your whole body shook, limp and trembling, spine still arched, thighs quivering as wave after wave rolled through you. The wet heat of your orgasm soaked his cock, dripped down your thighs, the scent of it rising thick between your bodies. Kakashi groaned low and filthy against your ear, fucking you through it, chasing his own release with short, deep thrusts that kept the head of his cock kissing your cervix even as you fluttered and clenched around him. You could feel every pulse of your own climax, every flutter of your walls, the way your body tried to keep him inside.

“That’s it—fuck, just like that. So fucking perfect. So wet and tight and greedy.” His rhythm stuttered. He buried himself to the hilt with a rough, satisfied sound and came, flooding you in thick pulses, hips grinding against you like he wanted to push it even deeper. You felt every spurt—the heat of it, the way it filled you until you were dripping around him, the way your already-sensitive walls fluttered around the sensation. Some of it started to leak out around his cock immediately, warm and sticky, trailing down your thighs onto the pavement below in slow, thick drips. The scent of sex and leather and him was overwhelming.

For a long moment there was only the sound of both of you breathing hard in the alley, the distant noise of the street, the soft creak of leather as he shifted his weight. Kakashi’s hand finally eased off your mouth, though he didn’t pull out yet. He stayed buried deep, one arm sliding around your waist to keep you from collapsing completely against the bike, the other still holding your thigh open. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, then the damp skin of your neck, voice still smug but softer now, almost fond. You could feel the heat of his breath, the faint scrape of his mask against your skin, the residual pulse of his cock still twitching inside you.

“Told you,” he murmured, pressing a slow kiss just below your ear. The leather of his glove stroked down your side, the texture of it rough and warm against your oversensitive skin. “Should’ve known better than to challenge me.” Another kiss, lower, against the pulse that still raced under your skin. You could feel the wet heat of his cum leaking out around him with every tiny shift of his hips. “Next time we won’t even make it to the alley. I’ll have you over the bar if you’re not careful.”

You could only manage a weak, shaky sound in response, still trembling, still full of him, bent over his motorcycle in the alley beside the bar with his cum already starting to trickle down your thighs in warm, sticky trails. Kakashi stayed right there for another long moment, rocking into you in tiny, lazy motions that made aftershocks spark through your oversensitive body, until your legs finally threatened to give out completely. Only then did he ease out of you with a low, satisfied sound, the sudden emptiness making you whimper again. The cool night air kissed your open, dripping cunt; you could feel the thick slide of his cum leaking out of you, warm and messy, trailing down your inner thighs. He caught you against his chest before you could sag, one gloved hand stroking slowly down your side, the other still holding you steady against the warm metal of the bike. The leather of his jacket was cool against your back; the scent of him was everywhere.

“Easy,” he said, voice low and rough with residual pleasure. “I’ve got you.” He pressed one last kiss to the side of your neck, the curve of his smile against your skin pure arrogant satisfaction. You could feel the damp heat of your own release soaking into the leather of the seat beneath you, the sticky trails cooling on your skin. “And next time you challenge me, sweetheart… I’m not going to be this gentle.”

[kamuifade]

Hello! I’m glad your ask are open again!! Can’t wait to see what you do with this!!

CEO/hokage Shikamaru, whichever you like, he’s on a call while sitting on his chair. Been waiting for him and wanting him for a while but got tired of waiting so decided to straddle him while on the chair during the call, and began to ride him.

You knew when Shikamaru had become Hokage that the position would steal hours from the two of you. He’d warned you himself the night the village elders confirmed him—soft, resigned, already half-tired as he sat on the edge of your shared bed and told you about the late nights, the endless scrolls, the demands that would never stop coming. You’d cupped his face, kissed the corner of his mouth, and told him you were proud. That you would stand beside him. That you loved him more for the weight he was willing to carry.

You meant every word.

But you also had needs.

And for the past three days those needs had been a constant, aching pulse between your legs. Your cunt stayed wet for no reason other than the thought of him—his long fingers spreading you open, the rough drag of his voice when he was half-asleep and buried deep inside you, the way his thick cock stretched your walls so perfectly when he finally let himself take what he wanted. Even the brush of fabric against your swollen clit was almost too much. Your nipples stayed tight and sensitive under your clothes. You’d paced the house that afternoon like a caged animal, checking the clock every few minutes, remembering the promise he’d made that morning with a rare, soft smile: I’ll be home at a decent hour tonight. Promise.

Decent hour came and went.

Then another hour.

Then another.

By the time the sun had fully set and the village lights flickered on, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You stripped out of everything except a short, soft dress that barely covered the tops of your thighs. No bra. No panties. Just the thin fabric clinging to the curve of your ass and the heavy sway of your bare breasts underneath, nipples already peaked and rubbing against the material with every step. Your cunt was so slick that a thin trail of wetness had already started down the inside of one thigh. You slipped out of the house and made your way through the quiet streets toward the Hokage Tower, heart hammering, clit throbbing in time with your pulse.

The guards at the base of the tower knew you. They bowed and looked the other way when you asked if the Hokage was still in his office. You climbed the stairs barefoot, the cool stone under your soles only heightening every sensation. When you reached the heavy door to his office you didn’t knock. You simply pushed it open and stepped inside.

Shikamaru sat behind the wide desk, one elbow propped on the arm of his chair, the other hand holding a communication device to his ear. His Hokage cloak was draped over the back of the chair; he’d long since shrugged it off. His dark hair was a little messier than usual, the top of his flak vest unbuttoned at the throat, revealing a strip of collarbone and the faint shadow of his Adam’s apple. He looked up the moment the door clicked shut.

His eyes softened with apology the second he saw you. He mouthed sorry and kept speaking in that calm, measured tone he used for foreign diplomats—something about trade routes and border security, the usual careful dance of words. You watched the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the way his free hand absently rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

You couldn’t have that.

