winged bf who pick you up into their arms, gently cradling you as if you were made of glass and the finest jewelry as they tell you to “hang on” before unfurling their wings and taking off into the sky
winged bf who show you the beauty of flying, holding you securely in his arms as you take in the way how the world below you looks so small and beautiful. who only has a gentle smile on their faces as you point out the big apartments and parks where you go to for a picnic date. who only has eyes on you as you admire the twinkling lights of the world under you
winged bf who wrap their wing around you whenever you shiver, even if it was one of those annoying sudden ghost bump things you get out of the blue. he’s still worried, let him worry for you in peace😠
winged bf who plucks a feather out of their wing, gently tucking the soft feather into your hair, or on your jacket — wherever you want. he wants you to carry a piece of him to remind you by even though you regularly steal his clothes
winged bf who allows you to be only person to touch his wings, to care for them, to brush them, to just… well, touch them to your heart’s content really. he doesn’t care if you put the tip of his long feather ends over your lips, mimicking a mustache, he doesn’t care if you want to use it as a blanket, he doesn’t care if you wanna use the ends like a cat toy in front of his face. he’ll indulge in your silly shenanigans
winged bf who sheds at least once a year, filling your shared home with the old feathers. who is either smug about it or is apologetic as he helps you broom the excessive fallen feathers. at this point you could probably make a plushie or some sort of art project from the amount of feathers that he shed. to which he objects, saying these are all old and weakened feathers, offering his wing for you to pluck feathers from if you really wanna make an art project
winged bf who hides the two of you under his wing when cuddling in bed, the added layer of his own extra limb making the scene feel more intimate than it is. as if the entire world is blocked out, just a meager existence passing by as you two enjoy this moment of comfort as his wing becomes a curtain to give you two privacy
winged bf who sometimes gets too sexually frustrated and pent up with your curious hands constantly touching the place where his wing is connected to his back, the skin and muscles there are sensitive, making him jump in his seat whenever you do it to tease him
winged bf who knows that it isn’t your fault. you probably don’t know, you don’t have a wing after all, so you don’t know what it means when someone touches your wing. who only calms your worries with a forehead kiss, usually handling his problems himself
winged bf who lets out a whine into his hand, muffling the embarrassing noise as your hand wraps tighter around his cock. he was way too sensitive than usual and it was all because of your wandering hand on his wings. he probably should have explained it all to you but right now, he found his words escaping him, mind melting into a muddled mess as he finds his hands clawing at your own in desperation
winged bf who mumbles out a weak protest of being “s-sensitive! aaah… f-feels too sen—♡︎ sensitive! y-your haaandd♡︎” as his legs start to shake, staring through teary eyes as you coax out yet another climax out of him. his tip an angry cherry red from the continued torture of your hand, his slit weeping precum over and over again despite having just came, getting hard in your hand embarrassingly fast
winged bf who gets tortured by your loving hands for who knows how many times. his eyes are getting blurry and breathing started to hurt. even more, his dick was stinging, twitching every time your tight fist comes up to the tip, letting go briefly as if to taunt him, touching the dripping slit with the tip of your finger and making him whine loudly before fucking his cock into your hand again and again. this was just pure torture, he wanted to escape and run away but you were whispering such nice words to his ears. calling him your good boy, your angel, how you loved being with your beloved like this… could he really ever refuse you?
winged bf who gets more and more twitchy in your gentle hold as your hand picks up speed, the filthy wet noise of his earlier cum being used as a lube filling the room alongside his loud moans. who begs for you to not to touch his wing as it flutters around, dropping a feather or two onto the floor due to moving around so much. who only lets out a pathetic whimper of a “cuz’ ahh haamgh—! [n-name], please! please don’t—♡︎ d-don’t touch them...? they’re sensitive too aanh haagh mfgh♥︎!!” when you ask him why
winged bf who felt like his skin was on fire. everything felt too much but felt too little at the same time, his cock painfully hard again in your hold the moment you ran the tip of your finger over the bane of it. his muscles were getting tense, a strange sense of feeling coiling around in his stomach as you kiss the place where his wing and back connects, shifting around frantically with a chirp or a preen falling from his swollen lips
winged bf who weakly paws at your hand around his dick, wanting to push it away but chasing right after it with his hips as the strange feeling in his stomach just continues to grow worse. it didn’t felt like his usual orgasm, the way he would just fall apart in your hands. it felt more intense and that scared him. who cries out through loud whines and bitten back sobs that “f-feels weird!! aanhh haah [n-name]—! it mnggh♡︎ feels weird! my c-cock feels unnck haah ahh amhh weird♥︎♥︎!!”
winged bf who throws his head back into your shoulder, hands covering his beet red face as a scream tears through his lips, muscles tightening, body going taut in your arms when you gently bit into the base of his wing, your other hand keeping his wing in place so it wouldn’t flutter and knock you away as he fucking squirts into his stomach, painting his muscles and your hand white. who lets out soft chirps and noises, legs twitching and hands struggle to decide whether to hold onto you or to muffle his embarrassing noises
winged bf who only lets out weak noises and chirps when you try to communicate with him, asking him if he was doing alright and if your angel was with you right now after that overstimulating experience. who immediately hides within his wings the moment a sliver of sobriety hits him, too humiliated to even look you in the face because what was that? and why did he felt… so good?
winged bf who gives you a weak glare that you know isn’t exactly serious, pouting at you and complaining about how you messed up his mind and stuff. who lean into your touch as you push his hair away from him, getting to see the still reddened face and the few tear stains on his cheeks. who grumbles about how you have too much power over him when you chuckle, leaning in to plant a kiss to his pouting lips. who chase after you with a demand for a proper kiss this time
⇨ sephiroth, genesis, angeal, hawks, xiao, venti, angel devil, vash, knives, sunday, simeon, raphael + anyone you can think of!
bro i am this 🤏 close to saying fuck it and losing no nut november this year
“Fuck!” he wailed as you pounded him into the bed, possessively coiled around the quivering shape of him. Thick ropes of cum spurted onto the bed—another orgasm milked out of him, his sloppy toy cock dangling helplessly between his legs.
He was clearly out of it, his fingers clawing weakly at the soiled sheets, the muscles in his thighs jumping as he writhed about, like he was trying to crawl his way out of this. As if you’d ever allow that.
“Can I keep going?” you panted, digging your fingers into the soft swell of his hips until he let out a high, desperate whine. “Hm? Can I, baby?”
He looked dazed, swaying on the edge of consciousness—but how could he ever refuse you when you were asking him so sweetly? “P-please,” he sobbed, voice wrecked, “fuck me. Ruin me. Wanna be sweet and full of you. Only you.”
The words sent a jolt of heat straight into your cock, making it jerk in excitement despite the hours the two of you had spent fucking like rabbits in the stuffy, all-too-warm cocoon of his room.
None of that mattered, not when your baby was giving you the green light to ruin him.
He let out a devastating cry as you dragged him bodily across the bed and slammed your cock back into his waiting hole, setting a merciless rhythm until you were coming inside of his used hole for the umpteenth time of the night, stuffing his tummy full of your sweet seed.
cw: overstim, ‘bunny’ as a nickname, pleasure dom!zodyl
Zodyl loves to keep suckling and rubbing your clit after you orgasm even if you say it’s too much cause he knows you and he knows that you love being overstimulated. It’s the way you writhe under him as his hands keep your plush thighs parted and your moans become whines that lets him know you’re close to coming again.
His teeth graze over your clit as three thick digits sink into your walls that keeps pulling him in and covering him in your slick. “Mmph, Zo—please it’s, it’s too… ‘M gonna… arghh!” Your hands grab onto his that’s keeping your quaking legs in together. His forearm is corded with dense muscle that feels sturdy in your grip. You close your eyes tightly to focus on the overwhelming pleasure.
“Nuh-uh, you know better than that.” Zodyl abruptly pulls away to scold you, two hands now holding open your legs. A gust of cool air hits your cunt, shocking your senses and sending a shiver up your spine. A whimper escapes your lips. “Look at me when you come, bunny,” Zodyl orders tauntingly. His lips glistens with your slick rolling down his chin.
Your eyes meet Zodyl’s, who’s already staring up at you hungrily. His expression alone could make you come as the feeling of pressure builds low in your belly. You can’t help but roll and buck your hips in a pathetic attempt to resume contact on your cunt with a low groan.
Satisfied, his mouth and nose bury into you, humming. Zodyl knows just how to coax orgasm after orgasm out of you without mercy. You whine once more as his fingers prod the sensitive spot inside you and he sucks on your clit in tandem with hastening speed. His lustful eyes bore into yours, watching your every reaction to his touch. “Ah, fuck, Zodyl,” you stutter, gripping tighter onto his hand keeping your shaking legs parted. The tightening cord of pleasure snaps as your orgasm washes over you, flooding your vision with white.
