botanalche

Jiraiya didn’t hate a lot of things.

He could tolerate traffic. He could even tolerate long meetings full of people who liked the sound of their own voice. Hell, he once sat through an entire author dinner where some twenty-five-year-old poet tried to explain the death of print publishing over foie gras.

But nothing made his blood boil quite like watching his wife hunched over her laptop on a Sunday morning.

Sunday was supposed to be sacred.

His day. Your day. Your day with him.

The only day you both were supposed to sleep in, stay in bed too long, eat late breakfast, maybe have sex twice before noon and instead, here you were again. Legs folded, T-shirt barely covering your thighs, messy bun half-falling apart, muttering something about a campaign revision while typing furiously on your keyboard.

“I still don’t get it.” He stood at the doorway of the living room, arms crossed, shirtless, jaw ticking.

You didn’t look up. “Good morning to you too.”

“It’s Sunday.”

You hummed. “I’m aware.”

“Then why are you working?”

“Because I have a pitch due tomorrow.”

He took a breath. “You know I make enough money to keep both of us alive for the next fifty years, right? We could literally never work again and be fine.”

“I’d get bored.”

“Then get bored on my dick.”

“Jiraiya.”

He padded over to the couch, barefoot and already annoyed. When he crouched in front of you, it was dramatic, like he’d been personally betrayed.

“Baby,” he said, voice soft but dangerous, “I am a multimillionaire, director of an entire goddamn publishing empire, and married to the hottest woman alive, why are you working instead of sitting on my face right now?”

“Because I have a deadline, not a death wish.” You rolled your eyes.

“What, and I do?”

He sat back on the rug in front of you and spread his legs like he owned the floor. His eyes scanned your face, then dropped to your thighs, lingering.

“This is cruelty.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being neglected. There’s a difference.”

You raised an eyebrow, still typing. “Didn’t you have a book launch last week?”

“Yeah.”

“And a corporate dinner the night before?”

“Mhm.”

“So you’ve been busy too.”

“Busy making money to spoil the love of my life,” he grinned, “Not staring at ugly Google Doc while ignoring my rock-hard morning wood.”

You finally laughed. “Oh my god.”

“I’m serious,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “I hate this. I hate when you do this. Sundays are supposed to be ours.”

Your fingers slowed. “…I know.”

“Then quit.”

“I don’t want to quit.”

“Then take today off,” he said, voice rougher now, “Take the laptop, throw it out the window, and come sit on my fucking face like a good wife.”

Your jaw dropped. “Jiraiya!”

“What?” He smirked. “I eat better than any man in this city. You should be proud to be on the menu.”

You stared at him, speechless.

He leaned in close, grinning wide. “Lie back and let me devour you, princess. Or do you really think a client’s works is more satisfying than me tongue-deep between your thighs?”

“Holy shit.”

“You married me,” Jiraiya said with his grind of course.

You finally shut the laptop, not because of what he said, but because you were actually starting to think about it.

Jiraiya noticed. He always noticed.

“See? That’s better.” His tone shifted, softer now, but no less intense.

“You work too much. You never slow down. You’ve got this perfect little brain, and I love it, but damn, baby… You weren’t made for stress. You were made for silk sheets, slow mornings, and being spoiled rotten.”

You blinked.

“…You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. I’m always serious when I’m hard.”

You laughed, smacked his shoulder, and leaned your head against the back of the couch. He crawled up beside you, nuzzling into your side, warm skin and lazy hands. His fingers brushed the inside of your thigh like second nature.

“So what’ll it be, boss lady? Boring meeting, or breakfast in bed and a tongue so good it makes you cry?”

“…You are insane.”

“Insane for you.”

You covered your face with your hands.

He chuckled and kissed your shoulder.

“Just quit,” he said again, softer now. “I can take care of us. I want to take care of us. You don’t have to keep proving anything. Just be mine. That’s enough.”

The way he said it, so casually, like breathing, made your chest go tight.

“...I’ll close the laptop for now.”

He kissed your neck. “That’s my girl.”

Neji didn’t remember how it started anymore.