You crossed the room in silence, the soft whisper of your bare feet against the floorboards the only sound besides his voice. He tracked you with those sharp, dark eyes, still talking, still listening to whatever the diplomat on the other end was saying. When you rounded the desk and stepped between his spread knees, his brows lifted in quiet question.

You didn’t give him time to form the words.

You hiked the hem of your dress up around your hips, completely baring your soaked cunt and the soft curve of your ass, and swung one leg over his lap, settling your weight across his thighs. The sudden heat of your bare, dripping folds against the rough fabric of his pants made his free hand twitch hard against the armrest. He kept talking—something about “mutual respect for sovereignty”—but his voice had gone a fraction lower, a little tighter, and you felt the first twitch of his cock under you.

You reached between your bodies, fingers working the ties of his pants open with practiced ease. The moment you freed him, his cock sprang up thick and heavy and already half-hard, the head flushed dark and shiny with a bead of precome. You wrapped your fingers around the shaft and gave it a slow, firm stroke from base to tip, thumb smearing that slick bead over the sensitive head. A soft, almost inaudible sound escaped him. He covered it by clearing his throat and continuing the conversation as if nothing was wrong, but his thighs had gone rigid beneath you.

You lifted yourself just enough to drag the slick, swollen folds of your cunt along the full length of him. Back and forth. Slow. Deliberate. Your clit—already engorged and aching—rubbed against the underside of his shaft with every pass, sending bright, electric sparks up your spine. The wet sound of it was filthy and unmistakable. His free hand finally moved, settling on your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise. He was still speaking—agreeing to some clause, asking for clarification on another—but his eyes had gone dark and intense, locked on yours, pupils blown wide.

You kept grinding.

Your cunt was dripping so much that his cock was quickly coated in your slick, shiny and glistening under the office lights. Every time you dragged yourself up, the head of his cock nudged your entrance, teasing, before you slid back down and let your clit catch on the thick ridge of his shaft. Precome continued to bead at his tip and smear across your swollen clit. You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper to keep from moaning.

Shikamaru’s voice stayed level. Professional. The perfect Hokage.

But the hand on your hip was trembling, and his cock was now fully hard and throbbing against you, veins standing out under the taut skin.

When he was rigid and leaking against your folds, you reached down, angled the thick head right against your entrance, and sank.

The first inch was pure, overwhelming heat. Your cunt stretched wide around the blunt head of his cock, greedy and desperate after days of nothing but your own fingers. You dropped lower, taking more of him, feeling the way your walls fluttered and clung, the way every ridge and vein dragged against your sensitive inner walls. A soft, punched-out breath left him mid-sentence. He recovered quickly, murmuring an agreement to whatever the diplomat had just proposed, but his thighs had locked up completely beneath you and his free hand was gripping your hip like a lifeline.

You didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt.

Your ass settled flush against his thighs, dress rucked up around your waist, bare breasts rising and falling with every shaky breath, nipples tight and aching under the thin fabric. The stretch was perfect—deep and full and exactly what you’d been aching for. You could feel him pulsing inside you, the heavy weight of his cock filling every inch, the head pressed right against that sensitive spot deep inside. You stayed still for a long moment, just feeling him throb, your cunt clenching around him in slow, rhythmic squeezes that milked more precome from him.

Shikamaru’s free hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you closer so your clit ground against the base of his cock. He was still talking. Still negotiating. Still pretending his wife wasn’t impaled on his cock in the middle of an official call, her cunt dripping down his balls.

You started to move.

Slow rolls of your hips at first. Lifting just enough that the thick length of him dragged along your walls—every vein, every ridge scraping deliciously—then sinking back down so the head nudged that perfect spot deep inside with a wet, heavy thrust. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the small space between you. Every time you rose, his cock glistened with your slick and the thin strings of your arousal stretched between you; every time you dropped, a soft, wet slap of skin on skin cut through the quiet office, your ass meeting his thighs.

His voice stayed steady.

Yours did not.

Soft, broken sounds kept trying to escape—little gasps and whimpers every time the head of his cock kissed that sensitive place inside you. You bit the inside of your cheek, then the edge of your tongue, anything to keep quiet. Your hands braced on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his vest as you rode him harder. The chair creaked faintly under the shift of your weight. His cock filled you so perfectly on every downward stroke that your clit throbbed against the coarse hair at the base of him, swollen and desperate for more friction. Your breasts bounced lightly with the motion, nipples dragging against the thin dress.

Shikamaru’s free hand slid under your dress, palm hot and rough against the bare skin of your back, then lower, cupping one full cheek of your ass and guiding your rhythm. His fingers dug into the soft flesh, spreading you open so he could fuck up into you deeper even while he discussed border patrols and mutual defense treaties. The contradiction made your cunt clench hard around him, a fresh gush of slick coating his cock and dripping down onto his pants.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and whispered so only he could hear, voice shaky with need, “You’ve been gone so long. My cunt’s been aching for this. Needed your cock stretching me open. Needed you to fill me up.”

His cock jerked hard inside you, a thick pulse of precome flooding your walls.

He covered the reaction by asking the diplomat a carefully worded question about timelines. The hand on your ass squeezed hard enough that you knew you’d carry the finger-shaped marks tomorrow, and his hips gave a tiny, involuntary upward thrust that drove him even deeper.

You rode him faster.

The wet sounds grew louder—slick, filthy squelches every time you sank down and took him to the root. Your thighs burned. Sweat dampened the fabric of your dress where it clung between your breasts and under your arms. Every time you dropped, the head of his cock kissed that sensitive place deep inside and sent another rush of heat flooding through you, your walls fluttering and squeezing around the thick intrusion. Your clit was so swollen it ached; every grind of your hips dragged it against the coarse hair at the base of his cock, sending sharp spikes of pleasure straight to your core. You could feel yourself getting wetter, your slick coating his shaft and balls, dripping down onto the chair.

