Pranking male Naruto characters by avoiding their touch.
Uchiha Sasuke
At first, Sasuke ignores your strange behavior. If you wanted to be weird, that was your headache, not his.
But when you sidestep him during a mission as he reaches out to steady you after a jump, his eyes narrow.
"What's your problem?" he asks, deadpan, stepping closer and reaching out for you again.
You shrug innocently, dodging his touch once more. His jaw tightens, and he retracts his hand.
Sasuke is surprisingly patient after that. But after you dodge his touch a third time, that patience snaps.
Determined to keep up the charade, you move to avoid his arm when he tries to protect you again.
"Whatever" did you seriously think he had a problem with not touching you?
He doesn't even bother with words anymore. Playing along with your game, he grabs the back of your shirt and effortlessly flings you out of harm's way.
"Hey!" you cry, barely managing to land safely.
"You wanna play games? Fine," he mutters, completely unfazed by your wide-eyed glare.
For the rest of the day, Sasuke avoids your touch, despite your whining and apologies. This was your punishment for playing silly games with him.
Uzumaki Naruto
"huh??"
You must be tripping, Naruto thinks, watching you duck when he tries to pull you into one of his bone-crushing hugs.
Naruto is all about physical affection, high fives, random hugs, scooping you up into his arms. So when you dodge his hug, his jaw drops.
The look on his face is too ridiculous, you can't stop yourself from bursting into laughter at his utter shock of your audacity.
"You're so dramatic" you roll your eyes, pulling him into a hug as an apology.
Naruto grins and returns the hug twice as hard, lifting you off the ground for good measure. Ignoring your squeals of embarrassment, he parades through the village with you still awkwardly dangling in his arms as punishment.
"Put me down Naruto! You're so embarrassing!"
Aburame Shino
Shino is flabbergasted, to say the least. You never avoided his touch, and he loved that because you were the only person he was comfortable being affectionate with anyway.
His eye twitches, but his shoulders eventually sag in relief when he sees you struggling to contain your laughter.
You were just playing a silly prank after all, thank goodness.
He discreetly releases a meliponine bee from his jacket sleeve, the little creature was harmless and couldn't sting, but you didn't need to know that.
The moment you spot it, your eyes widen.
"SHINO, ONE OF YOUR BEES ESCAPED!"
Shrieking, you leap into his arms. His lips stretch into a smug smirk as he catches you.
"Oh? What's this? I thought you didn't want me to touch you?"
You narrow your eyes, quickly connecting the dots. Jumping out of his arms, you smack his shoulder lightly.
"Touché"
Hyuga Neji
Neji was pretty much sick of your shit at this point, you've been on a pranking streak all week and it put him on edge.
Now he questions every little reaction from you, wondering if it was a prank or not.
Even now, he stood watching you, his posture stiff, an irritated glare on his face.
"Stop testing my patience y/n."
He grits out, reaching for you again, watching you move out of the way.
"Have I...have I done anything to upset you?"
he asks, voice shaky, exhaustion creeping in. He was afraid this time you weren't joking and he might've actually upset you.
You immediately drop the act, not liking the kicked puppy dog look on his face one bit.
"I'm sorry, I was just messing around" you tug him into a hug to which he returns with a glare, ultimately glad this wasn't anything serious.
He reaches down to flick your forehead.
"Ow!"
"You're an idiot. Quit it with the silly games ok?" he murmurs gently brushing his fingers over the spot he flicked.
"Ok ok"
Uchiha Itachi
Itachi chuckles, watching you sidestep his hug. He immediately knew you were playing games, no one craved his touch more than you did.
"Are you sure you want to do that? I'm leaving for a mission and won't be back till tomorrow"
You bite your lip, weighing your options. He was right, 24hrs was way too long to go without a hug.
You huff, shuffling into his still open arms with defeat. "Fine, I yield"
He laughs again, giving you a soft squeeze before pulling away.
"I'll see you in a couple hours" he says, placing a kiss on your hair before pulling away.
"See y- wait what! You said tomorrow"
"I lied" he calls out, smiling casually, like he didn't just decieve you, continuing down the path without looking back.
You can't help but snort at his tactics, you were so going to get him back when he returns though.
Uchiha Obito
"Well aren't you a picture of domesticity" Obito muses, watching you make coffee in one of his button downs, the shirt large on you.
He can't help himself, he reaches out to feel your soft skin only to be met with air when you move out of the way, giving him a strange look.
If he paid more attention, he would've noticed the look on your face was you struggling to hold in your laughter, but his stomach was too busy dropping to his feet.
Obito was insecure, about his face, about his body, and his past. Despite your reassurances, a part of him never believed he was what you wanted.
He was chronically paranoid that one day you'd realize you could have better, and leave him.
It didn't take you too long to figure out what was going through his head when he froze, staring at you like a deer in headlights.
"Shit, this was a terrible idea" you immediately grab his hands, placing one on your cheek and the other on your waist "I'm sorry, I was just messing around"
He stares down at you for a few seconds gauging your sincerity before sighing, his body untensing in relief.
"You're a menace..." his arms snake around you, pulling you into his chest, happy this was just a joke.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry"
Hatake Kakashi
Kakashi notices but doesn't react right away. Instead, he silently joins your game.
Every time he sees you coming he makes a point to dramatically avoid touching you even by a hair's breadth, bending and contorting his body into all sorts of shapes.
"You're terrible" you giggle, trying to grab him, watching him dodge your hands like his life depended on it.
"me? You're the one who started it"
he finally relents, letting you tug him into your arms.
"You could've seriously hurt my feelings you know? I'm sensitive"
You snort, Kakashi didn't give a shit and you both knew it.
You lean up, tugging his mask down to peck his nose as an apology "You're about as sensitive as that rock over there"
He chuckles, deciding to let your snark go, he won after all, you wouldn't be avoiding his touch again.
I just realized I've never done headcannons for the naruto characters at once, so enjoy!
Tiny taglist🥲: @catlover19282
Feel free to check out my other Naruto Shippuden fics and more stories!
Itachi is not someone who’d be reckless with this decision.
Sure, his cheeks would turn scarlet when you ask. His head would whip to the side so fast his neck would be in danger of snapping, drawing one leg up as his entire body shifts towards you on the couch. He would slip two fingers into the collar of his t-shirt and tug, desperate for a cool breeze to tame the suffocating heat now creeping down his throat, flushing his chest.
His gaze would flicker across your face, hand resting on your thigh, squeezing once. He’d ask, “You — are you sure? You don’t want me to wear a condom anymore?” His voice would crack on the word condom and his blush would darken. Itachi would take a second to clear his throat, glaring at you without any real heat when you couldn’t hold back a laugh.
“I’m sure, Itachi.” You’d readjust your position, mirroring his, and look up at him through your lashes. “I just, I need to feel you. All of you,” you’d admit, playing with his fingers before lacing them together. The sweet heat building in your belly would remind you of the way it feels to drink a cup of hot chocolate.
Itachi’s lips would part, and you’d be certain you caught his dick jerking in his sweats. He’d make you wait until you’re on some other form of birth control. No surprise babies in this house.
Itachi would hold his breath when he pushed his latex free cock into you for the first time. His eyes would squeeze shut, a shaky exhale of your name spilling from his lips as he bottomed out and fucking came. You’d be able to feel the harsh twitching of his dick as he made you look nothing short of a cream filled donut. He’d be so embarrassed, ready to apologize, but he’d stop short at the fucked out look on your face.
The added slick sensation would turn you on like no other, cheeks hot to the touch as you begged him to keep going. He’d stay as hard as a rock, rolling you both until you’re perched in his lap. He’d draw his knees up, tangle his fingers with yours, and encourage you to “Ride me, sweetheart. C’mon, take what you need. I’ll let you use me until your pretty little pussy is sore.”
Itachi doesn’t have to tell you twice.
༝ ᭝ ༝ neji ༝ ᭝ ༝
⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣
Neji loves having sex with you, but he’d be a bit paranoid.
Neji’s uptight. From the outside, you’d never be able to tell how pussy drunk he gets. He’s a whiny, breathy mess any time his cock’s inside you.
However, he’d also be hyper aware he could get you pregnant if he’s not careful. He wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of having a baby with you, but he wouldn’t be ready for quite some time. He’d wear a condom, no matter how bad he wants your pussy to squeeze him raw. You’d have multiple conversations about it, convincing him to try just putting the tip in.
He’d be….hooked, to say the least. It’d be by sheer force of will that he doesn’t shove his entire cock in your pussy that first time. But, it’d also be the very next time Neji swears “just the tip”, when things spiral.
The warm ache in Neji’s belly would overshadow his concerns. He’d end up knocking your thighs further apart with his knees, bending forward and planting his elbows on either side of your head, leaving just a few centimeters between you. He’d whine, “Baby, I can’t handle this temptation any longer. Please, can I feel your pussy?”
“Fuck, put it in Neji. As long as you pull out it’ll be fine, I promise.” You’d lift your hips to take more of him before he could regret it, and Neji would oblige. Your pussy would hug his cock better than in his dreams, and Neji’s low, broken moan would light your blood on fire.
Neji would straighten up to sit on his knees, grip one of your ankles and haul your leg over his shoulder, allowing the other leg to hang loosely at his hip. He’d bend you in half to deepen the angle, hands resting by your shoulders. Just to tease you both, he’d pull out halfway and push back in at an agonizing pace.
Neji would fuck you within an inch of your life, long hair becoming a curtain that cuts you off from the world. Your nails would scratch angry pink lines down his chest, and his cock would start to throb as he toed the line of release. You’d smack his chest, reminding him with a desperate plea, “Don’t cum inside me! Neji, Neji, baby — you gotta pull out!”
He’d slip his cock free at the last second, letting your body flop to the bed as he stroked his cock. With three quick pumps he’d cum all over your belly.
Safe to say, this would be Neji’s new favorite way to have sex.
༝ ᭝ ༝ sasuke ༝ ᭝ ༝
⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣
Unlike his brother, Sasuke is impulsive.
He couldn’t deny the thought would cross his mind every now and then, playing with the idea of fucking you raw and seeing his sticky, white cum cover his cock and spill from your pussy.
Usually when he got the urge he’d jerk himself off. Cool fingers would wrap around his warm cock, shivers running down his spine as he stroked himself slowly. He’d cum in a heartbeat.
It would dull the ache of his desire for a while. Hell, he definitely wouldn’t want to have a baby any time in the near future. But soon enough it’d start to eat at him again. His stomach would clench tight every time you’d have sex, nasty dreams forcing him to wake up hard. That’s why, when you beg him to take the condom off, it’s take zero effort to convince him.
Your face would be buried in your pillow, ass in the air, and one hand would fist the sheets. The other would twist behind to smack against Sasuke’s lean lower belly, pushing at him to wait. He’d be too focused, hands pressing your lower back into a harsh arch, sweat trailing down his temple, over his jaw, dripping onto your back.
“Sasuke,” you’d moan, asking for his attention. “Wait, Sasuke — ah fuck!” You’d dig your nails into his belly until he sucked in a sharp breath. “Take the condom off, please!”
His hips would still, pressed flush to your ass. “What?” He’d ask, already be pulling out. “You want me to fuck you raw?” He’d tease. “So spoiled, princess.”
You’d roll onto your back, cheeks heated, chest heaving. “Just fucking take it off,” you’d demand, reaching to grasp the slippery latex and slide it free. Sasuke would smirk, eyes glued to his dick as it bobs once the condom pops off.
Sasuke’s jaw would go slack once you stroked his cock, the skin soft and slick from leftover lube. He’d fucking whimper, a noise he’d never made before, when he pushes all the way in. Sasuke’s thoughts wouldn’t be coherent after that. He’d put your knees to your ears and fuck you until he’s cum twice and you’re squirting onto his pelvis.
He would panic the next day, going dizzy with relief when you inform him you started getting birth control shots.
༝ ᭝ ༝ kakashi ༝ ᭝ ༝
⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣
Kakashi would be asking you if he could hit it raw.
For your entire relationship, Kakashi would have it known that he’s got a fantasy about giving you a “cream pie”, for lack of a better word. He’d never push you to do something you’re uncomfortable with, no, he’d be more than happy to even role play the act.
There’s no denying that Kakashi would truly want to get you pregnant. He’d love to see your belly round with his baby, but he’d be patient and wait for you to give him the go ahead. However, Kakashi has a loud mouth, and he’d voice his desires at least every other time you have sex.
In the end, the idea would get in your head and become more than appealing to you. When you gave in, it’d be when Kakashi least expected it. It’d be a night when his back is propped up by a couple pillows near your headboard, calloused hands gripping your ass and guiding the slow roll of your hips. Kakashi would be drooling about how well you ride his cock.
Your hands would brace themselves on his pecs, nails digging into his skin, and Kakashi wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut. No surprise there. “Babygirl,” he’d moan, eyes rolling towards the ceiling when your pussy clenches tight. “Look so pretty when you ride me, m’gonna cum so hard. You’ll let me knock you up, yeah? Wanna see you swollen with my baby so bad.”
You’d slap your hand over his mouth to stop the stream of filthy words, cheeks blistering. “Kakashi,” you’d say through your teeth, voice pitching higher. “Take off the condom.”
Kakashi’s eyebrows would shoot to his hairline, jaw dropping open as the words he’d been waiting forever to hear sunk in. There’s no way in hell you’d have to repeat yourself. He’d shove you off his lap and onto your back, settling between your spread thighs as he all but ripped off the condom. He’d stroke his cock a couple times before readjusting his weight, taking his time to slide his bare cock back inside you.
Kakashi would whine in back of his throat, pushing your thighs apart until your muscles started to protest. “Kakashi!” You’d gasp, pushing up to your elbows, fisting the sheets as he railed the shit out of you.
“Sorry, can’t — fuck, can’t help myself,” he’d pant, not sounding sorry at all. You’d catch a glimpse of Kakashi’s sharingan whirling and then he’d be cumming before you realized he’s close.
He wouldn’t stop with one round. He’d wring pleasure out of you until your legs turned to jelly. He’d cum again after that, making such a mess that you’d both end up in the shower.
um no excuses for this one, i just love arranged/forced marriage au’s! where the husband is toxic
mdni
He is intransigent, he is stubborn, prideful, possessive and prone to jealousy. He's been like this since you met him. In his mind you were always his. He asked for you, he picked you.
He fought and and bled to get the right to choose you.
To own you, you claim you.
There’s no other word for it than ownership. It’s archaic, it’s humiliating, it’s infuriating.
It is what it is.
It’s just another slab around the pendant chain of this system that has raised you. And knowing this was meant to be doesn’t make it easier.
