airloria.

⤿ I'm lory! but you can call me....,

→ airloria !!! jst a girlie writing delusions for mainly myself..but sharing it to all tumblr,, (also go by hearts2hearts & hearts0hearts)

₊˚⊹ ᰔ blog is my little corner for reader insert fics (currently stuck in naruto hell…). heavy on the angst, obsession, and unhinged love. expect dark themes.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ topics may include mature, triggering, or downright deranged material. sensitive souls beware.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ read the warnings? well, welcome, my love. kick off your shoes & enjoy the madness. — blog does include nsfw so like i said, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ only

airloria writes. . .ᝰ.ᐟ

۶ৎ˙⋆ x reader fics (fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, and all that tasty yummy stuff),, headcanons, drabbles, and oneshots,, NSFW content (18+ only, MDNI!),, naruto men & women

airloria doesn’t write. . .ᝰ.ᐟ

۶ৎ˙⋆ incest, problematic age gaps, anything that makes me uncomfy or crosses boundaries

˗ˏˋ airloria’s requests are... OPEN!! ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ send an ask or drop a lil anon message~ thirsts, scenarios, fluff, or just unhinged rambles — all are welcome

rules for requesting . . .....

＞ be clear with what you want (character, sfw/nsfw, fluff/angst, etc.)

＞ nsfw requests must state the reader is 18+

＞ I don’t do OC x canon atm (will change in future)

＞ be specific with your request

＞ if my inbox gets full, I’ll temporarily close requests — but I’ll always post an update!

airloria’s masterlist is coming soon ~ stay tuned ♡ ~ A03

੭୧ ƒeaturing ; Obito Uchiha, Itachi Uchiha & Sasuke Uchiha ੭୧ ʈrigger ; mdni, fem!reader for all, mind control, dubcon, noncon, genjutsu sex, forced sex, manipulation, power imbalance, overstimulation, brat x brat tamer themes (sasukes portion), creampie, dirty talk ੭୧ ⴖote ; idea came to me when I was watching some itachi clips was like.. okay wait but what if they fcked u ina genjutsu....

You can't say no in a Genjutsu.

Obito Uchiha ; tone: obsessive, darkly romantic, gaslighty, delusional love. dick riding!! begging, minor degradation, praise kink➛ reader not aware she's in a genjutsu, hates obito's guts sm, obito being very delusional here,, short read. around ➛ 760 words

You hadn’t seen him in years. Not since the war. Not since the world insisted he was dead.

 Not since you buried the memory of a boy you used to love, kind, loud, stupid Obito.

And yet here he was, standing at the edge of Konoha, draped in black and malice, the air around him wrong, twisted. He looked like death itself, and you hated him.

“You’re disgusting,” you seethed. “You betrayed everyone. You betrayed Kakashi, Rin, ME!”

 Your fists clenched. You didn’t care if he killed you. You wanted him to know. “You don’t get to return here and pretend you didn’t ruin everything.”

Obito didn’t flinch. His single eye, red with Sharingan, dragged over your body like a hand.

 “You’ve changed,” he murmured. “But not really. Still so full of fire. So full of hate.”

You spat at his feet. “Good. I hope it burns through you.”

A slow, cruel smile curled his lips. “It does,” he said quietly. “But not the way you think.”

You froze. Something in his voice…low, reverent, obsessed. Made your skin crawl.

“I think about you more than I should,” he continued. “The way you used to smile at me. The way you cried when you're angry. You looked at me like I was real.”

 He stepped closer. “And now? You stare into my eyes with pure hatred. It drives me insane.”

You staggered back, sweat forming in your palms. “Don’t come near me…”

“I love it,” he said.

“What…?”

“That fury in your voice. The way your eyes blaze when you talk about me. Do you realise how beautiful you are when you hate me?” He breathed in, like the very scent of you was intoxicating. “You never looked at me like that before.”

Your eyes burned into his. “I hate you.”

Obito’s lips curled.

“Do you?”

And then-

everything twisted.

Your breath hitched. The world softened, blurred, like slipping into warm water. You didn’t notice the change. You didn’t feel the snare. One moment you were spitting venom, and the next, you were pressing your body against him, lips trembling, pupils wide with adoration.

“Obito…” you whispered, voice dripping need. “Touch me… please…”

You were shaking, needy, clutching at his chest with a pathetic whimper, hips shifting against his thigh.

He hummed low in his throat, eyes glowing red with delight. “What happened to all that fire?” he teased, cupping your jaw. You leaned into the touch with a breathless moan, eyes fluttering. “You hate me, remember?”

You blinked up at him, dazed, wet between the thighs. “N-No… I didn’t mean it… I never… I just…” You choked on your own words. “I need you, Obito.”

He chuckled, cruel and victorious. “That’s better.”

He stripped you slowly, like you were something precious, eyes devouring every inch of your exposed skin. You didn’t resist. You wanted it, craved it, mind blissfully blank but for him. He laid you down, a single hand stroked teasingly between your thighs, and you gasped, hips bucking to welcome more.

"You have no idea how much I waited for this," he whispered, dragging his cock against your folds. “Begging. Dripping. Fuckin' perfect.”

Your fingers trembled on his arms. “Please…” you breathed. “Please give it to me…”

He didn’t thrust, not yet. He held himself at your entrance, thick and heavy, making you writhe. Then he gave you that low, sinful command;

“Go on. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

You moaned, helpless. Your hips rocked forward, sinking yourself down on him inch by inch, your eyes rolling back from the stretch, the fullness. You gasped, your body taking him in like it had been starved.

“Thaaat’s it,” he groaned. “Fuck, riide me like a good girl.”

You moved without thought, fucking yourself on him like he told you to, every bounce slick and desperate, your cries echoing in the room.

“Such a good girl. Making me feel this good,” he grunted, fucking up into you now, slow and deep, his hands bruising your hips. “Fuck, look at you.”

You couldn’t speak, could barely think. Just his name, over and over, tumbling from your lips in little sobs of pleasure. 

obito, 

Obito, 

OBITO.

He pulled you flush against him, panting into your neck, voice ragged.

“You have no idea how long I’ve thought about having you like this.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your orgasm slammed through you with a blinding rush, your cunt pulsing around him, milking him until he groaned and came with a snarl, burying it deep inside.

You collapsed against him, breathing hard. Drooling, twitching. 

Itachi Uchiha ; tone : Forbidden longing, guilt, soft!dom itachi blowjob, deepthroat, tears of joy, oral (itachi receiving) > reader semi aware she's in a genjutsu, has no idea who itachi is,, itachi stalked her in the past, medium read. around > 990 words

You don’t see him at first. Peacefully asleep, you breathe softly, with thin covers wrapped around your body. Konoha is quiet at this hour. But he stands in your room, covered in shadows. Debating. Thoughts of fulfilling something he shouldn't want to desire.

He watches you.

Itachi Uchiha.

You’re so peaceful. Too pure.

He shouldn’t be here. He tells himself that every time. And still, he comes.

With gloved fingers, he reaches out and lightly touches your cheek. You shift under the blankets, lips parting in a quiet sigh. His other hand slips beneath your jaw, lifting your face gently, tipping it toward him, so your sleeping eyes can open to meet his.

And they do.

Bleary. Confused. Frightened.

 You don’t recognise him. You stare.

“W-Who...?”

The Mangekyo Sharingan burns to life in his eyes, three whorls spinning into a red eclipse, glimmering in the dark. A slow breath, and then;

Tsukuyomi.

Time fractures. Colour drains. You blink awake into a dream that doesn’t feel like a dream.

You’re kneeling in a world that isn’t your room, somewhere endless, blood red and black, soft fog under your knees. Everything’s quiet, except for a heartbeat that might be yours. It feels real. It feels warm. Your body tingles.

Then he appears in front of you.

Itachi. Uchiha.

You gasp, heart catching, eyes wide, drawn to him the way a moth dives into flame.

He says nothing at first. Just stands before you, his face unreadable, his eyes glowing with power and... something darker. Something aching.

And then he speaks, voice low, heavy with guilt and hunger.

“I shouldn't want this. I shouldn't want you.”

Something’s wrong. Your pupils are blown wide, dazed, lips parted

Or maybe everything’s finally right.

It feels like a dream, the kind you never want to wake from. The air is thick, humming with tension. His presence coils around you like smoke-into your lungs, your veins, straight into your skin.  

Your eyes drop.

You don’t mean to. You just do.

And what you see?

God.

Still clothed, but the outline is unmistakable.

He’s hard.

Thick. Heavy. Straining beneath the fabric, pressing against it, bold and unapologetic. Your stomach tightens. Saliva pools at your tongue. Your thighs twitch.

 You can’t think. Can’t breathe.

Your hands move before your brain can catch up, needy, trembling, reaching for his waistband like it’s the only thing that matters. You sink to your knees, a reverent motion, like worship.

Your fingers fumble at the fabric, stripping it down. Exposing him.

And when he springs free, thick and flushed and perfect, your breath stutters.

Your lips part.

Drool slides slowly from the corner of your mouth.

Eyes glassy, dreamy, heart-shaped. You stare like he’s something divine.

A soft sound escapes you, a breathy, helpless sigh.

