MDNI-I fear I may have let the voices speak a little too loud because uhm. This happened. Oops. Optional Part 3, smut. Idk how tf imma pull this off but let’s see, bc even though i have filthy thoughts, idk how to execute them without sounding like some goon vro </3 1.2k and it hasn’t even started yet. May I introduce the offering of foreplay. I lowkey don’t know what the fuck im writing, just know that i’ve been in the trenches and I'm ovulating. 2.1k and we haven’t started yet, oops. 2.5k and the escalation begins, all because I decided to turn on “Haunted” by beyonce. 3.7k and idk wtf im doing. 4.7k and I haven’t even gotten to the main plot. 6.2k words and I’m finally done. Yeah lmk if this sucks guys. not edited
Dating Naruto was an easy thing to do, easily the easiest, easy like breathing, like blinking. This man was a walking, talking romance book. Now, after two years of endless pining, the fact that you have him? Best believe he is stuck onto you like velcro, the definition of clingy.
You still remember how not a single soul was surprised when you both broke the news ten months ago, sneezing after you both caught a cold, sheepish but glowing, hands intertwined tightly as if you were trying to mesh together. Regardless, he was the man of your dreams, someone absolutely unreal, so amazing, brilliant and bold. But also so incredibly damning.
So, so damning.
Your current boyfriend was your favourite out of anyone you’d ever dated. Boyish, cute, golden retriever energy balanced out with this foxy darkness in him, everything about him complimented you so perfectly.
Naruto was attractive, like, needlessly attractive, drool-worthy, model material, muscles and smiles with full teeth, canines peeking and dimples pressed into his cheeks, but knowing him, getting to know him, his deepest fears, his ambitions, his hopes, to know someone so intimately, was breathtaking. He was so willing to lead by example, to forge a way with words and actions, and wait for you with encouraging words as you picked your way to him, was freeing and grounding at the time. To let him know you in the same way.
But he could be such a little shit at times.
It’s been almost ten months, ten months of building tension, and this man would drive you insane.
Resting in your new apartment after practice, your old dorm long gone, shirtless and shorts riding low as he talked about his day on your bed, arms stretched behind his head as his hooded eyes sweep your frame. Intentional shuffles, pulls, grabbing your wrist and pulling you on top of him as you walk by. But he never pursued it, for lack of better words. He was waiting for you to break, for you to start it this time.
Naruto would lounge in your apartment more, a background noise as you dived head first into studying for finals. It was intentional hand brushes against your thighs and back as you sat beside him. Teasing touches on your arms and hands as you study from across him. Pressing himself against you, just ever-so briefly when walking behind you in the kitchen. It made your head spin, but you danced around him, too preoccupied with work and clubs and finals.
He’ll be patient. Naruto was slowly making dents in your armour, and your snappy retorts returned with less snap and more heat. He was having fun, watching you press your legs together when he’d shift his hips forward on the couch, manspreading.
Watched the way you chewed on your lip as you stared at him when he’d be practising, eyes trained on his hands, his arms. Kissing you slow and deep when he came to your front door, hands teasing your waistband, fingers trailing before he pulled away casually. And there were moments where you’d be sat in his lap, legs straddling his hips as he mouthed at your collarbone, before stopping short with a grin, diverting your attention with sleep and cuddles and some silly comment.
He’d wait it out, would play this game slowly, would circle you enticingly, watching to see how much you could take before your need took over. But he would never push. No, not ever, would never take from you. You had to choose. It didn’t matter if you fell asleep in his arms with a hand up his shirt and your face buried in his neck, he would wait here reverently, even when he watched your breath stutter when he kissed your exposed back when you’d pulled your hair over your shoulder. Would wait for you to make that decision, but to let you know that he was right here, you just had to grab and take hold.
And he’ll wait, wait for you to catch up, for you to tidy up your other affairs to give him your full attention. Will wait as you battle your anxiety and fears, will wait with pride because you’re doing all of this just to be with him.