Zodyl’s ministrations slow to a halt as you ride out your orgasm and your walls continue to flutter around nothing. Looking down at him, Zodyl continues to lap up your juices with a satisfied smirk. “See, I knew you could come for me again. What number was that? Five?” His tongue continues to make small circles around your sensitive nub. You wince on contact, but your hips push up into his touch with a mind of their own. “Let’s make that six, bunny.”
words: 1k
description & tw: virgin!choso - you give him head for the first time (oral - m!receiving), overstimulation(?), cum eating
notes: he's just so babygirl I can't help myself
masterlist
okay but imagine giving virgin!choso head for the very first time.
he's all flustered and blushing, pupils dark and dilated, gaze fixed on your face as you sink to your knees at his feet. your fingers are hooked into his belt loops as you go down, pulling him down to sit on the sofa behind him as soon as the back of his knees hit the cushion.
a soft huff of air leaves his bitten, swollen lips, when he sits with a small bounce. soft breaths leave his parted lips as your hands move to the hem of his shirt, fingers pushing one corner of the fabric up, up, up, till it's caught between his lips. his torso is exposed for you to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses all over, hands moving back to his pants, nimble fingers undoing his button, then the zipper, as you tap his hips to lift them while you tug them down his thighs.
you're kneeling between his legs, hands caressing his soft hips, lips tracing his v-line, till you move down, down, down. you press your parted lips over the tent in his boxers, kissing in gentle teases and drawing soft whimpers from his lips. choso's hands grip the cushion of the sofa, knuckles turning white while he screws his eyes shut for a moment.
when they open again, theres a plea written in them, something so desperate and needy you can't help but indulge him.
your hands tug his boxers down, freeing his swollen, red cock. there was no way you could have really known before, but he was big. his tip was flushed, red from your teasing and wet with precum, dribbling from his slit. his cock was girthy, and long. god, was his cock long.
you don't realise how you look right now, but choso does. he sees the way your pupils dilate to match his when his cock slaps against his abdomen as you tug his boxers down. he sees the way you nearly salivate at the sight of it, at the sight of him.
and it's all he can do not to whimper when you finally wrap a hand around him, fingers gently squeezing at the base of his cock, wrist turning and tugging experimentally. his teeth clench against his shirt, his hands tightening on the couch cushion.
his gaze is fixed on your hand and your gaze is fixed on his face.
you're taking in every reaction you can, every change in his expression, to see what makes him tick. what makes his dick twitch in your grip? what makes his hips buck harder into your hand? what makes him leak even more? because, as you learn soon, choso is very leaky. he's so aroused by the sight and the feel of you, that his tip is constantly glistening with precum.
that's when you tug slowly, moving your hand up, along with the twisting motions from earlier. you repeat the movement. once. twice. his eyes shut again, tight. its like he's denying himself from making any sounds, his teeth sinking deeper into his shirt. and that's when you change it up again.
you bring your grip higher along his cock again, thumb swiping over his slit and then working your hand back down. and he whimpers.
it's soft, but oh so sweet. and oh, the things you'd do to hear them again.
so you try again, this time, with yet another tactic. your free hand rests on his pelvis, thumb circling over the bone. and then you lean closer, eyes locked on his face through your lashes as your tongue darts out, licking the fresh pre from his slit, and his eyes snap open, a saccharine-sweet moan leaving his lips. the hem of his shirt falls from his lips and you miss the sight of his bare torso for a moment.
"cho," you whisper, lashes fluttering up at him, and he nearly comes right there, "you can hold my hair." your hand on his pelvis moves to one of his hands on the couch, gently prying his fingers from the cushion and guiding them to your hair. they thread through the locks, gripping them tight as he groans softly.
"you look so pretty like this," you whisper, hand going back to his hip, thumb once again tracing circles. you hear the way his breath hitches, see the way his eyes widen fractionally.
and then your lips wrap around him, suckling the mushroom tip, and his head falls back with a whine, hips bucking into your mouth as he cums down your throat. whispered apologies leave his lips, a few drops of hot cum seeping past yours as he holds you in place by your hair, whimpering as he rides out his orgasm.
but you moan, swallowing every drop you can, gagging around his length as your eyes roll back, watery and hazy, but trying to focus on his. his cock twitches at the sight, the wet, clumped lashes sending another rush of blood straight to his cock as he spurts the last of his cum down your throat, panting.
he whimpers under his breath as he collects himself, apologetic and embarrassed for cumming so soon, and you can't help the way you find it all so utterly cute.
because, truth be told, you had been surprised. but you were not put off, by it, quite the opposite. it was pretty attractive. not to mention, he came a lot - it was a rather hefty ego boost.
he gently loosens his grip on your hair, muttering softly, and while he may be done, but you aren't. you'd never given anyone head before, but you were sure that him cumming in your mouth the second you took him in wasn't the 'full experience'. and you were oh so willing to help him get that - a little too willing, in fact.
so you pull away from his cock with a string of saliva mixed cum attaching your lower lip from his tip, licking your lips and then cleaning him up, ignoring his whines of surprise and overstimulation when you move from his trimmed base to his ruddy tip.
only to wrap your lips around him again while he grips your hair tighter, at war with himself about whether he should make you stop, or let you go ahead.
but he was powerless under your mouth - this time you were determined to suck him off properly and then drink his cum. or keep trying till he let you.
A/n: kinktober day 27 - hair pulling / animal play / brat taming. you're a grade A brat in this one, and he is not nice about it. Read the tags! (Also no italics yet, I'm too tired rn) ◇ wc: ~7.8k
[masterlist here]
Cw: long and NSFW, dubcon, predator/prey, you're chased, heavy power imbalance, rough handling, biting, hair pulling, restraints, orgasm denial/multiple orgasms, overstim, use of a vibrator, reader cries from overwhelm, eventual part 2 needed bc he hasn't knotted us yet (/ー￣;)
art credit to doso_1011
The first hour was all arrogance.
You moved like a ghost—quiet steps, misdirection trails, scent cloaks laid heavy under branches. You knew this terrain. Had sparred, trained, bled on it. You were fast. Smart. Brutal when cornered. And Kakashi?
Kakashi was older now. Worn. A man used to command, not chase.
So you ran.
Threw decoys behind you—sweat-soaked cloth, low-grade scent bombs, false chakra bursts. You crossed rivers twice. Masked your prints. Doubled back. Hid your heat beneath a layer of mud so thick it made your skin crawl.
And still.
Still.
Every now and then—
—you felt him.
A breath. A flicker. A wrong sound too close.
Something too still, where there should have been wind.
The first time it happened, you stopped. Listened. Waited. Then turned.
Nothing.
So you kept going.
But the second time?
You felt the hairs on your neck prick.
Felt your thighs pulse without permission.
That was the first betrayal.
You pushed harder. Hit the old ravine path and flared chakra into your feet, running full speed, the undergrowth snapping against your legs like whips. Leaves blurred. Your chest ached. But your lungs worked fine. You were built for this. Raised for it.
You could outrun him.
You had to.
Because if he caught you—
if—
you knew he wouldn’t stop at pinning you down.
He’d take. He’d own. Not just your body but your defiance.
And worse?
You wanted him to.
So you ran harder. Ran until your calves screamed. Ran until your heart beat like a war drum inside your skull. Ran until the woods stopped looking familiar and started looking like his mouth—open and full of teeth.
You landed in a clearing, breath hitching.
Moonlight flickered silver across your skin, damp from sweat and mud, muscles twitching from the relentless speed. You crouched behind an outcropping of rock, pressed your cheek to the cool stone, and held your breath.
Silence.
Maybe you lost him. Maybe—
Snap.
Behind you. Intentional.
A warning.
Your heart jerked sideways. You spun, drew kunai—nothing. Still nothing.
But the scent in the air was unmistakable now: earth, pine, smoke, and Kakashi. A musk that made your throat tighten and your cunt pulse.
He was toying with you.
Letting you run.
Letting you think you had a chance.
You dropped your weight and rolled—shoulder to hip—spinning behind a log just as chakra flared to your right, and a blur passed through the space where your head had been.
Fuck.
You launched back into the trees—higher this time, faster. Every movement reckless, too much chakra, too much noise. But you didn’t care. Your hands trembled. You could feel the slick in your pants, making the fabric stick, shameful and raw.
You hated him.
You wanted him.
You wanted him to hurt you for making him chase.
From somewhere behind, a voice—low, amused, breathless:
“You’re getting tired.”
You choked on a growl. “Eat shit.”
No reply.
Just wind.
Leaves.
Your own heartbeat thudding too fast to comprehend.
Then, without warning—
Chakra surged in front of you.