Maybe it was the way his wife climbed into his lap without a word, pupils blown wide, your cheeks already flushed before he even touched you. Maybe it was the heat pulsing off your body, the way your skin stuck to his, damp with sweat before anything had even started.

Neji’s breath was heavy, his hair stuck to his pretty face, lips parted and trembling like he want to say something, but he can't. His back was pressed against the headboard, and he could barely keep his eyes open.

You were on top of him, still ride him, still moving, still burning hot and so, so wet. Neji's hands shaking, had long since fallen from your hips and now only reached weakly to touch your face. To hold onto something.

“P-please…” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Please, darling…”

Your eyes met his, glazed and wide, desperate. You were panting, soaked with sweat, your thighs quivering from how many times you’d already reached your peak, from how long you’d kept him inside you.

Neji gritted his teeth as your walls tightened around him, again, like your body refused to let go of him.

Neji cum inside you more times than he could count—his cock aching, overstimulated, twitching helplessly every time your hips ground down just right. But your body wanted more. Needed more. Like it wasn’t enough to be filled—it wanted to be bred. His essence, again and again, until there was nothing left.

“darling—wife—I… I can’t,” Neji panted, barely able to sit upright. “You’re—ngh—milking me dry…”

You whimpered softly at his words, hips trembling against his lap. Your movements weren’t rough—not anymore. They were shaky now, your rhythm faltering, needy, like your body was running on instinct and adrenaline and love all at once.

“Neji…” you choked out, voice fragile. “I-I can’t stop—feels too good—I’m sorry—I—”

Neji cupped your flushed cheeks, thumbs gently brushing away the sweat there. “It’s… alright,” he breathed, even as his legs spasmed beneath you. “You feel… incredible… just—”

Your hips rolled again—slow and deep—and he gasped, the sound broken.

“F-fuck—ah—no more—”

You kissed him. Desperately. You tasted like salt and tears and longing, and he kissed you back with every ounce of strength he had left.

You were shaking too now. Your thighs trembled on either side of his hips, and your arms braced on his shoulders as you leaned your forehead to his. Sweat dripped down your neck, between your breasts, down your back. You’d taken him for hours, and still, your body begged for more.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice cracking. "I love you, I just—Neji—”

He whimpered—Hyuga Neji, who never whimpered—and his hands gripped your hips weakly as you sank down again, taking him all the way, tight and soaked and hot. He could barely breathe.

“Wife…” His voice broke. “You’re going to… break me…”

But his hands didn’t stop you. They just trembled against your waist.

Your heat swallowed him over and over, the sounds between your bodies obscene—wet, loud, constant. His cum was leaking out of you in rivulets, dripping down his thighs, down your own, soaking the sheets beneath you. And still, your body begged for more. More warmth. More fullness. More of him.

Your breath hitched—another wave coming. Your head dropped to his shoulder, and your hips picked up again, sloppier now, erratic.

“N-Neji—!”

You cried out as you came again, hard and desperate and shaking apart in his arms. Your walls clenched violently around him, and he let out a sob, his whole body tensing as your orgasm milked him into another release—one he wasn’t ready for, one he couldn’t stop.

His cum spilled into you again, warm and endless, even as he nearly collapsed backward, arms falling limp at his sides.

His body twitched beneath you, his cock still trapped deep inside, sensitive to the point of pain—but you stayed there, unmoving, filled and full and dazed.

Your breath came in hard pants against his collarbone.

Neji’s fingers found your cheek again, slow and trembling.

“You’re burning up…” he whispered, eyelids heavy.

You couldn’t even answer. You just clung to him, forehead pressed to his neck, both of you soaked and exhausted and too full of each other to care.

“W-we need to… we should stop,” he murmured. “Please… just rest now. Let me hold you.”

Finally, you nodded, body sagging against his chest. Still joined. Still pulsing faintly around him. But you weren’t moving anymore. You’d hit your limit, too.

Neji exhaled shakily, one hand pressing to the back of your head, cradling you.

He held you there, whispering soft things, your name, his love, his awe at your hunger, your need, how beautiful you were even when driven by instinct.

Synopsis. Lockdown leaves you bored, restless, and running into Kakashi Hatake, man next door, more often than you should. You didn’t mean to start talking to him. You didn’t mean to let him in. And you definitely didn’t mean to fall for the man behind the mask.