He tilts his head, watching you unravel. One hand tangles in your hair, firm, possessive, gentle, as that insatiable hunger burns behind his eyes. “But you want this, don't you?” he whispers, moving even closer, his cock just inches from your lips. “I can see it. It’s apparent in your eyes. You desire me.”

You don’t answer.

You don’t need to.

Your body answers for you, the way you lean in, the way your hands tremble as they grip his thighs, the tears already welling in your lashes from sheer desperation alone.

He cups the back of your head, thumb brushing your cheek with a gentleness that borders on cruel.

“Then take me. All of me.”

Your tongue flicks out first, curious, trembling, tracing a slow, wet circle around his tip. The taste of him hits you, musky and rich, and your lashes flutter. Your lips part wider, taking him in, inch by inch, until your mouth is full.

“Good girl...” he groans, jaw tight. “Keep going. Just like that.”

Your throat strains, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as you push yourself deeper. Girl. He’s thick too, much, and yet you crave it. Your hands rest on his thighs, gripping tightly, needing to steady yourself. He holds your head still with one hand, forcing, controlling, guiding you, steady, slow.

His breath shudders.

“You look so perfect like this. Fuck…your mouth was made for me..”

You moan softly around him, your cheeks wet now, not from pain, but from overwhelming heat and joy. You don’t understand why, but you feel happy. High on him. Euphoric.

He twitches in your mouth.

“I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

But his hips roll forward anyway, deeper, slower, until your nose brushes against his skin, your throat tight around his length. He curses under his breath, head falling back as he groans.

“You’re going to take all of it. Take me in. Let me ruin that pretty little mouth.”

You try. Gods, you try. Tears streak down your face as you gag lightly, and he coos low, thumb brushing under your teary eye.

“Happy tears? Hn… you like it this much?”

You nod again, eyes half-lidded, drunk on the taste, the pressure, the way he praises you. He moves again, gentle at first, then faster. Sloppier. His control slips with each stroke of your tongue, each soft moan you let out.

“Fuck... m' gonna cum. You want it?”

You hum your answer around him, needy and wordless, and that’s all it takes.

He groans, deep and broken, and then he spills into your mouth, hot, thick, filling your throat until you swallow around it greedily. He keeps you there, hands trembling, panting above you.

You smile, mouth messy, eyes starry, still on your knees like a willing, ruined little offering.

He stares down at you, dazed, guilt and hunger tangled in his chest.

“Even in illusion... you’re everything I want.”

But when the dream fades and your real body stirs in bed, none of it remembered clearly, Itachi is already gone.

He stands once more in the shadows of your room, looking down at you.

And he whispers to no one but himself;

“Forgive me.”

Sasuke Uchiha ; tone : angry obsession, possessive control, rough sex, fingering, oral fixation, orgasm control, spanking, overstimulation, brat taming ➛ reader is fully aware she's in a genjutsu, reader tried setting up sasuke to d!e,, they dislike each other. long read ➛ 960 words

You knew Sasuke would find out eventually. You just hoped you'd be far away when he did.

Too bad.

He finds you first.

The forest is silent when he appears, like the trees themselves are holding their breath. He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t run. Just stands there, watching you like a predator. Sharingan activated.

You’ve seen that look before, on the battlefield, right before he cuts someone down.

“Sasuke,” you say, slow, cautious. “Listen, I didn’t-”

“You told them where I was,” he says flatly.

You flinch.

“It wasn’t like that....”

“No?” He takes a step closer. “You told the anbu to check the border. They would’ve ambushed me. If I hadn’t sensed it first, I’d be dead.”

“It wasn’t a hit!” you snap. “I was trying to get you help! You were going after him alone again and-!”

“And you went behind my back.”

You go quiet.

He closes the distance in three slow, heavy steps.

“You lied to me.”

“I-”

“I trusted you.”

He stops an inch from your face. Eyes hard. Jaw tight. You expect him to yell, to shove you, to curse.

Instead?

Everything flickers.

You blink, and suddenly the forest’s light shifts. The breeze dies. The birds vanish. Your knees give out, and you fall, weightless, into the illusion.

Genjutsu.

You try to speak, but your throat won’t move.

Try to fight, but your limbs are frozen.

And then Sasuke’s voice: low, cold, but dripping with restrained fury.

“You want to be stupid? You want to act like a brat?” he says. “Fine. Let’s see how far that gets you.”

Your mouth opens, but he’s behind you before you can think. His hand wraps around your throat, not tight, just possessive, and your back slams into his chest.

“You disobeyed me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “You thought you could lie, manipulate, play innocent.”

You grit your teeth. “Maybe I got tired of you pretending like you’re the only one who knows what’s best.”

He laughs, quiet and dangerous. “So you wanted me to do this.”

His hand slides down your front. Over your chest, your stomach, between your thighs.

Everything feels too real. His fingers stroke through your heat, lazy and confident.

“You’re soaked,” he says darkly. “Did betraying me get you off?”

You moan before you can stop yourself. “Fuck...you..”

“Already planning to.”

He sinks two fingers into you with zero warning, knuckle deep, rough, curling slowly. Your back arches. His other arm wraps around your waist, holding you steady as he fucks you with his hand, each thrust deliberate.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he breathes. “To push me until I snapped.”

You writhe in his hold, gasping, but he doesn’t let up. He drags his fingers out slowly, then slams them back in, curling deep. Again. And again. Until your thighs are trembling and your knees nearly give out.

“Say it,” he hisses. “Say you wanted this.”

“F-fuck you.”

His fingers vanish.

You gasp, empty and desperate, and then-

He forces you down.

Face against moss. Ass up. Trapped in the illusion.

Sasuke crouches behind you, one hand braced on your lower back, the other returning between your thighs.

You hear him spit, wet, crude, and then he’s fucking you again with his fingers, faster now, harsher, two… then three.

You choke on a moan.

“You’re not sorry,” he says, voice sharp. “Not yet.”

“I’m not your fucking property, Sasuke-!”

He slaps your ass.

You yelp.

“You are mine. You don’t get to decide that anymore.”

He leans down, tongue dragging along the curve of your spine. “You don’t lie to me. You don’t betray me. And you sure as hell don’t get off on pretending you’re in control.”

He twists his fingers just right, and your entire body shudders. The pleasure’s white hot, blinding.

“You gonna come?” he whispers. “Right here, like a good little slut?”

You bite your lip.

And still, you come. Hard. Loud. Dripping. Your muscles seize, thighs shaking, and you scream his name, humiliated by how much you want him.

He pulls out, flicks his fingers once.

You can’t see it, but you know he’s tasting you.

“Sweet,” he murmurs. “Almost makes up for your attitude.”

Your heart’s still pounding when you feel him behind you again, this time with his cock pressed to your entrance.

He pushes in slowly.

Agonisingly slow.

Until he bottoms out with a low groan, and stays there.

“You like being filled up?” he taunts, hips flush against yours. “Like being owned?”

“Y...You’re d-delusional...” you whisper, even though you’re already clenching around him.

“Fucking say it,” he snarls. “Say you’re mine.”

You stay silent.

So he starts fucking you.

Hard. Punishing. Brutal.

Each thrust pushes you forward on the moss, and your arms give out entirely. He grabs your wrists, pulls them behind your back, and slams into you again, faster now. Deeper.

“You don’t get to lie to me,” he pants, voice ragged. “Never again.”

Your body is shaking. Wrecked. Your pussy squelches with every thrust, dripping around him, squeezing him so tight it drives him mad.

“Say it,” he growls.

“N-NO!”

He bites your shoulder.

“I own you.”

“F...FUCK..!”

He pulls you up by the hair, slams into you so deep your breath catches, and then you break.

You scream his name again. Come around him again. And he follows with a groan, spilling inside you with a final, vicious thrust.

When you blink, the forest shifts again.

Reality returns.

You’re on your knees, panting, soaked. Sasuke stands in front of you, eyes blank, arms crossed.

He’s calm again.

Dead calm.

“You learned your lesson?” he asks quietly.

You meet his eyes.

Spit the blood from your bitten lip.

And smirk.

“Not even close.”

Summary ; you met a boy in a mask who tripped over nothing, called you pretty, and asked about dango. now you sleep in a house you didn’t choose

TW ; obito is uhm not well. heavy 'normal' yandere behavior/themes, obsession, stalking, captivity, emotional manipulation, implied murder, dissociation???, forced romantic affection, obito putting the reader into a genjutsu at end

A/N ; fem!reader ,, totally will make a masterlist soon ,, srry if the dividers r ugly i made them :') this been stuck in drafts for a week lol

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; was just a stranger with a mask. loud, silly, and weird, standing behind you in line for dango. he tripped over nothing, pointed to the menu upside down, and chirped,

"Hii hi~!! Tobi’s never been here before!!! What do you think I should try, pretty lady?~"

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; became a familiar shadow. always showing up at the market, humming your name, insisting on carrying your basket like it was sacred. he'd grin behind the mask and ask,

"Still love red bean mochi the most, huh?~ Tobi remembers everything about you~"

you...never told him that.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; coincidentally passed your house daily. showed up when you were out watering plants. "Ah~, how funny!! we see eachother again!!~" he’d say….too many times.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; called them dango dates. you thought they were just snacks with a friend. he’d spin in circles when you agreed to go. didn’t even eat half the time. just stared behind the mask.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; laughed loudly. always acted clumsy. but one night you said,

“Oh tobi~, you’re such a good friend!~”

'friend'

and he went very quiet.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!obito ; followed you when you left the village late. silent in the trees. no mask. watching to ensure no one else touched what he'd started to consider his.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!obito ; stood over you while you slept. didn’t mean to. just... wanted to be closer. moonlight on your face, breathing slow, fingers curled in your blanket.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!obito ; stole little things. your hair tie. your teacup. a page from your journal. you thought you were forgetful. he thought they belonged with him now.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!obito ; kept a shrine in the dark. old photos, some with his face blurred in windows, some taken while you laughed, unaware. your scarf folded neatly beside them.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; started asking you strange questions.