He comes in late, takes all his clothes off and has you in whatever way he pleases. He wants you ready, always. His eyes and the way they look at you have imprinted on your brain the same way his hands imprint on your skin. Cold eyes, detached eyes, and yet they burn, they pierce through you.
He doesn’t prep you out of the kindness in his heart, it’s for him, it’s all for him. He tastes you, tongue sleeping and merciless as he uses his thumbs to spread you open for him, never able to hide from his gaze, broad shoulders parting your legs open to give him entry.
He sucks and licks, and slides his tongue around your folds and inside your pussy until he’s had his fill, until your legs are shaking and your clit is throbbing. He doesn’t care if you come, but you do, you always do.
He takes and takes, his breath is on your neck, his fingers dig into your flesh, he spreads you open around his shape, you’ve grown used to it, to his size, to his pace, to his unrelenting hunger. He always wants more, always demands more.
He grunts next to you ear how he wants more, how you’re going to give him more, because that’s what he wants. That’s what he needs. His arms fold and mold you to his tasting, there’s not part of you skiing that has been untouched by his hands, there’s no part of your sanity that has not been claimed by his desire.
He stays inside you after he’s done, his body is heavy atop of you as he lets sleep take over him. Fatigue beats you as well, he’ll want more tomorrow, and you’ll be craving for him same as always, and you’ll hate him for it, but you’ll hate yourself even more.
Here we have some handsome shinobi men, all of them addicted and can’t help themselves when they feel you around them in the best way possible. Pūssy drunk might be the words what describes them when they have you in their hands.
Hello world, it’s me being back, this time with more of a thirst like thing here. I picked out 5 of our beloved men and decided to write some smutty smut ✨🌚 so I hope you enjoy 🤌🏻🤌🏻
Wordcount: 4,7k
Warnings: Sm*t, p in v, pūssy drunk men, praising, sometimes a little degrading
MDNI
Neji Hyuga ~ Got him surprisingly hooked…
„Keep moving, baby." you heard him and hell was he whipped. You were his precious girl on top of him. Dragging your cute pussy up and down his shaft. These cute pants because you draw out of breath. His right hand glued to your hip. His gaze solemnly locked onto your face. Sometimes dropping watching how enticingly your gorgeous tits bounced for him.
„I... I can't baby. My legs..." you stuttered, but your cute reply followed by a sweet moan. And then you could listen to a snicker of him. Neji never just snickered or grinned, just like he did now. Every time he fucked you, he was a little rough because he knew you liked it. But after that training today, you offered to ride him. Little did you know he enjoyed it so much that it had been hours now. He stuffed your puffy pussy full of his cum. Enjoying how it dribbled out of you. Every few moments, he dragged his thumb down your slit. How your pussy tried to take his dick. The little shudder you did when he wiped over your soaping wet clit.
But now, he was drunk on that pussy. He couldn't stop, nor did he want to stop. No matter how composed Neji truly was when it was about you, especially now you were being on top of him. He can't deny that he loved watching you like this. The feel of your little cunt squeezing him, and fluttered when he dragged the curve of his dick right to the spot where you needed it.
When he grabbed your hips just to slam you down a little more. Just to listen how your wet pussy would be squelching around him. To watch how a creamy ring formed around his base.
Neji usually never the one who talked much. Indeed, he tried to keep his noises in check. No matter how hot you think he was, he always thought he wouldn't deserve a girlfriend like you. And then have her so pretty spread out for him. Sometimes when you were lucky he praised you and calling you „a good girl" before he smacked your ass, just how he knew you liked it.
But right now? The groan he let out, the way his head fell in the pillows. You tried to keep up with his stamina, a cute try, but you couldn't. Legs and thighs already shaking. Your pussy still so sloppy from all the cumming.
„I said keep moving. Want this pretty pussy to cum again." he said, he just noticed how wet you seemed to get when he talked to you like this. Grabbing a good chunk of your ass when he leaned forward now.
„I need her to cum again, feels so good when she is....ah, trying to milk every last bit." his jaw clenched slightly. You felt so good being wrapped around him. So warm and soft and so fucking wet. You felt how he ground you against him. Your clit rubbing against his pelvis, making your hands lay on his chest. As you tried to steady yourself.
„Her?" you asked, a little blush on your cheeks, and not just because his thick cock was inside you. He didn't want you to stop. To satisfied with the way you bounced on top of him. Too mesmerized how your sweet pussy was taking every mean inch of him. Every drag he made you do on his dick was just getting meaner. But damn he was pussy drunk. „Yes, this sweet pussy of yours."
Usually when his sweet girl couldn't take it any longer, he was a gentleman, flipping you over to pound into you in the best way possible. But not today. Not when he had his girl so sloppy on top of him.
"Such a messy girl, you are. So sloppy and wet." he stated with a husky tone, god he was gone. He felt too good right now.
„Please, Neji." *you added, but he just grabbed your waist, giving you a hold before he made you slam down his dick over and over again. His hips bucking up into your welcoming heat.
And then you heard him groan, his lavender eyes rolling back, pretty lips parted slightly.
„Feels too good, your pussy feels too good." he said, his voice strained with the effort to not just whine, but the feeling how your walls grabbing him was too good, so he failed.
„Sooo tight." he added, and you heard a gasp from his throat. Yourself being busy with moaning. Already felt the next orgasm approaching....aware this wouldn't be the end of this. He would fuck you long enough until you would being sore the next morning.
Shikamaru Nara ~ Taking his sweet time…
Shikamaru was a man, when he was pussy drunk he wouldn't just rut into you because it felt so good. He was a man who appreciated every little move your cute pussy made. Savoring the feeling, so sensual, it had you being impatient and needy.
Thighs spread as he grabbed with both hands the back of them, spreading them just a little more apart. A low groan was coming out of his mouth. Eyes locked with your pussy and how pretty your petals part for him, as he sunk into you, so slow. Every inch, slowly inserting to let you feel every curve and vein of him. Your lips shaped in a pretty ‚o' hoping he would finally fuck you how you needed it. Because this was like the nth time, he just slowly pushed inside you to pull out completely and doing it all over again. And this time not just for teasing no, he enjoyed your cunt to the fullest, the way it fit so snugly around him.
„Shikaaaa." you pouted and this was then the only time he took his dark eyes away from your pussy. A hand coming to lay on your cheek, thumb gazing your bottom lip.
„Stop pouting, let me savor this...perfect pussy." he said to you, already aware how needy you were. Alone the way your juices flowed out, the way you clenched around his tip when he pushed into you so damn slowly.
„Can't a man enjoy his girl's pussy, hm?" his breath tickled your ear when he leaned down. And then with a little harder thrust making you moan. He was mean.
„You do this for hours. I need you, why you are so mean." you spoke, but it was followed by a small gasp when his other hand came to drag a thumb over your clit, making your eyes close shortly.
„Is it my fault when someone got a cunt that is squeezing me in the most delicious way?" he asked, making you tremble when his thumb circled your clit over and over again so slow. You felt his fat cock pulsing inside you. As you tried to drag down your pussy just a little more. „It's just so addicting, sweetheart. You can't blame me, can you?" he purred before you finally felt that he was starting to move. Still a slow and sensual pace. Shikamaru nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck before you heard that deep groan in your ear, that made you so fucking wet. He sounded so sexy when he was enjoying you to his fullest.
Your fingers went to his hair, gently tugging on the strands that still were bound in his signature ponytail. You felt every vein on his shaft, and slowly he gave in to it, you what you craved so much. Your boyfriend stopped fucking you so lazy after he savored every little clench and flutter of your tight wet heat.
„Feels already better." you sighted cute, and he started to pick up more pace. Licking over your salty, sweet skin on your neck. Hands laying on your hips before he dragged his shaft all the way in just to bottom out and slam into you.
„God, Shika." you whined already. It was always like this, complaining when he teased you too much but whining when he finally started fucking you. Really fucking you. You were even better than watching clouds. Watching how your pretty tits bounced when he slammed into you was a sight to behold for him.
The way your heated skin clung to his. Or when you threw your arms over his shoulders. This was the moment he got so lost in your perfect little cunt.
„Fuck...look at that always so greedy and needy and when I give in you start whining." he murmured with a growl nipping on the sensitive skin behind your ear making you shudder. Then he decided to get a little up, grabbing your hips just a little tighter. Before he gave into the feeling of your heavenly cunt and started pounding. Head fell in the back of his neck. Exposing his adam apple that bobbed when he swallowed thickly because only you and your pretty little pussy could make him feel like this.
You were just shortly able to take in this sight. The way his body looked so good covered in a little sweat from the hours he just wanted to feel you wrapped around him. Your juices all over his cock. Your fingers laid against his lower abdomen, when he now was just able to use you how he saw fit and needed it.
„Gorgeous fucking girl, feeling so good around me. Makes me nearly lose my...urgh composure." he muttered under his breath, just seconds before you could listen to that whine what escaped his parted lips. Just to gave you a particular hard thrust after this.
He was so pussy drunk now. Lost in that heat that took every inch of him so well. Your pussy sucking in his dick. Your lazy boyfriend who just got so addicted to the feeling of you around him.
Thick cock pounding you now extra hard after that whine that he let out. Although, he didn't deny that you made him feel this good. As if every expectation that were placed on him fell off his shoulders. Just you and him and this damn good feeling of you squeezing him. The lewd squelches of your sex and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.
„Nearly? I am sure I heard you whine." you panted a little cheeky and this was the moment he looked down at you. Before he decided to push the digit of his thumb in your mouth. To make you shut up and giving you something to be busy.
You sucked on his thumb, delicate plump lips wrapped around the thick digit as you looked so pretty fucked out while he could continue to get just more high on your dripping pussy.
„What a drag when pretty girl is being so cocky. You should learn to think before you open these beautiful lips to speak." was the only thing he said to you before his free hand slapped your pussy, making contact with your clit. Just to listen to the next whine you let off, followed by a deep groan. Making his eyes roll back in bliss before he continued to fuck you just how he needed it when he was this whipped by you.
Naruto Uzumaki ~ Drilling you with no end…
„Just the tip, baby, please." he let out, groaning again when his weeping tip smeared his pre cum over the hot slit of your pussy. When Naruto was pussy drunk, he fucks like nothing else.
He already made you cum three times in a row. Himself spilling his seed into you and well he had so much energy he simply needed you and his pretty girls pussy that felt so damn good around him.
And now, after your last shattering orgasm, you nearly crawled away from him. His hand laid on your plush rear, dragging you back to him. Angry red tip brushing over your clit, making your back arch just a little more.
„Baby, I don't know if I can take it." you pouted, and yet he felt how you leaned a little into his touch.
Naruto was aware how greedy he had been. But what should he do? He loved you, and he loved stuffing your pussy full of him. You were just so soft and when he was inside you, shit, he couldn't help then to just push his length in these dripping walls of yours and make you all these cute little noises he liked so much. He enjoyed watching your ass a little jiggle when he trusted inside you.
The blonde boy leaned over your back. His chest pressed against your skin. One hand brushed a strand of hair away from your face. Breath tickling your ear.
„You always take me so good, sweetheart. I just can't help it when you bend over sooooo..." he started before he made his tip disappear inside your weeping right entrance. Making you gasp and lift your had a little.
„....pretty and inviting. Your cute pussy begs me to put it inside, you know?" he ended his sentence just to listen to the lewd, sloppy squelch of your cunt.
Naruto was always a golden retriever boyfriend. Full of energy and happy, trying to make you happy for sure. But hell, when he was so whipped with your creamy pussy. He just couldn't stop.
Having you all bend over so nicely. Ass on display, ready for him to grab your soft skin, pull you back onto his dripping dick.
"I know? You say this for like the third time. I will be so sore tomorrow." you whimpered, but your pussy spread so willingly to let more inside than just his fat tip.
His dick was slightly curved, dragging along your gripping walls.
Naruto hissed as soon as he felt how you already clenched around him. He couldn't wait, of course not, Whenever could someone like Naruto wait and be patient without just going after his instinct?
With a gentle tug on your hips his whole length, sheathed in that familiar warmth, coating his cock, making him feel all the more butterflies in his tummy...or more his balls, perhaps.
You gasped and draw a sharp breath, your hands fisting the messy sheets underneath you.
"The fourth, actually, pretty. That's the fourth time. And you just feel even more better. Shit..." he corrected you, of course he counted, as if ever would pass the chance to count the times he fucked you, raw and how often you came all over his pretty dick.
At least he gave you a moment, adjusting so snugly to him. As if you would mold into the perfect shape for him. His cute girlfriend never failed to please him. Never failed to look so good in his sky blue eyes.
This man would ravish you anytime of the day. You wore a hoodie and having messy hair? Damn, you looked hot to him, hands grabbing under the thick fabric.
You made yourself pretty because you went out? Well, he would need just to show you how much he adored your cute outfit.
But now? Hell, it was just in the morning, you not even made it out of bed before. Technically, he wanted to make you some cute breakfast. The one time he was sooner awake than you. He could be the cutest dork ball. But when he tried to wake you up, watching how your shirt slipped up, exposing your ass to him, it was over.
So instead of feeding you breakfast, he fed you 7 inches of his dick. Making your eyes wide, and he just loved hearing your cute little 'ah' over and over again. This pussy got him hooked right in the morning, his eyes rolling back as he grabbed your hips nearly bruising as soon as he was inside you and gave you this short amount of time to adjust again he started to rut into you, so fast. His own eyes crossing.
"I never get tired of this, I swear. You're just so wet...and take me so well. You are such a good princess, you know? My pretty princess with even a more pretty pussy." he started to babble, to tell yo how good you were to him while he rearranged your guts again and again.
He always praised you so sweet as if he wouldn't fuck the shit out of you, in the early morning.
"Na-Naruto. Slow...ah slow down." you panted but as answer? Oh, he gently pushed your head in the mattress, of course before he ever does that he had asked you if this was ok with you. Since you told him you liked it when he was a little rough. And now? God, he wanted to hear your pussy talk to him, and he couldn't slow down at all, not when you were wrapped around him like this.
Yourself starting to drool by the way his dick was drilling inside you.
"Sorry, baby, I give you...fuck. I give you the best aftercare you can wish for, but I need you like this now. Bend over and drilling into this snug cunt of yours." he told you, groaning before he got lost inside your depth all over again.
Kakashi Hatake ~ „You can give me another one…“
Sensei knows what he is doing, so aware, he won't stop so soon. Having his sweet girl in a mean mating press, having you in such a tight grip when he bends your knees down to your chest.
Watching how your jaw hung slack, and your eyes looked at him in shock that it was already the third time he came inside you, not even flinching to just fuck his cum right back into you.