Pairing. Kakashi Hatake x fem!reader

Content. NSFW, explicit smut, fem!reader, lockdown au, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, praise + degradation mix, cockbulge, fingering.

Word count. 3.1k (omalord)

the konoha lockdown had brought a strange kind of hush over the village. it wasn’t war. it wasn’t mourning. but something about the silence in the streets, the emptied marketplaces, the closed mission halls… it felt just as heavy.

you hadn’t been sent on a mission in weeks. not since the hokage issued a mandate for all non-essential shinobi to remain within their assigned districts. a sickness—unnamed but fast-moving—had made its way from one of the trade routes, and while not deadly to most, it spread too quickly for comfort. precautions turned to restrictions. restrictions turned to house arrests.

you were lucky. your small apartment in the southern district got good light, the windows wide enough to let in the late afternoon sun, the nights quiet. the most excitement came from the balcony you shared with the next apartment over.

kakashi hatake lived there. yeah that kakashi, the copy ninja.

the first few weeks of lockdown, you'd barely exchanged more than a glance. he kept to himself. always dressed in his usual turtleneck shirt, mask, amd gloves—even when there was no mission to be seen. you’d hear his door close at odd hours, the muted shuffle of his footsteps when he returned from the market. there was no reason to talk.

but loneliness was a slow creeper.

by the end of the second week, you started saying things like “afternoon,” when you passed him by the laundry line. by the third, he started responding with “you're up early,” or a low “smells good,” when the scent of your late lunch drifted out onto the balcony.

and one morning, after you complained absentmindedly to no one in particular about running out of body wash, a bottle of peach-scented soap appeared outside your door. no note. just a seal-marked sticker you recognized from one of the local apothecaries. you used it that night, not because you were curious about the scent, but because you were curious about him.

now, three weeks in, he stood at your door again. posture relaxed, mask still on, and that usual unreadable look in his eye. you’d just stepped out of the shower, robe soft against your skin, and your hair still damp at the ends.

“oh,” he said lightly, that lone visible eye catching on your collarbone. “so you’re using the soap i gave you.”

you blinked, half-smiling. “you noticed?”

“i’m observant.”

you tilted your head. “i usually use lavender. didn’t expect peach also suit on me.”

he shrugged one shoulder. “sweet.”

you laughed, turning a little to the side, embarrassed by how warm your cheeks felt. “didn’t peg you for the scent-analyzing type.”

“you’d be surprised.” he looked pointedly at your robe. “i have theories about your shampoo, too.”

you rolled your eyes. “come in.”

kakashi stepped inside without comment. you made tea for both of you, he leaned against the kitchen counter, and the conversation meandered the way it had been doing lately casual, filled with pauses that weren’t uncomfortable. he made small observations.

when he settled into the floor beside the couch, ankles crossed, you sat beside him, just close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm.

the tea cooled. the sky darkened. the light in your apartment went golden.

and then, on a whim, you said, “did you ever play truth or dare?”

kakashi blinked at you. “what?”

you smiled, wrapping your hands around your mug. “you know, the game.”

“i know what it is. i’m just trying to imagine me playing it.”

“well, imagine harder.”

“didn’t exactly go to summer camps.”

you chuckled. “neither did i. guess i’m just curious. want to try?”

he tilted his head, as though weighing whether this was a trap. then: “alright. but only if you go first.”

you grinned. “truth.”

he leaned back. “what kind of mission do you hate the most?”

“trap-setting,” you said instantly. “so boring. i get fidgety.”

“hn.” his eye curved in a small, almost-smile. “noted.”

you glanced at him. “your turn.”

“truth.”

you smirked. “what’s in your icha icha books that makes them so addictive?”

kakashi didn’t flinch. “the pacing.”

“the pacing? that book just full of nudity, duh.”

he gave a sage nod. “that was the art of this book. incredible structure. flawless tension. very literary.”

you scoffed a laugh. “uh-huh. i’m sure that’s what it is.”

you tilted your head. “truth.”

he leaned a little closer. “what did you think of me the first time we spoke?”

you hesitated, then admitted, “you were… surprising. softer than i expected.”

he nodded slowly, letting the silence sit between you before saying, “truth.”