"Would you still like me if I wasn’t so silly?"

you laughed. said "of course!"

he didn’t.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; one day didn’t dance. didn’t laugh. didn’t say a thing when you teased him.

you blinked, confused.

"Tobi?"

his head tilted slowly. deeper voice...,

"Don’t call me that."

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; was quiet the whole walk home. too quiet. until he suddenly spun around and threw his hands in the air like nothing happened.

"Ahaha~! Tobi’s just being dramatic! Silly Tobi!"

...but you noticed his hands shaking.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; got sweeter after that. clingier. more romantic. he picked you flowers and called them your "love offerings."

"Because pretty girls deserve pretty things!!!~"

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; brushed your hair out of your eyes. said you looked like a dream. his fingertips lingered too long on your cheek.

"You like when I touch you... don’t you?"

you didn’t answer. he smiled like you did.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; held your hips when helping you down from a ledge. soft. reverent. like he’d break if he let go.

"You fit right in my hands…"

he whispered it like a prayer.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; called you his angel. his doll. his pretty thang. painted your name in the dirt like a child and danced around it. whispered that you were safest with him, only him.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!obito ; was starting to bleed through. you saw him once. in the woods. no mask. just that red eye burning through the trees. gone when you blinked.

you told Tobi.

he said;

“Oooh, spooky~! Tobi will protect you from ghosts!”

but he was shaking.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; asked if he could show you something. took your hand, slow and serious. led you into the forest behind your home.

"Close your eyes~! No peeking!"

you didn’t.

he wanted you to see it.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!obito ; had built a shrine. candles. photos. scraps of your handwriting. your scarf folded with care. your name written a hundred times in the dirt.

"Tobi made this… for you. But Tobi’s not real."

his mask tilted.

"You know who I am now, don’t you?"

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!obito ; carved a space for you in his world. soft sheets. warm tea. silence. you never saw the outside again. but inside, he made it so perfect, it was hard to remember what you were missing.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!tobi ; once sang you a lullaby soaked in blood. his gloves were wet. he held your face like a doll. “They looked at you. But don’t worry~ Tobi fixed it~”

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!obito ; told you, "The world doesn’t deserve you." and he meant it. believed it. that’s why he stole you away. why he made sure no one could find you. no one ever will.

you asked him once,

"why me?" voice small, fragile. "why me, obito?" he stared for a long time. like the question wounded him. "because you looked at me like i was worth saving," he whispered. "You smiled like you'd never seen the monster. you made me feel…real." he said it like a confession, like a sin. "i had to have you before the world ruined it."

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!obito ; heard you say you just wanted to be normal. wanted to go home. to work and laugh and feel the sun. he shook his head. gripped your hands too tightly. "normal is cruel," he murmured. "normal forgets. ignores. breaks people like us." his voice cracked when he said us. like he couldn’t bear the thought of you not being his.

₍ა ≧ ꕀ ≦ ૮₎ yandere!obito ; kissed your knuckles. held them to his face. said you were the only good thing that ever touched him. "you don’t see it yet," he said, eyes glowing. "but this… this is love without limit. this is forever." and when you cried, he smiled softly. "one day, you’ll thank me." and thus

one day, you said it.

quiet. half broken.

"i ...i think i love you."

and he froze.

Tobi would’ve jumped. danced. clapped.

but Obito?

he leaned in. voice heavy. low.

"Who?"

you looked into the glowing eye.

you saw the truth.

you whispered:

"you...the real you.."

he exhaled. touched your face like it was glass.

"Say it again."

and when you did-

"i…l..love…y...you.."

he kissed your forehead like it was the final piece of a puzzle, finally snapping into place.

"Good girl. You're mine now."

now, you live in a dream.

a fantasy.

a genjutsu. . .

because there’s no one else. just him.

𖧁୧ ꪗ𝑜u 𝑓ᧉᧉ𐑚 liᴋꫀ ℋ𝒪Mℰ ˎˊ˗

Pairing ; Itachi x fem!Half-Uchiha!Reader (Soulmate AU)

Summary ; you’ve lived your whole life in the quiet woods, the half-uchiha daughter of a mother who ran from a past you never knew. one night, a bleeding man collapses outside your cabin, and when you touch him, something in your soul shifts. you don’t know his name yet, but he feels like yours.

TW ; blood/injury (non-graphic but described), emotional vulnerability/grief, light angst, themes of loneliness and trauma,, light fluff at the end ofc

A/N ; thank u for requesting ꒰ @itsao-mine !!ヾ(๑╹◡<)ﾉ" ꒱ i love soulmate au's sm istg its so cute aaaaa,,

Words ; 4.1k

A few embers glowed on the hearth. In your little cabin, they cast long, carelessly wavering shadows. You tucked your knees into a curling posture very nicely. Set your chin upon it while staring into the flames, as if it revealed all those secrets or answered the few questions that you ventured out with. The woods remained quiet as usual. A stillness that had grown over the years and became part of your life, something you became accustomed to. Or so you thought.

In truth, you were pressed into a second skin by loneliness.

Your fingers played mindlessly along the edge of the old blanket that hung over you, the frays at the edges reminding you of the memories it carried. Your mother's blanket. She was the one who took you into this wood long before you could walk. Fleeing from a life into a village you had only known through her bitter, nostalgic tales, a place called Konoha. Once, she'd loved someone there. A man with dark eyes and a heavy name, a man too good to leave his duty behind even for her. And so, with you growing in her belly, she'd left instead.

The cabin had been built by her hands, worn but sturdy. Teachings of all the things you knew, to patch a roof, to grow herbs, to read the stars she had given you. And when she grew sick, too sick for both of you to understand, you sat by her bed, holding hands as she faded like smoke on the wind. 

You shifted closer to the fire, looking for warmth, that hardly remembered the hollow cold in your chest. Beyond the tree line, a storm was brewing, the earth felt tense and low, the wind whistled sharply against the walls of the cabin. Deep, gnawing restlessness twisted and clawed within your bones. 

You weren't sure how long you sat there in the old blanket half gone everywhere in space where memories pulled, but then, the snap.

Crack. 

You snapped upright. Your heart hammered, and you froze, listening. The forest, usually so careful and quiet, seemed to hold its breath. Another sound drifted to your ears. A slow, wretched drag of footsteps; something or someone was moving with unsteady effort through the trees. 

You rose to your feet before you could think, blanket slipping from your shoulders to a puddle forgotten on the floor. A cold certainty settled into your gut.

Someone was out there…

And they were hurt.

The cold air clawed against your skin in a rush as you blew out, mist rising just above the forest floor. You paused on the porch, standing like a statue for a heartbeat under the heavy night, and then launched yourself into the trees. Instinct was stronger than consciousness; a deeper-than-thought pull seemed to guide your every footfall toward that noise you had caught on the wind. 

He lay a short distance from the cabin, crumpled among the roots of an ancient cedar. 

A man.

Your breath caught in your throat. Sprawled across the floor with one arm tucked beneath him, his body alarmingly pale, ribbons of moonlight cut across him, revealing torn clothes as blood seeped out through the fabric, skin ghostly white beneath streaks of dirt and crimson. Dropped to your knees beside him, hovering your hands for a frantic second before daring to touch.

His wrist was slick with blood, but you pressed your fingers there, searching for a pulse,

please, please, please-

It struck you like lightning. The very moment your skin met with his, a sharp, undeniable pull from some deep place inside you snapped into place, like two halves of the same soul finding each other in the dark.

He groaned faintly, a weak sound that jolted you back into motion. ‘Focus.’ You swallowed hard. ‘Focus. Help him now.’  Driven by some unnamed pull, more like fate than choice, you hooked your arms under his, gritting your teeth as you drag him up with all the strength you could muster. He is heavier than he looks, his body limp against yours, every few steps feeling like an impossible battle. Still, you refused to let go. Not when something inside you screamed that he needed you.

Somehow, using sheer will and the whisper of a promise deep into your bones, you got him inside and kicked the door shut behind you with your foot.

You haul him onto the bed, your bed, and lay him as gently as you can. His breathing is unsteady. Every shallow rise and fall of his chest. You kneel at his bedside, brushing aside the strands hanging across his forehead. "please…" you whisper, the voice cracking under its weight, "d-don't die." The fire crackles on, unseen, as you turn toward your supplies, ready to fight fate with everything you had.