Shikamaru’s breathing had gone carefully controlled. You could feel the tension in his body—the way his thighs flexed under you, the way his cock throbbed and leaked inside you every time your walls fluttered around him. He was close. You could tell by the way his free hand had moved from your ass to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair and holding on tight, and by the way his balls had drawn up tight against your ass.

You weren’t far behind.

You shifted the angle, rolling your hips so your clit caught more pressure on every downward stroke, grinding hard against the base of him. The pleasure sharpened, bright and insistent, coiling tight in your belly. Your cunt tightened around him in rhythmic pulses, walls rippling along his length. Soft, desperate little sounds kept slipping past your lips no matter how hard you tried to stay quiet—tiny, broken moans and gasps every time he bottomed out inside you.

On the other end of the call, the diplomat was still speaking. Shikamaru answered in that same calm, measured tone—agreeing to a follow-up meeting, confirming a date—while you fucked yourself on his cock like you’d die if you stopped, your breasts bouncing under the thin dress, nipples stiff and aching, cunt stretched wide around the thick, veined length of him.

Your orgasm hit hard.

Your whole body locked up, thighs trembling violently, cunt clamping down around him in tight, rhythmic waves that milked him ruthlessly. You bit down on his shoulder through the fabric of his vest to muffle the broken cry that tore free, teeth sinking in as pleasure crashed through you in long, rolling pulses. Your walls fluttered and squeezed, soaking his cock and the front of his pants with fresh, hot slick that dripped down his balls and onto the chair. Your clit throbbed against him in time with every pulse of your orgasm, the sensation almost too intense.

Shikamaru’s free hand fisted in your hair, tugging hard enough to make your scalp tingle. His hips jerked upward once, twice, burying himself as deep as he could go while his cock pulsed and spilled inside you. Thick, hot ropes of come flooded your cunt, painting your walls, overflowing around the seal of his shaft and dripping down onto his thighs in messy, white streaks. He kept talking through it—voice only a fraction rougher than before, the slightest hitch on certain words—while he emptied himself into you in long, heavy spurts, his balls drawing up tight as he pumped you full.

You stayed there, panting softly against his neck, cunt still fluttering and clenching around him as the last aftershocks rippled through you. His come leaked out of you in slow, warm rivulets every time you squeezed, mixing with your slick and running down the insides of your thighs. The diplomat on the other end was wrapping up the conversation. Shikamaru answered with the appropriate formalities, thanked them for their time, and finally—finally—ended the call.

The second the device went silent he dropped it onto the desk with a soft clatter.

Both hands came up to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed the damp hair back from your temples. His eyes were dark, almost black, and the lazy, half-lidded look he usually wore had been burned away by something sharper, hungrier. His cock was still semi-hard inside you, twitching every time your walls fluttered around the mess he’d left.

“Troublesome,” he murmured, voice rough and low, thick with spent lust. “Very troublesome wife. Riding my cock like that while I’m on an official call… you’re lucky I didn’t bend you over the desk and fuck you properly in front of the entire diplomatic corps.”

You laughed softly, still breathless, and rolled your hips once more just to feel the way his spent cock twitched and slipped deeper into the mess of his own come. A fresh trickle of it spilled out around him. “You promised you’d be home, Shika. I’ve missed you.”

“I know.” He kissed you—slow, deep, tongue sliding against yours, tasting of apology and hunger and the faint salt of his own skin where you’d bitten him. When he pulled back his forehead rested against yours, breath warm against your lips. One hand slid down between your bodies, two long fingers finding your still-sensitive clit and circling it slowly, deliberately, making you twitch and gasp around his cock. “I’ll make it up to you. Properly. At home. No diplomats. I’m going to bend you over our bed and fuck this messy cunt until you can’t walk straight. Until you’re dripping my come down your thighs for the rest of the night.”

You hummed, satisfied for the moment but already aching for more, and stayed seated on his cock a little longer, enjoying the way his come continued to leak out of you and the way his fingers kept teasing your swollen clit in lazy circles. Your walls fluttered around him, milking the last few drops.

Eventually he helped you ease off him. The soft, wet sound of his cock slipping free was obscenely loud in the quiet office. A thick stream of his come followed, spilling from your stretched, red cunt and running down the insides of your thighs in sticky white trails. You stood on shaky legs, dress falling back into place, though nothing could hide the way his spend was already sliding down your skin or the wet spot darkening the front of his pants.

Shikamaru tucked himself away with one hand, the other still resting possessively on your hip, thumb stroking the soft skin just above your hipbone. He looked at the mess on the front of his pants—your slick and his come mixed together—then at the way your thighs glistened, and sighed the long-suffering sigh of a man who knew exactly how much trouble he was in—and didn’t particularly mind.

“Come on,” he said, voice low and rough with leftover want. “Let’s go home before someone else decides they need the Hokage. And leave the dress on. I want to watch my come drip down your legs the whole way.”

You smiled, leaned in, and kissed the corner of his mouth, tasting the faint salt of sweat on his skin.

“Lead the way, Hokage-sama.”

[kamuifade]

This isn’t a request or anything, I just really wanted to tell you this because I’ve been thinking about it for a little while.

I genuinely love your writing so much. I’m ridiculously loyal to Kakashi when it comes to fanfiction, but I’ve actually ended up reading some of the other characters you write too, which honestly says a lot coming from me. And everything I’ve read has been so, so beautiful.