“what’s your worst habit?”

“i reread the same books,” he said. “over and over. like i’m afraid they’ll change if i don’t watch.”

your lips curved. “weird, but nevermind. dare.”

“tie your hair up,” he said, voice quieter now. “i want to see your face.”

you obeyed, “so bold aren’t you?” fingers twisting your hair up and away from your neck. you felt his eyes linger on your… neck.

“dare,” kakashi murmured.

you narrowed your gaze. “pull your hitai-ate down. let me see both eyes.”

he paused, the silence stretching.

then, slowly, he did. one glint of silver, one of deep, unreadable crimson.

“truth,” you whispered.

he tilted his head. “when did you first notice me?”

“first week,” he said with no hesitation. “you talked to your cactus like it could hear you.” kakashi just laugh at her by that word.

kakashi leaned slightly closer, voice low and unguarded. “dare.”

you took a steadying breath, pulse fluttering. “i was curious... so—take off your mask.”

he stilled. the air shifted subtly between you.

“that’s off-limits,” he said quietly, a rare edge of vulnerability slipping through.

you tilted your head, eyes searching his. “no skipping dares. that’s the rule, remember?”

kakashi didn’t move right away. his gaze held yours, unreadable and steady. then, with a slow inhale, he lifted his hand and tugged the fabric down.

your breath hitched.

the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips—soft, serious—and a faint scar resting near his chin. he looked nothing like the myth, and everything like the man you’d grown to want.

“you’re…” you breathed, “fine.”

his eye narrowed faintly. “disappointed?”

“truth,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper, though your gaze didn’t waver.

kakashi studied you for a moment, then asked with quiet sincerity, “are you attracted to me?”

you didn’t flinch, but the question did catch you off guard. “why are you asking me that?”

he looked away briefly, scratching behind his ear. “just popped into my head,” he muttered. “sorry if it's weird.”

you chuckled softly and took a slow sip of your tea. “i don’t know,” you mused, eyes flicking back to him. “you’re... kind of attractive. even with the mask.”

kakashi's visible eye curved with a smile. “is that a yes?”

you shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “maybe,” you murmured, just under your breath, though the heat in your cheeks gave more away than you intended. 

it was his turn. you leaned in a little, eyes sparkling with mischief. "so, truth or dare, kakashi?"

"dare," he said without hesitation.

you grinned, reaching for the mini water bottle on the table. "alright, drink this—all in one gulp. no breaks."

he glanced at the bottle, then back at you, one brow raised. "are you serious?"

you nodded, still smiling. "dead serious."

kakashi chuckled under his breath, accepting the challenge with a tilt of his head. he unscrewed the cap and lifted the bottle with casual ease, tipping it back for a long swallow.

you hadn’t expected to stare—but you did. the line of his throat moved with each gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing gently. then, just at the end, a single droplet slipped from the corner of his mouth and caught at the edge of his lower lip.

you swallowed.

his thumb swiped the drop away, and he gave you a knowing look. "that count?"

you blinked, flustered. "y-yeah. perfect form."

you held his gaze, savoring the tension, then gave a slow, deliberate smile. “dare.”

kakashi’s voice dropped, quiet and certain. “kiss me.”

your smile faltered, eyes widening slightly. “what?”

he didn’t answer. he just looked at you—steady, unreadable—then leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to stop him.

but you didn’t. the rules of the game were dissolving and neither of you minded. the moment stretched, suspended. his thumb brushed your cheek, slow and reverent.

“you’re not stopping me,” he murmured.

“should i?” you whispered back.

“too late now,” he said, voice low, his breath ghosting over your lips. then, deeper this time, his mouth found yours again—firmer, more certain. he kissed like a man who rarely allowed himself softness, but tonight, he gave it freely. with slow pressure and aching restraint.

you lay back against the futon, hair splayed, chest rising and falling. kakashi hovered over you, a little breathless himself now, though he tried not to show it.

but his hands betrayed him, the way they gripped your waist just a little tighter, the way his thumb brushed over your ribs in soft circles. his mask was long forgotten. there was nothing between you now, not even his usual restraint.

he tilted his head.