"Kashi..." you tried to speak, but you were made shut up when his girthy dick stretched you out so delicious, making you throb so needy and yet so breathless.
"You do so great for me, sweetheart." he praised, his voice so steady and filled with adoration. He loved his girl, oh he did, so much. But he also loved the way you were able to stretch around him, how your pink pussy parts for him. The way you always whined how you couldn't anymore, but your pretty cunt told him something different.
He sank down his dick as he just put more weight into you, until he was inside you to the hilt. Pelvis grinding against you, making you shudder and roll your eyes back when the gentle curve hit your cervix. These white silver hairs from his happy trail tickling your puffy folds.
Making you all the way more desperate for him.
"You said you would be done...darling." you breathed when you tried to not just cum again like a whore just because he put his dick back into your dripping entrance.
Before he said something you could listen to the husky small chuckle, before he pulled down his mask, just to flash you a small smirk. Before he spit down, a stream of spit right onto your aching clit.
Leaning just a little more over to look you right in your wide doe eyes before his hand found the way between your thighs, slowly smearing his spit along your swollen nub, making you whimper.
"Just one more time, my sweet. I just love getting you so full, you always have this adorable pout." he said, and you could listen that even when he seemed to be so composed, hell Kakahsi was gone.
You gripped him so tight, making it hard for him to not just pound into you all over again, giving you a little time to relax...as far as this is possible with his thick cock inside you. Muscles flexing when he grabbed your thigh tighter pressing you down and literally folding you in half in a sweet, sweet mating press.
After all, he liked seeing it when you took every ounce of his cum inside you. Every creamy string that he shoot into your womb, nothing would go to waste, right? Well, he simply fucked it back into you. Kakahsi was so drunk from your pussy that he only managed to let out a shaky groan, while he continued to rub over your nub.
And there it was this little pout he adored so much, just then he decided to move again.
Dragging his pulsating cock along your inner walls. Nearly bottoming out so just the tip remained inside, before he gave you a long deep stroke.
Lips parting to moan for him.
"See you take me so well, how can I not want to see this expression of yours? You are such a good girl for me, aren't you?" his voice like some sinful silk wrapping around you, making you nod with teary eyes when he started to fuck you, it was not that fast, but he was so deep. Savoring your tight passage in the best way possible.
"Come on, tell me how good you want to be for me, yeah? You can do that right. Use your words, darling." he urged you, making you whimper again with the next thrust of his hips.
Thumb circled your clit with such a precision it made it so hard for you to think about words. Your skin flushed when he talked like this.
"Want to be....nghh good for you." you managed to say, earning a low rumble in his chest that was a chuckle, before his pickup his pace just a little, both hands on your thighs now. Looking right into your face.
"And good girls, can take one more. Just one more pretty orgasm, one more shudder of your pretty pussy. So shamelessly spread for me." he whispered against your lips then, not kissing you yet, although you wanted him to.
A little loving tease he was. Giving you the meanest treatment with his cock that was pulsating inside you, and yet he cooed you into a soothing balm of his voice.
Indeed, he groaned again at the feeling how you started to clench, and flutter around him. Increasing his pace now, hips snapping against yours. Even when he was not breaking a sweat doing this, but oh you felt so good to him, he couldn't get enough.
"Ahhh god... I am-" you didn't manage to speak properly, eyes rolling back. And you couldn't help to loll your tongue out. Kakashi loved to see you like this, so fucked out, and yet your pussy didn't get enough.
"Hmm, such a cute little slut for me, cumming all along my cock... So adorable." he cooed while looking down at you. Pussy feeling too hot, too slick and too good. Even when he said one more...it wasn't just one more before he fucked you through the next orgasm all over again and would pump you so full of his own cum....
Itachi Uchiha ~ Falling simply more in love…
When Itachi was pussy drunk, god, he couldn't help then to hold you close, feeling your hot skin against his. Can't even believe that this cute girl was all his. That you let him have this heavenly access to the paradise between your legs. Hands grabbing everywhere where they could reach, kissing your skin, cooing the sweet little nothing's in your ear, while you took his mean, mean dick all the way inside. Itachi had you in reverse cowgirl now. Your plush rear so pretty on display watching how your pink pussy stretched around his length. How you swallowed every delicious inch of him, again and again and again.
Making the shinobi groan in adoration. He never had seen a more beautiful sight. Although, it was hard for him to decide if he liked it more to see your beautiful face contoured in pleasure when he was putting inside his thick inches. Or if he likes it more facing your backside in this angle having you bounce on him, so eagerly to please him.
You made him just so weak, so weak for your perfect little cunt, it had him gasping. He sat up just to feel you close, even when you rode him reverse into oblivion, he was sure you did.
Eyes closed and yet he saw everything. Lips nipping against your skin, tasting sweet, salty skin. Inhaling your scent. You always smelled so sweet to him but now when you were bouncing on his dick...hell, the smell of your arousal, it turned him on to no end. One strong arm wrapped around your waist, loosely, so you still could drag your wet cunt down his shaft.
"You look so pretty love, so pretty...hmm for me." he murmured against your ear, breath hot over it.
"Do I? Mind to tell me that again?" you asked, no matter how much you thought you would be in control it was Itachi who chuckled, giving into the wishes of his princess. Letting you think you might have had control, although since he was now so whipped with your pussy, you might even have.
"Don't be so rude when you take me this sloppy all the way in." he spoke while his free hand tugged back a strand of hair, before he kissed your cheekbone. Hands now both on the curve of your hip, helping you to slam down just a little harder onto him.
"Fuck." you moaned then, feeling his hard, thick cock just more deep. Making you wiggle down onto him, this had him groaning again, so deep. Holding you so close now, looking down to see how cute your ass jiggled when he thrusted upwards.
"You have no idea how good you feel wrapped around me like this, it's like heaven." the dark haired man let you know. Oh, he was so lovely to you, even when he noticed how shaky your legs got, how breathy your cute moans were from the way he hit the spot inside you.
As much as he loved fucking you full of his cum, he enjoyed to hold back his massive load for you. Making you a cum a few times on him, just so you would end up, to beg him so cute if he finally gives you his creamy, thick white cum. Such a slut you were for your boyfriend.
"Itachi, baby. Want your cum." you pouted, he was sure he could hear it, before he thrusted sharp up again. Both arms wrapping around you now as he pressed his front to your back.
"You really do, hm? I can tell your legs grow numb, huh? Pretty girl too weak, to take me?" he teased husky, gently biting your neck, what made you whimper.
Not even arguing this time with him.
"Fine, I grant you what you wish, my darling." he murmured before he let go of you laying down back in the pillows, grabbing your soft flesh of your bouncy ass.
Helping you to thrust back onto his massive shaft, over and over again.
Biting his lower lip gently when he watched the lewd display, when the noise of your skin clapping against his, was heard. The way the bed creaked. It was just so hot for him.
"Be a naughty girl, love. Rub that clit for me, want you to cum with me this time." he commanded softly, and you couldn't help but to dance your own fingers over your swollen nub.
Itachi controlling your hips to his liking, just taking in the sensation. Not even holding back to moan your name, since he loved you so much, loved the feeling of your pussy.
Getting drunk on it like this. Eyes closed, head in the pillows...just feeling right now.
Feeling how your walls clamped down around his cock the closer you got, how his tip hit that spongy part inside you. Making you shudder and squirm a little, every time he hit that spot.
His hips bucking upwards faster, more desperate for release.
"God, I fucking...urgh love you." he panted and gasped, his balls drawing up so, so tight. You felt too good to stop.
You rubbed your clit with urgency, yourself seconds away from cumming all over his lap.
"Baby...:" you managed to squeal out before you tensed, your cunt squeezing him so god, it made his eyes roll back, pumping you full of his hot and potent seed. Rope after rope, painting your insides white. Not that he had enough now....no.
With a quick move he bends you over then, simply fucking through your orgasm and through his, this would be a long night ahead.
Just because your legs grew numb wouldn't mean your pussy can't take more right?
Hi I was wondering if you also do other Naruto characters too, if you do can you please make a Neji x reader one shot where they're in a secret relationship reader and Neji are obviously from different clans and they're in an arranged marriage proposal with others and they don't know who they're suitors are
I miss Neji sm 😭
love the lee x reader fic btw 💕
━ caged bird, sacrificial lamb | neji hyuga
pairing: neji hyuga x fem!reader
⋆ . ࿔ ˚ when the pressure to fulfil your born purpose grows stronger, you're torn between two realms: an honest existence, where you choose love. and a respectable existence, where you choose duty.
wc: 6k words
content: one-shot, loosely canon-compliant, neji lives, angst, mentions of family conflict, mentions of arranged marriage, secret relationship, forbidden love, only one bed trope, descriptions of kissing, tongue-kissing, oral (f. receiving), p in v, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, sex outside (but not public), crying during sex, creampie, crying after sex
konohagakure, despite being the largest of all the hidden villages, was small enough for the sound of your family name to send ripples cascading down the spines of every shinobi who resided here.
the clearing collateral damage of the warring states period, and the creation of the hidden leaf was a beacon of promise that guided your ancestors to ingrain themselves within the fabric of its history. your forefathers, once vehement warriors, abandoned their violence once and for all to exchange it for status.
blades raised with the intention to kill became firm handshakes that birthed clan alliances.
the spilling of blood became the pouring of luxurious wines.
and cumbersome, blood-stained armour became bespoke clothing, woven with fine silks and embroidered with the most intricate of patterns.
your parents, the leader and matriarch of the (l/n) clan, could easily pass as architects. they mapped out your existence, and constructed it carefully to ensure you would align with the reputation that preceded you.
your efficacy in combat. your savoir faire. the cadence of your voice: you were built to be the picture of civility, befitting of the eventual heir to a strong legacy. you recognised your privilege, and you were grateful for the luxury of being brought up this way. however, your feelings of resentment were greater than any feelings of gratitude you could garner.
you hated that your upbringing was never truly for your own good, but rather, for the good of whoever's hands you were going to get tossed into. your family cared more about preserving the clan image than you, and you hated it.
you hated that you felt like a mere mass of consciousness, sealed inside of a doll to be played with by others. you were trapped in your own body, and you were forced to watch as your own blood negotiated with your suitor's family.
during visits, your suitor would look at you with soft eyes. they would have the nerve to smile at you. their kindness felt like salt being rubbed into an open wound. anyone would've liked them, but you simply didn't—you couldn't. further insult gets added to your injury when you hear everyone in the room talk about you as if you were breathing currency; like a prized possession.
you were a sacrificial lamb being offered to somebody you did not know, nor care about. it fanned the flames of hatred that burned in your heart to the point of rebellion.
it's a rebellion that's futile, but you indulge in the freedom it gives you regardless. you're willing to pay in punishment, because it's probably the last time you will be able to rebel. you don't care for a moment if it's all illusory and fleeting. the sun will set, and you will sneak out to see neji in the isolated forest you've been meeting up at for the past few years, like you always have.
it began when the two of you were paired together by lady tsunade—assigned to a long-term mission outside the village on the basis that you were both high-performing students with similar backgrounds. your clan were famed for their taijutsu, and so was his. you'd score near-perfectly in exams, and so would he. you accelerated up the ranks quicker than your genin peers, and you were spending less time with your three-man squad. just like you, neji was prodigious.
there was an air of gravitas surrounding your clan that neji acknowledged, because it reminded him of his own. so when you walked into the hokage’s office with blunt-cut short hair, he frowned. what others saw as a superficial aesthetic change, neji recognised as a reminder of shame and disgrace; a punitive style. he had seen the same thing happen to hinata in childhood, when it was decided that she was much too timid, and much too weak to be the heiress to the hyuga clan’s head branch. he wonders what shame hangs over your head. he wonders if you too, have been forsaken by fate.
he wants to make things easy for you.
he knows you're more than capable as a fighter, but he still feels compelled to look out for you more than you need him to.
he carries you on his back when you complain blankly about a minor ache in your legs. he dresses your wounds, even though you could've done it yourself. he never moves when you rest your head against his shoulder.
why?
because it feels good to serve on his own terms, and not because of fate.
a month and a few days have passed. nightfall has arrived, accompanied by floating lanterns in the sky, and fireflies lighting up the path you're both on. once again, you find yourself being carried on neji’s back, with your arms draped loosely over his shoulders, and with eyes shut against him.
“neji?” you call out softly.
“yes, y/n?” his voice is equally soft.
“thank you.”
neji pauses briefly. “your gratitude is unnecessary, y/n. there’s no need to thank me.” he says, flatly.
his tone makes you roll your eyes.
“and don't roll your eyes at me,” neji continues his admonishment. “i have a feeling you did that.”
“why shouldn't i?”
“because you know very well that it’s rude to.”
“i’m aware, genius,” you tease, caustically. “i meant to ask why i shouldn't thank you, not why i shouldn't roll my eyes at you, neji.”
“because, y/n,” he bites back. “it’s standard for shinobi to protect their teammates. i should be doing this for you regardless.”
“sure, but my legs aren't even hurting right now. i could walk on my own.”
“so then, would you prefer to walk, y/n?”
in that moment, you realise that it's not about whether or not you want to walk. it’s about whether or not you want to let go of neji, and you don't want to. so you wrap your arms around his neck with more intention, resting your cheek against his head. his hair feels soft against your face.
“i don't want to walk…”
a rapid exhale escapes neji's nostrils. the ghost of a smile forms on his face, away from your vision.
“fine. you don't have to walk, then.”
eventually, neji’s footsteps stop when you both reach the inn you’ve been staying at since the mission’s start. the doors open to reveal the innkeeper’s seat, which is now vacant. you're glad she isn’t here right now, because if she were, she wouldn't shut up about how close you two were. neji loosens the grip on your thighs, a cue for you to dismount from his back, and walk back gingerly to your shared bedroom.
the bedroom is dark, with the only sources of light being the moon and lanterns outside working in tandem. you’re sat on the edge of the bed, putting your hair in a silk bonnet. at last, you can finally slip out of your heavier shinobi wear, and into your night clothes. it’s a silken dress that flares gently at your bust and stops just below your knees. your clan insignia is a delicate pattern, faintly printed across the dress.
at times, neji would steal glances at the dress against your skin, and memorise the detailing woven into the fabric before falling asleep on the floor. you didn't like the fact that he chose to sleep there, and you had protested against it on the first night. neji, however, insisted that you have the singular bed all to yourself. his obstinacy was stronger than your objections, so you just let it go, and routine was set, never to be spoken of again.
routine was deviated from on this night, though.
you felt the mattress dip from behind you, paired with the shifting sounds of the bed creaking. it isn't long before you can feel the warmth of neji’s body radiating onto your back. it coaxes you to turn around, and settle on your other side. now, you're face-to-face with him. in a rare moment where his headband is removed, you can see the seal emblazoned on his forehead. he's zoned out with half-lidded, milky eyes that don't budge from your face.
exhaustion from the events of the day. sounds of fireworks outside. the wind against the windows. it all leaves you both in a trance-like state, where you find that neither of you care about the fact that you're staring at each other.