I think I mostly just wanted to say thank you for how much you share with us. As someone who writes too, I know how much time and energy can go into something that, from the outside, is just a fic or a chapter. I don’t even take requests myself, and sometimes one chapter can take me forever. It’s not just having an idea or imagining a scene. It’s actually trying to put what you see in your head into words, rewriting things, getting stuck on one sentence because it doesn’t sound right, changing things around, rereading everything, and then eventually posting it and hoping people will connect with it the way you wanted them to.

So when I see how much you write, especially with all the requests you do, I think I appreciate it a little differently because I know there’s so much work behind what we actually get to see.

And I think that’s also why, whenever I see how much you write and share here, there’s a part of me that just hopes that beyond all of this, you’re doing well too. I hope you’re getting enough sleep, spending time with the people you love, enjoying your days, doing things that have absolutely nothing to do with writing, and just having a life outside of Tumblr that feels good to you.

I think being a writer makes me think about that side of it more, because people usually only see the finished fic. They don’t necessarily see all the hours, the energy, the frustration, or the person sitting behind a screen trying to turn something in their head into something other people can feel too.

There’s so much that exists beyond the little frame of a finished fic that readers get to see, and I guess I just wanted to acknowledge that too. Not only how much I love what you create, but also the person behind it who took the time to create it in the first place.

Anyway, this is really just my very long way of saying thank you. I genuinely adore your writing, I’m so grateful for everything you choose to share with us, and beyond the stories themselves, I just hope life is being good to you too. 🫶🥹

what if I cried on main rn 🥺😭

This was genuinely the nicest thing anyone has ever written to me on here 😭❤️ I’m so honored that you enjoy my writing so much that you sent me a message like this, that you read my works and appreciated them this much. It’s so heartwarming to have you acknowledge the time and effort that I put into what I write, especially from another writer who understands the process.

I’m so flattered that you’re checking in and worrying about little old me, but I promise that I’m more than okay! I spend time with my loved ones, I work, I go to school, I read and enjoy my hobbies.

I began sharing my writing on here because I wanted others to read what I wrote, to see my ideas and hopefully enjoy them as much as I did, and still months later I’m worried that it will fall flat and not resonate with my audience as I intended it to. But I’ve been blessed to receive the constant love and support that I have on here, with everything that I write, and I’m truly so so thankful for everyone that takes the time out of their day to read, like, comment, and reblog anything that I write. It’s not something any of you have to do, and I truly want you all to know that I am forever grateful for everyone single person who reads my works.

You are the sweetest for checking in, for acknowledging the time and effort I (and other writers) put into their works, and I hope that you will take care of yourself too! ❤️

(I’m gonna be thinking about this message for weeks no one talk to me 😭)

[kamuifade]

God i love smug asshole shikamaru sm just smtg abt him getting you to dance to his tune makes me want to gnaw on him like ugh hes such a rat but is unfortunately too smart for u to do anything abt bc he knows your every move 10 steps b4 u even begin planing ur revenge 😔

- frequent flyer anon

I have two wolves inside of me: smug asshole Shikamaru and whiny subby Shikamaru 😔 don’t know if if I wanna get railed by him or rail him myself

[kamuifade]

the way you write is amazing!!!

threesome with kakashi and obito where kakashi is praising you and obito is teasing/degrating you 👀👀👀👀

You hadn’t expected this when you’d agreed.

Kakashi and Obito had been dating for years—quietly, intensely, the kind of relationship that felt solid even when the rest of the world was chaos. You were their friend. Their roommate. The third person in the apartment who knew how Kakashi took his coffee and how Obito left his shoes in the middle of the hallway no matter how many times he was told to move them. You’d watched them argue over mission reports and then disappear into their room for hours. You’d listened to the low sounds through the wall some nights and pretended you weren’t aching between your legs, fingers pressed hard against your clit under the blankets while you imagined what it would feel like to be the one they were touching.

So when they asked—quietly, carefully, both of them looking at you like they already knew the answer—you’d been surprised. But they were hot. You were lonely. And you were so fucking horny it hurt.

You said yes.

Now you had no idea how long it had been.

Time had dissolved somewhere between the first kiss and the moment Kakashi’s cock slid into your dripping cunt while Obito pushed into your ass, stretching you open on both of them until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Your body was a trembling, overstimulated mess between them. Sweat-slick skin, thighs shaking hard enough that your knees would have given out if they weren’t holding you up. Your cunt clenched helplessly around Kakashi’s thick length while Obito’s heavier cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside your ass, the dual stretch so intense it bordered on overwhelming.

Kakashi’s hand was on your jaw—almost tender, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth as he held your face up so your glossy, fucked-out eyes had to meet his. His other hand rested on your hip, steadying you as he thrust up into you in slow, deep rolls that made your toes curl and your breath hitch. Every upward push ground the head of his cock against that deep, aching spot inside you, and every time he bottomed out you felt the pressure of Obito’s cock shifting on the other side of the thin wall of flesh separating them.

“That’s it baby,” he murmured, voice low and warm against your ear, lips brushing the shell of it. “Look at you. Taking us both so well. You’re doing so good for us, sweetheart. Feel how wet you are? How perfectly you open for me? Your cunt is soaking my cock… dripping down my balls. Perfect girl.”

Obito’s laugh was darker, right against the other side of your neck. One of his hands was locked around your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above your hipbone, keeping you pinned between them. The other had slipped between your bodies, two fingers rubbing mean, relentless circles over your throbbing clit. Every time Kakashi bottomed out, Obito pressed harder—right on that swollen, aching nub until your vision sparkled and a broken sound tore out of your throat.