And he saw that all of this had an unexpected consequence. You have gotten more comfortable, more confident. He couldn’t rattle you as much, couldn’t fluster you into an adorable mess. Now? Now, you were sultry, more in tune with what you were feeling. Leaned into it, started returning his actions back tenfold. And he liked it, loved it really, this push-pull dance you both had.
It was only a matter of time after you were free for the summer.
Days turned hotter, and your apartment was awash in late evening sunlight, golden hour just around the corner. It was a sweltering day, and you both were lounging in the living room, some true crime show playing on the T.V. as the wind blew through the open windows, the breeze tangled in the curtains before cooling the house down, barely.
Naruto had his head tipped back, pulling at his loose sleeveless shirt, pulling his shorts as he adjusted himself on the sofa. He groaned, loudly, complaining about the heat, glancing at you to see if you saw. Saw the way this shirt made the veins in his arms jump more, how the shorts showed muscle and definition.
You were on your stomach, laid across the rest of the couch, legs swinging languidly through the air as you flipped through your book. You made a noncommittal type of sound, showing that you were barely there, tank top straps clinging onto your shoulders, small cotton shorts hugging your ass.
He trailed his eyes over your figure, looking like a cat napping in the sun with the way you stretched, turning slowly onto your back. Your top rode up just a little, just enough to show him where your tan line was. Naruto studied your legs, your hips, up to your chest, lingering on your collarbones, your neck, the way your throat was bobbing because-oh, you caught him.
Your book was held up, your hair tumbling across the armrest as you started him down. He felt like tearing his eyes away, but he couldn’t.
You didn’t tease, didn’t raise an eyebrow or laugh, no, this time, you held him, pulled him in by some sort of unseen attraction. The book tumbled from your hands.
“It’s really hot, isn’t it?” He said, flexing his fingers before trailing his hand over your legs, tracing nonsensical patterns on your skin, seemingly mindless in intention.
Your eyes flicked down to his hand, then up to his face, before you lifted that one leg up, just enough to give him more area to trace. His hands paused before he fully turned his head towards you. The temperature must’ve risen, must’ve made the room hot and stifling every time you both locked eyes.
“Yup,” You popped the ‘p’ eyes wandering down, not being subtle in the way they checked him out, pausing at his arms, “You should probably take your shirt off, no?”
He fought the smirk threatening to split over his face in fear of scaring you off, but he knew he was in some intricate dance right now. Forget him trying to entice you, you were playing him like a fiddle right now, voice low and rough, and he knew, this is you starting it.
“Yeah?” But his hands were already at the hem of his shirt, holding on as he raised them, his abs probably showing. Your eyes fell to the exposed skin, and you cock your head, bold and unmoving. “You don’t mind, yeah?”
You shake your head as you reach for your fallen book, his shirt landing somewhere behind him as he settles back, hands once again caressing your calf, soft and reverent. You flip it open, but your eyes don’t leave him, your gaze searing on his skin.
You were glowing in the sunlight, skin glistening, bathing in the warmth like some goddess, some deity, otherworldly beauty. It made him want to take a picture of you to keep in his wallet, even though he already has one.
But along with the reverence he always felt when thinking about you, right now, the impure thoughts were just a bit louder.
Louder in the sense that one of your tank top straps had fallen, showing your skin, completely uninterrupted. His eyes chased the glimmer on skin, made him want to lick it right off of you, to taste the salt it would bring. Then to kiss you right after, let you taste yourself on him.
You stood up, stretching before asking him “Water?” He ogles, not caring if you notice, ogles and looks at the silhouette of you, soft skin, top riding up even more as you stand in your glory.
He nods, trailing after you, watching how your hips swing with every step, how your shorts are barely enough to cover anything. You start filling up two glasses, bending your back a little more than necessary, when you feel his hand curl around your hair, softly brushing the skin on your back as he moves it over one shoulder.
“Shouldn’t you have the cold water running?”
You turn the knob the other way, setting the glasses down in the sink, letting the water just trickle into them, because with the way his hand was moving, he might just make you drop them. His hands ghost over your back, tracing your spine, and you wouldn’t have even known if it weren’t for the rough calluses scratching every nerve ending wherever they touched, making them ignite.
“Distracted?”
Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter. He’d noticed. You’d left the door wide open, shrouding yourself in the darkness and letting him walk through the entrance if he dared. And dare he did.
His finger traced the curve of where your spine connected to your head, feeling every rise and fall of bone, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch. He chuckled at the lack of response from you, the sound of it thundering in his chest as your breath stuttered in yours.
The tension was choking in its thickness. This wasn’t like that first day, in the car. No, this was all heat and tension, of something waiting, lurking on the sidelines of your minds.
“Hm?”
You can’t respond, not when his palm caresses your shoulder blade, pressing into the dip of the bone, watching the way your arms lock as you lean your weight onto them, the muscles in your neck rippling as you tensed.
“Why do you ask?” Thank fuck your voice doesn’t waver, doesn’t show the full extent of your lack of thinking, but you doubt it matters, if the way you were shifting, legs pressed, wasn’t obvious enough.
“Just ‘cause…” His voice sounds nothing like his own. He’s a looming presence behind you now, tugging and toying cautiously with the strap now, two fingers fiddling with it before brushing against the skin underneath. You’re on fire, actively unravelling and burning under his touch, blazing in the full force of his attention.
You turn the faucet off. The glasses have long overfilled.
The silence presses, neither of you reach for the cups, his fingers ghosting, touching, tracing your neck, that long line of your throat, and you had long forgotten about trying to stay calm. Your chest tightened, body reacting violently to the relentless, unfamiliar touch on your neck and shoulders, his fingers toying with the strap even more, as if enticing it to fall off.
Then he pulls away, hands grabbing your hips, hard, as if to anchor himself, or you, before he’s gone, feet nearly soundless as he sits back down on the couch.
Rage almost blinds you.
You grab one glass, downing it in one go, the water swelling over your lips and running down your neck, catching and soaking the neckline of your tank top as you chug to cool some of your frustration. Naruto stares, watching, as you set it down and grab the other glass, turning and walking back to your book.
He grabs your wrist when you pass by him, pausing you between his legs. Doesn’t look up at you, not even when he presses a kiss onto your pulse point, tongue flicking out and finally tasting that salt, eyes fluttering close as his breath fans over the wet skin. The glass trembles in your grip, knuckles going white as you involuntarily straighten up. You place it on the table in front of the couch, before turning and letting yourself out of his grasp.
Naruto looks up, thinking he’s just pissed you off, mouth already open for apologies and asks for forgiveness, but you surprise him by grabbing his face and lifting it, making him stand as you chase his lips with your own, kissing him as he rises to his full height, pressed fully against him, before you pull away, hands on his shoulders as you stay standing on your tiptoes.
His hand curls around your waist, resting on the rise of your ass, the other grabbing holding of your jaw, thumb and forefinger pressing into your cheeks, making your lips purse. He pulls you in close, and hovers. Hovers because this is him asking, asking before you both start this dance in earnest, and you answer, letting him pull you into him once more.
The kiss is wet, your lip-gloss smearing against his skin as he nips at your lip, before pulling back, pulling back as he laughs a little as he twirls you around before setting you down on the sofa. Your eyes stray down, especially since the flexing lines of his abs are in your sight, his chuckle ringing straight through you.
“My eyes are up here, pretty.”
You flick your gaze back up to him, watch as the sun hits and scatters in his hair, painting a golden glow onto his head, strands soft and fluffy, falling over his eyes, his blue, blue eyes, which look murky, glowing as they pin you down. There is heat in his eyes-not heat, hunger. Hunger and starvation clawing through the surface of his irises like fire, and it was all for you. Only you.
He bends, standing in front of you, caging you as his hands settle on the head rest of the couch as you tip your head back to let him kiss you again. He groans into the kiss, especially when your mouth is so soft, open, so wanting, your hands sliding over his exposed skin as if to memorize, to feel how he is when you’ve got him like this.
Fingers trail over his throat, pausing to feel the vibration as he ‘hmm’s into the kiss, pressing against his Adam’s apple. He wanted to feel every bit of you, to devour every bit of your lips, to know the taste of his spit mixed with yours, to know what it’d taste like when you tell him so.