“neji?” silence is finally broken.
he says nothing, but the light in his eyes return when you speak.
“why are you so…” you pause, looking for the most appropriate word to define neji's behaviour. “nice to me?”
“what are you talking about?”
“well,” you half-whisper. “i mean, when we share food, you always give me the bigger portion, as if you're not hungry. you always want to patch me up, even if it's a tiny scratch that’ll just heal anyway…”
his eyes dart quickly before meeting yours again.
“...even today, you carried me. i know it's okay to hold me.. but you keep doing it. do you think i’m weak or something? tell me.”
he scoffs. “no. lady tsunade chose you to accompany me for a reason, y/n. that alone is proof of your strength. you’re one of our brightest kunoichi. use your head.”
“okay, okay,” you sigh. “so if you think i’m not weak, why do you do all of that?”
“because i think you’re strong." neji pauses to reconsider his words. “because i think there's something you're trying to be strong about, rather.”
you remain silent.
“do you remember when you were called to lady tsunade’s office before this mission? you had longer hair before that.”
your heart pounds against your ribs. “yeah. i did…”
“you didn't look so good.”
you kick his leg.
“i wasn't calling you ugly, calm down,” neji brushes your leg away. “i mean you had a miserable look on your face. i didn't want to be presumptuous, and i didn't want to overstep by asking you, but clearly, something happened…”
he already has an outline of what it could be: a clan-related problem. he just wants you to confirm it.
“you wanna know?”
“yes, but only if you’re willing to tell me.”
you take a deep breath. your throat feels tight, but your words rise to the surface regardless.
“you're the first person i’m saying this to, okay?”
neji nods slowly, with eyes staring intently into yours.
“i’ve been betrothed to somebody.” your voice trembles. “i’ve met them, and while they do seem lovely, it’s not something i want at all. i don’t want to be something to just… give away.”
the corners of neji’s mouth grow slightly downturned at your revelation.
“and it just hit me—is this what i was raised for? to be some bride that just happens to fight? there's no way that's gonna be my life. so, i told my parents that i didn't want to follow through with the marriage, and they told me i had no place to,” you clear your throat. “and that if i am to be a good wife, i should first learn to not object, and instead, accept fate. to hell with that,” a scoff leaves your mouth. “i know better than to bite the hand that feeds me, but i was so hurt. i couldn't contain my anger. you know how that feels, right?”
neji nods his head slowly. memories of his fight against hinata during the chunin exams return to him in fragments. each one feels like a blister reopening.
“i do.” his voice is quiet.
“i tried to land a hit on my father,” you continue. “he caught my fist, of course. and after that, he cut my hair in front of my entire clan. i guess it was to shame me, and it worked. he did humiliate me.” for a moment, its like you're reliving that situation. your words revitalise the past, and once again, it taunts you in the present.
neji’s suspicions were confirmed. you too, were foresaken by fate.
no, you didn't have a seal that would be released at death, but still, you were imprisoned by your circumstances, just like him. neji himself knew that eventually, he’d have to preserve the legacy of the hyuga’s branch family, and birth another caged child. he wouldn't know who his suitor would be yet, but the fact remained that it was inevitable and sure to happen, as fate is.
“that wasn't easy to talk about, was it?” his voice is more subdued in approach.
you’re trying to keep yourself together, but the memories from that day flood your mind. the pain of it makes you sit up from your reclined position, with tears flowing down your face.
a weak “sorry” is all you can muster, but you should know by now that neji doesn't care for apology. just as you're about to wipe your tears, neji also sits up to cup your face in his palms. his thumbs brush away your tears as they fall. he doesn't attempt to speed up your weeping with verbal consolation. you have all night to cry, just as he has all night to dry your eyes.
“it's justified. you shouldn't be sorry.”
neji wanted to remain reticent about his life. this was only a mission, and you were only his teammate—no more, no less. but he couldn't remain silent. he saw so much of himself in you. you shouldered a heavy burden against fate and shared it with him, so he decided to lay out his burden in front of you.
“i’ve also been placed in a situation i wish i could escape.”
your tears cease to fall, and his hands detach from your face. it’s your turn to touch his face this time. your fingers delicately trace the seal on his forehead.
“this is a part of it, isn't it?” you ask softly.
“it is.”
“you spoke about it at the chunin exams. i remember.”
he nods. “i wish i could be free, but i know i won’t be. it won't be long before i continue this cycle. like you, i’ll be trapped in marriage, adding onto this cycle…” his tone is laced with bitterness.
your heart aches.
“but,” his tone returns to neutrality. “i think working with you is the freest i’ve ever felt. it could sound selfish, but the reason i do all this for you is because i want to. i somewhat lied to you when i said that it’s because i should be doing it.”
you tilt your head slightly, surprised at his transparency. neji, ever the professional, was finally talking about himself for once.
“the main branch don't thank us for our forced servitude as branch members. but you always thank me for making my own choices. i tell you it doesn't matter, but it does.”
your fingers move from the seal on his forehead. they run through the strands of hair that frame his face.
“you’ve made things bearable. and i see the things you're going through. i think part of me wanted to make it bearable for you too… you don't have to be strong all the time.”
you don't know if this interaction would've still happened if you both weren't tired out of your minds. you're probably never gonna get this level of vulnerability with neji ever again, so you force yourself to stay up. to keep looking into his eyes.
“you don't have to be strong all the time.” his voice echoes in your head.
you've never felt so seen before. you lay back down on your side, with your head against the pillow. he mirrors your position, facing you. some of his hair falls over his shoulder, and you brush it away.
“neither do you,” you whisper. your eyelids feel heavy. “again… thank you.”
“it’s fine, y/n. get some sleep.” neji’s eyes are already shut. you both fall asleep right after that.
years have passed.
war is over.
and neji’s heart continues to blossom after that mission, albeit in quiet ways that go unnoticed by others. in a crowd full of people, his longing eyes will devote themselves to his memory by stealing glances at you from across the room.
he’s a ghost whose hands caress the skin of your thighs under the table when you sit together. he is the perfect stranger in public who leaves messages that are indecipherable to everyone except you.
with bound wings, neji felt as though he could soar in your presence. he found himself believing in the doctrine of fate devoutly: that life is fixed, and the future is set in stone. but he could have never predicted how strongly he’d feel for you. with a distinguished family of his own and expectations that weighed on him, he found solace in you. your life was a mirror of his own. he know your heart as if it were his.
and you both know you're being reckless. you know it's impossible to stop your soon-approaching marriages, and you know that neji will disappear into the arms of another hyuga, instead of retreating into yours.
but still, you never fail to meet him at night in that same spot in the forest, laid down on a blanket of grass away from the watchful gaze of your clans. the trees here were the keepers of your most precious memories and secrets. they shield you as moonlight peeks through its thick branches.
"i missed you, y/n,” neji whispers against your neck. "it’s ridiculous..."
he pulls you onto his lap and inhales your aroma before pressing light kisses along your neck, as if you're made of fine china—like you'll shatter into pieces if he isn't careful. neji loved to embrace you particularly for this reason. your body was a space where he could forget his strength. he could get lost in you, imagining a life where he'd never have to fight again and instead, devote every ounce of his tenderness to you.
your breathy exhales fade into the wind for every kiss he plants. "i know," your faint voice lingers in his ears. "i missed you too, neji..."
so much pain is trapped in so few words. in the past, the ache of separation was tolerable, because you knew that you’d find relief in seeing each other here again. but this time, you're not so certain.
"they came to my house today, you know." you confide, cupping his cheek.
neji raises a brow in interest, his pearl-like eyes scanning yours. the despondency in your eyes is enough evidence for him to piece together what you're talking about.
you didn't want to desecrate this sacred space with talk of the outside world, but you couldn't allow neji to remain ignorant.
he takes a pause that feels like forever. "what happened? what did they say?"
your hand slips off of neji's cheek, and it remains clenched at your side. "my family paid the dowry." you hated having to verbalise that. it felt like you were really speaking it into existence.
"i see." he pauses. "so your fate has been decided."
"neji..." your voice falters.
"there's nothing we can do." a slightly mournful edge slips in between his words.
"we knew that this would happen, though.” your tone lowers. “your clan would never accept me, even though we've built such a legacy for ourselves. i'm no match for a hyuga."
neji takes the clenched fist from your side, and plants a soft kiss on the back of it.
“in spite of that, you're a match for me.” the look in his eyes breaks your heart. “we can’t do anything about the future, y/n. let's do something about the present. while we still have each other.”
you're both like magnets, unable to resist the pull of your faces as they draw closer, and eventually, connect lip-to-lip. in the past, the kisses tasted sweeter. they were a teasing defiance in response to your future. you’d hold back smiles and laughs, thinking you were both above it all. it was thrilling, to put on a show in front of everyone, only to drop the act, and kiss and kiss until your lips grew pleasantly sore in private.
but now, as his tongue wraps around yours, you can only taste a fervency that’s driven by fear. a taste you recognise all too well, because it lives in you too. he's scared that he’ll lose you to the future. he’s scared that this is really going to be the last time.
he knows it will be.
his mouth is still on yours when he leans forwards with a hand on your chest, gently pushing you onto the soft grass. he looms over you, with both forearms planted on either side of your head. when your eyes open, neji is the only thing you can see. it’s unfair how gorgeous he looks, with his hair spilling forwards, and a soft blush adorning his skin. he’s an empty promise, staring right at you.
“will you think of me?” he begins, kissing down your neck. his lips find your collarbones, and stop above the beating of your heart. “when you're at your wedding ceremony?”
“neji…” your hand strokes over the top of his head. “you know i will.”
he wastes little time in unbuttoning your shirt, allowing the breeze to blow against your exposed flesh. he pauses for a moment, admiring the way your skin glows underneath moonlight. he discards the shirt to one side, and promptly resumes his kisses in between your breasts, focusing on your sternum while his large hands massage your supple breasts.
you unclasp your bra to reveal the extent of your hardening nipples to neji, who's already sucking them, and rolling circles with his tongue around the circumference of them. neji is full of you: the sound your soft gasps in his ears. you, in his mouth. you, in the palms of his hands as they roam up and down your torso.
it was always you. it’s just a shame that it can't be.
open-mouthed kisses travel down your belly, before they turn into light pecks at the waistband of your skirt. you can't help the way your core pulses when neji looks up at you through his eyebrows, almost like a puppy, you think.
“would you like me to, y/n?”
you don't need him to complete the sentence in its entirety. you already know what he's looking for.
“yes, please, neji. i want you.” you plead softly. “please...”
without further delay, neji reaches for the hem of your skirt, easing it down your legs. he swallows at the sight of you, clad in just your panties. he can feel himself growing harder than he already was.
when you lift your hips, neji wraps his fingers around your panties and drags them down with your assistance. a string of your essence connects your pussy to the fabric of the underwear, making his face grow warm. he feels the same way too, with the pulse of his cock growing faster under his garments.
he returns to the space in between your legs, experimenting with a ghost-like kiss to your swollen clit.
“here?” he breathes.
you nod, “perfect.”
the kiss earns a gasp from you, but neji has decided that a mere gasp is not enough.
you feel a wet warmth that wraps around the expanse of your clit, taking you in and out with a gentle suction that comes and goes like the ebb and flow of waves on a shore. it’s a sensation that you could never replicate by yourself. your own fingers pale in comparison to neji’s own hunger, as his lips slurp away at your pussy, as if it were a ripe fruit that oozed the sweetest of nectars. he had to have every last drop of you. he had to memorise the way you tasted. he felt as though nothing in this world could take him away from in-between your legs. this would be his first, and his last time consuming you. this meal would have to sustain him for the rest of his life.
it's impossible to articulate how good he's making you feel. he’s easily reduced you to a litany of breathless moans, and desirous requests for more, more, and more. your fingers are embedded within the thick, dark locks of his hair, impossibly tugging him towards a distance that's already been sealed. your toes are curled, and your hips are raised, grinding and crashing against his tongue as it swirls around your clit.
the signs of your impending orgasm begin making themselves evident to neji. that sweet pussy of yours begins to weep more of its juices onto neji’s tongue. he can feel the pulse of it, throbbing intensely against the tip of his tongue in perfect synchrony with your legs buckling in place, and your hips jerking upwards into his mouth. a final whine escapes your lips, and the grip on his hair feels as though you want to dig into his skull.
paradise ends when neji separates his mouth from your core, but it resumes when his eyes meet your own from between your legs, half-lidded and dazed in a haze of pleasure. the gratification he receives from it is bittersweet. neji can live the rest of his life knowing he drove you to such ecstasy, but at the price of never being able to do it again.
“neji,” your voice is like music to his ears. “i need you tonight.”
neji crawls forwards until his head hovers over yours, returning to the same position you were both in earlier where he was above you, with his forearms framing your face. with a singular hand, his knuckles gently traces the contour of your cheek.
“i’m already here, y/n…”
“you are. but i need to have you closer to me...”
you never once sever eye contact with him as your palm cups the erection poking against the fabric of his pants. his breath caves in when you feel over his solid length. he can feel himself crumbling in your hands.
it's uncharacteristic of neji to push past his imposed limitations. you were both intentional in your mutual choice to never search beyond one another's clothes—to respect one another's honour, for the first time was a bridge to be crossed with your spouses. but this situation was dire. things were moving quickly in your arrangement; neji felt it, and you felt it doubly. it’s the perfect justification to claim you before anyone else can.
“how much closer?” his breath is warm against your lips.
“inside of me, neji,” both of your lips are barely touching. “i have to feel you.”
your hands move from his bulge, to the waistband of his pants, where your fingers promptly hook themselves around the material and tug downwards. neji lends a spare hand to help you, simultaneously grabbing the waistband of his boxers and freeing his dick with a swift pull. his length stands on end, tip flushed and glossy with pre-cum as it pulses above your pubic mound.
neji swallows. “we can’t go back after this, y/n.”
“there’s nowhere else i’d want to go.” your hands wrap around the nape of his neck. “it’ll always be you, neji.”
his forehead connects to yours before he speaks again. “and it will always be you.” he grabs his shaft and rubs his dick between the lips of your pussy, catching your dripping slick and coating his length in it. you can’t help but whimper at the friction against your clit.