“Look at her,” Obito crooned, voice thick with condescension and heat. “Our sweet little roommate. Used to listen to us fuck through the wall, didn’t you? Bet you touched yourself to it. Bet you imagined this exact thing—being the one in the middle, stuffed full while we decided who got to ruin you first. Greedy little thing. Cunt stretched around Kakashi, ass stretched around me, and still trying to take more.”

You couldn’t answer even as mortification burned in your chest. All that came out was a broken, high-pitched whimper as another orgasm rolled through you—your fifth? Sixth? You’d lost count hours ago. Your cunt spasmed hard around Kakashi, milking him in rhythmic pulses, while your ass clenched tight around Obito. The dual pressure made both of them groan, their hips stuttering for a second before they recovered and started moving again. Slick gushed around Kakashi’s cock, soaking the sheets beneath you, and the wet, filthy sounds of it filled the room.

Kakashi cooed soft praise into your hair, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your temple and down to your cheek. “That’s our girl. Cumming so pretty for us. You’re shaking baby… shh, we’ve got you. Just keep taking it. You’re perfect like this. Such a sweet girl, being so good for us.”

Obito’s fingers on your clit never slowed. He rubbed mean little patterns—tight circles, then a firm press that made your hips jerk, then a quick flick of his fingertip that sent sharp sparks of overstimulated pleasure racing up your spine. “Aw, already crying? Poor baby. We haven’t even really started. Kakashi’s being all gentle with you, whispering those soft little praises, but I know what you need.” His teeth scraped your shoulder, then bit down just hard enough to sting. “You need to be used. Fucked until you can’t think. Until the only thing left in that dumb little head is how full your holes are and how much you love it.”

Kakashi’s thrusts stayed deep and rolling, the head of his cock kissing your cervix on every upward push. The wet sounds of your cunt taking him were obscene—slick and filthy, mixed with the heavier slap of Obito’s hips against your ass. You were so full it bordered on too much. Every time one of them moved, you felt the other shift inside you. Their cocks rubbed against each other through the thin wall of flesh separating them, and the dual stretch kept you hovering right on the edge of another climax no matter how many times you’d already fallen over it.

Your arms were weak. You tried to hold onto Kakashi’s shoulders, fingers digging into the solid muscle there, but your grip kept slipping. Obito’s free hand came up and tangled in your hair, tilting your head back further so Kakashi could keep looking into your eyes. The position forced your back to arch, pushing your chest out, and Kakashi’s free hand slid up to cup one breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, almost reverent circles.

“Open those eyes, sweetheart,” Kakashi said gently. “Don’t hide from us. We want to see every time you break. Look at me while you cum again.”

Obito’s fingers pinched your clit—sharp, mean, perfect—and you sobbed. Another orgasm crashed through you hard enough that your vision whited out. Your body locked up between them, cunt and ass fluttering wildly, a gush of slick spilling down Kakashi’s cock and soaking everything beneath you. Your thighs trembled so hard Obito had to tighten his arm around your waist to keep you from collapsing.

“Fuck—look at that,” Obito groaned, hips snapping harder, driving into your ass with longer, deeper strokes that forced you down onto Kakashi’s cock every time. “She’s squirting. Messy little slut. Making a puddle under us and still clenching like she wants more. Listen to those sounds—whining and sobbing like a stupid little toy.”

Kakashi’s hand on your jaw tightened just a fraction—still careful, still grounding. His thrusts never lost their rhythm, even as your walls fluttered around him. “She’s not a toy,” he murmured, but there was heat under the softness, a low growl that made your cunt clench. “She’s ours. And she’s taking us so beautifully. Listen to those sounds she makes… so desperate. So good. You’re doing so well, baby. Letting us fill you. Letting us have every part of you.”

The contrast was maddening. Kakashi’s soft, continuous stream of praise mixed with Obito’s filthy, condescending teasing until your brain couldn’t decide which one was making you cum harder. Every time Kakashi called you sweetheart, your cunt clenched around him. Every time Obito called you a greedy little slut, your ass fluttered around his cock. You were caught between them—physically and verbally—and the dual stimulation was destroying you in the best possible way.

Obito shifted his angle, driving into your ass with longer, harder strokes that forced you down onto Kakashi’s cock every time. The dual penetration became a relentless push-pull. When Obito bottomed out, you were forced deeper onto Kakashi. When Kakashi thrust up, you were shoved back onto Obito. You were trapped between them, impaled, used, and so far gone that the only thing left was sensation. The stretch burned in the most perfect way. Your clit throbbed under Obito’s fingers. Your nipples ached where Kakashi’s thumb kept brushing them.

You lost track of how many times you came. Your voice was wrecked—raw from crying out, from whimpering their names, from the soft, continuous stream of broken sounds that spilled out of you every time one of them moved. Your thighs were shaking so hard Obito had to hold you up completely now. Kakashi’s hand never left your jaw, keeping your eyes on his even when your vision blurred with tears and pleasure.

“That’s it sweet girl,” Kakashi murmured, voice thick now, hips starting to lose a little of their careful control. “One more for us. Can you give us one more, sweetheart? Just one more, we promise. I can feel how close you are again. Your cunt is fluttering around me… so tight. So perfect.”

Obito’s laugh was low and dark, breath hot against your ear. “She doesn’t get a choice. She’s going to cum until we decide she’s done. Look at her—cunt dripping, ass stretched, clit swollen under my fingers. She’s a mess. You gonna cum again doll? Gonna show us how much you love being filled by both of us?”

The dual command—Kakashi’s gentle request and Obito’s cruel order—hit at the same time as Obito’s fingers pinched your clit and Kakashi’s cock ground deep. You broke.

The orgasm tore through you so hard your whole body seized. A loud, broken sob ripped from your throat as your cunt and ass clamped down in rhythmic, desperate pulses. Slick gushed around Kakashi’s cock in a messy rush. Your vision went white. Your fingers clawed weakly at Kakashi’s shoulders. You were shaking so hard you would have collapsed if they weren’t holding you up between them, and even then your body kept jerking with aftershocks that refused to fade.