You slammed your feet down, tried to veer left—but it was too late.
A blur of black and silver crashed from the treeline, and before your muscles could even react, you were flat on your back, pinned in a nest of wet leaves and root-snared soil, one arm twisted up above your head and a knee pressed between your thighs.
You didn’t give him the satisfaction of noise.
You stared up into the dark of him. The way his mouth was barely open, panting behind his mask. The sheen of sweat on his neck. His forehead protector pushed back. Sharingan spinning lazy and useless, because he didn’t need it to catch you.
He just needed to want it.
Your breath came in shallow gasps. One of your thighs trembled against his. Traitor.
Kakashi didn’t sneer.
Didn’t even blink.
Just leaned down until his mouth was at your ear and said:
“That was pathetic.”
You writhed—just to feel the strength of him hold you down.
His free hand slid beneath your jaw. Tilted your head toward the canopy, baring your neck. His thumb brushed your lower lip.
“You’re soaking,” he said. “And you think you’re still in charge?”
You bared your teeth.
“I’ll bite.”
“I hope so,” he murmured. “I’d hate to break something that wasn’t trying.”
Then he let you go.
Just like that.
Lifted his body off yours. Gave you air.
You lay there, panting, humiliated. Confused. Wanting.
But deep down, something in you knew—he wasn’t finished.
He was starting the hunt over.
---
You stayed on the forest floor longer than you should’ve. It wasn’t weakness. It was strategy. That’s what you told yourself. Let your heart slow. Let your limbs remember what they were. Let your ego stitch itself back together with spit and spite.
He hadn’t won.
Not yet.
You sat up slow, rolled your jaw once, then spat onto the dirt. Mud and blood.
"That was pathetic," he’d said. Like he hadn’t just walked away hard and holding.
You pushed your hair out of your face and called into the trees, tone sharp and syrup-thick:
"If you’re gonna mark me, Hatake, you’d better have the balls to finish it."
The silence after was instant.
Not the silence of absence.
The silence of a man who’d stopped walking away.
You smiled. Cruel. Crooked. Tasting your own sweat on your upper lip.
“Or is that it?” you added. “Big bad alpha pulls out the moment someone moans?”
It was a gamble. Every word.
But he’d made you feel want. And you were going to punish him for it.
Even if it meant waking the fucking wolf.
You heard him then. Not movement. Not breath.
Just his presence—the shift in pressure. The way the air thickened like a storm cloud licked the edges of your skin.
You turned your head slowly, tongue wetting your teeth.
"What? Nothing to say now? Thought you were gonna make me beg—"
And that’s when he was there.
On top of you. So close your peripheral vision whited out.
Then teeth.
Hard. Fucking deep.
Right into the meat of your neck like a man claiming his meal.
Your cocky grin died on your tongue in a half-strangled gasp.
Because it hurt.
Not pain you could weaponize. Not pretty pain. It was thick and hot and owning—the kind of mark that said you ran, and I caught you, and you’re mine.
You gasped—a sound punched from your chest without permission.
He didn’t pin you.
Didn’t use force.
He didn’t have to.
Because the second those teeth found your skin, your body offered itself. Your spine arched, your throat bared, your knees tensed like you were waiting for something heavier.
But he didn’t mount.
He just marked.
The pressure was deep. Calculated. Long enough to make you sweat. Not enough to tear skin—Kakashi was too precise for that. He wanted you sore. Colorful. Ached for, not bled for.
You heard his breath in your ear—ragged, but quiet. Controlled.
“Still think you’re in control?”
His tongue followed the bite, slow and hot. Lapping. Like he liked the taste of your sweat. Like he was cleaning his mark.
You gritted your teeth, tried to twist away—his hand found your hip. An inevitable move. Effortless. And a gentle reminder that he was still faster, stronger, already halfway hard between you.
And you…?
You wanted to grind back.
You wanted to beg. Just to hear him say no.
But you didn’t.
You wouldn’t.
Not yet.
He pulled back. Just enough for air to hit the wet bruise.
His voice—barely above a whisper—curled down your spine like smoke.
“One mark. No knot. Not yet.”
And then, before your trembling body could decide what to do with itself—
He was gone again.
---
The wind was too still.
Again.
You’d felt this silence once before, on the border of Kusa, when a pack of wild ninken had circled you in the dark and waited for your pulse to spike.
Same quiet.
Same taste in your mouth.
Same thrill in your stomach—fuck, it made you sick how much you liked it.
The bruise on your neck throbbed with every beat of your heart, hot and wet beneath the thin line of sweat sliding down your spine. You pressed two fingers to it, hissed. The bite was shaped perfectly. Meant to be seen. Meant to last.
A mark.
Your mark.
No. His.
You stood abruptly. That thought had to go. Fast.
You wiped your palms on your thighs and pushed chakra into your legs until your muscles twitched. You had to move. Had to do something. Sitting still made it worse. Made the phantom of his voice permeate your mind like smoke:
“One mark. No knot. Not yet.”
Bastard.
Your lip curled. You tasted blood—your own. Good. Let it remind you: you still had your teeth.
And if he thought you were going to wait here like some broken little bitch in heat?
He didn’t know you at all.
You took off through the trees—low, fast, angry.
No more running. This was a hunt in reverse.
You weren’t prey. Not anymore.
---
You found him where you knew he’d be.
He wasn’t even hiding. Just crouched beside a stream, kneeling in the moss like this wasn’t a goddamn war between your bodies. He had one glove off, wrist deep in the water. Hair mussed. The old, lazy slouch of his shoulders doing nothing to hide the coil of power in his spine.
He looked calm. Peaceful. Resting.
It made something in your being snap.
"Nice nap?" you asked, stepping into the clearing without pretense.
He didn’t look up.
"Not quite," he murmured.
You hated the way his voice sounded—low, half-hoarse from exertion. Like he wasn’t even trying anymore. Like this was easy.
You stalked closer, slow and wide, like you were circling prey.
"Too tired to finish what you started?"
"I haven’t started anything," he said, still not rising. Still not looking. "You’re the one who ran."
“I’m here now.”
He smiled then. Just the corner of his mouth. Still calm.
“So you are.”
You launched.
A burst of chakra through your calves. Legs cutting through the space between you like blades. Your kunai out and swinging before you could even register the full shape of him in front of you. You aimed for his throat. It wasn’t real. You didn’t want to hurt him.
You wanted to provoke him.
And gods, did it work.
Because in the space between a blink and breath—
He moved.
Violently.
He stepped into your blow, caught your wrist, and used your momentum to flip you. Again. But not back onto the ground.
No.
This time, he threw you into a tree.
Your back hit bark. Moss. Rough wet wood. The air punched from your lungs. Your legs were still off the ground when his forearm pressed across your collarbone and pinned you there.
Hard.
Your toes touched down a second later—barely. Not enough to hold weight. You were suspended. Caged. Controlled.
But it wasn’t your throat he went for.
It was your hip.
His other hand gripped the meat of your thigh through your pants and yanked it up—high, tight—around his waist. His hips pressed forward, right into the space your leg made.
And just like that—you were open.
Not necessarily exposed. Not naked. But available. To him. To the pressure of his cock through his pants, thick and slow, unmoving against the soaked seam of your own.
He didn’t thrust.
Didn’t grind.
Just held you there.
"Still think you're a threat?" he asked, voice against your mouth. Right against your lips. Like you were lovers. Like this was intimate.
You breathed hard through your nose.
"Still think you're not gonna fuck me?"
Kakashi’s smile was all teeth.
"No."
Your fingers twitched. “Coward.”
He moved his hand to your jaw. Turned your face. His nose dragged against your cheek, breath hot and steady.
“You’re the one hiding behind that mouth,” he murmured.
Then he stepped back.
Dropped your leg. Let you fall.
You hit your knees in front of him, mud splashing your shins.
And before you could push back up—
His hand landed flat on the crown of your head and held you there.
Still no chakra. Still no threat.
Just weight.
Just his hand, resting.
Making one thing clear:
Stay.
Your whole body convulsed.
From how much your cunt ached against wet cloth and unmet tension.
“Don’t mistake mercy for weakness,” he said. “You don’t want me to prove how far I’ll go.”
You should’ve said something.
Should’ve spat, or snapped, or bit.
But you were still on your knees.
Still.
With his hand in your hair, and his heat flooding your lungs.
And for the first time—you didn’t have words.
He held you there for mere moments, and just like that—
He vanished. Presence extinguished. Again.
You nearly screamed. The pressure between your legs was unbearable. He left you humiliated and wanting again. Fucking again.
So you did the only thing you could.
You found cover.
Fast.
A thicket. Roots. Heavy bark and shadows. Just out of sight. Just far enough that if he was watching, you couldn’t tell.