Time was now a blurring, quiet rhythm, tending, watching, and waiting. He slept most of the time, having been far too shattered as a human body could be. There were deep wounds, a gash crudely stitched across his torso, bruises blossoming dark over his bones. You have tried your best cleaning and bandaging with trembling fingers, whispering soft apologies once in a while when he flinched. 

You didn't talk to him much at first, just used words to fill the silence, an anxious hum of words with him. You would tell him about the weather, the stories your mother used to tell you, all of those little nothings just to keep the crushing loneliness at bay. But at some point, it turned around. Those words turned into something else hopes, offerings, confessions never spoken before. 

Sometimes he would twitch in sleep, and his hand would brush across two fingers in reaching out instinctively, the way a person would do to find something. Someone.

At other times when you leaned in to check his temperature, he would calm his breathing, and the tension on his brow would give in to the proximity of your presence, as if he were much better soothed by such medicine than actual medicinal treatment. Now, every time, you hated the reaction of your heart. He pondered while pacing the cabin with empty fists, ruminating over how much guilt was gnawing at him inside. It was illogical. It wasn't rational. It wasn't secure. But when you sat by his bedside at night, drawn back again and again despite yourself, you would look at him, so still, so battered by a world you didn't know, and the ache inside you would whisper: "I can't let him go." It was on that fifth night when everything changed. The fire had burned low, and you sat in the battered chair drawn up closer to the poor little bed with arms around your knees, half dozing, half listening to the soft sound of his breathing.

Then a shift slight enough to snap your eyes wide open. You raised your head just as he was doing. His eyelids, heavy but finally at long last opening fully dark, unfathomable eyes found you across the scant distance, pinning you there, sharp, piercing, and terrifyingly clear. Like he knew you. Like he had always known you. You forgot how to breathe. The world outside the cabin might as well have ceased to exist. Only him. Only you. Only the invisible thread between you, pulled taut, unbreakable.

Next couple of Days were strange. Mostly, you found him sleeping, his body broken and breathing weak. He stirred sometimes, between dream and fever dream. You tended over him, as patient as you had once been with your mother long ago, hands gentler than you knew you could be. 

You had never known his name. Did not know what battle had torn him up or lost him to. Did not know if he was dangerous.

And that terrified you.

Even now, your brain whispered caution against the impulse of your soul...

At night, you found yourself next to the bed, curled with your knees against your chest in the chair, very close to the fire. You had told yourself it was just keeping watch, but you would not even dare to continue believing that lie. 

There were moments, little things chipping away at your fear.

Sometimes his fingers would twitch in sleep. slow, reaching, even just the two faintly curling toward the edge of the mattress, toward your hand. As though he had been trying to touch something that wasn't there. 

His breathing changed whenever you came here to visit him when he was not sleeping. 

His eyes, as dark as midnight and unreadable, were wide open. Watching. 

The breath caught in your throat.

Now, with his silence compelling him, he stood still. Without words. He didn't have to, not with those eyes that followed every breath you took, every tremble in your fingers as you clutched there the wooden bowl you'd brought for him. You would think there would be a threat, a question, violence perhaps. Instead... silence. As if he listened for something more important than words. Like your heartbeat alone had told him what he needed to know.

Setting the bowl down, you took a step back, unsure. This man, whoever he was, had bled out on your floor just a few days ago. Skin too pale, frame all too weak. There was power in him; you felt it with every breath. But you could not dread him. Not really. Not with the knowledge that he looked at you as if he had known you from somewhere beyond this world.

Those days that came afterwards saw that silence shared between you shrivel into something even more significant, not awkward, but gravitas.

He spoke hardly and mostly,

"Thank you."

In a gentle, attuned raspy voice. Low murmurs escaped his lips, swallowed by pain. But somehow, what the eyes said was enough for their mouths not to sell anything short.

You fed him whenever his hands trembled too much. Without a single word of objection. Cleaned up the blood on his hands and dressed the wound, her hands steady despite the tightening in her chest every time her fingers brushed against his skin. Long after, a dull heat remained, pulsing low and confused in the tummy.

At times, he caught you enthralled by him. Not out of suspicion. Just in confirmation. As you were feeling it, too. Such burning sensations when his fingers touched yours. The breath hitched in your throat when your knees bumped against him while you were reaching to set the bed. His breath… calming. You swore you felt his heart skip a beat in your proximity. It was even worse when you sometimes couldn't stand the wild thumping of your own heartbeats. Because it would start racing each time he was around. Yet you did not know him. There were reasons for you to be afraid of him. It was only too evident he could crush you if he wanted to. But he didn't. 

He listened when you spoke, mostly soft things, idle observations about the trees or the rain, sometimes quiet truths that clung to the air too long after. But more than your words, he gave you something deeper. Silence that didn’t suffocate. Trust, in its rawest, quietest form. Some nights, you’d curl up near his bedside, arms hugging your knees, the firelight casting rippling shadows across his still frame. Even in sleep, his chakra stirred, powerful, yes, but… gentle. It brushed against yours with a strange familiarity, like two songs in the same key. Resonant. Familiar. Like a memory.

And it made you think of your father.

The way your chakra never quite fit the woods, the way your mother’s did. The way she always avoided questions about your bloodline, about why your eyes flickered dark sometimes, just on the edge of red. She said it was nothing. Just fatigue. Just nerves. But the old scrolls said otherwise. The fading Uchiha crest was tucked beneath broken seals and forgotten things. The name you didn’t carry, but still wore like a shadow.

You felt it in the pause between his breaths when you steadied your chakra with one hand, felt it in the weight of his stare when you leaned too close in the dim glow. He said nothing, not at first. But that night, when your fingers brushed while passing him a cup of water, he spoke.

“Where did you learn to control your chakra like that?”

You hesitated, eyes flicking to your hands as if they might answer for you. “My mother taught me the basics,” you murmured. “But the rest… I don’t know. It just felt right. Like something I already knew.”

He didn’t look away. Even bandaged and half lit by the fire, his gaze was cutting, quiet, but precise. “That’s not something you learn. That’s instinct.”

You didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched between you, gentle but heavy. Eventually, you said something, like you wanted to tell him this: “I’ve…heard stories about people who could see through illusions. Who could trap you in their gaze..? About a village hidden in the leaves, and a clan whose eyes turned red like fire when they were pushed too far…”

His eyes stayed on you, unreadable. “And you believe those stories?”

You exhaled, softer now. “I don’t know,” you said again, quieter this time. Silence came again. This time longer. You decided to break through once again, feeling something urging you to speak, “...when I sleep, I see things I can’t explain.”

He didn’t interrupt.

You folded your hands in your lap, voice like breath against the firelight. “Crows. A sky full of them, circling overhead. Red clouds, too. And a voice I’ve never heard in my waking life... calling my name like it’s always known it.”

There was a pause. Not of disbelief, but of recognition. Of something unsaid pressing between you both.

Neither of you said your names. Neither asked the other to.

But something in the way he looked at you… said he’d heard that voice, too.

Outside that night, the wind howled long and mournfully. Cold and sharp as though the world beyond the trees had claws and teeth. You were curled in the old chair by the fire, blanket about your shoulders, your eyes shut but your mind spinning.

He looked at you. His breath caught in his throat before he turned to look at the ceiling. He stared long, debating within himself, before the words slipped from him, low and fragile,

"You feel like home."

You didn't move. Not even a breath escaped you. But your heart, traitorous, aching thing, rose in your chest, and for the first time in years... you didn't feel like you were alone.

There are now moments, small, glittering moments, when it felt like time had stopped.

The cabin belongs to someone other than you. Where the wind outside softens, the silence between breaths becomes less than the ache.

He was casting glances in your direction. Propped against the pillows now, colour was gradually returning to his face, though movement still seemed stiff. You had adjusted his bandages and tucked the blankets around his shoulders, receiving a soft,

"Thank you," in return.

And when your hands brushed against each other, for longer this time, he did not withdraw.

And neither did you. 

You should have felt happy, relieved that he was healing, that with every breath, he could remain alive even further away from death. But your chest went heavier with each passing day. Because with every step he took toward recovery, he stepped an inch closer to departure. 

Departure? Then you are left alone. 

Completely. 

You had spent most of your life in silence, a hollow, echoing quiet. You had made yourself believe that you did not need anyone; that you were alright, alone, and that it was safer. 

He shattered that illusion just by existing. 

Somehow, he had pried open something deep within you: something long slumbering and in pain. When you fed him, there was another feeding deep inside you, an appetite so deep you had not even known it carried a name; something more gratifying than dinner, the evenings spent sitting up with him, absorbing the sound of the wood splitting in the warmth of the fireplace, with a feeling of completeness that never before existed. Not even in those days when your mother was still alive. 

He filled up all the dark places in your heart. Completed it. Matched the shape of your craving.