Kakashi groaned low in his throat, hips stuttering as your walls milked him. “Fuck—there she is. Perfect. You’re perfect sweetheart. Look at you, cumming so hard for us… soaking me… shaking apart.”

Obito’s rhythm faltered too, a rough sound tearing out of him as your ass squeezed tight around his cock. “Shit—tight little hole. Taking it so well even when you’re cumming your brains out. Listen to her sob. Listen to how wrecked she sounds.”

They didn’t stop.

Even as the climax crashed through you, even as you sobbed and trembled and tried to twist away from the overstimulation, they kept moving. Kakashi’s thrusts stayed deep and steady, grinding against that swollen spot inside you that made your vision spark. Obito’s fingers stayed on your clit, gentler now but still present, still rubbing slow circles that made your oversensitive nerves spark and jump. They fucked you through it, drawing the orgasm out until it blurred into another, and another, until you were a whimpering, incoherent mess between them—cunt and ass fluttering endlessly, tears streaking down your cheeks, body completely given over to them.

Kakashi’s hand on your jaw stayed gentle. His eyes never left yours. “We’ve got you sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough with his own need. “Just keep feeling it. You’re safe. You’re ours. Let go. Such a good girl.”

Obito’s mouth was at your ear, voice still edged with that cruel, teasing heat even as his thrusts grew more urgent, hips snapping harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. “That’s it. Keep cumming. Keep taking us. We’re not done with you yet. You’re going to stay full until we’re finished. Until we’ve both marked you. Until you can’t walk without feeling us.”

You had no idea how much longer it lasted. Time had stopped mattering. There was only the dual stretch of their cocks, the contrast of soft praise and filthy degradation, the relentless pressure on your clit, and the endless, overwhelming pleasure that kept dragging you under again and again. Your body had stopped feeling like it belonged to you. It belonged to them—Kakashi’s slow, deep rolls and Obito’s harder, meaner thrusts, the way they moved in imperfect sync that somehow made everything more intense.

When they finally came—Kakashi first, burying himself deep and spilling hot inside your cunt with a low, broken groan, his hand tightening on your jaw as he looked into your eyes the entire time—then Obito a few thrusts later, flooding your ass with thick pulses while his fingers pressed hard against your clit one last time—you came with them. One final, shattering orgasm that left you limp and shaking between their bodies, completely fucked out, voice gone, mind blank. Your cunt milked Kakashi’s cock through every pulse of his release. Your ass clenched around Obito as he filled you, the dual heat of their cum making you feel even fuller.

They held you through it.

Kakashi’s hand stayed on your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as he pressed soft kisses to your temple and the corner of your mouth. “So good,” he whispered. “You did so well. Perfect for us. We’ve got you.”

Obito’s arm stayed locked around your waist, grounding you even as his cock twitched through the last of his release. His usual edge softened into something almost possessive as he stroked your hip, fingers still sticky from your clit. “Fuck… look at you. Wrecked. Full of us. Exactly where you belong.”

They carefully eased out of you, both of them still murmuring to you the whole time—Kakashi’s quiet praise, Obito’s lower, satisfied murmurs. Cum and slick dripped down your thighs in a messy mix, and the sudden emptiness made you whimper. They laid you down between them, cleaning you up with gentle hands and soft towels, Kakashi’s praises still warm against your skin and Obito’s presence solid and real on your other side.

You hadn’t expected this when you’d agreed.

But as they held you between them, Kakashi’s fingers carding through your hair and Obito’s hand resting possessively on your stomach, you realized you wouldn’t have changed a single second of it.

[kamuifade]

Ong shikamaru pulling out to slap your pussy when you get too needy 😏

You could barely move. Your hips and thighs burned from being folded in the same position for so long—legs forced all the way back, knees pressed nearly to your shoulders, ankles locked in the firm, unyielding grip of Shikamaru’s hands. The stretch had long since crossed from uncomfortable into something sharper and meaner: a deep, shaking ache that lived in the hinges of your joints, the soft vulnerable insides of your thighs, and the tight pull of muscle along your hips. Every time he shifted even a fraction—every time he rolled his hips or adjusted his hold—the burn flared hotter, a bright, helpless flare that made your toes curl and your breath hitch. You could feel the strain in every fiber, your body locked open for him, completely unable to close your legs or ease the pressure no matter how much your muscles trembled and begged for relief.

Your cunt throbbed from being edged for what felt like an eternity. The pulse of it was relentless, a heavy, wet, insistent ache that sat right behind your clit and radiated outward in hot waves. The little pearl had long since swollen past its hood, shiny and flushed a deep, angry pink, peeking out fully as if begging for attention it wasn’t going to get. It twitched visibly with every beat of your heart, so sensitive that even the air against it felt like too much. Your pussy was so messy it was obscene. Thick, shiny trails of slick coated the insides of your thighs from the crease of your hips all the way down to your ass, pooling beneath you on the sheets in a dark, spreading stain. Every time Shikamaru bottomed out, more of it gushed out around his cock in wet, filthy pulses—loud, slick sounds that filled the quiet room, the kind of wet noise that made heat crawl up your neck even through the haze of desperation. Your entrance was swollen and puffy, the outer lips shiny and parted around the thick stretch of him, inner walls clinging greedily every time he moved.

He had been fucking you for what felt like hours.