But you felt it. That buzzing.
Relentless. Hot. High in your chest.
Like something had sunk its claws in and was pulling.
You pressed your back to the bark, sucked in air through your teeth. Your pants clung, wet from more than sweat, and every rub of fabric sent heat pulsing through your belly.
Fuck him.
Fuck. Him.
Your fingers were already at your waistband before the thought had finished forming. You yanked your pants down, fast and rough, shoved them low on your thighs. Cool air licked your swollen cunt.
You didn’t waste time. You weren’t here to fantasize. You were here to burn it out.
You shoved two fingers inside yourself and bit down on a gasp that almost escaped. You were soaked. Pussy literally weeping for any kind of contact.
Not for him.
This wasn’t for him.
You pumped fast. Deep. Gritted your teeth as your back arched off the tree. Your other hand clamped over your mouth to muffle every sound. But gods—gods, it wasn’t enough.
You weren’t slow. You weren’t teasing. You were fucking yourself, angry and high and twitching. Every breath was a fight. You chased the edge like it owed you something.
You hated how good it felt.
Hated the slick between your fingers. The way your hips fucked your own hand. The way your walls begged for more friction, more fullness—him.
You pressed your palm against your clit and your vision flared white.
You came like a trap snapping shut.
Hard. Sudden. Fucking brutal, but still not enough.
Your knees hit dirt.
You shook.
Your hand was soaked.
And through all of it—
you didn’t say his name.
You didn’t break.
You didn’t even cry out.
Victory?
It didn't seem like it.
You wiped your hand on the moss, stood, and redressed with stiff, shaking fingers.
Pride. Intact.
He hadn’t seen.
He wouldn’t know.
---
Except…
he did.
He saw the way your thighs clenched before you came.
Saw the way you shoved your fingers in like they could punish your own want.
Saw the heat in your face—the raw want and defiance.
And he didn’t move.
Didn’t interrupt.
Kakashi just leaned back against the tree trunk, lazily stroking his cock through his pants, half-hard and grinning.
“Next time,” he whispered, to the forest.
“I’ll make her look me in the eye when she does it.”
---
You barely made it two steps from the tree hollow before you knew he was there. Sensed it.
Behind you.
And when you turned—already snarling, already reaching for a blade you wouldn’t draw—
he was close.
Closer than he should’ve been.
Close enough to smell the sweat at your throat.
Close enough to scent what you’d done.
But he didn’t touch you.
Just reached down, undid the waistband of his pants, and took his cock out right there in the clearing with you as his audience.
Hard.
Dark with need.
Your eyes dropped.
And that was when he grabbed your jaw.
Hard enough to bruise.
“I’m going to cum,” he said, low and steady, “and you’re going to watch. Since you’re too proud to ask for what you want.”
You didn’t answer.
Didn’t nod.
Didn’t blink.
He started stroking himself—slowly, shamelessly, his hand slicking with the proof of how long he’d been holding back. The veins along his shaft flexed with every movement. The tip of him flushed deep red.
You wanted to look away.
You didn’t.
Because gods help you, it felt like if you turned away, that would be the moment he touched you. The moment he gave in. And you weren’t going to miss it.
Except he didn’t give in.
He kept stroking.
Kept breathing harder.
Kept using your eyes like the only thing keeping him grounded.
"You smell like you’re about to beg," he murmured.
Your nails curled into your palms.
He didn’t let go of your jaw.
He held it still, tilted slightly inward, so that even your peripheral couldn’t escape the sight of him pumping his cock—faster now, his breathing starting to stutter.
"You could be on your knees," he said. "Or on your back. Or riding me like you meant it."
You clenched your teeth.
"But instead," he whispered, "you’re watching."
His hips jerked once.
You swallowed hard. Heat surged through your belly again, slick blooming between your thighs, unbearable.
He came with a soft, hoarse grunt—his hand working tight, his release spilling across his knuckles, hot and thick and messy, so close to you that your skin prickled from the warmth of it.
And still—you got nothing.
No kiss. No command.
Just the weight of your own want crawling up your throat.
He let your jaw go, finally, and you took a single step back. Just to breathe.
But Kakashi didn’t walk away this time.
He tucked himself back in, wiped his hand on a cloth from his belt, and stood there. Watching you.
Watching how dazed you were.
How hard your nipples pressed through your shirt.
How your knees wanted to bend.
“I’m not going to disappear every time you come apart,” he said. “This isn’t a fucking game. It’s a lesson.”
You just stared at him, throat dry.
"And you haven’t learned it yet."
Then he stepped forward, slow and quiet, and leaned in.
His lips brushed your ear.
"I’ll know you’re ready when you stop pretending you hate it."
And this time, when he walked away—he didn’t vanish.
He left slow.
Deliberate.
Waiting for you to follow.
---
“You really gonna leave me with that performance?”
Your voice cut across the clearing, laced with sugar and venom. “Guess you really are getting old.”
Kakashi stopped.
Didn’t turn.
Didn’t move.
But you knew he heard you.
You pressed on—because you had to.
Because your pride couldn’t take one more step in silence.
“You want me to learn something?” you said. “Try making it worth watching.”
Then you did the one thing you shouldn’t have.
You smiled.
That half-mouthed smirk that had gotten you out of dozens of missions, into even more trouble, and under his skin for years.
The clearing was quiet for a beat.
Then he turned.
Not fast.
Measured.
And the look in his eyes—
That wasn’t playful.
That wasn’t amused.
That was decision.
In four long strides, he was in front of you again.
You didn’t back away—your mistake.
Because the hand that caught your shoulder wasn’t gentle this time.
He caged you, shoved you back against the same tree you’d just tried to recover beneath. The bark scraped your spine. His knee drove between your thighs, parting them. His hand grabbed your wrist—then the other—and with one motion he pulled a thin coil of chakra wire from his belt and bound you.
Wrists together. Over your head. High.
You gasped.
"Try again," Kakashi murmured, voice low and dangerous, “with a little less mouth.”
“You gonna fuck it shut?” you snapped, even as your wrists flexed under the hold.
But your voice was thinner now.
Breathier.
He leaned in. Lips brushing your ear.
“No. I’m not going to fuck anything.”
His hand slipped down between your thighs, cupped the soaked heat there through your pants. “You haven’t earned it.”
And then he pressed.
Not rough.
Not teasing.
Just enough for pressure. Enough to make your knees threaten to give.
Your hips jerked, but he didn’t relent.
“You want to cum again?” he asked.
You didn’t answer.
His fingers pushed the fabric aside, dragged down your mound. Found you soaking.
“Still this wet?” he whispered. “You liked watching me more than you liked touching yourself.”
You bit back a moan.
“I don’t beg,” you hissed.
He smiled.
“Then you don’t cum.”
And he slipped two fingers inside you.
No warm-up. No warning.
Just in—deep, fast, curling up to find it.
That place inside you that pulsed so hard your vision shook.
Your head fell back. A choked noise escaped your throat.
Kakashi didn’t stop.
He fucked you with his fingers like he was marking territory, each thrust deeper and more sure than the last. His other hand braced on your waist, keeping your body still.
"Don’t close your eyes," he said.
"You're not going to hide from it."
You opened them. Saw him. Gaze piercing into you.
Your whole body trembled.
He pressed in deeper. Slower now.
The pads of his fingers found your sweet spot and rubbed.
Steady. Mean.
Your hips rocked forward before you could stop them.
“You’re close,” he whispered.
“I can feel it. How tight you’re getting.”
You were panting now.
Sweating.
Your arms pulled uselessly at the bindings.
“You can cum,” he said.
You looked at him—hope blooming sharp and fast.
He leaned in.
“But not until you say please.”
You bared your teeth.
“I’m not—”
He twisted his fingers just right.
Your knees buckled.
But the wire held you up.
“Say it.”
He slowed the motion inside you. Kept the rhythm just enough to keep you there. Hovering.
“Say it.”
You moaned, low and furious, hips grinding against his palm.
He didn’t flinch.
“Beg.”
"Say it," he murmured, again, voice steady, like your gasps weren’t shaking the air between you.
His fingers moved even deeper now—pressing slow and unrelenting against that soft spot inside you, your cunt gripping him with every teasing thrust. Your back arched. You couldn’t help it. Every muscle wanted more. Wanted release. You wanted to rut on his hand like it would save you.
But you didn’t say it.
You just clenched your teeth and moaned through your nose like that somehow kept you safe.
Kakashi didn’t react.
Didn’t mock you.
Didn’t gloat.
Just curled his fingers inside you again.
And you convulsed.
Your thighs trembled. The knot low in your belly twisted up sharp and white, tighter than you’d let yourself feel it earlier, tighter than it had ever been when you touched yourself alone, and gods—it was close. It was right fucking there.
He felt it.