“tell me if i’m going too far,” he said, voice husky but steady.

you shook your head. “you’re not.”

that was all it took.

his lips returned to your chest, softer now, reverent. he kissed one breast, then the other slow, unhurried, dragging his mouth along the curve, just under, just above, always close but never quite, then he took one into his mouth.

a gasp escaped you helpless, involuntary. your back arched before you could stop yourself, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders.

“k-kakashi—”

he hummed against your skin, tongue circling, then sucking, not harsh, but greedy. possessive. as if trying to memorize your taste, your reactions, the way your body trembled under him.

your fingers dug into his hair. he moved to the other, lavishing it with the same attention, lips, tongue, just a scrape of teeth. your thighs instinctively pressed together. every suck sent a throb between your legs.

you whimpered softly. “you’re… not playing fair.”

he looked up from your chest. lips slick, face flushed, eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming.

“i warned you,” he said, smiling lazily. “i don’t play games i don’t intend to win.”

one hand stroked along your side, firm and grounding. the other cupped your breast gently, thumbing over the peak he had just kissed raw, soothing it, keeping you trembling on the edge.

your forehead pressed to his, your breath mingling in the heat between you. “i want more.”

his hand moved then, slipping beneath your waistband. warm, ungloved, greedy. his touch was slow but certain, coaxing gasps and shudders from you like he already knew every edge of you.

and maybe he did.

because you’d never been this exposed before. not even naked. but the way he touched you, the way he kissed you between gasps — you were sure he saw you now. all of you.

“you’re so pretty like this,” he whispered against your ear. “falling apart. for me.”

you whimpered.

“don’t close your eyes,” he said. “i want to see them when you fall.”

you were gasping into his mouth.

kakashi’s mouth tilted into something between a smile and a wince, a silent, breathless exhale.

“take your time,” he murmured. “but i’m not moving until you tell me to.”

that was a lie. because a second later, he rolled his hips — slow, deliberate, achingly smooth — and your entire body reacted like lightning meeting water.

your hips trembled beneath the weight of his body, your fingers desperate, restless — clawing at his back, threading through his damp silver hair, tugging when he went deeper. your body arched to meet every thrust, chasing friction, chasing closeness, chasing him.

“k-kakashi—” your voice cracked against his lips, “—you feel so good, i can’t—fuck—i can’t think.”

you felt him groan deep into your mouth, his chest rumbling as his hips slowed just slightly — dragging every inch of himself from your body with devastating patience, only to push back in just as deep. you whimpered, legs wrapping tighter around his waist.

“don’t think,” he rasped. “just feel.”

“i am,” you gasped, fingers fisting the back of his neck. “i feel everything. you’re in so- , kakashi—fuck—don’t stop.”

“not planning to,” he murmured, the edge of his voice fraying as he looked down at you. your eyes met — wide and wet and dazed — and something in his gaze softened.

“you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered.

and you were vocal — so vocal — moaning his name with every drag of his hips, whimpering when he ground deeper, whispering, pleading, praising.

“you’re perfect—” “there, right there, don’t stop—” “yes, yes, fuck—kakashi—right there—”

your hands couldn’t stop touching him — they moved constantly, like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go. they dragged across his spine, down his ribs, cupped his jaw when he leaned in to kiss you, grazed his face like you were memorizing the shape of it.

“can i touch you there?” you whispered between ragged breaths, your thumb ghosting his cheekbone, where his mask would have been. “anywhere,” he murmured, hips never stilling. “touch me everywhere.”

and you did.

you framed his face with both hands, pulling him down into another kiss — open-mouthed and warm, breathless, wet. he groaned into it when your tongue brushed his, when your hips lifted to meet his every thrust like you couldn’t stand even a breath of distance.

“i can feel you in my stomach,” you whimpered into his mouth. “you’re stretching me out so good, kakashi—i’m so full.”

“yeah?” he said lowly, cock twitching inside you. “you like that?” “love it. fuck—you feel too good.”

the pressure was building fast. you could barely keep your legs from trembling — his hips moving with the kind of perfect rhythm that made your toes curl, his hand trailing down your side, fingers brushing your inner thigh.