And now, having felt it, the warmth, the rightness, the thought of losing it again became intolerable. That night, when the moon rose silver and cold above the trees, you stepped outside without saying anything. You didn’t want him to see you like this, breaking. You sat on the old bench just beyond the porch, knees drawn to your chest. The forest swayed gently, peacefully, but your chest was burning. The tears came before you could prepare for them, soft, but then heavier and harder-not just sorrow but grief-for something you hadn’t even lost yet. “I don’t want to be alone again,” you whispered into your palms. “Not after this. Not after him.” Footsteps. You went still, wiped your cheeks fast, but it was too late. He was standing there, not close, not too far away. Dressed in one of your cloaks, still pale but strong enough. His eyes softened when they met yours, and for a moment, he just stood there. Then he stepped closer. You turned away, ashamed of your tears. "Sorry," you whispered. "I just needed air." He didn't answer. He sat beside you instead, slow, careful, and silent. A long beat passed, the atmosphere weighed down with all the things left unsaid. "I know you'll leave," you said finally, with a cracking voice. "You'll heal, and then you'll be gone. And I will go back to being no one. Alone in a house that was only warm when you were in it." His breath hitched quietly.

Your arms wrapped around yourself. "I don't even know you! Not really… But when I touched you, when I brought you in...I felt something. Like...something in me woke up, and now it won't stop hurting." 

You wiped away another tear, your voice growing raspy. "Why the hell does it hurt so much? I don't even know who you are!!!" 

You turned to face him, really turned, finally seeing his eyes through all the blur. "I just don't want you to go…" you said softly. "It’s- It's selfish! But I don’t want to lose the only person who has ever made me feel like I'm not...half of something." 

Itachi's eyes were no longer cold.

"I feel it too," he said softly. "From the very beginning." 

Your breath caught. 

"When you touched me...I felt ‘it’. It was like I had been looking for something without knowing it, and you were that. The pull...it's real."

He stared at his hands. "I didn't know what it was. I thought maybe it was just a product of pain. Or fever. Or something." 

He hesitated for a moment, then dropped his voice to a whisper. "I've done ‘things’. Things that can't be undone. I walked through blood, through shadows. I never thought...I never thought I could be allowed something like this." 

Then his eyes rose to meet yours again, slowly, searching, waiting.

"If I told you about the darkness inside of me… would you still look at me like I’m the Sun?"

Your heart cracked, soft and loud all at once.

And even though your hand trembled as you reached for him, you didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t flinch.

You placed your fingers over his heart, still tears clinging to your lashes. 

"I think I now understand...you were never meant to be alone," you whispered. "Neither was I." 

And for the first time since either of you could remember... the ache in your soul finally subsided. 

The night held its peace once again, and yet it did not feel empty. 

Seated beside him, knees almost touching, hands close but not touching. The forest surrounding the cabin was whispering as it always did.

Then his hand moved. 

Slowly, almost deliberately, and barely holding steady, it traversed the space between you. His fingers linked with yours, and just then, both of you inhaled as if this had been the first breath either had ever taken. 

His palm was so warm on yours,. It was rough yet gentle, and something deeper was moved, something primitive, something fiery with life just beneath the skin.

A mild warmth appeared where your hands touched. Light, soft, and silver, like the ghost of moonlight drifting through fog, slipped through your linked fingers. You gasped lightly, and his grip on your hand became stronger. 

Soulmate mark. 

Not a brand. Not a curse.

Older than either of you. 

Turning to him, for he was already looking, already combing your face as if he had been silently memorizing it. 

"I thought I had to die alone," he said softly, his voice cracking at the edges. "I thought that was the price of what I did in that this world...this bond...would never be mine." 

You could not breathe. 

"But if you're mine," he murmured, leading your hand gently to his chest, placing it over his heart, "I will live. For you." 

The dam within you cracked. 

You surged forward on instinct, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, and he pulled you close, not hesitating, not resisting, just holding you with a fierce need, as vehement as yours. His head fell to the crook of your neck, warm, tremulous breath tickling your skin. You didn't know who moved first, perhaps both of you, but lips met in the heart of that trembling emotion, a kiss gentle and slow. Soft.

Soft like healing. 

A kiss that tasted of survival. Of finally, finally not being alone.

His palm glided across the back of your head, as if holding on for dear life lest you be spirited away. Your hand quivered over his ribs, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart under your palm. Neither seemed to mind the fact that they were beginning to melt into each other as forests seem to hold their breath just for you.

Slight distance seemed to separate the two of you as just enough room was created to touch your foreheads together. His lashes fluttered down as he stole a glance at you, you felt heartbreakingly close. Quietly, you stole a glance at him as you whispered your question that had been living in you since the day he had fallen near your cabin.

"What is your name?"

A pause. Then he said it. 

"Itachi."

It echoed somewhere low and quiet, like a prayer, inside of you. It fitted. As if some part of you already knew. You cried as you smiled. Exhaling a breath,

 you said, 

"I'm (Y/N)."

He slightly parted his lips. His gaze grew soft, deeper, and more open than you had ever seen. He spoke the name as if he had known it all along. And maybe he had. Maybe souls veiled and whisked the name into each other long before the two bodies could meet. No need for last names. No need to bother with histories or bloodlines or questions. 

You just knew.

It was him. And it was you. That was enough. 

"I never thought," you began, your voice trembling, "that I would find something like this."

His fingers trailed down your spine, grounding you. "Neither did I."

You buried your face into his shoulder for a moment, you felt overwhelmed. There were still questions. There was still darkness to cross. For the present, it didn't matter. Not tonight. You and he sat on the bench wrapped around one another, stars blinking away quietly overhead. He was still healing. And you were still afraid. But under the hurt, something warm was now inside, living, rooting itself between your ribs. Hope.

Later, as you helped him back inside, arm slung around your shoulders, his warmth breathing the air at your temple, he leaned just slightly into you, like it was natural. Like he belonged there. You got him settled in your bed again, blankets tucked carefully around him, and as you stood to leave, his hand reached out and caught yours again. "Stay," he whispered. You nodded, and without a word, you slipped beneath the blanket beside him. You didn't touch at first- just laid there in the quiet dark, breaths syncing like a lullaby. Then his fingers found yours again. Brushed them, lingered, then threaded between them fully. "I don't know what happens now," you murmured. "Neither do I," he said, voice almost too quiet to hear. "But I want it to be with you." And just like that, the ache inside you softened again. “two souls are sometimes created together & in love before they’re even born” - f. scott fitzgerald

Summary; itachi never planned to stay, but your quiet kindness and soft domestic life became the one place he could breathe. Hiding from the world in your home, he folds your laundry, brushes your hair, and leaves quiet notes on the counter, he started loving you without even realising it.

A/N ; fem!reader ,, i luv itachi sm,, :< i made an itachi nsfw oneshot if anyone wants to read it here

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ itachi ; was only supposed to hide. one night. a quiet village. your house. but then he saw you, awkward and startled, clutching a kitchen knife with both hands. you had no idea who he was.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ itachi ; was calm when Kisame muttered "we should kill her". itachi didn’t even blink. just turned those sharingan eyes on you and said, "No. It'll be messy." he meant it tactically. but something in him already knew, he couldn’t.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ itachi ; came back weeks later. alone this time. stood outside your door until you opened it. no threats. no words. just him. and you...confused, but somehow... waiting.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ itachi ; didn’t ask to stay. he just… did. and you didn’t ask why. you made him tea. he washed the dishes. you put fresh sheets on the bed. he slept on the floor at first.

Now?

He sleeps with a hand resting over your hip.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; never actually asked you to be his partner. just sort of… 'was'. one night, as he tucked you in, he whispered,

"You're safe with me."

The softness in his voice said everything.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; listens to your stories like they’re ancient scrolls. you ramble about village gossip while hanging herbs in the window, and he nods silently, eyes half lidded, memorising every word like scripture.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; isn’t used to softness. But he accepts it in doses, your fingers brushing his bangs out of his face, the way you hum while cooking.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; looks like sin wrapped in silk, hair loose, sleeves rolled, black eyes half lidded as he reads by candlelight. he’s beautiful in a way that aches. He doesn’t know how to be loved. but he lets you try.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; sometimes disappears for days. You pretend not to worry. He always comes back. Bloody, tired, quiet. But he always comes back.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; when he thinks you’re asleep, he leans close. brushes his lips over your knuckles. whispers soft, broken things you were never meant to hear.

"If I'd met you sooner..."

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; never clarified it. but he started folding your laundry into his drawer. started brewing tea for two without asking.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; knew how to observe. knew how you like your eggs soft, how your plants needed re-potting, how your eyes got heavy before you admitted you were tired. he loved you in quiet rituals, not grand gestures.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; doesn’t do 'dates'. he does late night candlelit dinners on the floor. slow dances in the kitchen while rice steams. listening to you read aloud while his head rests in your lap. your life is the date.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; won’t say 'i love you' often. instead, you get-

"Wear your scarf, it's cold"

"I killed someone who looked at you too long." (he's joking... right? the next day rumors flooded around the village that someone is missing.)

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; writes notes. tiny, paper-thin slips folded and hidden in your coat pockets, under your pillow, tucked in the pages of your favourite book.

"You looked lovely today."

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; won’t say he’s possessive. but no one visits. no one stays too long. your neighbours stop mentioning 'that man in your house.' they’ve learned. he’s polite, but there’s a cold gleam in his eye that promises silence if they try.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; helps in the garden without ever being asked. you’ll glance up and find him pulling weeds, re-tying the tomato plants, sleeves rolled and hair tied back like he belongs there. like he’s always belonged there.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; kisses you like it’s a prayer. slow. soft. focused. the kind of kiss that makes the world go quiet. like he’s saying thank you without words.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; back hugs. all the time. arms snaking around your waist when you’re making tea, or pulling weeds, or just staring out the window. chin on your shoulder. voice low.