Of course he did.
His thumb moved once, barely brushing your clit—
Your body seized up like a wire strung too tight—please nearly caught in your throat.
But still, you didn’t say it.
Kakashi slowed to a crawl.
You sobbed a breath out and hissed, “You want me to beg? That badly?”
He tilted his head, mouth just shy of a smirk.
“I want you to learn.”
His thumb made another lazy pass.
“You’re the one who wants to cum.”
You sucked in air like you’d been drowning.
“You’re not the only one who can play with control,” you bit out. “I could make you beg if you let me—”
His fingers stopped moving. Completely.
You almost cried.
But instead you spat a laugh. “Tch. Hit a nerve?”
Kakashi withdrew his fingers. Slow. Wet. Purposeful.
You whimpered. Hated it. Hated that your body followed him—hips rolling involuntarily forward to chase what he took away.
He brought his slick fingers to your face.
And without a word, smeared them across your lips.
You froze.
“You talk too much,” he murmured. “Let’s make that mouth useful.”
You expected him to shove his fingers in your mouth. You braced. But he didn't.
Just traced your bottom lip with your own arousal. Let the scent of it fill your lungs, the humiliation of it crawl under your skin.
“You want to keep your pride?” he asked, low. “Then hold onto it.”
And just like that, Hands grabbed your arms above you—ripped them down from their restraints—and pulled them behind your back. You started to twist away, but he was already wrapping the wire, binding your wrists again, tighter this time. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make resistance useless.
"Didn’t think you’d try the same thing twice," you muttered.
He leaned close, breath warm at your jaw.
"Didn’t think you’d still be this soaked without a single orgasm worth remembering."
You growled—but it came out as a whimper.
He turned you, backed you up against the tree.
And then—he sank to his knees.
Between your legs.
But again?
He didn’t go for your clit.
Didn’t spread you.
Didn’t even kiss the inside of your thighs.
He just looked up.
"You’re going to stay tied like this until you figure it out," he said. “What it means to give something without fighting.”
Then he opened your pants.
Just enough.
Peeled them down, the fabric catching on your thighs—soaked straight through with how long you’d been aching. He didn’t make a comment.
But you knew he noticed.
He always did.
"You’re going to cum," he said, "but you’re not gonna enjoy it."
And his fingers—two of them, slow and precise—slipped inside you again.
You gasped.
Your knees wobbled.
He didn’t support you.
He just curled his fingers upward like he was reaching for a prize.
Your bound hands twitched behind your back. Your jaw was clenched so tight it ached. His fingers were fucking you slow, too slow, every thrust dragging slick and pressure through your already-overstimulated cunt.
And then—his thumb.
He didn’t touch your clit.
He hovered.
Just let the warmth of his skin buzz over it with every slow pump.
"You feel that?" he asked, low.
You moaned—without meaning to.
“Close?”
You nodded.
He smiled.
Wicked.
Then he pulled out.
And waited. Patiently.
You whimpered.
You couldn’t help it.
He looked up, eyes dark even under the moonlight.
“You didn’t say it.”
You snapped your head away, panting.
“Fuck. You.”
He didn’t react.
Just slid his fingers back in.
Deeper. Slower.
He built you back up again—precisely. Like he was drawing a shape inside you with every stroke. Not touching your clit. Not giving you that one last push.
Just circling you around the edge until your hips bucked and your chest hitched and your cunt tightened—
Then he stopped.
Again.
You nearly screamed.
But you didn’t say it.
You wouldn’t.
And he started again.
---
He edged you four times.
Each one worse.
Closer.
Crueler.
You were soaked down your thighs, down his wrist, legs shaking, hands numb from how tightly you’d pulled against the bindings.
And still—still—you wouldn’t beg.
Kakashi rose from his knees.
You flinched, expecting it to stop. Expecting him to walk again. You didn’t know if you could take another round of silence.
But he didn’t leave.
He stepped behind you.
Pressing in close.
One hand gripped your jaw. The other slid down your belly, low, just above your clit.
He didn't move it.
Just held it there.
“You’re going to say it,” he whispered, lips against your cheek.
“Eventually. But not yet.”
And he kissed the bruised spot under your ear again—soft.
“You’re going to need it, first.”
---
You were ruined. Prideful but wrecked.
And still he waited for that word.
Still you couldn’t say it.
“You’re going to need it,” he said again, his voice low, infuriatingly gentle.
And that’s when something snapped.
Your hands were bound, your legs were trembling, but your teeth—
Your teeth were free.
You turned your head, caught the exposed line of his shoulder where the vest had shifted, and bit.
Hard.
His body jerked.
A sharp breath ripped through him.
Not a gasp.
A growl.
He didn’t pull away.
He let you sink in.
And you did—sank your teeth into the muscle, bit down until you tasted sweat, until you felt him twitch against you, hips pressing hard into your ass like your defiance had lit a fuse.
You pulled back. Your breath ragged. Your mouth wet.
His blood on your tongue.
The silence after was vicious.
You braced for a hand in your hair. A shove. A slap.
What you got instead?
Laughter.
Low.
Dangerous.
Then his hand moved. Fast.
Down.
Pressed.
Fully.
His palm slid over your clit, soaked and neglected and twitching from denial—and he rubbed.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
And you screamed.
Your head hit his shoulder. Your knees buckled. But he caught you, one arm across your chest, the other hand still fucking your clit with tight, slow circles, no escape this time.
“You wanted to be feral?” he growled, voice hot against your ear. “Fine. Let’s see how long that bite lasts once you’re screaming for it.”
His fingers moved faster.
So fucking exact. So controlled.
You thrashed in his arms, bound, ruined, overstimulated past language.
"Come on, brat," he hissed. "Let’s hear it. That word. That one little fucking word."
You bit your lip now—trying to hold on, trying not to cry, not to give him the sound he wanted.
But your orgasm was clawing its way up your spine—the full, shattering collapse.
And he knew it.
“You cum without permission,” he said, “I’ll edge you ten more times.”
You sobbed.
You were right there. Right fucking there.
Your legs spasming, your breath a mess, your mouth open—
But you still didn’t say it.
Until—
“Please.”
It tore out of you.
Not whispered.
Not broken.
Shouted. Unconsciously.
Your eyes flew open.
Kakashi’s hand stopped.
Mid-circle.
And you howled.
“Fucking say it again,” he hissed, grinding his fingers just barely down again.
“Please, Kakashi—fuck, please—”
“Now you’re ready.”
His hand slammed back into motion and you came violently—convulsing in his arms, your thighs slick and shaking, breath gone. You sobbed through it, body clenching so tight your knees gave out.
He held you.
Didn’t mock you.
Didn’t speak.
He just kept your name in his mouth, low and possessive, while your whole body pulsed with the release he let you have.
---
The last tremor hadn’t even finished running through your legs when his hands started moving.
He didn't rush.
The bindings dropped from your wrists like silk soaked in sweat.
You barely felt them fall.
Kakashi didn’t look at your face when he untied you.
He looked at your hands.
Watched your fingers twitch.
Watched the way they hovered in the air for a moment, unsure what to do without rope to strain against.
As if your body had gotten used to struggling.
He ran his thumbs over the marks around your wrists.
Slow. Intimate.
But not tender.
Not anymore.
“This body doesn’t know what to do when it’s not being defiant,” he murmured, voice calm, nearly idle. “We’ll fix that.”
You didn’t speak.
Your mouth was still full of the word you’d sworn not to say until you screamed it.
The taste of it clung to your teeth like copper.
He let go of your wrists and stood. Pulled you by the hips, and lowered you onto your knees in front of him. You expected another command. Expected him to ask for your mouth.
But he didn't do any of that. He didn't even speak. Just slowly, predatorily circled behind you.
He kneeled and slowly pressed a hand to your spine, firm and unrelenting, until you bent. Until your chest met the earth and your ass arched up toward him without protest.
You didn’t even realize you were doing it.
He laughed softly.
“Look at that,” he said, low. “You finally learned how to obey.”
His fingers spread your folds—so slick, so swollen, so fucking messy for him—and he groaned under his breath.
Pure possession.
“This is the part where you ask me to be gentle,” he said.
You didn’t.
And he didn’t wait.
One hand on your hip, the other guiding himself in—a single deep thrust, thick and unforgiving, pushing all the way until you cried out, your arms scrambling in the dirt.
He stayed there a moment. Buried to the hilt. Letting you feel the stretch. Giving you just enough time to register the ovewhelm.
Then he started to move.
Unapologetically
Relentless.
Long, punishing strokes that dragged the whole of his cock along your walls, hitting the bruised places, the broken-open places, the places he’d touched earlier with nothing but his fingers and a command.
You tried to breathe.
Your face pressed into your elbow.
Your back arched higher.