One hand tips your head back even more, both of your eyes hooded, eyes locked as your brows furrow, hands climbing up his skin, over his shoulder, scratching the hair at the nape of his neck. It makes him go insane, makes him deepen the kiss, climbing over you as you both slide onto the couch now.
He trails his hand down your hips, pausing at your thighs, and he waits. But you don’t hesitate, don’t overthink, pulling his hand down until it makes contact with the swell of your thigh, saying his name in one breathless whisper. And then?
He’s all over you.
He’d been going insane too, his own game driving him to the edge, it had been too long, he was too impatient, was going fucking berserk, and he completely broke every restraint holding him back as he proceeded to blow your mind.
His knees push your legs apart, legs set wide as he presses kisses into your skin, tracing a path down over your body-your skin, licking, biting, kissing, claiming. Your straps fell like sin, shirt bunching at your waist, and he mouthed at every exposed inch of skin, trying to burn you into his memory using his mouth, his tongue. You’d always been quiet, never making much noise in the way that would be torn from you, but now?
Fuck, you were so noisy.
It drives him insane.
“God,” He was back up, attacking that sensitive spot under your jaw, voice breathless and shot to hell, “Took us long enough, need you s’bad, pretty.” He says your name, tasting every letter, every syllable, every tone and accent as he noses against your jaw, “So pretty, making all those noises you try so hard to hold in. Let me hear ‘em. All of ‘em”
But you can’t really answer, head tilting back as your hair piles up against the armrest, eyes fluttering close as you gasp when his mouth starts to make its way over the swell of your breasts. He circles, like he always does, but you have a feeling it’s not to tease, but rather because he’s being methodical in his worship, carving a path of devotion onto your skin, into your soul.
But you can’t think any longer when his hand reaches up to flick one nipple, and you keen, shoulders caving in as your face crumples. He watches, using every touch, every taste, every kiss to study you.
His mouth closes over the other one as he pushes your shirt down lower, making sure you can’t rub your legs together for any friction, hands and legs pressed against you, holding you as he systematically breaks you down.
Naruto can hear your sounds. Can hear them before his mouth feels it, in the little tremble, his name catching in the back of your throat as his callused hands traced the outline of your shorts, mouth pressing on the sensitive skin of the inside of your knee, eyes never leaving your face, marks already blooming on your skin as you writhe in his grasp.
Watches, learns that his name spilling from your lips in that sinful way was just another word for please. Presses his hands against your thighs to spread you, to finally taste you in the way he’s been dreaming about, shuffling back up, pressing kisses and nipping at the skin of your stomach and hips as he pulls your legs over his shoulders.
You're panting, hard, looking down at him with a ruined expression already, and he can’t wait to see what will happen when he finally starts. He kisses the skin right above the waistband of your shorts, slowly dragging them down, inch by inch, following the dip of your hip bone as he narrows onto your core.
Your thighs are quivering, and he loops one arm under and over, enclosing your thigh as he pulls you, pins you down, hooking his finger into your shorts and dragging them down, down and off until they’re gone, settling himself between your legs again. His other hand sneaks up, brushing your tit, calloused thumb swiping across as you buck your hips towards him.
You plead out his name, hands finding his air, brushing it out of his face with such tenderness before grabbing it back, and he makes it his personal mission to see if he can get you to pull on it. He flicks his tongue out, tracing the edge of your panties with his tongue, hears the shrill whimper tear from your throat the second he does.
You’re wet, soaked, a dark spot on your lace, and it nearly makes him die, right there, but he flicks his tongue over it, tasting, not giving enough pressure for it to do anything. He looks up, watches as you look down at him with furrowed brows, eyes barely open.
“You got this messy when I just touched you a little?” he hums, low and teasing.
The sound that breaks from your throat when he grazes his thumb over your folds and finds you soaked-panties pulled away, hanging off of one trembling ankle- have him swearing under his breath, jaw going tight, shoulders pulling back and taut as though he’s barely keeping himself in check.