"You work too hard"

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; buries his face in your neck when he’s tired. doesn’t say anything. just breathes you in like you’re something holy. lets his fingers slip under your shirt at the bottom, only to rest them there.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; tugs you close when you sit too far. doesn’t say a word. just hooks a finger around your sleeve and gives you that look like, 'why aren’t you here?'

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; loves when you lie on top of him. your cheek on his chest, your hand curled in his shirt. he'll read like that, or braid your hair like that, or just… lie still. with you-

"Only you."

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; starts the day with a kiss to your shoulder. ends it with one to your fingers.

₍ᐢ.⸝⸝. ྀིᐢ₎ boyfriend!itachi ; hugs like it’s the last time every time. slow arms, tight hold, head tilted to your neck like he’s afraid someone’s gonna pull him away. he’s still learning that he gets to keep you.

Pairing ⊹꣑९; Itachi Uchiha x Dominant!Fem!Reader (Modern AU)

Summary ⊹꣑९; You’re bold. Dominant. Charming in your own wicked way. But dating? A nightmare. Until Shisui, your too smug for his own good friend, sets you up on a blind date with his mysterious childhood best friend, Itachi. You expect the usual disappointment. What you don’t expect is a drop dead gorgeous man in a pressed black button-up, eyes like night, and a composure that starts to crumble the moment your boot grazes his thigh.

One dinner, one bathroom stall, and one very flustered Uchiha later… and you're both heading back to his apartment for round two. Turns out, behind that polished exterior is a man touch starved and eager to please. Good thing you're patient… and know exactly how to ruin him right.

Warnings ⊹꣑९; MDNI!!!! 18+, blind date, touch starved Itachi, reader has a gothic style + is extroverted, flirty, and dominant!!! exhibitionism, public teasing (under the table), bathroom oral, messy finish, overstimulation, degradation, praise kink, worshipping, reader makes him beg, (small?)fluff at the end <3

A/N ⊹꣑९; this was like too fun to write because i always imagined itachi to be a sub,, i literally need more sub!itachi in my life stop writing him as a dom!!!!

Words ⊹꣑९; 4.9k

The bar was dimly lit, bathed in soft red hues, the kind of place that settled into your skin, slow, stuffy, and humming with low jazz and quiet regret. You stirred your drink with your finger, rings clinking against the glass. You didn’t even flinch when the vodka hit your throat. Burning was the point.

The stool beside you creaked as Shisui collapsed into it with his usual 'boyish' energy. “Heh, you look like shit,” he said, grinning. You didn’t even glance at him.

“Failed date,” you muttered, voice dry. “That’s why I called you.”

Shisui blinked, then snorted a laugh as he signaled the bartender over. “So what happened this time? Let me guess..., he said you were ‘too much’ again?” He dragged out the words with exaggerated air quotes.

You groaned, letting your head fall into your palm. “Yes... He said I was too aggressive, too forward, too independent. Like he wanted me to swoon and giggle and play helpless.” You twirled your glass with a sour smirk. “Not my thing.”

Shisui clicked his tongue, swirling his own drink in thought. “You scare most men,” he teased smoothly, throwing you a wink. “They don’t know how to act around a woman like you. Bold, sharp tongued, walks in heels like she owns the goddamn world.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Flattery won’t save you.”

“I’m not flattering,” he replied, sipping. “I’m stating facts.”

Then he paused, eyes squinting thoughtfully at his glass. “You know what?” He snapped his fingers, and the sound echoed over the bar noise. His glass hit the counter with a solid thud. “I know exactly who can handle you.”

You rolled your eyes. “You always say that. And guess what? You always end up wrong.”

Shisui sat up straight, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “No, no, listen to me. This one’s different. Childhood friend. Calm, mysterious, not easily intimidated. And quiet, God, so fucking quiet. But when he talks? You listen.”

You raised your head slightly and were interested despite your best efforts. “Name?”

“Itachi,” he said, like it was a sacred word. “Uchiha.”

You blinked. “Uchiha?”

“Mhmm,” he confirmed smugly. “But don’t even try to Google him or stalk his socials. He doesn’t have any.”

“Not surprised,” you muttered. "Ugh...you're going to set me up with him, aren't you?”

Shisui gave a grin sharp enough to cut glass. “Oh, I wasn’t going to… until you said that.”

He fished out his phone, fingers already flying across the screen. “You’re free next weekend, yeah? Friday at dusk?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. What restaurant?”

“Upscale, not too stuffy. Candlelight. Red wine. You’ll like it.”

You exhaled slowly, unable to fight the amusement curling at your lips. “You’re smug as hell right now.”

“Because I know my match is gold,” Shisui said, sliding his phone back into his coat pocket. He raised his drink in a toast. “My lovely, terrifyingly hot friend, you’ve got yourself a date.”

You clinked glasses with him. “He better not bore me.”

“Oh,” Shisui said, grinning, “if anything, you’ll be the one left speechless.”

You arrived late, not by accident but by choice.

Shisui’s confidence stuck with you all week. His smug grin, that damned sparkle in his eye when he said “He can handle you”, as if you were some wild, untameable thing. You weren’t sure whether to be flattered or offended. Maybe both.

But curiosity won out over your pride. Which is how you found yourself here, at a quaint, dimly lit restaurant between old brick buildings, your boots clacking on the tile floor as you approached the hostess stand. The soft hum of conversation hung in the air, silverware scraping against plates, jazz playing low above.

“Hi, I have a reservation,” you say, casually smoothing your coat down your corseted waist. “Under Uchiha.”

The hostess glances at the book and smiles. “Ah, yes. Right this way.”

She leads you up a short set of stairs to a slightly elevated section of the restaurant, a warm, intimate balcony with only a few tables, adorned with soft, golden lanterns. Your eyes dart ahead.

And then you see him.

Seated already, posture straight, legs crossed at the knee. Black button down tucked into pressed slacks, his sleeves were rolled just enough to show off the lean muscle of his forearms. His hair is neatly tied back, not a single strand out of place. His face, blank. Coldly composed. But his eyes, dark, deep, and observant. They lift to meet yours the second you’re guided his way.

He stands as you approach, slowly, with deliberate grace. “You must be the 'friend'. (Y/N).” He says.

His voice is smooth. Low. A ripple of calm in the chaos of your thoughts.

You blink once. Twice. Shisui never said this. Never mentioned the kind of man who could make your lungs pause just by looking at you.

“Yeah, that's me,” you say, smiling with a flash of sharp teeth as you slide into the seat across from him. “And you’re... Itachi.”

He nods once.

The waiter arrives before the silence can stretch.

“Would you.. like to order something to drink?” he asks.

Itachi’s gaze never leaves yours. “Or would you prefer to see the menu first?”

That damn politeness.

You try to mask how flustered you are with a light shrug. “Water’s fine.”

He nods. “Water for me as well.”

The waiter vanishes, and you’re alone again. For a while, neither of you speak. You’re usually the one to break the ice, take control of the conversation, but something about the way he watches you, so silent and unshakable, makes you want to shift in your seat.

Itachi’s hands rest neatly on the table. His fingers are long. Deliberate. You’re imagining things, you tell yourself. Probably. But Shisui wasn’t wrong. There’s something... about him. Quiet power beneath all that stillness.

You lean forward, resting your chin on your knuckles. “You’re very different from what I expected,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow carefully. “Oh?”

“I was expecting someone who'd be nervous around a woman like me.”

His lips curve, just slightly. “And what kind of woman are you?”

You smirk. “The kind who doesn’t play nice. The kind who knows what she wants.”

A beat passes.

“And do you know what you want tonight?”

You pause. It’s not the words that catch you off guard; it’s the utter calm with which he says them. As if asking whether you take your coffee black.

Your cheeks warm. You wave a hand in the air. “I’m not that easy, Itachi.”

“I never said you were.”

He says it like a fact. Not flirtation. Not a suggestion. Just... acknowledgement.

And then, just as it feels like the air thickens between you, he excuses himself quietly. “A moment,” he says, standing from the table.

You watch him go.

And that’s when you see it, the firm outline beneath his slacks. The tightness.

Your lips part, a spark of satisfaction glinting in your eyes.

“So..., he’s that easy, huh?” you mutter under your breath, unable to keep the smirk from stretching across your face.

When he returns, you’re composed. Playful. Waiting.

He sits, eyes meeting yours again, calm as ever.

But you see it now. The way his jaw tenses. The faint flush under his collar.

Your boot slides forward, brushing ever so softly against his shin beneath the table. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.

You press higher.

Over his calf.

Up the inside of his thigh.

And then-

Right over the bulge between his legs.

Itachi’s breath hitches. Barely. His eyes flick to yours, sharp like glass.

You lean forward, eyelids heavy. “Something wrong?”

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, you watch his fingers tighten around the base of his water glass, his knuckles whitening just slightly. The only sign that you’ve shaken him.

That’s all the confirmation you need.

“You knew,” he says quietly, voice low.

“Of course I knew,” you purr, voice like velvet and sin.