Your pussy—soaked and used and still greedy—clenched around him like it needed more.
“You begged for this,” he said, voice close now, bent over your back. “Don’t pretend you didn’t want it like this. Bent. Fucked. Owned.”
You moaned—fucked-out and hot and aching.
He laughed again. Darker now.
“I should’ve made you crawl for it.”
He grabbed your hair. Fisted it. Pulled your head back so you weren’t hiding your face anymore.
“You’d have done it,” he growled into your ear. “By now? You’d have crawled through fire just to feel me stretch you open.”
You sobbed. Not from pain.
From the truth of it.
He let go. Pressed your head down again.
And his pace broke.
Not sloppy.
Not rushed.
But harder. Faster. Like the leash had finally slipped and the man who’d been controlling himself all night let go—
and let his cock do the talking.
Your breath broke apart in pieces. Your moans turned into keening little sounds. You weren’t even clenching anymore—you were gripping, your cunt begging to cum again, fluttering around him like your body had a will of its own.
“You close?”
You nodded.
You whimpered.
He pulled out.
You screamed.
“No. Not yet.”
Your hips chased him.
Instinct.
He pushed back in—slow, this time, just to torture you—and when he was buried as deep as he could go again, he didn’t move.
He just stayed.
“You’ll cum when I let you.”
But still… you didn’t beg again.
You shook beneath him, completely broken open.
So he grabbed your wrists. Pulled them behind your back. Held both with one hand like they were still tied.
And started to fuck you hard.
This was no longer about lessons.
No more training.
No more tests.
This was him claiming what he broke.
This was him finishing the job.
You were moaning something now. It wasn’t a word. It wasn’t a name. Just raw sounds. Wet and breathless as his cock bruised your cervix.
His voice cut through it:
“Say it again.”
You didn’t know what he meant. Couldn’t think.
He snapped his hips forward—brutal.
“Who does this cunt belong to?”
You gasped.
“Kakashi—fuck—you—i-it’s yours—”
“Damn right.”
And he let go of your wrists.
Slid his hand between your legs.
Touched your clit.
Once.
Twice.
You were gone.
The orgasm hit like collapse—like surrender made physical. Your body clenched around him, screaming through every muscle. You shook. You cried out. Your legs kicked uselessly as your walls spasmed, sucking him deeper.
He didn’t stop.
He fucked you through it.
His rhythm faltered.
You felt him swell.
And then—
He pulled out again.
You sobbed. Your hips chased. Your thighs buckled.
And this time?
He dragged you back by the hips, pulled you up onto your knees again, and came on your back.
Hot.
Sharp.
Groaning your name like a curse, like a goddamn reward, like he’d been waiting for this as long as you had.
And when he was done?
He reached down. Wiped his thumb through the mess across your ass, then down your thigh.
Marked you with it.
Smeared it on your skin like proof.
“Mine now,” he said.
Fucking absolute.
Then he pressed those same fingers to your lips.
“Suck.”
You did.
Without thinking. Without looking.
You moaned around the taste of him—and that sound must’ve pleased him, because his other hand was already curling around the back of your neck.
“You’re learning,” he murmured. “But don’t think for a second that means I’m done.”
Your stomach tightened.
You started to lift your head, to look back at him.
He pushed you down by the nape.
Firm. Effortless.
“No.”
The word snapped across your skin.
“You don’t look at me right now. You don’t speak unless I say. You just open your mouth and your legs when I want you to.”
You were already dripping again.
Your body didn’t care that you’d cum countless times. It didn’t care that your limbs were jelly, your lungs half-useless. Every cell in you recognized the tone he used now.
He was unchallenged.
Kakashi let you kneel there for a beat, bent forward, wrists still free, used and marked and somehow still aching.
Then—
He crouched behind you again.
And this time, he didn't fuck you.
He didn't touch your clit.
He didn't even press against your cunt.
He slid one gloved hand between your thighs and cupped your pussy like it belonged to him.
Because it did.
“You’ll stay right here,” he said, “until I decide you’re ready.”
You whimpered—tried to rock back onto him.
He didn’t let you.
“Still greedy,” he murmured, tone almost bored. “Still trying to take.”
He slapped your cunt.
Once. Not hard.
Just enough.
You gasped. Twitched.
“Open wider.”
You spread for him, knees dragging apart, spine curving lower.
Good girl.
He didn’t say it.
Didn’t need to.
He dragged his fingers through your folds—light, maddening.
Found your entrance.
Slid one finger in.
No buildup. No warm-up.
You were still soaked from the last orgasm, still loose, but your walls clenched around the intrusion like they thought it might be something more.
It wasn’t.
It was one finger.
Slow and cruel.
He twisted it. Pressed up.
And you moaned.
Then he stopped moving.
Left it inside you.
Still. Just resting. Just present.
“You feel that?” he asked, voice low. “That’s not for you. That’s mine. You don’t cum on it. You don’t move on it. You take it, and you wait.”
Your hips trembled.
Your cunt clenched again, pulsing around him. Begging.
He added a second finger.
You gasped.
He held still again.
“You’re going to cum without permission, aren’t you?” he said, quiet. “You’re going to lose control. Just like last time.”
You whimpered, trying to shake your head. Bit your lip.
He curled both fingers slightly—just once.
Not enough.
But enough.
“Don’t,” he said.
You tried not to.
Tried to hold still while he did nothing.
Tried not to grind down onto the slow, unmoving stretch inside you.
Your thighs twitched. Your back arched.
And his voice came again—bare, steady, wicked:
“You don’t get to cum on your terms. Not tonight. Not until you’ve learned how to stay open without asking for anything.”
The words hang like heat over your skin.
You nod. You don’t mean to, but you do.
Your body betrays you in silence now—no more clever comebacks. No fire. Just tension in your thighs, clenching around not enough, trying to remember what it feels like to be filled.
Kakashi’s fingers slip out of you slow.
The absence aches.
You whimper without thinking.
And it earns you nothing.
He wipes the slick from his fingers on your inner thigh, a quiet smear of ownership, then pulls away entirely.
You’re still on your knees, cunt pulsing around open air, and he walks out of reach. Just like that.
No sound. No instruction.
Just gone.
You freeze.
The silence that follows isn't empty.
It’s haunting.
Then—
Fabric.
The sound of something folding. Unfolding.
The zipper of his vest.
The soft thunk of a pack opening.
Your breath catches.
He speaks again, quiet.
“You’re not going to cum until you’ve been empty long enough to know what full actually feels like.”
You twist to look—
But a hand snaps into your hair, fast and precise.
“No.”
He slips something over your face—cool, soft, buckled snug behind your head.
Blindfold.
Darkness swallows you whole.
And in that moment, you feel everything.
Every sound he makes becomes a shape.
The slow drag of leather over his hands.
The clink of something metal.
The soft coil of rope.
Panic isn’t what hits you.
It’s need.
Need to see.
Need to anticipate.
Need to know what’s coming—
He’s already stripping you of control.
And then he’s back at your side.
One hand finds your shoulder.
The other, your chin.
His thumb pushes against your lip.
“Suck.”
You do.
You suck his thumb like it’s his cock—slow, tongue curled, cheeks hollowing on instinct.
“Good girl.”
It’s the first praise you’ve earned in hours.
Your heart stutters.
He slips your wrists together behind your back again—cloth this time, something that won’t chafe, but holds tight.
He shifts your body—laying you out on your back this time, chest forced outward, arched around your wrists, knees bent, legs spread wide, obscene in the open air.
Nothing protecting you from what he’ll do next.
“You’re gonna cum so many times,” he says, calm. Measured. “You’ll forget what stillness feels like.”
A pause.
Then his hand at your thigh.
“You’re going to cry and think you’ve earned it.”
Another pause.
Then his breath, right at your ear.
“You haven’t.”
And the first press of vibration hits your clit.
Low. Buzzing. Exact and cruel.
You cry out instantly—your body snapping tight, hips lifting without permission.
And he pulls it away.
“No.”
You groan—frustrated, soaking wet.
“This is going to take hours,” Kakashi says. Not teasing. Not joking.
Just stating it.
“You’re gonna cum so many times you start apologizing between orgasms. And you still won’t get my knot.”
You can’t speak.
Your mouth is open. Your throat works. But no sound comes.
He presses the vibrator to your clit again—higher setting now. Sharp. Immediate.
You writhe.
You clench.
You beg.
It’s happening too fast—you’re not ready—you can’t hold it—
And again, he pulls away.
Every. Time.
Until you’re choking on air.
Tears starting to spill beneath the blindfold.
Your thighs sticky, your breath wrecked.
You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore.
Release?
Touch?
Mercy?
All you know is the absence of him hurts.
You start to cry in earnest when he slides a single finger back inside and leaves it there again.