“touch me,” you begged. “there, please—i need it—”

“you’ll get it,” he said, voice dark, lips brushing your temple. “you get anything you want.”

his fingers found your clit and rubbed — slow, firm, precise.

you sobbed.

your back arched clean off the futon, and your nails sank into his shoulders as your thighs started to shake. you clung to him, forehead to his, breathing sharp and high.

you choked. “don’t stop, don’t stop, please—”

“look at me,” he commanded, eyes burning. “i want to see you break.”

you obeyed — barely — eyes fluttering, locking onto his just as your orgasm hit.

your moan was raw, your thighs squeezing around his waist, your walls spasming so tight around him it made him curse.

“fuck—you’re squeezing me like a vice—” kakashi’s hips snapped once, twice—then he stilled, grinding deep, groaning as he felt your walls keep squeezing him.

his hips were cradled flush against yours, buried to the hilt.

kakashi’s forehead rested against yours, breath ragged, lips parted. you could feel his heartbeat in your chest and in your core, thick and full and impossibly deep inside you.

“still with me?” he murmured, voice low and warm like worn velvet.

your eyes fluttered open slowly. you were blinking up at him, lips parted, fingers trembling against the slope of his shoulder blades.

“y-yeah,” you whispered, voice thin. “just… processing.”

you gasped, fingers gripping tighter, knees rising higher around his waist while you feel his tip keep touching your womb. your whole body opening to him like instinct.

“kakashi—”

“hmm?” he murmured, trailing his lips along your cheekbone, his nose brushing your temple. “do that again.”

he did. again. and again.

every movement was coaxing something deeper from you — a noise, a flutter, a moan you barely recognized as your own. he watched your face, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with heat, cataloging every breath, every twitch of your lips, every flutter of your lashes.

your voice was barely holding together.

“you feel so— deep— ah-”

“yeah?”

“too good. i can’t—fuck, you’re keep hitting my—”

“that’s the spot,” he breathed, hand sliding beneath your thigh, angling you just right. “stay with me.”

your fingers tangled in his hair again, tugging just enough to make him groan. he kissed you like a man trying to memorize your mouth. slow, insistent, reverent. but his hips… they moved with a different kind of purpose.

“you’re melting,” he whispered against your lips.

“i’m burning,” you choked. “gods, you’re ruining me.”

“good.”

and then he tilted his head, lips brushing your ear.

“i want to ruin you.”

you whimpered — it came out helpless, choked, honest. your hips rolled up into his, needing more, needing him everywhere at once.

he took the cue.

his hand slid down your side, down your belly, between your thighs. his fingers brushed where your bodies met — slick, hot, too sensitive — and then circled your clit with that same agonizing patience.

you cried out, fingers digging into his back, arching hard into his hand.

“k-kakashi—oh gods—i’m close—”

“let go,” he said softly, mouth on your throat. “i’ve got you.”

your breath hitched. your legs shook.

his name tore from your lips as your climax hit like a wave crashing over brittle stone. you shook with it — clutching him, moaning, legs tightening around his waist. every pulse of pleasure made your body jolt against him, made you cling tighter like you were trying to keep from shattering.

kakashi didn’t stop.

he moved through it, riding your high, prolonging it — driving into you deeper, harder, needier now, chasing his own undoing. your body was soft and open beneath him, your voice still spilling his name like prayer.

“you feel so good,” he gasped. “fuck—you’re perfect—”

you pulled him closer — arms around his neck, cheek pressed to his shoulder, voice still breathless but steady.

“come inside,” you whispered. “i want to feel it.”

that undid him.

he groaned — a raw, guttural sound — and thrust once, twice, then stilled with a deep, trembling exhale as he spilled into you. his hand cupped the back of your head, holding you to him, his other arm wrapping tightly around your waist as if he could pull you inside his skin.

for a long time, neither of you spoke. you were both breathing too hard, too tangled, too bare in every way.

your legs were still shaking. your chest was flushed. your fingers curled weakly in his hair.

“you okay?” he asked softly, lips brushing your temple.

you smiled, slow and dazed.

“i might not walk straight for a day.”