His thick cock bullied your cervix with every deep, measured thrust. The blunt, heavy head kissed that sensitive ring of muscle at the end of you, pressing just hard enough to make your stomach flutter with a mix of pressure and sharp pleasure, then dragged back across your sweet spot on the way out with slow, deliberate friction. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of pace that never quite let you fall, only kept you suspended right at the edge, your orgasm coiling tighter and tighter without ever snapping. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours the entire time, half-lidded and calm, like he was watching something mildly interesting rather than the way your body kept trying to break apart underneath him—the way your stomach tensed, the way your thighs shook, the way your cunt fluttered and clenched around every inch of him.

“Shhh,” he murmured, voice low and almost gentle whenever you tried to buck your hips up to meet him. The sound was pure faux sympathy, soft and cooing, the kind of tone that made the denial feel even more deliberate. “I know sweet girl. You’re so desperate, aren’t you? Look at you.” His thumbs stroked the soft, trembling insides of your knees almost soothingly even as he kept you pinned wide open, the pressure of his grip never easing. “Trying so hard to fuck yourself on my cock. So cute. Your little cunt’s already dripping down to the sheets and you still can’t stop chasing it even though it’ll get you nowhere.”

You whimpered. The sound came out broken, wet, half-swallowed. Your cunt clenched hard around him in response, greedy and fluttering, the inner walls spasming in tight, rhythmic pulses that milked another thick rush of slick out around his shaft. For a second the pleasure spiked so high your vision blurred at the edges, white sparks dancing behind your eyes. You were right there—right fucking there—orgasm coiling tight and mean in your belly, your clit throbbing so hard it felt like it might burst, your entrance trying to lock down around the thick base of him.

Shikamaru felt it the second it started.

He pulled out in one smooth, deliberate motion.

The sudden emptiness punched a sob out of you. Your cunt clenched around nothing, the empty walls fluttering wildly, another heavy gush of slick spilling out onto the already-soaked sheets. Before you could even process the loss, his hand came down. Three sharp, wet spanks landed directly on your dripping cunt in quick succession. The first one cracked across your swollen outer folds with a loud, wet slap, sending a bright sting radiating through the oversensitive tissue. The second caught your exposed clit dead-on, the impact sharp and precise, making the swollen pearl jump and throb under the force. The third smeared your own slick higher up your mound, fingers dragging through the mess as the spank landed. Each impact sent white-hot sparks racing up your spine and down into your empty cunt. Your hips jerked helplessly against nothing, thighs straining hard in his grip. Tears pricked hot at the corners of your eyes.

“Ah-ah,” he cooed, louder now, almost pleased, watching the way your pussy kept twitching and leaking under his palm. “None of that baby. You don’t get to come just because you’re leaking all over my sheets.” His fingers stayed pressed against your pussy for a long moment, feeling how soaked you were, how your entrance kept twitching and trying to suck something—anything—back inside. He rubbed two fingers slowly through the mess, spreading the slick, feeling the way your swollen folds parted for him. Slick stretched between his fingers in sticky, shiny strands when he finally lifted his hand. Only when it clung to his skin in thick, glistening threads did he line himself up again and push back in.

The stretch was almost too much after the brief emptiness. His cock filled you in one long, relentless glide, the thick shaft forcing your walls open inch by inch until his hips were flush against yours again and the blunt head of him was kissing your cervix once more. You sobbed. Your walls fluttered and clenched around the thick intrusion like they were trying to milk him, trying to force the orgasm he kept denying you, the inner muscles spasming in continuous, helpless little contractions that only made the wet sounds louder.

“There we go sweetheart, there we go,” Shikamaru murmured, voice still that same soft, condescending croon. He started moving again—slow, deep, punishingly thorough. Every thrust dragged the full length of his cock against the same oversensitive places, the head bullying your cervix, the shaft grinding over your sweet spot with wet, deliberate friction. Every retreat left you empty just long enough to make the next thrust feel like too much, the stretch borderline overwhelming. “So good for me when you’re like this. All fucked-out and shaking. You can barely even think, can you? Just this messy little cunt clenching around my cock and those pretty tears in your eyes.”

You couldn’t. Thought had narrowed down to the burn in your thighs, the wet slap of his cock moving through the mess he’d made of you, and the constant, cruel tease of almost-release. Your clit pulsed in time with your heartbeat, so swollen it hurt, the hood completely pulled back, the pearl shiny and desperate every time the base of him ground against it. Every time that happened on a particularly deep thrust, your whole body jerked, a broken sound tearing out of your throat.

He felt the next spike coming before you did.

Out again.

Spank. Spank. Spank.

The third one landed harder this time, right over your clit, the wet crack loud in the quiet room. The sound that tore out of you was half-sob, half-scream. Tears slipped free, sliding hot down your temples into your hair. Your cunt clenched around nothing, gushing another thick rush of slick that painted his fingers shiny and ran down over your ass. Your thighs jerked hard in his grip, the stretch burning hotter with every desperate movement.

“Poor little baby,” he cooed, almost sweetly, watching your face with those dark, calm eyes. “You’re right there, aren’t you? Hurts, doesn’t it? Being this close for so long. That little clit all swollen and neglected while your cunt keeps trying to come on nothing.” He waited until your slick was clinging to his hand in long, sticky strands again before guiding his cock back to your entrance. He didn’t thrust this time—just pressed the blunt head against your swollen, dripping hole and let you feel the stretch as he sank in slow, slow, slow. The head popped past your entrance with a wet sound, then the thick shaft followed, forcing your walls open until he was buried to the hilt and kissing your cervix once more. “But you’re going to take it. You’re going to stay open for me and keep clenching around my cock like the messy little slut you are until I decide you’ve earned it.”

Your answer was another broken whimper. Your walls fluttered around him in continuous, helpless little contractions, like your body was trying to force the orgasm out of pure desperation. The stretch of him against your cervix on every thrust had gone from intense to almost painful in the best way—a deep, heavy pressure that made your stomach flutter and your toes curl. Your thighs trembled hard in his grip. The burn in your hips had become a deep, constant fire, muscles locked and shaking, joints aching from being held open for so long.