No movement.
Just that thick, impossible pressure.
That unbearable not-enough.
“Now,” he murmurs. “We start over.”
His finger is still inside you, just resting there, like a silent command.
You tremble around it—pathetically.
Kakashi watches the way your body clutches.
He doesn’t speak for a long moment. Just breathes. Studies nonchalantly.
Then he adds a second finger.
You choke on a sound—half sob, half relief—your cunt tight around him, so greedy, so slick it barely resists the stretch.
But your mind does.
Your pride still claws its way to the surface, even now. You grit your teeth. You refuse to ask.
You think if you can just hold out, just keep your mouth shut long enough, he’ll—
“Still holding out,” he says, almost bored. “Even after all that.”
He pulls his fingers out completely.
You scream. Wordless. Frustrated. Aching.
“You haven’t learned yet.”
You hear him move.
Then: the vibrator returns.
High.
Fast.
Direct.
You scream again—louder this time. Legs kicking. Arms straining against your bindings. The blindfold traps you in the dark with nothing but the burn building between your legs, the heat, the flicker, the climbing, the unbearable need—
You cum.
You crash into it—hard, sudden, all-consuming.
But he doesn't stop.
The toy stays on your clit.
Your voice breaks.
Your back arches off the floor.
You break again. Too soon. Too much.
And still he doesn’t speak.
No comfort. No teasing.
He just watches your body shake as the second orgasm rolls through you like punishment.
You start to sob.
You don’t even know why.
Your cunt is throbbing. Your nerves are fraying. There’s a sound clawing its way out of your throat you don’t recognize.
Then finally—
He pulls it away.
And the silence after the stimulation is worse than the noise.
You twitch.
You can’t stop twitching.
He leans down beside you.
His voice low. Almost tender.
“Your body begs so much louder than your mouth.”
You whimper. Shake your head.
He presses a single finger back into your cunt—slow, indulgent—and you moan like it’s salvation.
“Starting to understand now?”
You nod.
His tone darkens.
“Then say it.”
You don’t speak.
You can’t.
His finger curls.
Just once.
You cry out.
“Say it.”
“…yours.”
He slaps your thigh.
Louder now.
“Say it.”
“Yours—fuck—Kakashi, it’s yours—please—”
He hums. Pleased. But not convinced.
“You want to be knotted?”
You nod—furiously, broken.
“Tell me why.”
You’re crying now. Hot and messy.
“Want to feel you—want to be kept—want you inside—need it—need you to fill me, stay in me—please—”
“And?”
You blink under the blindfold.
A pause.
“And what?”
“You—fuck—Kakashi—own me—”
“Say it like you mean it.”
Your voice cracks.
“You own me. I’m yours. Please—please knot me—I need it—”
You feel him exhale.
And then?
You hear the zipper.
Not slow. Not dramatic.
Just final.
And then his body is over you. Between your legs. Heavy. Controlled. The head of his cock pressed to your soaked entrance again.
Thicker now.
Wider.
Your breath stutters.
You feel it.
Not just the shaft, not just the push—but the weight behind it.
The knot.
Still down. Still compressed.
But there.
And he hasn’t said yes.
Not yet.
He lines himself up.
And pauses.
Waits.
And when you open your mouth again?
Not to beg.
But to thank him?
That’s when he thrusts in.
Hard.
Whole.
And you know—
This is still the beginning.
----------------to be continued---------------
Sorry for the ending ahhh it was getting so long had to cut it off weirdly. Thanks for sticking with me (*´∇｀)ﾉ hope I tormented
just thinking ab (ur fav) bending you over a surface. a desk, a counter, a dresser, anything. just the way his bigger frame covers yours so beautifully that its enthralling. your just so small compared to him. it just turns him on. the weeks of effort put into building up his strength, bulking, and eating great portions just to achieve this look, big and burly.
he has your arms pinned and secured behind your back. his bigger thighs caging yours in, so you dont fall down his dick while hes fucking you stupid. the edge of the surface digging into your skin sweetly as every thrust has your body trembling and lunging forward.
your slick just drips down your thighs, the occasional drip falling onto the floor where your toes dont even meet the floor. his grunts and moans all but filling the air, your pitiful moans long gone as you've been at it for hours? you begged so prettily for him to fuck you that you just didnt expect him to have the stamina of a mammoth.
your eyes stayed permanently in the back of your head as you just sobbed on his dick, your moth open and drooling all over the place. the way his blunt, fat tip smashes itself into your g-spot, has your choking on your breath and practically running from his unforgiving hips. even the way he doesnt go fully in because it'd all be too much for you, 3/4ths of the way, and there is a belly bulge hes pressing down into.
you said you could take anything he throws your way, but now youre begging for him to ease up, to give you a break, he just tuts and tightens his grip on your wrists before knocking the air out your delicate body instead. aww..
you cant even do anything since you arent even on stable ground, held up by his thighs and arms. you cant run from the dick, you cant try and tap out, you cant look sweetly into his eyes to slow down, especially in this position.
all you can do is hang and cry off his dick while he jackhammers into your sweet, little cunt.
I physically NEED jason and roy fucking me together
Okay fine, my arm has been twisted. Let's talk about a JayRoy 3-way, but specifically, I wanna talk about Roy using your body to teach virgin/inexperienced Jay about sex.
Sitting with your back to Roy's chest, your legs draped over his, kept spread nice and wide for Jay to get a good look at.
He spits on his hand before pulling apart your lips, making sure Jay gets a good look at every part of your folds. Despite the coarseness of his freckled skin and the muscle behind it, he's so soft when he kisses your neck and whispers in your ear. “Fuuuuckkk. You're so wet, baby.”
Then he nuzzles his nose into your neck, warming your skin as he addresses Jason. “That's how you know she wants it.”
Then he starts playing with your clit. The beds of his fingers are hard, but he's dexterous and fast, both results from years are archery and tinkering. The position he has you in leaves you so exposed, putting you even more on edge as he makes your body twist and shudders under his touch, but no matter how vulnerable you feel, how embarrassing it might be to lose all composure under nothing but the tips of his fingers, none of it compares to Jason whose watching every second wide-eyed and red-faced.
His fists are in his shirt, practically pulling it apart at the seams as he tries to occupy them with anything other than shoving them down his pants.
You're in no state to really pay close attention, but you can't recall the last time he blinked, his big round eyes are captivated by your every move, he’s on the edge of his seat listening to Roy’s every word as the redhead explains each move. How brushing your sweet spot soft and slow makes you needy, makes you buck your hips as you silently beg for more, and building pressure and speed is what truly makes you come undone.
But despite bringing you right up to it, Roy doesn't take you over the edge. Instead, he wraps his arms tight around you until you quit squirming and begging, until your heartbeat slows back down, offering Jay an almost blank slate to start fresh on as he keeps your legs and lips parted.
Jay- his hands aren't so nimble. His thick, hard fingers work slowly and clumsily as he tries to emulate what he's just watched. His eyes are still locked on you, so intensely that it takes your breath away. He's watching for tells, trying to gauge your reaction to every stroke and flick of his fingers. His bitten lips breaking into a smile every time a moan escapes your lips.
All the while Roy is still at your ear, praising you both. “You're such a good girl, sitting still for us” and “isn't Jay doing such a top job, making you feel good? Yeah? Tell him.”
As you get closer and closer, legs tightly squeezing around his thighs, Roy tells Jay to push two fingers inside you.
Jason hesitates slightly, watching your face for signs of distress as he follows orders, his lengthy digits slipping inside of you with ease, but he finds only ecstasy in your features. The smile that has been ghosting his lips cracks into a real, pride-filled grin as you release into his hands. The lids of his wide eyes faltering, narrowing into a look so predatory and evocative that even Roy lets out a deep, rattled huff of breath.
Jay sucks your slick from his fingers, grunts of enjoyment keeping you on the edge of your seat Roy’s lap but when asked “That good, J-Bird?” Jason turns red and sheepish again, nodding his head and averting his gaze.
And your night continues much like that, each man taking turns to spread and pose your body for the others' convenience. Roy showing off, toying with your body, bringing you to the edge with his tongue, his fingers, his cock, over and over, getting you wound up and keeping you ready, but always pulling back at the pinnacle moment so that Jay can have the honour of taking you there himself.
With every achievement, Jay builds his confidence, maybe even gets a bit cocky seeing you lose yourself, give yourself up even, sandwiched between them, cumming over and over.
He comments on how dumb you look much to Roy’s amusement. Pointing out how you're slack-jawed, and glassy-eyed, panting at even the slightest touch. He finds the tender spot at the back of your neck and runs his tongue over it every time you try to squeeze out a comeback, or anything that isn't “fuck, Roy, please! Jason more moremoremore..”