“mm,” he said. “i take that as a compliment.”

you laughed, warm, soft, exhausted — and leaned up to kiss him again. he was still hardening inside you, and you felt it.

“round two?” he whispered.

"please- no-" you still shaking.

he raised a brow. “dare me.”

Synopsis. It started with a quiet walk home and an offer for tea. But something about the way he looked at you. Made it clear this night wouldn’t end with small talk and snacks.

Pairing. Kakashi Hatake x fem!reader

Content. NSFW, fem!reader, explicit smut, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, size kink, cockbulge, cervix play, praise and degradation mix (“good little slut”), begging, intense penetration, possessive!kakashi, soft aftercare hints, rough but consensual

Word count. 491

this is connected to the previous part, so please read that first. thank you!

the thing you remember clearly was how kakashi insisted on walking you home since it was already late at night. he didn’t want you walking alone through the empty, quiet streets.

but somehow, everything changed the moment he agreed to stop by your small apartment for tea and some midnight snack.

you were lying back on the couch, trembling with need, every nerve on fire, and wet. kakashi hovered over you, his cock slick and hard in his hand, teasing the wetness between your folds without mercy.

he dragged the head of his cock slowly over your dripping pussy, pressing right at your entrance but never pushing inside. your hips jerked with every touch, desperate to feel him buried deep.

“oh, my,” kakashi teased, voice low and thick with lust, fingers brushing your flushed cheek, “what is it that you want? aren’t you supposed to be helping me? instead, here you are, so damn needy.”

you blushed furiously but couldn’t hold back the desperate edge in your voice. “kakashi… please, just fuck me already.”

his dark eyes sparkled behind his mask, and he smirked like you’d just handed him a prize. “you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he whispered, dragging the tip of his cock over your slick folds again, “wet and desperate, begging me like a good little slut.”

your breath hitched, cheeks burning. “please,” you begged again, voice shaking.

kakashi pushed the thick head of his cock inside you, a sharp, breathless scream tore from your lips. you clutched his arms so hard your nails dug into his skin, desperate to hold onto something as your body struggled to take all of him.

“fuck, you’re so damn tight,” kakashi growled, his voice rough and low. his eyes flicked down to your face, seeing the flush of embarrassment and the wild, desperate hunger there.

to calm you, he leaned down and kissed your cheek softly, his lips lingering as if to say, i’ve got you.

slowly, inch by inch, he pushed deeper, his cock disappearing inside you until he bottomed out completely. you felt the stretch deep inside—so deep it pushed against your cervix and sent a delicious fire radiating through your lower belly.

your stomach bulged slightly, the unmistakable sign that kakashi was fucking you all the way to your womb.

kakashi’s eyes darkened with lust as he saw it. “look at that,” he teased, voice low and dripping with heat, “that’s how deep i’m inside you. so fucking deep your belly’s swelling around me.”

you felt your cheeks burn scarlet, unable to hide how exposed and fucked out you looked.

he grinned wickedly, sliding his hand down to cup your flushed face. “you’re mine, every inch of you.”

without warning, he pulled back just a little then slammed forward, pushing so deep you thought you’d shatter, every thrust driving right against your cervix.

you gasped, your body trembling under him as he fucked you with raw, relentless force.

Synopsis. Shikamaru the laid-back genius and his not-so-smart-but-not-stupid girlfriend

Pairing. Shikamaru Nara x fem!reader

Content. SFW, fem!reader, modern high school au, academic frustration, emotional vulnerability, self-worth issues, soft comfort, subtle affection, blunt but caring!shikamaru

Word count. 493

you're walking side by side with shikamaru after school, your fingers barely brushing against his. the late afternoon sun is warm, but you feel cold the second your phone vibrates in your pocket.

you don’t want to check it. you already know.

but you do anyway.

[school app notification]

mathematics — 42/100

status: remedial required]

you stop walking. “no way… no freaking way…”

shikamaru doesn’t stop with you. he keeps walking a few more steps, then turns slightly, hands in his pockets, brows barely lifted.

“…again?”

you don’t answer. you just stand there, staring at your screen, lips trembling.