His groan is guttural, from deep within his chest, like it takes restraint never seen before just to hold himself back from devouring you right there. His cheeks are flushed, tan, hot skin searing where your thighs cage his head, hooded blue eyes gone smokey, pupils blow wide, glancing up at you then back down, studying, memorizing, learning, looking. His hair clings to his forehead, sweat-slick skin resting on the inside of your thigh as he brushes his knuckles through your slick, ghosting over your clit but not lingering yet.
Your thighs twitch, jaw clenching as your hands spasms in his hair, fisting just a bit before he feels you claw them open, as if trying not to give him the satisfaction, but your eyes are fluttering shut and your lips part around a breath anyways. You breathe his name, soft and tentative, as if you don’t know that you could ask.
He was going to show you, in great detail, why you would never need to ask again. He was yours for as long as you'd have him.
“Shh, baby, I got you” his lips brush against your skin, tongue wetting his lips, “Just let me taste ya’, pretty, make you feel so good.”
And that’s all the warning you get before he devours you.
There’s no more teasing, no more circling, no wait, no hesitation, just tongue, mouth, and hunger.
He groans like he’s been starved, like he’s been aching for eons to have this, have you, relief tearing its way through his body as he buries his mouth in you and licks. His hands clamp down on your hips, brushing the bone before grabbing your thighs and hauling you towards his mouth even more. Your nails scratch his scalp as he whimpers against you, tongue slow and exploring at first, buried so deep into your cunt you’re surprised he’s still breathing.
Your eyes squeeze shut as a shaky breath leaves your open lips, head falling back as you mewl, relief and pleasure crashing through you. His voice vibrated through you, and his sloppy movements sped up. His nose nudges the crease of your thigh as he exhales sharply against it. That tongue is wicked, evil in its accuracy as it finally flicks up against your clit as your hips jump, his grin curved against your skin.
He was so mean, so good, so, so good in the way he attacked your cunt, sloppy and messy and so precise as he targeted your clit. The sounds you both were making were obscene, snapping through you, making your back arch as you moaned.
And when you moan, his lashes flutter as his eyes roll back into his head, as if just the sound of you is enough to undo him entirely. His moans and groans as he finally feasted, finally ate his long awaited meal, vibrated through you, the sloshing sounds of your pussy as he made a mess of you. It was so much, too much, all too much, and your hand was tangled in his blonde strands as you let out a gasp.
He tightens his grip on you, holding you still, and you can feel his jaw flex, the edge of his cheekbone brush against your thigh with every ‘sluuurp’ of his tongue. He was practically purring against you, lost in a haze of your taste and sounds.
“Naru-!”
He hones in in response, more focused, lapping and sucking in a rhythm, focusing on one spot as he feels your chest heave with the force of your whimper. You twitch beneath him, and he lets out a sound of satisfaction, mouth working hungrily.
He’s messy and ardent to please, tongue flicking down, tasting the entrance of your cunt as your hips buck, hard. You tug his hair, roughly and without thinking, and he groans-loud-straight through you. He shudders, hips grinding into the couch just from your sounds, your taste, you.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his nose pressed up against your clit, sliding one hand down, before pushing one finger inside you, slow, thick and deep, curling like he knows exactly where you need him. He pulls back and then sinks in two, without warning, without mercy.
Your back bows, lifts right off the couch, sweaty skin peeling right off as your breath stutters. He curls his fingers around, watching as he hits this one spot that has your eyes blow wide open, mouth parting as your hips jump.
Your body arches into him, and he hears you make a sound he’s never heard before-something so wrecked, so raw, so ruined. His free hand presses down on your stomach, grounding you, not letting you run, making you take every bit.
Naruto’s lips pull your clit in, before letting it go with a ‘pop’ and you can’t help but let out a pathetic whimper. "Look at you,” his eyes flick back up to your face as he scissors fingers and presses against your walls, hitting that one spot every time, “Made for me, so good just for me, so fuckin’ tight.”
His fingers work this slow, maddening rhythm, pushing in and out as his thumb plays with your clit as he watches you, eyes flicking up to your face where your hair sticks to your temple, sticky in sweat, and back down, where he watches his fingers disappear into you, loud and messy.