“are you ready, y/n?” neji whispers in your ear.
you nod wordlessly, parting your legs wider in preparation.
“if you could use your words, y/n,” he positions his tip at your entrance, teasing it ever so slightly. “i would appreciate that.”
“yes,” you oblige. “i’m ready for this, neji.”
“i’m pleased, y/n,” he presses a gentle kiss against your temple. “stop me at any point.”
inch by inch, the length of his dick gradually begins to occupy the space in your eager, willing pussy. the foreign sensation of your walls stretching makes you suck in air through your teeth. the pressure is yet to feel pleasurable, and your eyes brim slightly with tears. without thinking, your fingers start to dig into the flesh of neji’s nape.
“y/n.” neji calls. “you’re doing well,” he whispers in between gentle shushes. “so well, y/n. just keep looking at me, alright?”
you hold his warm gaze while he continues to sink into you, slowly and with care. he kisses at your swollen lips, feather-light, for every ingressive hiss you make, almost as if he were absorbing your pain and sealing it inside of him. it’s unbelievable how big he feels inside of you, despite the fact that he isn’t completely in. before long, you feel him skin-to-skin, completely bottomed out in your pussy. he moans softly at the feeling. every vein and ridge of his cock is completely sheathed in your inviting warmth, leaving no part of you empty. neji remains still for a moment, just long enough for you to acclimatise to the feeling of him inside you. the tears that were once threatening to spill from your eyes appear to have rescinded, and your grip on neji has become something of a more languorous hold.
“there.” neji purrs in your ear. “i told you you were doing well.” you hum in response, running your hands through his hair. “do you want me to move now?”
“yes, neji,” you breathe hungrily against his lips. “please, do something. anything.”
and he would do anything for you. if he can’t free you from the throes of a future without him, then he’ll at least do you the pleasure leaving the memory of him seared in your mind as he makes you come undone.
neji barely pulls out before pushing inside of you again, testing the ways in which your body relinquishes itself to him. you can feel the resistance of your pussy cease as it stretches and molds to the shape of his dick. for every little thrust he takes in and out of you, he trains your muscles to recognise the sensation of pleasure.
“you… you feel,” neji breathes in between thrusts, “so good. i can’t compare it to anything.” you notice how he blinks slower, as if he’s trying to capture your face in his memory for longer. you mirror his actions, and stare into his being with half-lidded eyes.
your breath mingles with his in the air. “tell me,” your foreheads touch, “tell me how it feels, neji.”
neji pulls out further now, setting up a more leisurely rhythm as he pushes into your pussy with more courage—more vigour. “you feel so warm,” he slams himself down against you. “like you’re sucking me in,” and again. “i can’t believe i’m inside of you.” and again. he steals a kiss from your tender lips with a voracious abandon that makes you moan in his mouth. to him, your tongue tastes so sweet with desire, and yet, so bitter with anticipated grief that has yet to actualise.
when the kiss ends, your lips remain agape, allowing a chain of soft moans to slide into neji’s ears. the tip of his dick finds that distinct, spongy spot in your pussy with a precision that makes pleasure accumulate in your lower belly. it makes you arch your back against him, and writhe beneath his body. neji absolutely relishes in the awareness that it is his actions, and his actions alone, that makes you react in such a way.
“n-neji,” you pant, “oh, fuck-” you pull him closer to your body, leaving your breasts flush against his chest. “you’re making me feel so good,” you start to hook your legs around his waist. “so, so good… i-”
“speak to me, y/n.” he softly pleaded.
“i wish it were you,” you rasp. “every single day, i wish it were you.” neji is practically pounding into you now, filling the air with sounds of skin slapping, and obscene wetness. “neji,” your eyes begin to bubble with tears. “i love you,” you whisper. “i love you so much that it hurts.”
“y/n,” he whispers back against your lips. “i’m sorry,” he never takes his yearning eyes off of yours when his thumb finds your protruding clit, rubbing firm circles around it. “i wish i had all the answers to heal your heart,” he thrusts harder. deeper. “i wish things weren’t the way they were,” his breathing grows more ragged, “i never wanted to let go of you. you are so special.”
you moan at the additional stimulation. “oh, i love you,” you both kiss each other light-headed, with teeth clicking and lips crashing carelessly. “i love you, i love you, i love you.” it’s a mantra from the depths of your heart. you could find love in the future, but it would never ever be as immersive, and as true as this.
“i know,” he exhales gently, dragging out the syllables. “i love you too.”
neji begins to lose the rhythm he established and maintained. he can feel his inevitable release approaching, and he chases it with just a few more thrusts. you aren’t that far behind either, with the feeling of sweet static deep in your womb getting more and more difficult to hold in with each slam of his hips.
“y/n,” neji hisses. “i’m close…”
“oh,” you gasp, “me too. fuck, fuck, fuck.” you wrap your legs even tighter around his waist, keeping him locked in place. “please don’t go anywhere…” tears spill from your eyes.
“i won’t.”
with a final groan, neji has buried himself to the hilt of your drooling pussy. your body becomes rigid, and every muscle in your body draws taut as your hole clenches around his throbbing dick.
you’ve soaked his cock with sweet, sticky essence that leaves a ring of cream around the base of his length. at the same time, long ropes of hot cum begin to flood your womb, spewing out with each final twitch of his cock. he continues to move slowly in your heat, until your sore pussy drains him to completion.
neji, still buried inside you, wipes the tears from your eyes. neither of you speak. you simply savour the silence, and allow yourselves to come back to reality after spending what feels like an eternity in sheer bliss. the night air feels like cooling liniment over the blazing heat of your sweat-glazed skin. it feels almost surreal.
both of you stay holding onto each other, as though releasing one another would make dawn arrive faster. moonlight catches onto the dark strands of neji’s hair.
“do you remember the first time we came here?” you gently break the silence.
“i do,” he whispers. “you tripped over a tree root.”
your eyes widen. “i did not.”
neji reaches for a kunai in the holster he haphazardly shoved away after he stripped for you. he throws it at one of the thick roots with such accuracy, that you know can’t be made up. “it was that one over there.”
“fine,” you roll your eyes. “i guess it was.”
neji rapidly exhales, smiling with the utmost softness.
“will you think about me?” you tried to stop the question, but it snuck past you anyway. neji didn’t seem to mind the abruptness of it, though. “i will,” he answers. “whenever i come here… all the time, to be truthful.”
he takes a brief moment to look around the clearing. “the trees. their leaves, their roots,” he looks to the sky, “the moon.” his gaze then returns to you. “you’ve made it considerably impossible not to think of you.”
“but won’t it hurt? thinking of me, when your mind is supposed to be with your betrothed?” the question, as heavy as it is, manages to float in the air for a while.
he finally speaks. “it will hurt. but, i can’t complain. i made my choice the day i let myself love you.”
you both come together, lips meeting for a final kiss. “i wish i could stay.” you whisper against his lips.
neji shuts his eyes against you, and allows a stray tear to fall down his face.
“so do i.”
a/n: i've had this draft since April omg get it away from me bro.....!:!.?: also, thank you for this request nonnie. my first time doing a bit of angst, and my first time writing for Neji! i hope this is how you envisioned it 🪷🪷🪷
tl: @sakunai @t1track (idk if any of you guys are into neji but if you are, lmk!
content: fem!reader , reader has a vagina , oral sex , creampies (obviously lol) , no plot all smut , lowk ooc srry
your thighs are spread wide over neji’s shoulders as he eats you out like a starved man. he’s exactly where he wants to be, right in front your dripping cunt. he moans into it, the sound vibrating straight to your clit.
his tongue drags from the swollen bud all the way down to your entrance, lapping up the slick that keeps spilling out of you. “mm f-fuck, you taste too good...”
two of his fingers curl inside you, pumping slow while his lips seal around your clit and suck. every time you try to squirm away from the overstimulation he pins your legs right back down, burying his face even harder between your legs.
you’ll definitely have bruises tomorrow.
“neji t-too much…” he can tell that you’re close, his tongue is thrusting against you faster, fucking you with both his mouth and fingers.
you cum with a loud cry, thighs shaking around his head. he doesn’t stop just yet, licking you through it until the very end.
he then rises up, his pale eyes staring at you with pure need. his cock hard and flushed. his pretty pink tip leaking beads of precum.
he quickly lines himself up and leans his face down against your neck, sinking in with one long thrust, “g-gonna put a baby in you,” he breathes against your collarbone, hips already rolling.
the words he just said were so filthy. the thought of him fucking load after load into your pussy made you clench around him even more.
and from the way he’s trembling, already so pussydrunk he can barely think straight, you know he means every word.
neji’s hips snap forward again, burying himself to the hilt inside you. his hands slide under your thighs, keeping them open as his quick pace has you whimpering with every thrust.
his eyes stay locked on where you’re stretched around him, watching himself go in and out of your wet cunt. “you’re gripping me so tight,” he mutters.
one hand leaves your thigh to press flat against your lower stomach, feeling the way he fills you. “feel t-that? i’m f-fuck.. right there.”
he leans down, mouth brushing your earlobe while his thrusts become more insistent. every moan you make seems to draw out another shudder from him. “nejiii…”
“stay just like that, i’m not pulling out yet.” your walls flutter around him at the words and he moans, pace slowing for a second before he recovers.
he kisses you messily, all tongue and spit, his hips never stopping. the hand on your lower stomach moves down to finds your clit, getting you closer while he chases his own release.
you cum on his cock, pussy clenching around him, and neji groans into your neck. he buries himself as deep as he can go, pumping his warm and thick seed inside you, he’s making sure every drop stays where he wants it to stay.
his fingers trace your thighs once more before he starts rolling his hips again. his cock already half-hard inside you, wanting to chase the same feeling all over.
a/n: i feel like i barely see neji x reader on here?! ughhh neji i’m such a freak for him it’s not even funny. this is also my first time writing for naruto!
MULTI | the phenomenology of being loved correctly
a.k.a how the naruto cast cares for you when you're on your period
ft. gaara, itachi, jiraiya, kakashi, neji + bonus madara
summary: soft shinobi fluff/comfort with warm hands, stubborn devotion, and beautiful men being gently bullied by uterus-based warfare
word count: 8,637
content: multi character x reader, gn!reader, afab reader, established relationships, mentruation/periods, period cramps and related pain, mentions of blood and stained clothing/bedding, hurt/comfort, reader pronouns are gender neutral throughout but they are someone who menstruates
a/n: super self-indulgent, i've been writing this on and off for a few months now and, after probably 8000 years of staring at it and rewriting half of it, it is FINALLY FREE 😭
❤️ series masterlist
⏳ SABAKU NO GAARA — 1.4k words
By the third day, the pain had stopped arriving in waves and had firmly established itself as weather.
Suna knew how to make endurance feel ordinary. The village woke before the heat became punishing, shutters opened and closed according to the sun, water was measured without ceremony, and everyone learned early that discomfort did not excuse the work waiting to be done. You had followed the same logic that morning: washed before dawn, swallowed medicine with the first mouthful of tea, managed three bites of breakfast and dressed while the ache gathered low in your stomach. By then it had already begun to spread, dragging through your hips and lower back until your whole body felt drawn too tightly around the bones.
You had still told yourself it would pass. Every month, your body offered the same warning; every month, you answered with the same lie.
By noon, the lie had brought you to the Kazekage’s private office, where you sat beside his desk with your forehead resting against the cool wood and one arm locked around your middle. The other was twisted behind you, your knuckles digging uselessly into the hard knot above your hip. Gaara had not objected when you came to work beside him, though the documents you had brought remained untouched on the low table. For several minutes, the only sound in the room had been the faint turn of paper and the dry scratch of his pen.
Then the pen stopped.
“The pain has worsened,” he said.
You lifted your head far enough to look at him. The shutters had been angled against the noon glare, leaving the office steeped in muted amber; beyond them, Suna burned white beneath the sun. Gaara sat within that dimness as composed as ever, but his attention had left the reports entirely.
“I admire the delicacy of your accusation.”
“It isn’t an accusation.” His gaze travelled over the arm around your stomach, the stiffness in your shoulders, the untouched cup of water near your hand. “You said the medicine helped.”
“It did. Then my body rejected diplomacy.”
Gaara considered this with the solemn concentration he usually reserved for border disputes. “Then diplomacy has failed.”
Despite yourself, a laugh caught in your throat, thin enough not to pull too sharply at your stomach. “I knew marrying a statesman would be useful one day.”
The sand resting in its gourd stirred before he moved. A narrow current slipped across the floor and gathered beneath your feet, lifting them until the strain eased from your hips. More rose behind you, shaping itself along the curve of your lower back; it began with barely any pressure, then adjusted when your breath faltered, pressing slowly into the worst of the ache until your body loosened reluctantly.
Relief escaped you in a long, unguarded exhale. Gaara’s expression changed, concern settling into purpose now that he had found something he could do. “Better?”
“I resent how much better.”
“You may resent it after the pain subsides.”
The sand continued its careful work, neither soft nor yielding, but exact. It knew where to brace because he had watched you trying not to limp that morning, knew which side hurt most because he had noticed how you lowered yourself into the chair. Once, that same sand had existed only to prevent the world from reaching him. Now it answered the smallest changes in your breathing, shaped by a man who had taught a weapon to become shelter.
Gaara rose and came around the desk. His coat whispered over the stone before he crouched beside you, one hand hovering near your shoulder until you leaned into its warmth. The touch settled fully then, his palm firm through the fabric.
“You should be resting at home.”
“I am resting.”
“You are folded over my desk.”
“It’s an advanced technique.”
“It appears ineffective.”
You opened one eye at him. “Are you criticising my jutsu?”
“Yes.”
His bluntness made you laugh again, and the immediate pull through your abdomen punished you for it. You folded more tightly with a muffled groan and Gaara’s thumb moved to the base of your neck, finding the cramped muscle there with such accuracy that you nearly sank out of the chair.
“There?” he asked.
“Unfortunately.”
His thumb paused. “Why is that unfortunate?”
“Because now you know my shoulders hurt as well, and you’ll insist on doing something kind about it. Then I’ll have no choice but to love you more, which seems excessive after all these years.”
For a moment, he said nothing. Gaara had never met affection with embarrassment so much as astonishment, as though each declaration still reached a part of him that had not learnt to expect good things without hidden conditions. His hand resumed its slow pressure, gentler now.
“I will accept the consequence,” he said.
You let your eyes close. Outside, wind worried a little sand against the shutters; inside, the office held the cool mineral scent of stone, ink and the desert carried in on Gaara’s clothes. The village knew him as its Kazekage, its jinchūriki, the commander who could turn the ground beneath an army into a grave. Few people would have recognised the same precision here, in the sand cupping your aching knees or the steady hand working tension from your shoulder. Gaara’s tenderness had never depended upon softness—it was attention given form.