All of that changes though when Roy lowers you onto Jay’s cock, especially once they’re both inside you, rubbing against each other with only the thin back wall of your pussy between them. The combination of your tight core, your sweet gasping, Roy’s encouragement “Atta boy, Jay. That's it, that stretch feels good, don’t it? Keep going.” all of it, has him close to cuming in minutes.
It’s a struggle for him, trying to find an outlet, a distraction to keep from pumping you full of cum embarrassingly fast, but all he can think to do is squeeze you tighter, a thought that scares the shit out of him, for fear you’ll shatter under his touch.
In the end, its Roy who clocks on and pulls him through it, pinning his hand above his head even though Jay’s grip is like a vice.
He still doesn't last much longer than he’d hoped though, it's all a bit too much, too good, too intimate. He blows his load with his eyes squeezed shut, and his teeth gritted, calling your name until the last second. Then he begs Roy to keep you in the same position, watching from below and Roy keeps pounding into your ass, whispering in your ear, kissing on your neck. He watches as his cum leaks out of your pussy, dripping back onto his softening cock. He watches as yet another orgasm wracks through you, how the sheen of sweat on your bodies makes you both glow. Watches the menace and gratification in Roy’s eye as he fucks you through it, one last time before filling your other hole.
And when it's all over it's basically a dog pile. You; still stuck between their thick, clammy bodies. Jay; clinging to you both for as long as you’ll let him. Roy; unable to stay still for long, being the first to roll out of the bed in search of water and other post-sex necessities for all of you.
Roy also being the first one to broach the subject of round two. He’s pushy about it. Now that he’s shown Jason the ropes he wants a chance to be more selfish with you. And Jay certainly isn't gonna pass on the chance to show you he can go a lot longer.
<3
Likes are highly appreciated, but comments and reblogs are cherished!
I just saw elf bf post and id like to suggest for your consideration: elf bf learning what kink is and learning that he has some very unorthodox (for an elf) interests. Maybe he is intrigued by crossdressing, cuckolding, or exhibitionism/voyuerism because the idea is so taboo to an elf. Maybe he wants to try bondage or total power exchange because he’s always been told that partnerships are always equal (or that elves are better than humans) and submitting to a mortal partner makes him feel rebellious (but at the same time he feels safe because the person dominating him is his partner who he trusts). Maybe he has a praise kink because he doesn’t often get told “you’re a good boy and I’m proud of you.”
So many options! I wonder what you’ll do with them? 👀
ouuhhhhh anon this is such a big brain thing, lemme crawl inside ur skull
elves, by the standard of the world so far since nearly the beginning of time, has always been deemed as the ‘best’ race to ever walk the lands. tall, regal, elegant, fairest and wisest eternal beings who don’t even get sick. wounds heal quick unless they’re mortal, or of the broken heart. they don’t tire easily nor are they quick to fall. the perfect race
so what happens when said perfect race falls in love with the imperfect one? when an elf falls in love with a human? and said relationship is taken seriously between said lovers, bound for eternity together, blessed by the stars and the moon? well, you get something like you and your elf husband, a human and an elf, happily married
and extremely happy in the bedroom too
as the most perfect race, elves always had a certain amount of ego to themselves. it’s not so high and mighty to the point they could die if they fall from said ego’s height, but it’s always there. it’s like an instinctive feeling, akin to how humans are instinctively stubborn and passionate. too emotional. and due to their ‘perfection’, elves barely get any words of hostility aimed towards them unless it’s by a few passing dwarves or their kin who had been angered. praise has always been a normal thing to fall upon their pointy ears, so much so they count it as the norm
so for an elf to being into degraded, it is rare and frowned upon. why would the most perfect creatures require any words other than the highest form of acknowledgment? but your husband was into it. and you too, to certain extent. whispering filth into those cute, pointy twitching ears of how disgusting and vile he is to enjoy having human hands on him gets his cock hard in his pants within milliseconds. calling him a slut for moaning out loud when you simply grasp his hair has him rubbing his thighs together, feeling the familiar aching heat in his groin. and stars, have mercy on him when you lean in, strong arms caging him from behind between your warm body and the table as you spit out, “pointy eared whore” into the skin of his neck, hot breath sending shivers down his body. by that point, your elf husband’s all but clawing at your clothes, hopping onto the table all too eagerly as he spreads his legs for you
crossdressing is a mixed feeling for the elven race entirely for one, they are just such an eternally graceful beings to the point it becomes hard to tell the difference between some of their genders and two, their clothes share a lot of similar things. long, flowing clothes made of the finest materials any hands could ever touch
but your hubby loves it! the soft and frilly skirts, the smoothness of the dresses or even the breezy laces and provocative bras and thin underwear with straps to keep them up on the flesh of his hips. and don’t even get him started on his love for the ‘dancer’ outfit. the long loincloth like skirt, the golden chains at the sides to keep them perched on his waist and the tiniest bras possible paired with the mouth covering cloth. your elf husband is your private entertainer for the whole night, swaying his hips, twisting his hands and running them over the curves of his body as he gives you the most shit eating grin underneath the mouth cloth, makeup covered eyes narrowing hypnotically at you
it wouldn’t last too long on his lips when he’s being fucked in the very same outfit, being forced to keep the skirt to the side by his hands so you wouldn’t get it dirty for his next dance. not like it ever happens, your elf hubby’s a little crybaby, whining about how mean and rough you’re handling your dancer, sobbing fat tears about how your rough human hands were leaving bruises on his soft, creamy skin
owh lawddd the amount of times he pulled you to the side, into an empty room or behind some particularly huge tree when out on a walk so you could fuck him behind it has lost count. exhibitionism seems to be one of his favorites since he loves it so much, giggling about a quickie or “i promise, i’ll be silent this time” when you both know it’s not true at all
keep his one leg up with a hand hooked under his knee, pushing his chest flush against the cold marble walls or the bark of the tree for him to cling for stability while the filthy wet smacks of your cock constantly squeezing into his tight hole fills the area. just as loud as the whimpers of your pointy eared husband, whose ears twitch and droop so cutely. who bites down onto his hands and knuckles to shut himself up to no avail, always stuttering out “r-rough..! sho rough♡︎! can’t—can’t haaagh h-hold it i-eek hiigc! c-can’t hold it in ’nymoowr♡︎” as if he wasn’t the one who asked you to pound his pathetic hole until he was seeing stars. it’s as if he doesn’t care that someone could hear or even stars forbid, see them right now! doing such a dirty and private deed out in public place, where any elf with their sharp senses could hear, see or even smell the musky scent of sex
your elf husband’s boobs always jiggle so cutely whenever you fuck him, bouncing as you thrust the strap into his soppy hole. who even has a bit of a thing for feminization, whining out how you were fucking his womb, “y-nyur human d-dick is kissingg ma-agh my cerviiixx♥︎!!”, who rubs a hand over his slightly bloated belly with a dazed look in his eyes, slurring of “… got knocked up… by a human heheeh..♡︎” as if he could get pregnant. who has the cutest shrill squeals whenever you suckle on his nipples, biting around his areola to leave a mark as he weakly slaps at your back, speaking of how fucking animalistic and bestial you are
“s-so cruel… such a vile mortal—!”
elf husband who loves loves lovessssss bondage and sensory deprivation! an absolute rope bunny, he is! choosing the most finest and softest silk in the color he likes for special days, picking up the harsh and rough material ropes for the days when he wants to feel the sting, the pain, the adventure. who is into being tortured and overstimulated, forced to cum beyond what he is used to by your rough hands or hot mouth while his words turn to incoherent babbles as he tugs uselessly against his bindings. he’s just a weak, helpless little bunny in your lair, hungry wolf! please be gentle with your sharp fangs on his tender skin and smooth planes of muscle. such a sweet, innocent bunny like him could never handle the rough mating of days and nights a hungry wolf like you have planned for him♡︎
a bit of a masochistic elf husband who loves to have his senses deprived off of him. hands tied behind him, legs tied in a spread out manner and blindfolded with a dark cloth over his eyes. leave his ears free and make him try and guess what you would do to him. snap a belt or a riding crop onto your hand and watch as he flinches, jolting in place at the sound, wondering when and where it would land on his perfect body. his thighs? arms? chest? stomach? or perhaps even his cock and you would be mean enough to make him count how many hits it takes until he is cumming untouched, soiling his stomach as his blush spread all the way to his shoulders due to the whole shame. make him ponder, make him squeal at the unexpectedness, make him cry out in surprise, make him shake in the excitement of it all. he can take whatever pain and pleasure your human hands could dish out
and when he gets too loud, just shove something into his mouth. maybe a peace of cloth or even your own undergarments, whichever fits, whichever you want. he’ll be chewing on them and wetting it with his tears and saliva by the end of it