Your vision swims, the room too hot, his fingers too perfect, and your thighs twitch against his head. You mumble something about crushing him, but he just lowers his head, tongue joining his fingers as your voice reaches a higher pitch, the knot in core tightening. “Such pretty sounds, all for me. So pretty” he murmurs, holding you down as he picks up the speed even more, “This pretty pussy, all for me.”
He watches every twitch, every tremble, every gasp and moan and whimper of his name, every expression you can’t hide, “So close, so close, can fuckin’ feel it. Gimme it all, pretty, let me have all of it.”
Your eyes roll back into your head as you tense, shattering under the onslaught of your orgasm crashing through you. It's loud, loud and unforgiving, crashing through you like thunder, soaked and he moans into it, so desperate and unfiltered. Your legs clamp around his head as he groans into you, licking long stripes up your sticky slit. Every press of his swollen lips was followed by a swallow, and had you jolting and whining.
“Taste so good, so, so, so good, you taste so good, pretty girl” and he’s murmuring, lost in a haze as his fingers don’t leave, slowing down and making you ride out your high, coaxing out every tremor, every sound with love and devotion and such sweet tenderness.
You press his head away, weakly, breathless and spent, and he loves it.
He lifts his head, resting it on your thigh, staring down at you as he slides his fingers out. They’re wet, shiny in your slick, and he slowly rubs his knuckles up and down, watching you jump and twitch every time. His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the blue in them, hair dishevelled from your fingers, from the tugging, sticking to his flushed forehead, skin damp from sweat. His lower face is coated in you, and he swipes his tongue over his lips, looking straight at you as he does, savouring the taste of you still, breaths shaky.
“You okay?”
You nod, barely, dazed and spent and utterly ruined, ears ringing from the high, catching your breath. You close your eyes as he kisses up your body, each one delicate, soft, reverent, like he’s anchoring himself in this world, mapping you out once more.
He doesn’t speak much, mumbling praises into your skin as if it’s instinct, worship. He kisses you again, slow and deep and messy, but jumps when he feels himself pressed against you, his shorts the only barrier between the two of you, your breath catches as you whine, pulling him in for another kiss, wet and sloppy. He lets you taste yourself on his tongue, groaning as your hips roll against him without meaning to.
Sliding one finger across the underside of your breast, watching as you mindlessly pressed further up into him, into his touch. He pulls away, letting only your breaths surround the space around you as he watches you watch his finger, watches as it swirls and glides on your skin, watching how your chest stutters.
You both are grinding against each other, and you touch his chest with trembling fingers, feeling and following every line of muscle, making his breath catch in his throat and his lips pull into a sneer.
You both lock eyes, and something snaps once more as you shove his pants down, muscles in your neck jumping as you crane your head forward to kiss him again. You move pushing him up and against the couch as you straddle him, gasping into the kiss when you feel his hard cock rub against your dripping pussy, the tip catching your clit before you both settle.
His cock is massive, and you’re debating whether it'll even fit or not, but you're feeling like a champ today, so you let go, especially since he made you cum so hard you’re still seeing stars.
“Let me?” You whisper out the question, and his hands caressing your skin, sliding over your stretch marks, teasing and tracing your skin, following some pattern. But he wanted to hear you say it, wanted to see how filthy you’d be.
“Let you what?” He mumbles, tangling his fingers in your hair as he kisses it.
“Let me sit on your dick…” and his jaw drops, faux-shock written on his face as you pout. He pulls you in, kissing you softly as his chuckles ring through you, before abruptly stopping when you roll your hips.
“Sure,” his mouth sucking softly as that sweet spot under your jaw, “Take every inch and make me proud, my pretty girl”
You situate yourself, his head catching in your fold that makes you choke on a gasp, and he watches, hips sling forward to give you more space, an amused but needy grin on his lips. You chew your lip as you push yourself on, panting hard as he coos, rubbing tight precise circles on your clit to ease the burn, rubbing the side of your waist.
You both work together now, and he helps ease himself in slowly; tenderly. The stretch burns, hot and electrifying, but so fucking addictive as he fills you inch by inch. Your breath shatters as he bottoms out, whole body jolting as you claw at his forearms, thighs straining to close, his name breaking apart in a helpless little breath, a thing that breaks before you can even get a word out.