“You have a council meeting soon,” you murmured when his other hand slid beneath your elbow, already preparing to help you stand. “Before you decide otherwise, no, you cannot cancel it because I have cramps.”
“This quarter’s caravan escort fees have already been approved twice.”
“That’s never prevented the council from discussing it a third time.”
“It will today.”
You raised your head properly. “Gaara.”
“The village will not suffer because its officials are denied one afternoon of repeating themselves.” He said it without irritation, merely as fact, and began gathering the abandoned papers from your lap. “I can carry you back.”
“You can walk me back.”
“You are in pain, beloved.”
“I still have legs.”
“I am aware.”
The knock at the door arrived before you could construct another argument. A shinobi announced that the council had assembled, but Gaara did not look away from you as he answered that the meeting would be rescheduled. There was a startled pause outside, followed by a cautious question about whether everything was all right.
“My spouse is unwell,” Gaara said.
You covered your face with one hand. “By sunset, half the village will think I’m dying.”
“The council knows better than to turn your health into gossip.”
“The council might, but their assistants have mothers.”
This appeared to strike him as a complication worth considering, though not one capable of changing his decision. The sand rose around you before you could brace your feet, supporting your back and thighs while Gaara slipped one arm beneath your knees and the other around your shoulders. He lifted you with the same grave care he brought to wounded children, as if there were no indignity in being unable to carry yourself for an afternoon and no scale by which ordinary pain became too small to deserve an answer.
“You’re taking me to bed in the middle of the working day,” you said, settling despite yourself against the encompassing warmth of his chest.
“With tea, medicine and heat, yes.”
“And food.”
“If you want it.”
“Nothing smug.”
Gaara glanced down at you. “The rice offended you this morning.”
“It knew what it had done,” you muttered.
“Then there will be no rice.”
The private corridor towards the residence was cooler than the office, its stone walls shutting out the worst of the day. His sand followed in a quiet ribbon, carrying the things neither of you had remembered to pick up. You rested your face against his robes and breathed in sun-warmed cloth, ink and dust. The pain remained, a hard red cord drawn through the centre of you, but it no longer filled the whole horizon; Gaara’s arms had given it boundaries, somewhere to end.
“You don’t have to treat this like a diplomatic crisis, you know,” you murmured eventually.
His hold tightened by a fraction. “No,” he said, calm enough that the word did not interrupt his stride. “But I do have to answer it.”
Gaara had spent too much of his own life learning what became of pain when no one answered. He would not leave yours alone merely because it was ordinary.
🐦⬛ ITACHI UCHIHA — 1.3k words
Itachi knew before you told him. He usually did.
Pain had taught you to become unobtrusive—you had learnt how to breathe through the first cramp without changing expression, how to keep your steps even when the ache reached into your hips, how to answer ordinary questions while your lower back felt bruised from the inside. None of it came from distrust, you simply disliked the way recurring pain could make a person feel unreasonable, as though suffering on a predictable schedule made it less deserving of interruption.
That morning, you made it through breakfast almost convincingly. You ate enough not to be questioned, returned Itachi’s quiet remarks, and smiled when he slid the better portion of fruit onto your plate without acknowledging that he had done so. The deception held until you began clearing the dishes. Halfway to the basin, pain drew tight through your abdomen and down one thigh with such bright precision that your fingers locked around the bowl. You stopped where you stood, afraid that any movement would make the room tilt.
Water continued running over Itachi’s hands for another second before he turned it off.
To anyone else, he might only have glanced at you, but you knew the small change in his attention, in the way his body became quieter rather than more urgent, as though stillness allowed him to take in more.
“You should sit,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“That is not what I said.”
The correction came without sharpness, leaving you nothing useful to resist. You returned the bowl to the table and lowered yourself into the nearest chair, slowly enough to preserve the last scraps of dignity. Morning light had begun to gather against the paper screens, pale and cool, but the house still held the hush of early hours: damp ceramic, cooling rice, the faint herbal trace of tea. Itachi dried his hands and came to stand beside you.
“You didn’t sleep well.”
“I slept.”
His fingers settled lightly on your shoulder, not pressing until you leaned into the touch. “Those statements are not the same.”
“You become very irritating when you are right.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“By me.”
“Yes.”
The corner of his mouth softened. The expression was brief, but not hidden; this version of Itachi no longer treated every sign of fondness as something that might be used against him. His gaze travelled over you without making you feel examined, pausing at the arm across your stomach and the careful angle of your hips. He had always been able to notice without prying, which often made concealment feel less like privacy and more like wasted effort.
“Where is it worst?”
“Everywhere.”
“Be specific.”
You let your head fall back against the chair. “Lower stomach. Back. Hips. My legs ache, and apparently I have spent half the morning trying to wear my shoulders as earrings.”
Itachi’s thumb moved once across the tense muscle beneath his hand. “The right side is worse.”
You turned your head to look at him. “I was hoping to preserve at least one mystery in our marriage.”
“There are others.”
The answer was so serenely delivered that you could not decide whether it was reassurance or a threat. Before you settled on either, he moved away, taking the kettle from the stove and pouring fresh water over ginger and herbs.
“I’ll draw you a bath,” he said.
“Itachi, you don’t need to reorganise the entire morning because I have cramps.”
“I am not reorganising it.”
“You’re making tea, running a bath and looking at me as though I’ve failed a medical exam.”
“You’re pale, you have eaten very little, and you have been favouring your left leg since you woke.” He placed the cup in front of you, followed by the medicine the village medic had prescribed after your last difficult month. “The morning reorganised itself some time ago.”
“When?”
“When you remained still for twenty-seven seconds while holding the bowl.”
You stared at him over the steam. “You counted?”
“No.”
“That was far too specific to be a guess.”
“I estimated.”
“You’re impossible.”
“So I have been told,” he repeated, and this time the smile reached his eyes.
The tea tasted medicinal, though not cruelly so. While you drank, Itachi warmed a compress and placed it across your lap, testing the heat against his own wrist before allowing it near you. Then, with no announcement that might have given you time to object, he knelt beside the chair and drew one of your feet gently onto his thigh.
“Itachi?”
“Your legs hurt.”
“They always hurt.”
“That doesn’t make the pain irrelevant.”
His hands closed around your calf, warm and careful. “Tell me if the pressure is too much.”
You nodded. The reply lodged somewhere behind your ribs, crowded out by the quiet absurdity of him kneeling on the kitchen floor as though this, too, deserved his full attention. Itachi’s touch was measured rather than tentative as he worked his thumbs through the cramped muscle, pausing when your breath caught and adjusting before you had to ask. There was no embarrassment in him, no suggestion that your body had become unpleasant because it was aching, bleeding or difficult to inhabit. He treated pain as information—something to be noticed, understood and answered where possible.
By the time he moved to your other leg, the tension in your spine had begun to ease. The compress warmed your stomach; steam curled above the tea, blurring the edge of his face when you looked down at him.
“You’re thinking loudly,” he said.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“That rarely stops you.”
“You know, you’re very bold for someone kneeling within kicking distance.”
“You would regret it.”
“Because I love you?”
“Because your hip would cramp.”
A laugh slipped out before you could prevent it. The movement pulled through your abdomen, though less viciously now, and you pressed the compress closer. Itachi’s eyes lifted to yours, quietly amused.
The bath was ready before the tea had cooled. He had warmed the room, folded a towel beside the tub and left water within reach. Lavender softened the steam, though not enough to disguise the sharper scent of the medicinal salts he had added. His talent for practical tenderness could be deeply offensive when you were determined to pretend you required nothing.
“You can stop looking so pleased with yourself,” you told him.
“I’m not pleased.”
“You’ve arranged this entire room with military precision.”
“That is not a source of pleasure.”
“For you, it is.”
He considered denying it, then seemed to decide the evidence was against him. Instead, he helped you to stand, one hand at your waist and the other steady beneath your forearm and when your legs trembled, his grip tightened without drawing attention to it.
At the edge of the bath, you looked at him. “You do know this happens every month.”
“I am aware.”
“You can’t dismantle the day every time.”
“I can change its shape.”
The answer was quiet, offered while he adjusted the towel so it would not slip to the floor. Itachi had spent too much of his life treating his own pain as useful only when hidden, his body as something to exhaust, sacrifice or discard once the work was finished. Perhaps that was why he refused to admire endurance for its own sake in anyone he loved.
He brushed his knuckles over your temple. “Call if you need me.”
“You will be directly outside.”
“Yes.”
“You could stay.”
His hand paused. There was no surprise in his face, only the small solemnity with which he received every request you trusted him enough to make. He sat beside the bath while you undressed, his attention resting on you without scrutiny or embarrassment; your body was not something that became less worthy of tenderness when it was aching, bleeding and difficult to inhabit. When you lowered yourself into the water with a long, relieved breath, he drew closer to the edge of the tub.
Itachi did not ask whether it still hurt; he knew that care was not the same as cure. He only offered his hand, palm open between you, and let you hold on for as long as you needed.
🐸 MASTER JIRAIYA — 1.4k words
Morning found the inn little by little, pale light slipping between the shutters as other people began their day. Crockery clinked together somewhere below, footsteps crossed the passage, and the smell of rice climbed through the old floorboards with enough warmth to make the room feel briefly domestic rather than another rented stop along a shinobi road.
You, on the other hand, woke into a cramp. It caught low in your abdomen before you were properly conscious, tightening until your first breath of the morning stalled behind your teeth. When it eased, it left a familiar ache spreading through your hips and lower back, and something else besides: a cool dampness beneath one thigh that made you lie very still. Then you slipped a hand beneath the blanket, found the sheet, and shut your eyes. Beside you, Jiraiya inhaled deeply through his nose.
“If you’re pretending to be asleep,” you whispered, “keep doing it.”
“I wasn’t,” came the rough, drowsy reply from behind you, “but I admire the strategic thinking.”
You caught the blanket before he could turn and dragged it closer around yourself. The movement pulled sharply through your back, enough to make you pause until the spasm passed. By the time you breathed again, Jiraiya was awake in the way experienced shinobi became awake—all at once beneath whatever laziness remained in his voice.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
There was a brief silence. “You’ve gone pale, you’re guarding that blanket like I’m about to steal your breakfast, and you’ve just lied to one of the greatest intelligence operatives of his generation.” His hand appeared beside your shoulder, palm up rather than reaching for you. “Seems I’m having an excellent morning professionally.”
Your mouth betrayed you with the beginning of a smile. “My period started.”
His eyes moved once towards the bed and back to your face. Nothing recoiled or sharpened with surprise; comprehension simply settled in, followed almost immediately by the particular brightness that meant Jiraiya had located a joke and intended to inflict it upon you.
“Well, that’s a relief.”
You stared at him. “Explain yourself very carefully.”
“This is nowhere near the worst condition I’ve left an inn room in.”
“That’s not remotely comforting.”
“It establishes perspective.”
“It establishes a criminal pattern, you mean.”
“Criminal is a strong word. Several proprietors merely encouraged me to expand my literary travels.”
The laugh escaped before you could decide whether he deserved it. Unfortunately, your body objected to comedy as pain tightened again beneath your stomach, thinning the sound into a breath. Jiraiya’s expression changed without losing all its warmth, though the foolery did not vanish so much as it stepped aside while he sat up and looked at you properly.
“How bad?”
“Manageable.”
“That wasn’t a number.”
You sighed. “Six. Seven, maybe, when it catches.”
“Right.” He reached for your robe from the end of the bed and held it open without attempting to wrest the blanket away. “Put this on.”
There was no fuss in what followed. Once you were covered, Jiraiya stripped the bed with the brisk competence of someone who had spent decades managing injuries, camps, missions and bodily disasters considerably worse than this one. He folded the stained part of the sheet inward before carrying it away, not because the blood offended him, but because he had already understood that being seen was the part bothering you.
“Jiraiya?”
“Private bath, breakfast, medicine, then you’re getting back into bed.”
“We were supposed to leave this morning.”
“Then the road will experience the devastating loss of our company for a few hours.”
“What are you going to tell the proprietor?”
“That we need fresh bedding.”
Heat rose into your face before you could stop it. “She’ll know why.”
His hand settled on the doorframe and when he looked back, there was still humour in his face, but none directed at you. “This is an inn on a shinobi road. She’s probably washed out blood from stab wounds, poison sickness, battlefield dressings and whatever Gai does to a futon after eating curry. Your body hasn’t exactly invented a new form of catastrophe.”
You looked down at the blanket gathered in your lap.
“And if you don’t want to see her, you won’t,” he added. “Fortunately, I possess both money and a heroic absence of shame.”
“You possess money?”
The dignity left his face at once. “Cruel. Completely unnecessary! Stay here.”
He returned with the key to the private bath, clean towels, water, and the expression that told you he expected formal recognition for having negotiated with one sympathetic innkeeper. By then the fresh cramp had begun pulling into your thighs, and he noticed before you made it fully upright. His travelling cloak went around your shoulders; one broad hand remained close to your back as he guided you through the quiet rear passage, never quite touching unless the old stairs made your knees uncertain.
Steam had already softened the bathing room. Jiraiya crouched beside the sunken bath to test the water, added a dipper from the cold bucket, tested it again, then arranged the towels where you could reach them without standing.
“I can manage,” you told him.
“I know.” He straightened. “Do you want me here or outside?”
You considered the depth of the bath, your aching legs and the distance back to your room. “Here. But one joke about research and I drown you.”
His hand went solemnly to his chest. “I would never compromise the dignity of my craft.”
“Jiraiya.”
“Not one.”
He lasted almost three minutes.
By then you were submerged to the shoulders, heat slowly persuading your muscles to release what pain had knotted through them. Jiraiya sat behind you on the tiles with his sleeves pushed back, working soap through your hair. For someone whose public reputation depended heavily on being unbearable around bathing, his hands were unexpectedly careful. His fingertips found the tension at your temples and nape without being asked, and when he rinsed the lather away, one palm shielded your eyes from the water.
“Better?”
“Much.”
“Excellent. Because I’ve just realised this room would be perfect for chapter twelve.”
You opened one eye. “No.”
“You haven’t heard the premise.”
“I know you.”
“Our hero enters a secluded mountain spring, unaware that destiny awaits in the form of a mysterious traveller with exceptional flexibility and unresolved property disputes.”
“Get out.”
“You invited me.”
“Clearly I was impaired.”
“The traveller says something very similar.”
Your laugh sent water lapping against the stone. The answering cramp was smaller this time, but Jiraiya still felt you tense beneath his hand and steadied you until it passed, thumb moving once against your side.