He didn’t stop.

Shikamaru kept that same slow, devastating rhythm, hips rolling so every inch of his thick cock dragged against the places that made your vision white out. Your folded thighs trembled harder in his grip. The burn had gone past aching into something almost feverish—muscles locked, joints screaming, yet you couldn’t close your legs even if you tried. He held you open like it was nothing, like the strain of keeping you folded for this long was just another minor inconvenience he was too lazy to complain about. Slick continued to gush out around him with every thrust, running in warm, thick rivulets down your ass and soaking the sheets further. The wet sounds were filthy, constant—the slap of his hips against yours, the wet suck of your cunt around his cock, the soft, broken noises you couldn’t stop making.

Your cunt kept clenching around him in tight, rhythmic pulses. Every flutter milked another thick bead of slick out around his shaft. It ran down in warm rivulets, soaking the sheets beneath your ass, making the wet sounds of his thrusts even filthier. Your clit throbbed so hard it felt swollen beyond what should be possible, the little pearl fully out from under its hood, shiny and desperate every time the base of his cock ground against it. The contact was electric, too much and not enough all at once, sending sharp sparks of pleasure-pain up your spine.

“Look at that,” he murmured, dark eyes never leaving yours. His voice stayed soft, almost fond, the way someone might speak to a pet that was being particularly pathetic. “Still trying to come. Even after all this time. You’re shaking so hard I can feel it through my hands.” He gave your thighs a light squeeze, thumbs pressing into the trembling, overstretched muscle, feeling the way it jumped under his touch. “Does it hurt, baby? Being this close and not getting to fall? That pretty little cunt of yours is so swollen and messy for me. I can feel every single time it tries to lock down.”

You nodded frantically, a broken sound catching in your throat. Words wouldn’t form. Your hips tried to jerk up to meet him again—small, abortive little movements that only made the stretch in your folded position worse, the burn flaring hotter as your body fought the position he kept you in.

Shikamaru felt the next spike the second it started.

He pulled out.

The emptiness was brutal. Your cunt clenched around nothing, fluttering wildly, another rush of slick spilling out onto the sheets in a thick, shiny pulse. Before the sob fully left your mouth his hand was already coming down.

Spank.

Spank.

Spank.

Three sharp, wet cracks right across your dripping folds. The third one landed dead on your exposed clit and your whole body arched as much as the position allowed, a raw, desperate sound tearing out of you. Tears spilled freely now. Your thighs jerked hard in his grip. The sound that tore out of you was raw, desperate, almost animal. Your pussy kept twitching and leaking under his palm, the swollen folds shiny and red from the repeated spanks, your entrance gaping slightly and trying to suck at nothing.

“Shhh,” he cooed, louder, watching the way your pussy kept twitching and leaking under his palm. Slick clung to his fingers in shiny strands when he finally lifted his hand. Only then did he notch the head of his cock against your entrance again and sink back in with one long, relentless thrust that forced the air from your lungs. The stretch was immediate and overwhelming, his thick cock forcing your walls open until he was buried deep and the head was pressing hard against your cervix.

“There. Does that feel better sweet baby?” His voice stayed that same gentle, condescending murmur even as he started moving again—deep, slow, punishing. Every thrust kissed your cervix. Every withdrawal dragged along that swollen sweet spot until your eyes rolled. “You’re doing so well. Taking it for so long. I know it hurts. I know your little cunt is aching to come. But you’re going to keep clenching around me just like this until I say otherwise.”

You were past coherent thought. The only things left were the burn in your hips, the constant heavy throb between your legs, and the cruel cycle of almost-release. Your walls never stopped fluttering around his cock, greedy and desperate, trying to pull him deeper, trying to force the orgasm he kept snatching away. Slick continued to pour out of you, coating his shaft, his balls, the insides of your thighs, running down to soak the sheets in a growing wet stain.

He edged you through another near-peak.

Then another.

Each time the same: the slow drag of his thick cock, the building pressure, the moment your body started to tip—and then the sudden emptiness, the sharp wet spanks across your soaked, oversensitive pussy, the soft cooing praises while you sobbed, and only when your slick was coating his hand again would he push back inside and start the whole merciless process over. Your clit pulsed visibly now, so swollen and neglected it hurt to look at, the little pearl shiny and red, twitching with every heartbeat. Every accidental brush of his pelvis against it sent lightning up your spine. Your thighs shook so hard the muscles in them jumped under his palms. Tears and sweat mixed on your skin. Your cunt was a mess of its own making—gushing, clenching, dripping down to your ass with every thrust, the entrance swollen and shiny and constantly trying to lock around him.

Shikamaru leaned in a little closer, dark eyes still locked on yours, expression calm and faintly amused.

“You’re close again,” he observed softly, almost conversational, even as your walls started that rapid, desperate fluttering around him. “I can feel it. That pretty little cunt of yours is trying so hard. Clenching and leaking and begging without a single word.” He didn’t pull out yet. He just slowed even further, grinding the head of his cock against your cervix in tiny, deliberate circles that made fresh tears spill and your stomach flutter with the heavy, almost-painful pressure. “Beg properly this time and maybe I’ll think about letting you come. Or maybe I’ll just keep you like this a little longer. You’re already such a mess for me… what’s a few more minutes?”

Your answer came out broken and wet, half-sob, half-plea, hips twitching uselessly against the burn of the position while your cunt kept clenching around him like it never wanted to let go—walls fluttering, slick gushing, clit throbbing, the entire oversensitive mess of you suspended right at the edge of something that still refused to break.