For once, he doesn’t have a reply.

But oh, he’s thinking.

You can see it, his eyes drop to your lips and linger. The tension rising in his shoulders, in the slow drag of his breath, in the way his throat bobs when he swallows.

And you?

You’re absolutely buzzing with power.

And then there was wine.

A tall, glistening bottle of red placed between the two of you like a silent co-conspirator. The waiter, smiling and blissfully unaware, poured it into delicate glasses, Itachi’s with a practiced flick of the wrist, yours with an extra swirl.

You thanked him with a smile too sweet to be innocent.

Itachi hadn’t touched his glass yet. You had. Twice. And with each sip, your lashes lowered just a little more, the corner of your mouth curved just a little higher.

The food arrived shortly after, roasted duck, and soba for him, something creamy and rich for you. Neither of you was really eating.

Because beneath the white tablecloth, a war was being waged.

Your foot had retreated when the waiter came, sitting ladylike, posture perfect. But the moment he turned his back?

Back to the battlefield.

This time, you were slower. More deliberate. You slid your boot along the side of Itachi’s ankle first, letting him anticipate the rise. He didn’t react. But you saw the way his throat moved when he swallowed his first sip of wine.

Then up his shin.

Pause.

Calf.

Pause.

Thigh.

You let the toe of your boot rest right there. Where the pressure would be maddening but not enough. Where it would spark heat without relief. His jaw flexed, eyes trained on his plate.

You took another sip of wine.

“Your food’s getting cold,” you said sweetly.

His response came late, like he had to remember how to speak. “So is yours.”

You smirked, slowly retracting your foot.

Let him breathe.

Let him think he’s safe.

Five minutes passed. You picked at your dish lazily, swirling the wine in your glass, talking about something forgettable, a recent stitching project, a fabric shipment you were waiting on. His answers were polite, but clipped. One worded.

The poor man was too hard to talk.

Your foot returned to its throne.

This time, you didn’t stop at pressure.

You flexed your ankle, sole gliding along the ridge of his clothed cock. Up. Down. Just once. He shifted in his seat, hand gripping the edge of the table so tight you heard the creak.

You smiled.

And then you changed the game.

Casually, smoothly, you slid out from your side of the booth and moved beside him. The empty seat to his left welcomed you like it had been waiting all night.

To the waiter, if he returned, you’d look like a couple enjoying food close together.

To Itachi?

You were a goddamn nightmare.

“Why’d you move?” he asked, voice low.

You leaned in. “I want to feel you.”

Your hand dropped like silk into his lap beneath the table, hidden from sight. He stiffened, not in resistance, but in restraint. Your fingers trailed the waistband of his trousers first, just barely brushing the fabric. And then...

You palmed him through it. Firm. Slow. Cruel.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, just barely loud enough to catch. His head dropped for a second, resting in his hand. His eyes were closed.

Sweating.

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren't you, Itachi?” you murmured, lips ghosting near his ear.

He said nothing.

But you felt the twitch in your palm.

The silence stretched again, Itachi a statue of barely contained arousal, you smug and steady beside him.

And then...

“(Y/N).. I..,” he murmured, almost too soft to hear. “I can’t focus... You..-”

He cut himself off with a stifled groan as you cupped him tighter, thumb teasing the ridge.

“Hmmm? What’s that?” you asked innocently.

His hand was curled around the stem of his wine glass like he wanted to crush it. “Please.”

You turned to him fully now, both hands in your lap, face inches from his. He looked wrecked in the most dignified way, his composure cracking at the edges, his cheeks faintly flushed.

Your smile turned wicked.

“Please what, Itachi?”

He looked at you then, eyes burning low, jaw clenched, voice hoarse. “Fix this.”

You tilted your head. Your hand was already back on his thigh, dragging slowly up again. His breath hitched.

You didn’t answer him with words.

You just rose from your seat, adjusted your corset top casually, and flicked your head toward the hallway behind the bar. The bathroom sign glowed dimly above the door.

“Come on,” you said softly, sweet as sin. “I’ll take good care of you.”

And he followed. Lord, did he follow.

The bathroom was quiet.

Dimly lit with the soft hum of a vent overhead, it smelled faintly of cologne and hand soap. Clean, too clean for the kind of mess you were about to make.

You didn’t bother checking if anyone else was there.

He followed you in like a man possessed, eyes locked on your hips, breath shallow. His back hit the stall door the second it clicked shut behind him, and you wasted no time.

Your lips were on his neck before he could speak, kissing up the column of his throat, leaving deep red stains with every press. One hand on his chest, the other already working at his belt.

He didn’t even try to stop you.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already so needy,” you whispered, dragging your lipstick stained mouth across his jaw. “What happened to that calm energy, hm?”

He shuddered.

You could feel the tension in his stomach as you unfastened his belt, his cock already hard, straining against the fabric, twitching at just the sound of your voice.

You kissed him then. Hard. Sloppy.

Lipstick smeared onto his bottom lip, his chin, his cheek. You licked it off slowly, dragging your tongue across the mess you made.

And then you dropped to your knees.

“Fuck..-” he gasped the second your hand wrapped around him, thick and leaking, tip flushed a furious red. His back hit the stall wall again, head tipping back as he groaned through clenched teeth.

For a submissive dog, he sure packs an impressive cock.

“Damn, pretty boy,” you purr, your hand palming the thick length between his legs. “Who knew you were hiding all that?”

You feel it twitch in your grip, subtle, needy. His breath hitches, a soft gasp slipping from his lips as his hips jerk just slightly into your touch. He’s already that sensitive.

He looks at you with desperate eyes, voice low. “Can you… start?”

You smirk.

“No,” you say, your grip tightening around his cock, fingers wrapping with just enough pressure to make him throb in your hand. His jaw clenches, breath stuttering.

“Beg for it,” you murmur against his skin. “I want to hear you.”

And he does. Voice soft, shaky, ruined already.

“Please…” he breathes. “I need it. I need you.”

You smirk, dragging your tongue from base to tip, teasing, slow, until your lipstick painted a perfect circle around him.

“Shhh,” you cooed when he whimpered, glancing up at him with heavy lidded eyes. “Don’t be so loud, baby.”

But he couldn’t help it.

You swallowed him down all at once, and the sound he made was filthy, loud, raw, and wrecked. His hands shot out, grabbing the top of the stall, his knees nearly buckling as you began to move. Mouth wet and warm, cheeks hollowing, tongue teasing every sensitive nerve.

You knew what you were doing.

His hips jerked forward, desperate.

You pulled off with a loud pop and blew on the tip.

“Someone’s close already,” you teased, licking a stripe up the underside. “Did all that teasing under the table really ruin you this bad?”

He groaned, hands trembling, breath ragged.

“Please...- don’t stop, I’m..-” he hissed as your mouth wrapped around him again. His eyes rolled back. “Fuck, please...-”

And then you stopped.

Just like that.

He looked down at you, confused, desperate, eyes wide and glassy. You licked your lips and smirked.

“You want to come already?” you asked sweetly. “That’s no fun.”

You pumped him slowly with your hand, never quite enough, while your mouth went to his thigh, kissing, biting. Red lipstick everywhere. His cock twitched in your grip, furious and frustrated.

He whimpered. Whimpered.

You clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Be good,” you warned, voice low, dominant, breath hot against his skin. “You’ll take what I give you. Nothing more.”

He nodded under your hand.

You leaned up again, kissed the corner of his mouth, smearing more red across his cheek.

“You’re so fucking loud,” you murmured, stroking him slow and tight. “Is that what you want? Everyone outside to know how desperate you are?”

He shook his head.

You smiled wickedly and dropped again, taking him into your mouth with a moan so deep it vibrated through him. He bit his fist to keep quiet. You watched his thighs tremble. He was falling apart, and you hadn’t even let him come yet.

“Good boy,” you whispered when you came up for air, hand still stroking him slowly, cruelly.

You’d barely touched him again, just your lips dragging slow, wet kisses down his length, your fingers stroking his cock with deliberate, infuriating rhythm, and he was already gasping like he’d lost all sense.

His body was trembling, knees wobbling, mouth parted as if he wanted to beg again but couldn’t find the air.

You smiled against his skin.

“Someone’s really struggling to stay quiet,” you murmured, licking along the tip again. His thighs tensed. You looked up, breath hot. “You going to embarrass yourself, baby?”

He didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

The next second, you dropped your mouth over him again, deep, slow, too much and not enough. His hips bucked up, and his head slammed softly back against the stall.

Then he moaned.

Too loud.

It echoed.

Your eyes snapped up just as he groaned again, voice low but desperate, and before you could stop him-

knock. knock. knock.

A soft rap on the bathroom door. Followed by a quiet, “Excuse me? Is everything alright in there?”

Your eyes shot open wide, but you didn’t stop.

You pulled back just enough to speak, glancing over your shoulder, one hand clamped around Itachi’s twitching cock. “Sorry! Just… stomach issues!” you called out smoothly. “I just have...bad cramps!”

A pause.

Then the voice responded, “Oh, okay! Let us know if you need anything…”

You waited till their steps faded before you turned back to Itachi. His face was flushed deep, lips parted, chest heaving like he just survived a war.

You grinned.