“Sorry,” you said before you thought better of it.
“For what?”
“The sheets? Delaying us? Needing…all this.”
He was quiet long enough that you turned towards him. Jiraiya had a face built for exaggeration, for enormous grins and offended dignity and performances designed to draw every eye in a room. Without any of them, he looked older and far more difficult to evade.
“A dirty sheet is laundry,” he said. “A late departure is a late departure. Neither one becomes a tragedy because you’re embarrassed by it.” His hand remained warm at your side. “And looking after you isn’t time stolen from something more important.”
Your throat tightened. Naturally, he ruined the moment before it could become unbearable.
“Besides, I’ve been campaigning for shared bathing privileges since the Land of Rivers. It would be disgracefully ungrateful to complain now.”
“You’re not in the bath.”
“A bureaucratic technicality.”
By the time you returned upstairs, the bed had been remade and breakfast waited beside it with the medicine you had buried too deeply in your pack. Jiraiya persuaded you through enough rice and fruit to take the tablets, then climbed in behind you without bothering to pretend he intended to do anything productive. One hand settled over your lower stomach, broad enough to hold warmth there while you curled back against him.
Chapter twelve resumed in a low voice and each time he felt the beginning of a smile against his arm, the plot became more ridiculous. The mysterious traveller acquired a jealous magistrate, then a cursed sandal, then an inheritance dispute involving six goats and a bathhouse. Somewhere between the third goat and the arrival of an improbably handsome wandering author, your breathing began to lengthen.
Jiraiya could not reason pain out of your body, and he was too experienced to mistake comfort for cure. What he could do was make room around it in warmth, medicine, changed plans, and a hand that stayed where it helped. He could take the embarrassment you had woken clutching to your chest and keep worrying at it with humour until it became small enough to set down.
When you woke again near noon, his palm was still resting over your stomach and the stained sheets had vanished. Chapter twelve, mercifully, had vanished with them. You decided two out of three problems solved was plenty.
📖 KAKASHI HATAKE — 1.4k words
The mission had been over for six hours, which should have meant the difficult part of the day was behind you. Your body, apparently offended by being excluded, chose the journey home to object.
The first cramp caught you halfway across a narrow branch above the eastern road. Your foot landed cleanly, but the rest of you followed a fraction too late, pain tightening low through your abdomen and drawing one hand towards it before training returned your arm to your side. Nobody called it out. Two shinobi farther ahead were arguing over where to eat once they reached Konoha, while the medic behind you had begun describing a hot bath with the reverence of someone discussing paradise. Kakashi travelled at the front with his hands in his pockets and gave no sign that he had noticed, which, after enough time with him, was almost evidence that he had.
By the time the trees gave way to open road, the ache had spread through your hips and settled heavily into your lower back. Your period was early, not enough to worry you, only enough that everything useful was sitting in a drawer several hours away. You had improvised at the last rest stop and decided there was no reason four capable shinobi needed their return delayed because your body had misplaced the date. Conversation moved around you without requiring much participation; you answered when someone addressed you, saved your breath when they did not, and kept your stride even enough that the effort became its own private task.
Kakashi let this continue for perhaps ten minutes before lifting one hand and bringing the group to a halt. “We’ll use the relay shelter tonight.” One of the others glanced towards the afternoon sun and pointed out that they could reach the village before dark, to which Kakashi agreed pleasantly. “You can.” Then, with the peaceful audacity built only from lying professionally for most of his life, he rested a hand against his right knee and tested his weight upon it. “My old injury disagrees.”
Concern arrived immediately. A slower pace was proposed, followed by a brace, someone taking his pack, and a mild rebuke from the medic for not mentioning the problem earlier. Kakashi accepted all of it with the weary patience of a wounded veteran, his visible eye curving at you over the edge of his mask while you stared back in disbelief. By the time the shelter came into view, a single-room waystation with two sleeping platforms, a water barrel and a hearth stocked with dry wood, the others had become fully invested in an injury you were fairly certain had never existed.
Inside, Kakashi summoned a shadow clone and sent it ahead with them to submit the preliminary report and tell the gate guards their captain would return in the morning. The medic lingered long enough to ask whether his knee would manage the night, and Kakashi assured them that rest should save him from tragic early retirement. Their sympathy followed them back towards the road. Only when the footsteps had faded did you turn on him. “Your knee is fine.”
“Remarkably observant.” He was already crouching by the hearth.
“You made everyone stop because of me.”
“No. I made everyone stop because their captain required it.” Flame caught beneath the kindling, orange light moving over his fingers. “Your name never entered the conversation.”
You folded your arms. “You could have asked.”
“In front of three people?”
The answer removed most of the argument before you could use it. Another cramp took care of the rest, tightening through your middle until you had to brace a hand against the sleeping platform. Kakashi did not rush towards you or turn the moment into an emergency. He waited until you straightened, giving you the dignity of getting through it without an audience, then began unpacking the supply scroll beneath his pack.
“It started early,” you admitted.
“I thought it might have.”
There was no satisfaction in being right. Kakashi noticed almost everything, but the unusual kindness of his attention lay in the fact that he rarely treated observation as permission. He could read an opponent from the angle of a shoulder and dismantle a lie before the speaker finished telling it; with you, he also knew when not to name what he had seen.
The supply scroll released a field blanket, rations, spare clothes, the medical kit and a small cloth pouch. Kakashi passed the pouch across while sorting the rest, and several wrapped menstrual pads appeared when you opened it. Your surprise made him glance up. “Why do you carry these?”
“Because I lead shinobi who menstruate.” He added a clean shirt and loose trousers to your arms as though the answer required no further defence. “A field kit that only prepares for injuries caused by other people would be badly designed.”
Embarrassment found very little to hold on to after that. Kakashi rigged the blanket between two beams to divide the room, filled one basin and left it behind the makeshift screen, then placed another beside the hearth. “Use whichever you want for your clothes. The one behind the blanket means you want me to wash them. The one out here means you don’t.”
“You don’t have to wash them.”
“That would be why there are two basins.”
His attention had already moved to heating water before you stepped behind the blanket, granting you privacy without behaving as though there were anything shameful to conceal. The blood had spread farther than you expected, but alone behind the screen you could deal with it without imagining anyone measuring the length of your silence. Clean fabric against sore skin felt disproportionately merciful after a long mission, even if the shirt hung a little too loosely and smelled faintly of Kakashi’s soap and travel dust.
When you emerged, the shelter had begun to warm. Smoke, damp earth and some anonymous field tea mingled in the air while Kakashi poured hot water into a sealed flask and wrapped it in a towel. He looked at you only long enough to assess your face. “Do you want company, distraction, or quiet?”
“Warmth,” you said, accepting the flask. The question left enough room that honesty did not feel extracted from you, so you added, “and for you to stay.”
“Convenient. I was planning to.”
You lay on your side with the flask tucked against your lower stomach. Kakashi settled on the floor beside the platform rather than crowding onto it, close enough to reach and far enough that the remaining distance belonged to you. You closed it by catching his wrist and guiding his hand towards the ache above your hip. He understood without commentary, waiting until you shifted beneath his palm before applying pressure, then working slow circles through the borrowed shirt while the fire settled into a steady crackle.
The quiet that followed was easy enough to contain ordinary things—water beginning to simmer, wind brushing the roof, Kakashi somehow producing his book without you seeing him reach for it. Eventually you said, “I’m sorry,” and he answered from behind the page, “For what?” When you explained that you had slowed everyone down, he pointed out that everyone else was already on the way home. You amended it to slowing him down.
“I’ve spent years cultivating a reputation for lateness,” he said. “It would be wasteful not to use it.”
Your laugh shifted the flask against your stomach. Kakashi steadied it without looking away from his book, which was irritatingly graceful of him. After a moment you asked whether he had noticed on the branch.
“Mm.”
“But you didn’t say anything.”
The book lowered slightly. “You weren’t hiding from me. You were trying not to discuss something private in front of an audience.”
That was all. No lecture about knowing you too well, no demand that you stop pretending, no gentle accusation disguised as concern. Kakashi had recognised the pain and the boundary beside it and protected both. He returned to his page, his other hand still warm against you, and informed you that the clone would handle the report, nobody expected you tonight, and your remaining options were sleep, complain, or a detailed critique of his imaginary knee injury.
“Can I decide later?”
“That was secretly the fourth option.”
The next cramp still hurt. Kakashi did not try to talk you out of it and there was something restful in being cared for by someone who had no need to make comfort look miraculous. He kept his hand where it helped, adjusted the blanket when your eyes began to close, and let the little shelter become smaller than the road waiting outside.
By the time sleep found you, the basin containing your stained clothes had disappeared from behind the screen and the other remained exactly where he had left it.
🕊️ NEJI HYŪGA — 1.4k words
The water bucket was only half full, but by evening your body had begun to regard it as an unreasonable demand. You set it beside the bath and straightened with care. The movement drew a dull line through your abdomen and into your hips, meeting the ache already lodged across your lower back. None of it was severe enough to frighten you, though that almost made it worse. The pain had spent the day hovering below urgency, too ordinary to justify stopping and too persistent to forget, until sitting hurt, standing hurt differently, and lying down only removed the distractions.
A bath usually helped. The room was already warm from the brazier; steam feathered the edge of the water reservoir and clean clothes waited folded on the stool because you had been optimistic enough to prepare them earlier. All you had to do was finish filling the tub.
Your hand closed around the bucket again. Another hand covered the handle before you could lift it.
“Leave it.”
Neji had returned from training without you hearing him. Evening dust marked one pale sleeve, and his hair was still tied out of the way. His gaze moved once over the bucket, your grip and the careful set of your spine.
“I can lift a bucket.”
“I know.” He took the weight from you with irritating ease. “I can also see that you would rather argue about it than admit lifting it hurts.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No, but it is considerably more tiring.”
There was no point pursuing a disagreement with someone already pouring the water into the bath. Neji returned to the reservoir, added another bucket, then crouched to test the temperature. Too hot earned cold water; too cool earned another dipper from the brazier. By the time he was satisfied, the soap and washcloth had been moved within reach, two towels sat folded beside the tub, and your clothes had migrated close enough to the heat to warm without scorching.
You noticed the covered cup beyond the screen. “Is that tea?”
“It will still be tea when you are finished.”
“You’ve been home for five minutes.”
“And you have been in pain since breakfast.”
The words were so plain that they took the argument out of your mouth. Neji had watched you refuse a second helping that morning because nausea had joined the cramps, seen the way you stood from the table with one hand briefly pressed to your back and apparently kept the information filed away until it became useful.
He reached for the door. “I’ll be outside.”
“No, stay.”
Something in his expression eased, not surprise exactly, more the release of a formality he had been prepared to maintain for your sake. “All right.”
There was no reason for him to turn away while you undressed and he did not invent one. He simply busied himself setting the tea nearer the bath, his attention resting on you with the familiarity of someone who knew your body and did not consider pain, blood or nakedness an event requiring embarrassment. When you lowered yourself into the water, the first wash of heat made your muscles tighten before they began, reluctantly, to give.
For a while neither of you spoke. You folded your arms on the rim and let warmth work at the ache. Neji settled beside the tub with his sleeves pushed above his elbows.
“My back is the worst,” you murmured eventually. “It feels as though everything is pulling on everything else.”
His fingertips rested lightly above your hip, not pressing yet. “Do you want me to use the Byakugan?”
To most people, the Byakugan was distance stripped away, walls made useless, bodies rendered transparent, chakra pathways exposed beneath skin. You had watched Neji find enemies through forests and read attacks before they arrived. He could have looked now and known exactly where tension had settled. He asked anyway.
“Yes.”
Chakra sharpened his gaze; the familiar veins rose at his temples. His attention travelled through water and flesh without becoming invasive, following the braced muscles around your abdomen and the answering strain across your back. After a moment, two fingers touched just above your hip.
“You have been holding yourself rigid here for hours.”
“It hurts when I relax.”
“Because everything around it is compensating.” His hand shifted higher. “Let me try something.”
You nodded, and his thumbs settled on either side of your spine.
The hands of the Gentle Fist had been trained to know precisely how little force a body could survive badly. Neji understood where chakra narrowed and where two fingers placed correctly could do more damage than a fist. In the bath, that same knowledge became almost absurdly careful as he worked through the hardened muscle without touching the tenketsu themselves, increasing pressure only when your body stopped resisting the last amount.
“There?”
“A little more.”
His thumbs pressed deeper.
“Mm, yes,” you breathed. “That.”
“You have said that twice today about things that hurt.”
You lifted your head enough to look at him. “Are you criticising my communication?”
“I am observing a pattern.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“So I’ve been told.”
The answer was dry enough to make you smile. Neji’s mouth softened at one corner before his attention returned to your back and the room settled around the quiet work of his hands. The pain did not disappear, but it loosened its claim in small places, enough for the heat to reach muscles that had spent the day braced against the next cramp. When your breathing changed, his pressure eased before you needed to ask.
“Better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Then stop trying to help.”
“I’m sitting in a bath.”
“You are still holding your shoulders up.”
You let them drop with a reluctant groan. “I hate how much you can see.”
“I know.”
There was affection buried so neatly inside his answer that calling attention to it would only have ruined it.
When the worst of the tension had eased, Neji released the Byakugan and reached for the soap. “Hair?”
You passed it to him and leant forwards. He loosened the tie at your nape and worked water through your hair, careful not to tug when his fingers met a knot. Steam dampened the strands at his temples until one slipped forwards towards the water. You caught it before it fell in.
“You’re going to end up in here.”
“I am not.”
“That sounds very certain.”
“I have excellent balance.”
“Arrogant.”
“Accurate.”
You were still smiling when another cramp rolled through you. It had lost some of its sharpness, but exhaustion followed behind it, heavy enough that your forehead found your folded arms again.
“I hate this.”
“The cramps?”
“All of it. Planning around what my body will tolerate. Cancelling things. Resting when I don’t want to. It feels as though I’m letting it make decisions for me.”
Neji rinsed the last soap from your hair and gathered it away from your shoulders. He had been born into a family that treated blood as instruction and the body as evidence of where a person belonged. Even after he stopped believing fate was fixed, he had never become careless about the difference between accepting a condition and surrendering to it.
“A limitation is not an order,” he said. “You decide what to do with the information.”
“Rest sounds suspiciously like obeying it.”
“So does taking cover when someone throws a kunai at your head.”
You turned to stare at him and his expression remained composed. “You may ignore useful information if you prefer. I would not recommend building a philosophy around it.”
“That was almost a joke.”
“It was an analogy.”
“A funny analogy.”
“That was incidental.”