“I got you, s’okay, just breathe,” he says, massaging your sides, holding as he helps you move, “Takin’ me s’good already.” his words are slurring together as you both pant. His face is flushed, red and sweaty as he stares where you both connect, shiny in your slick. Your walls are tightening around him as he keeps pushing and pushing and pushing. It makes your head fall back, makes your soul twist.
He fucks you slowly, watching as you make the cutest faces for him, fall apart on him, over him, moving, letting him support you as you bring him closer to his high, his demise.
Soon he’s pounding into you hard, that same slow rhythm that has you falling forward in his arms as he plants his feet to slam into you over and over, angling his hips that make him go in deeper somehow, your jaw falling open as you pant and moan against his ear, writhing and twitching in his hold as he moves you up and down on his dick.
“Fuck, baby, you’re falling apart-wann see-wanna see you fall apart on my cock,” he pants, furrow in his brows as he finally quickens his pace, “how’re you s’ gorgeous, pretty girl?” and he’s moving smoothly and controlled as your second orgasm slams into you by surprise, and he presses a quick kiss to your temple.
You moan out his name, burying your face into his neck, clawing at him back as he doesn’t stop, pounding into your poor pussy, and there are tears clinging to your lashes, eyesight going blurry.
You don’t understand how he has so much stamina, don’t understand how he’s making you feel as if your spine is turning into rubber. But you can feel the next one building. He pulls back, forces you to sit up and watch, his mouth pressing kisses onto your tits, precise movements driving you wild as you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders.
Soon, he reaches down with his thumb to circle your clit again as you keen, high and breathless, and his hips pumping into you savagely that makes white flash in your vision, clit feeling like liquid heat as white-hot pleasure tears through you. You can tell he’s close. You brush one hand over his lower abs, briefly, and the flex under your fingers, and he’s begging for permission to finish in you, and you nod.
And he’s tracing something onto your clit, and when you focus hard enough, you feel it; N-A-R-U-T-O. He’s writing his own fucking name onto you. The realization pushes you over the edge.
You break. Again.
Your body collapses onto him as you cry out, sobs tearing through you as you let out a soundless scream, voice cracking as you chant his name out in prayer, in salvation and ruin.
Your walls clench, hard, around him, and he groans, fucking you through it, chasing his high. He stares at you, mouths at you, touches you, tastes you as the golden sunlight illuminates you as you break apart.
“There ya’ go, that’s it, that’s it-”
He talks you through it before his voice cracks-breaks- right in the middle as his hips jerk, a guttural groan tearing through his chest and throat, a strangled cry of your name, hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside, thick and so much that it spills around the edges, coats his base in a pretty white ring.
He crushes you into his arms, panting as you both shake and shiver through the after shocks. He stays there, buried in you, as if you knocked any possible capability of thought from his mind.
Naruto rests his forehead against the plane of your collarbone, even as you move on trembling legs to let him pull out, face crumpling as he spills out. He wipes away as much as he can, kisses you softly as you both fall down on the ouch, tangled limbs, bodies breathing in tandem. You’re sticky with sweat, glowing in the afterglow.
“You okay?” He murmurs into the skin of your shoulder.
“I guess,” You sigh, running your hands through his hair in a failed attempt to tame it, “Even though I can’t feel my fucking knees.” your voice is thick with exhaustion, lacking the bite the word usually would have.
“So mean to me for what?” He whines, nuzzling into your cheeks, “Right after I had you sounding like that-”
Your smack cuts him off, a smug smile playing on his face as he laughs, too satisfied, too exhausted to fully pull off the smugness.
“I’ll run you a warm bath soon, don’t worry,” he says into your hair, eyes half lidded as he pulls you close, warming you up with his body heat, “Give me five minutes, then I’ll give you the whole package, princess treatment and everything, pretty”
“Good” you hum out, closing your eyes as he hugs you, holding you a little longer.
And the only thing that runs through his head is how much he loves you, and how much he needs to hold onto you right now, because if he lets go now, the world might stop.
⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯
@so-uncute