“Stomach cramps?” he managed hoarsely.

You kissed the tip of his cock, dragging your lipstick across it again. “What? You wanted me to say ‘Sorry, I'm blowing my date in the women's bathroom'?”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but then your hand twisted just right, and he choked on a moan.

“Oh my god- I'm gonna-”

You didn’t stop.

You kept stroking, mouth hot, lips wrapped tight, tongue swirling until..-

He gasped, tried to warn you...-

And came.

Hard.

All over your hand. All over the floor. All over everything.

His body shook, legs barely holding him up. He braced himself against the stall, trying not to slump completely as he let out a broken, trembling sound from the back of his throat.

You licked your lips and stood, grabbing toilet paper and wiping off your hands slowly, grinning the whole time.

He was still breathless, still trying to recover. You kissed his cheek, leaving a streak of smeared lipstick there too, before whispering:

“Take me to your place.”

He blinked, dazed. “You don’t drive?”

You smirked. “Nope. But you do.”

The two of you slipped out of the bathroom like nothing had happened.

You fixed his collar, ran your fingers over the waistband of his trousers, and adjusted the slight wrinkle in his shirt. Your outfit was still perfect, like nothing at all had occurred.

Itachi didn’t speak, just looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he was grateful or utterly ruined.

At the counter, the bill waited.

You raised a brow. “You paying?”

He didn’t even hesitate.

Pulled out his card with a sharp click and handed it over to the cashier, quietly settling the entire meal like it wasn’t even a question.

You smiled as he returned to your side.

“What a gentleman,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond. Still flushed. Still… wrecked.

The drive to his place was silent.

His hands on the wheel were tight, his jaw still tense, eyes flickering over to you every time you crossed your legs or ran a hand up your thigh.

You didn’t say a word.

But you knew exactly what the rest of the night would look like.

Finally, you both made it to his apartment.

It was nice, you could clearly see he was a minimalist. Everything was clean and open. Everything was in muted earth tones, a subtle scent of cedar lingering in the air. Large windows let in slants of moonlight, casting soft shadows across the hardwood floor and sleek furniture.

As soon as you stepped inside, you let out a low whistle.

“Damn, Uchiha,” you murmured, slowly walking in, fingers trailing along the wall. “You didn’t tell me you lived in a damn magazine.”

Itachi closed the door quietly behind you, uncharacteristically quiet. You watched his shadow cross the hall with quiet steps, shedding his jacket with smooth efficiency and draping it over a hook by the wall.

“I didn’t think it would matter,” he said softly. “Shisui said you weren’t the materialistic type.”

“Not exactly,” you replied, turning toward him with a sly smile. “But I can still appreciate a man with taste and a fat paycheck.”

His lips quirked.

You let your fingers trace over the edge of a low bookshelf, eyes flicking across the spines. Some titles were academic, some fiction, and a few in languages you didn’t recognise. A few scattered framed photos, most of them old. One caught your eye, a picture of him and Shisui, both younger, hair windblown, and smiles rare but genuine.

It was weird. You didn’t expect to feel warmth in your chest after just one night. But here you were.

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” Itachi’s voice broke the silence, low and almost sheepish behind you. “At the restaurant. That was… bold.”

You turned, raising an eyebrow.

“And?”

He smiled faintly. “I liked it. More than I expected.”

There was a quiet vulnerability in his posture, arms at his sides, gaze soft, but unreadable.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you teased. “You looked like you were about to fall apart in there.”

“I was.”

The admission came so simply, it made your breath hitch.

Even with that poised, buttoned up exterior, Itachi Uchiha was clearly craving touch like a man starved of oxygen. His eyes, dark and steady, never left your face.

You could see it now, the stillness he wrapped around himself like armour, the self restraint stitched into every inch of his movements. But beneath it, a want. That ache.

You stepped closer. Ran a slow hand down his chest.

“Do you want to continue?” you asked, just barely above a whisper.

He nodded once.

“Please.”

That did it.

The smirk curled across your lips before you could stop it. You leaned in, breath brushing the shell of his ear.

“Then show me to the bedroom, pretty boy.”

He obeyed without a word.

His bedroom matched the rest of the place, tasteful, calm, and serene. Big bed, dark wood. Crisp sheets. One dim lamp lit the corner.

You strolled in first, turning to face him.

“Undress me,” you commanded.

His hands reached for you almost reverently. Unfastening the front of your red and black corset with slow, steady fingers, eyes following every movement like he didn’t want to forget the way it felt.

Once the corset was gone, he ran his palms along your sides. The soft curve of your waist. The swell of your breasts. And he whispered:

“You’re beautiful.”

You kissed his cheek.

Then he dropped to his knees, removing the rest of your outfit with silent awe. Boots. Thigh-highs. Skirt. Your lacy bottoms. All gone, piece by piece, as if he were unveiling art.

When you stood bare before him, he looked up at you like you were a goddamn miracle.

“Magnificent,” he murmured.

You cupped his chin. “Your turn.”

He stood and undressed with less ceremony, but equal tension. Shirt unbuttoned. Slacks gone. Boxers last. His cock was already half hard, and by the time he was fully exposed, it was arching up slowly, thick and flushed, just like in the bathroom.

You drank in the sight.

“I barely touched you,” you teased, running your hand up his stomach. “You really are that easy for me.”

He didn’t deny it.

And he didn’t complain when you gently pushed him back toward the bed.

You straddled him.

One knee on each side, your bare skin against his, your lips tracing fire along his throat.

He groaned as you guided him in. The stretch of him buried inside made you hum in satisfaction. His hands gripped your thighs, reverent and trembling.

You leaned in, brushing your mouth across his.

“You wanna keep being good for me?” you whispered.

He nodded.

You rolled your hips.

And just like that, it began.

Slow at first. Steady. Controlled. You held him down with your body, moving at your own pace, watching him fall apart beneath you with every grind, every drop of your hips that made his breath stutter and his fingers clench.

Itachi’s face was flushed, eyes dark and glassy, lips parted just slightly. He whispered your name like a prayer between gasps. You leaned down and kissed him again, messily this time, red lipstick smearing over his cheek, his jaw, his lips.

Thighs bracketing his hips, sweat slick between you as you rode him hard, hips snapping down, pace unrelenting. His head was thrown back against the pillows, his long, dark hair a tangled halo.

Gone was the quiet, unreadable man from earlier. In his place was someone desperate. Vocal. Breathless. Whining beneath you with every hard, wet slap of skin on skin.

“More,” he gasped, voice hoarse. “Please.. don’t stop- gods, please....!!”

You grinned, grinding down particularly deep to feel that delicious throb of his cock twitching inside you. His hands had found your hips, fingers pressing bruises into your skin like he didn’t even realise he was doing it.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing over his ear, teasing.

“Is that begging I hear?”

He shuddered, actually shuddered, beneath you. “Y-Yes..! Yes, I’m begging for you...- Just pleas...- please, please, don’t s-stop...”

You stopped.

Stopped completely.

Itachi made the neediest noise you’d ever heard from a grown man, part choked moan, part helpless sob. His hips tried to chase yours, thrusting weakly up, but you planted your palms to his chest and held him down.

“No,” you whispered, low and cruel. “Not until I say so.”

He looked up at you, eyes wide and desperate, lips swollen, face red and glistening. He was completely and utterly ruined.

“I...I can’t take it,” he whimpered, breath catching as you slowly rolled your hips again, just once. “Please…”

You smirked. “Pathetic.”

You started again.

This time harder. Meaner. A brutal rhythm, pace so fast the headboard tapped the wall with every thrust. His moans grew louder, needier, broken little curses falling from his mouth like prayers to a god that wouldn’t answer.

You rode him until his legs were trembling beneath you. Until his mouth was open and his eyes unfocused. Until the filthy sounds of your bodies colliding filled the room.

And then-

“F-Fuck...!! I’m gonna...-” His voice cracked. “Please..!! Pl-.. let me..- let me..-”

“Do it,” you growled, leaning close enough to kiss him deep. “Cum for me, Itachi.”

He did.

He came with a loud cry, his back arching, his entire body going rigid as he spilled deep inside you. Hot. Messy. Pulse after pulse of wet heat. His hands clawed at your thighs as he writhed beneath you, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp that melted into a string of whimpers.

You weren’t far behind.

You rode him through it, fast, relentless, your own orgasm cresting sharp and electric through your spine. Your breath hitched, and your nails sank into his chest as you cried out, grinding down one last time before collapsing over him, sweaty and breathless.

For a long moment, there was only panting. Sweat. The faint creak of the mattress as your bodies twitched with aftershocks.

“..Fuck,” he whispered hoarsely.

You laughed. Breathless.

“You good, Itachi?” you teased, still atop him.

His eyes were hazy, but soft. His lips bent slowly into the faintest, sweetest smile. 

“That was amazing.. I-” he said again, quieter now. “I want to see you again.”

You tilted your head, brushing your fingertips along his flushed cheek.

“You’re asking for another date already?” you asked, faking being surprised. “After I broke you?”

He nodded, sincere.

“Yes, I want more.”

You smirked, cupping his jaw and giving him one slow kiss, your lipstick already long gone and smeared to hell.

“Then you’ll get more.”