This time the laugh came without punishment from your abdomen. Neji wrapped your hair in one of the towels, then held out a hand when you were ready to stand. He did not pull until your grip tightened around his; once you were upright, the second towel was already open around your shoulders and your warmed clothes close at hand.
Later, the tea was still hot enough to steam. You drank it stretched along the bed with your head in Neji’s lap while he combed the damp from your hair, beginning at the ends and working upwards so gently that you nearly fell asleep before he finished. The ache remained, dull and present beneath the warmth, but it had stopped being the only thing your body knew.
When another cramp gathered, you did not brace against it before it arrived. Neji’s hand rested over your hip, steady and unhurried, while you let it pass.
+ bonus:
🔥 MADARA — 1.4k words
The clan meeting had outlived the daylight and, somewhere around the third argument about the eastern storehouses, any reasonable claim to usefulness.
Oil lamps burned along the walls of the Uchiha meeting hall, throwing a tired amber light across timber beams still new enough to smell faintly of resin. Peace had not yet settled into anyone’s bones. Every roof tile, patrol route and sack of winter grain was discussed as though the wrong decision might summon yesterday’s armies back across the river, and tonight three elders had somehow managed to turn the direction of a storehouse door into a matter of clan survival.
At the head of the room, Madara listened with the rigid patience of a man permitting everyone else the privilege of exhausting themselves. You sat beside him and tried not to move.
The cramps had begun before noon, low and familiar enough that you had taken medicine, eaten what you could and assumed the worst of it would pass before the meeting began. Instead, the ache had spread through your hips and settled across your lower back, sharpening whenever you shifted and growing heavier each hour you remained seated. None of it frightened you; pain this ordinary came with no clean excuse to stop.
So you kept your hands folded in your lap and answered when the discussion required you. When it did not, you saved your breath.
Madara noticed when you stopped contributing. His gaze touched you once, brief and exact, before an elder dragged his attention back to timber allocation. You straightened before he could ask. The village was barely old enough to trust its own foundations, and Madara carried half its weight whether anyone around the table admitted it or not. You had no intention of adding yourself to the pile.
By the time he finally dismissed the meeting, relief travelled through the room with almost indecent speed. Papers were gathered, backs straightened, sandals turned towards the door. You waited until the others had begun filing into the corridor before pushing yourself upright.
The hall immediately tilted.
Your hand found the edge of the table before the floor had time to become a genuine problem. You stood there for several deep breaths, letting the cramp burn itself out while conversation continued around you. Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice. Madara had been caught by the captain of the patrol and was speaking to him with a clipped impatience brought on by having already spent too long indoors.
You made it into the corridor, though six steps later, pain folded sharply through your middle and your palm struck the wall. Your knee gave way before you could hide it.
An arm closed around your waist and lifted you clear of the floor. When Madara said your name there was nothing gentle in his voice, which was how you knew you were in trouble.
“I’m fine.”
“Stand, then.”
You tried. Your legs immediately betrayed the argument.
Two elders near the outer doors had slowed to look back. Madara glanced at them once and whatever concern they had developed became private very quickly. Then his attention returned to you. “How long?”
You knew better than to pretend you misunderstood. “Since this morning.”
His face barely changed, and somehow, that felt worse. “You sat through that entire meeting like this.”
“It was important.”
“They spent half an hour arguing over which direction a door should face.”
“The storehouse matters.”
“The grain will remain grain regardless of which way an old man enters the building.”
The cramp eased enough that you could straighten against his hold. “I can walk now.”
Madara bent and lifted you before the sentence had finished. One arm passed beneath your knees, the other braced your back, and the corridor dropped away with your dignity still somewhere on the floor behind you. You caught his shoulder on instinct.
“Put me down.”
“No.”
“Everyone can see.”
“Then perhaps they will remember the cost of wasting my time.”
“They didn’t know.”
“Neither did I.” His jaw tightened. “That concerns me more.”
You stared at him. “I didn’t want to drag you out of the meeting because I had cramps.”
Madara stopped beneath the courtyard gate. Beyond him, the new village glowed warm between houses that had not existed a handful of years ago. “So instead you decided I would prefer to find you collapsing in a corridor.”
“You weren’t supposed to find me collapsing,” you muttered.
“An excellent defence.”
He resumed walking. The Uchiha compound had gone quiet with the evening, though not quiet enough to prevent several people noticing their clan head carrying his partner home. Wisely, nobody commented. A woman sweeping her threshold became fascinated by one stubborn patch of dust and two younger shinobi abruptly discovered something urgent to discuss in the opposite direction.
You hid your face briefly against Madara’s shoulder. “This is humiliating.”
“Good. Perhaps embarrassment will succeed where judgement failed.”
His words remained merciless; his hold did not jar you once.
At home, he lowered you onto the futon and knelt to remove your sandals. When you reached down to help, he pushed your hand away without looking up. The outer layer of your clothing followed, loosened enough to stop pressing against your abdomen, and a cushion appeared beneath your knees before he crossed to the hearth.
Everything he did had the clipped efficiency of anger. Water went into the kettle. The fire answered chakra beneath his hand. A folded cloth was warmed, tested against his wrist and laid over your lower stomach with such care that the contrast nearly made you laugh.
“I’m not delicate.”
Madara gave you a look that could have ended negotiations between nations. “At present, you are bleeding, exhausted and in pain. None of those facts insult you.”
“I could hardly stop a clan meeting because of cramps.”
“I could.”
That did make you laugh, although the movement tugged unpleasantly through your abdomen. Madara looked offended that your body had rewarded the joke with pain, as if this too had become somebody’s personal failure.
He brought you water and remained there until you drank it. Only then did he settle behind you against the wall, draw you back between his legs and replace the compress with his own hand. Chakra warmed slowly through his palm, not enough to sting, just enough to reach deeper than the cloth had managed. The tension across your stomach began to loosen beneath it.
“Are you angry with me?”
“Yes.” The answer vibrated through his chest into your back.
“For needing help?”
His arm tightened around your waist. “For deciding I would consider your collapse less inconvenient than your honesty.”
You looked down at his hand where it covered most of the ache. “The clan needs you.”
“And therefore I decide where I am needed.” His thumb moved once along your side. “Not you. Not the elders. Me.”
Outside, the settlement carried on around you as doors closed, evening patrols changed, and voices travelled between houses raised where battle lines had once been drawn. For most of your lives, pain had been something worked around because stopping could cost blood, land, siblings, survival. Peace had arrived faster than the habits built to survive without it. Madara knew those habits too well to mistake them for virtue.
“We did not build this village,” he said, quieter now, “so that you could keep treating rest as though an enemy might exploit it.”
You leant farther back against him. “That sounds dangerously reasonable.”
“I am often reasonable.”
“You are…many things.”
His hand pressed a little more firmly over your stomach. “Choose your next words carefully.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Attentive?”
“Better.”
The answer held enough dry satisfaction that another laugh threatened. You spared your abdomen the effort.
For a while neither of you spoke. Madara remained behind you, one arm around your middle and the other hand warming the place that hurt, while the house settled into evening. His anger had not vanished; it had simply mutated into water within reach, blankets drawn over your legs, and a meal deferred until you could stomach it.
Eventually he lowered his mouth to your temple. “Next time, you tell me before your knees do.”
“And if you’re in a meeting?”
“Especially then.”
“You can’t just dismiss the elders every time I have a period.”
His hold tightened just enough to make the answer unnecessary.
You turned your head to look at him. “Madara.”
“Watch me.”
This time you laughed quietly and let your full weight settle against him. Madara remained displeased for the rest of the evening. He also did not let you lift so much as the kettle.
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Could you make genin Naruto, Sasuke, Gaara, Rock Lee and Neji x reader who is their crush and they end up having to fight reader in the chunin exam?
Yessss, yes I will 😊
Fighting Them During The Chunin Exam
A/N: half of this was written with writers blocks the other half was written when I was high, so don’t judge the quality okay 😊
Naruto
- One by one you both watched as everyone was drawn. When it was just down to four of you, Naruto prayed he would get Kiba
- You both gave a side eye when you were the last opponents
- Oh fucking shit
- He was actually a bit (really) mad, protesting that he could not fight you because you were a friend but when the only response was fight or surrender he bit the inside of his cheek
- “Friend”… yuh uh, he means totally smitten to the point he feels like a dog
- But he couldn’t surrender, not when he was this close to getting his chunin but he didn’t know where you guys would stand after it
- When you reassured him this is just how it was supposed to be and said you’d be honoured to fight him, he only frowned and scratched his head.
There he stood, across from you on this dirty cement floor and he was mesmerized on how you could just smile.
“This gotta be a joke, can you just redraw?” He asked the , displeased evident.
“There’s nobody to draw from, you both are the last opponents,” he irked, finding Naruto’s stupidly uncharming.
“Naruto it’s fine, let’s just do this, I’m hungry,” You slumpt, anxious to get this over with.
- he went easy at the start, only throwing kunais and he played defence
- When he realized you weren’t going easy, he was caught off guard as you punched him right in the face
- He stumbled, looking at you with somehow even more admiration
- Then he got serious and the fight really started
- You lost, but some part of you kind of anticipated it
- You were sprawled out on the floor, head pounding from the attack and you were honestly just so tired from the forest
- When you surrendered he felt relieved, he didn’t know how much longer he could take fighting you
- He ran over to you, he wasn’t happy with the win
- He apologized over and over, helping you up and taking you to the infirmary
- He was so glad you guys were still friends, you meant so much to him
- Totally just friends
- He takes you out for ramen after
- He still is on edge for quite some time, he makes excuses why he can’t train with you and he definitely won’t rough house like you guys use too
——
Sasuke
- king of looking like he doesn’t give a shit
- He does
- He’s literally panicking internally and in private probably bites his nails from anxiety
- He thinks he’s anxious to fight you, that has to be it? Out of everyone you are most worthy to him potential wise
- He’s lying to himself, he doesn’t wanna believe that he’s scared to fight you because you mean a lot to him
- He’ll avoid you for the month of training and when you come to confront him about it he’s eerily upset
“We’re not friends, I am getting my chunen license even if it means hurting you,” he says, stopped inside his door frame as he watches you fold your arms over your chest.
“So that’s it, friendship over because of a silly competition?” You respond, you knew sasuke was aloof and stubborn, but really?
“We never were friends,” he replied, as casual as one could and he hated the way your eyes got glossy. He watched you leave, regretting it but he won’t take it back.
- you were nervous, standing in the podium as the crowd was watching you
- Sasuke wasn’t here yet, which you’d hope he wouldn’t show up at all
- You were a bit annoyed as he spawned in with kakashi, trying to be ‘cool’
- He was surprised when you actually put up a fight, a good one too
- But also kind of proud
- He did not go easy on you, at all and was definitely being yelled at by Naruto on the stands
- he won, by default as you had passed out and could not continue to fight
- He wanted to check on you, instead lurking outside your door and kinda of just shuffling around
- He’ll ask the nurses if you’re okay, but he won’t dare go in already knowing he’s fucked up your guys friendship
——
Gaara
- low key you were shitting your pants cause WHATT???
- You saw what that boy did to Rock Lee, and now you have to fight him?
- He on the other hand doesn’t care, but the more it gets closer to the fight he starts feeling uneasy
- He’s… what they refer to as a monster? So why is he kind of concerned for this nobody wannabe?
- He had sat beside you during the first test, intrigued by you
- Your the first person that has ever smiled at him so.. genuinely
- And now he has to fight you? A big part of him was set on absolutely destroying you to stop this uneasiness in his chest
- I mean, he didn’t even know if he had a gentle bone in his body, all he knows how to do is ruin things
“You…” his cold voice came, you were walking home in the dusk from the ramen shop after hanging out with Naruto.
“Uh.. yeah? Hey?” You responded, confused and a bit anxious as you stuffed your hands in your pockets. He came closer, a blank look on his face.
“Forfeit,”
“Huh?”
“Forfeit the fight, I will kill you,” He explained, blinking so casually as he watched your complexed reaction.
- he, in his own scary way, was trying to warn you that he could not control himself
- He was kind of happy when you got his underlying message.. you really were different
- You forfeited privately, to your sensei who completely understood
- Gaara was grateful when the next night Baki had told him his opponent had changed
——
Rock Lee
- When you were paired with him for the semi finals he had frowned
- He apologized to Neji and his sensei
- Both were very confused
- He had that cute little ‘hmpf’ look on his face with an even cuter pout as he walked down the steps
- When he came face to face to you you saw this look in his eyes
- Both of you didn’t say anything when the ref asked if anyone wanted to forfeit before he called fight
You braced, drawing your Kunai when the fight began. Rock Lee raised his hand, looking like his traditional taijustu pose.
“I cannot fight you (y/n)! Please forgive me I forfeit,” he yelled, clasping his hands together and falling to his knees before you in a bow.
“…wha…?” You deadpanned, uneased by how loud he had just shouted that. He looked up, seriousness written all over him.
- You guys didn’t talk until after everyone had battled, finding him hiding from you behind the tree outside
- He slumped as you yelled at him
- He let you rant before he started his own ramble, explaining how he couldn’t fight you
- He would never lay a hand on you, it was against his ninja way
- His eyes started to water and his top lip twitched, clearly upset
- You rolled your eyes and went to go get ice cream with him
——
Neji
- you guys were paired to fight for the finals
- He was stubborn and if you’re a girl.. low key sexist about it
- He thinks he’s being a gentlemen but absolutely obliterating you with ‘facts’
- King of backhanded compliments
- But what he doesn’t know is you started to train with a really powerful sensei who was travelling through the village and offered to help you
- Throughout the whole month training time he was focusing on his fighting, but you were on the back of his mind
- He knew he wanted to win, but he also knew he didn’t want to hurt you either nor ruin your relationship
- So he spent a lot of late nights trying to figure out ways he could knock you out as quick and painless as possible
- This was all internally and completely private to him, he never expressed any weakness on the outside
- He was pretty confident in himself
- When the fight began and he realized.. you were actually catching him off guard he was perplexed
“I don’t-… how?” He coughed up blood, knees weak as he swayed to try and stay up right. You frowned, he hated that.
“I’m not weak Neji, don’t underestimate your opponent. You don’t know me,” Those words were said in order to hurt him, he had ruined your patience with his opinion of you.
“I.. thought I did,” he pondered, eyes lost.
- you gave the final blow to him and he was carried away to infirmary
- When he awoke he stared up at the ceiling for a long time after, feeling his wounds and thinking he deserved the pain for how much he took your abilities unseriously
- He vowed to never make you feel inferior to him and started to rekindle your friendship in hopes he didn’t ruin his chance