“i actually tried this time,” you mutter, your voice small. “i didn’t even copy anyone. i studied. i gave up naps. i even skipped watching every new episode on that damn drama on that week.”

shikamaru exhales through his nose. “and still failed.”

you look at him, eyes slightly watery. “what am i doing wrong? am i just… dumb?”

he walks back to you slowly. “no.”

“then why do i keep screwing up?”

he doesn’t answer right away. he just watches you, unreadable, quiet like always. you think he might brush it off, tell you it’s “not a big deal” like he usually does.

instead, he says, “i’ll tutor you.”

you blink. “what?”

“for the remedial. i’ll help you prep.”

“…seriously?”

he shrugs. “don’t want to date someone who keeps crying over easy thing like this.”

you swat his arm. “i’m not crying.”

“yet,” he replies flatly. then, without missing a beat, “but if i do this, you better pay attention. like, actually pay attention.”

you pout. “i do pay attention!”

he looks you dead in the eye. “you study for twenty minutes, then spend the next hour scrolling social media, drawing your ‘math cat’ characters, and pretending it’s part of the process.”

you look away, flustered. “it is part of the process…”

“it’s why you failed.”

you groan. “you’re so mean.”

“no,” he says coolly, starting to walk again. “i’m realistic. you want me to waste my energy teaching you when you’re half-listening? no thanks.”

you jog a bit to catch up, falling back into step beside him. “okay, okay. i’ll be serious this time. i’ll put my phone away. i’ll even print notes. like on actual paper.

“wild concept.”

you glance up at him. his face is still unreadable—bored, detached, like this is all just mildly inconvenient.

but when the silence stretches, he finally mutters, “i don’t want you to keep feeling like this.”

your heart jumps a little.

“feeling like what?”

“…like you’re not good enough.”

you blink. he doesn’t look at you when he says it. he just keeps walking, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket like none of this matters.

but it does.

you know it does.

because this is shikamaru.

and for someone who claims everything is a drag, he still offered to stay.

and teach.

and try.

even you’re not gonna end up as genius as him.

ᯓ 𐙚 thank you so much for all the support on my kakashi fanfic earlier, i really appreciate it! honestly, it makes me want to cry (in a good way).

Synopsis. You’re the Sixth Hokage’s assistant, and you’ve been working overtime again long past midnight.

Pairing. Hatake Kakashi x fem!reader

Content. SFW, fem!reader, post-canon, established dynamic, subtle intimacy, domestic tension

Word count. 338

there is part 2

you can’t remember the last time you had a full night’s rest. tonight is no different. you’ve been working overtime again, reviewing village budgets, drafting proposals, coordinating plans for the upcoming summit.

the hokage’s office is dimly lit, the glow of the desk lamp casting soft shadows across scattered papers. your handwriting has grown slower, messier, and eventually, your pen slips from your fingers. your head rests heavily on the desk, exhaustion finally catching up to you.

across from you, kakashi sits in his chair, reading through a stack of documents. he’s not wearing his official cloak; it’s draped casually over the back of his seat. the flicker of candlelight reflects in his visible eye as it scans line after line, but it pauses when he hears your soft breathing.

he glances up.

you’ve fallen asleep, half-curled over the desk, the edge of a report still crumpled under your hand. there’s a trace of ink smudged near your temple, and your shoulders are trembling slightly from the cold.

kakashi doesn’t speak. he sets his documents aside and stands, pulling the hokage cloak from the back of his chair. with a gentle motion, he lays it over your back, letting the weight and warmth of it settle over you like a quiet promise.

“i told myself i’d never get too comfortable in this seat,” he murmurs, his voice low. “but with you here… i don’t mind staying a little longer.”

he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, careful not to wake you. then he returns to his chair, leaning back slightly, watching you in the hush of the room.

“i’m the hokage,” he says with a soft chuckle. “but if i have to work through every night this week… if it means being beside you, then i don’t mind at all.”

you don’t hear him. not fully. but something about the warmth around your shoulders, the quiet rustle of him moving nearby, seeps into your sleep like a lullaby that makes you smile on your sleep.

ᯓ 𐙚 thank you for reading! this is my first fanfiction, english is not my first language, so i hope it’s not too bad and forgive any grammar mistakes.