take me to Kamui

June's Rules

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Kakashi Hatake

good boy (18+)

rest now - drabble

honeypot (18+) IN PROGRESS

grid of fate

you first (18+) - drabble

seven minutes (18+) - drabble

ANBU (18+) - drabble

Naruto Uzumaki

scent of possession (18+)

from his bed to mine (18+) IN PROGRESS

rivalry (18+) - drabble

truth or dare (18+) - drabble

mating season (18+) - drabble

Obito Uchiha

sweet haven (18+) IN PROGRESS

honeypot (18+) IN PROGRESS

drunk (18+) - drabble

the drug in me is you (18+) IN PROGRESS

Itachi Uchiha

morning dew - drabble

silent restraint (18+)

best friend’s brother (18+) IN PROGRESS

gentle (18+) - drabble

Shikamaru Nara

tell me how you hate me (18+) IN PROGRESS

help yourself (to everything) (18+)

sweet ruin (18+) IN PROGRESS

shadow bind (18+) - drabble part one part two

no escape from you (18+) IN PROGRESS

tug of war (18+) - drabble

clouds (18)+ - drabble

pay attention to me (18)+ - drabble

possession (18+) - drabble

louder (18+) - drabble

after effects (18+) - drabble

insecure (18+) - drabble

shoji (18+) - drabble

swallow me (18+) - drabble

polaroid (18+) - drabble

missed you (18+) - drabble

claim (18+) - drabble

bite me (18+) - drabble

mine (18+) - drabble

sugar (18+) - drabble

desperate (18+) - drabble

drunk (18+) - drabble

you first (18+) - drabble

until it sticks (18+) - drabble

munch (18+) - drabble

punish (18+) - drabble

clingy (18+) - drabble

milk (18+) - drabble

welcome distraction (18+) - drabble

my eyes only (18+) - drabble

daddy (18+) - drabble

morning grind (18+) - drabble

strategic stripping (18+) - drabble

into you - drabble

homecoming (18+) - drabble

Jiraiya

off limits (18+) IN PROGRESS

Gaara

so why don’t you blow me (a kiss) (18+)

on my knees praying for you (18+)

ride me (18+) - drabble

Sasuke Uchiha

rivalry (18+) - drabble

truth or dare (18+) - drabble

restore my clan (18+) - drabble

Shikaku Nara

Saved this one for when my period started 🥰

———————————

The late afternoon sun filtered lazily through the half-drawn blinds of your apartment, casting long golden stripes across the living room floor. You were curled up on the couch like a question mark, knees drawn to your chest, one of Shikamaru’s oversized hoodies swallowing you whole. The cramps had been a steady, gnawing ache all day—nothing dramatic, just the kind of persistent discomfort that made everything feel heavy and irritating. You’d texted him earlier, something short and whiny about feeling like crap, and he’d shown up twenty minutes later with a plastic bag dangling from his fingers and that familiar half-lidded expression that said troublesome, but worth it.

Shikamaru kicked off his shoes by the door, the faint rustle of the bag announcing his arrival. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low and a little rough from the chill outside. He crossed the room in a few unhurried strides, dropping onto the couch beside you without ceremony. The cushions dipped under his weight, and he immediately shifted so one long arm draped along the back of the couch, fingers brushing your shoulder.

You peeked up at him, cheek still smushed against a throw pillow. “You didn’t have to come over. I’m just being dramatic.”

“Sweetheart,” he scoffed softly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You text me ‘cramps suck’ and expect me to stay at the office doing paperwork? Troublesome woman.” His dark eyes scanned your face, taking in the slight pallor and the way you were holding yourself. Without another word, he reached into the bag and started pulling things out like he was setting up a low-effort strategy session.

First came the heating pad—already plugged in and warming up on the coffee table. Then a bottle of ibuprofen, a pack of your favorite dark chocolate, and a container of fresh strawberries he must have grabbed from the corner store. He even produced a small, fluffy blanket that smelled faintly like the cedarwood diffuser in his own apartment.

“You’re too much,” you mumbled, but there was no hiding the grateful smile tugging at your lips.

Shikamaru shrugged, unfazed. “Figured the standard protocol was required. Move over.” He didn’t wait for you to comply fully—just gently nudged you forward enough to slide in behind you, stretching his legs along the couch so you could settle between them. His chest pressed warm and solid against your back as he pulled you in, one arm looping loosely around your waist. The other hand found the heating pad and pressed it gently to your lower abdomen, holding it there with just the right amount of pressure.

You let out a long, shaky sigh as the heat started to seep in, chasing away some of the sharper edges of the pain. Shikamaru’s chin rested on top of your head, his breath stirring your hair. “Better?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah… a lot.” You wiggled back into him, seeking more of that steady warmth. His heartbeat was slow and even against your spine—reassuring, like everything about him.

For a while, the only sounds were the distant hum of traffic outside and the occasional rustle as he reached for the chocolate, breaking off a square and holding it to your lips. You took it without protest, letting the rich bitterness melt on your tongue. His fingers lingered, tracing a lazy circle on your hip.

“Periods are a drag,” he said after a beat, voice thoughtful. “All that hormonal fluctuation messing with your system… like clouds deciding to storm out of nowhere when the forecast said clear skies. But you handle it like you handle everything else—quietly, without making a big deal.” His hand slipped under the hem of the hoodie, palm flat and warm against your skin just above where the heating pad sat. He rubbed slow, soothing circles, the calluses on his fingers catching lightly. “Doesn’t mean you have to tough it out alone, though.”

You turned your head slightly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He smelled like fresh air, faint cigarette smoke from his walk over, and that subtle sandalwood shampoo he used. “You’re surprisingly good at this for someone who claims everything’s too much effort.”

“Only for you,” he replied, the words simple and matter-of-fact. No grand declaration—just truth, delivered in that drawling tone that always made your chest feel lighter. He pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there. “Figured out a long time ago that taking care of you isn’t effort. It’s… efficient. Keeps my favorite person functional.” A faint smirk crept into his voice. “Plus, I get to skip boring meetings and lie here instead. Win-win.”

You laughed softly, the sound turning into a contented hum as another cramp eased under his touch. Shikamaru adjusted the heating pad, then let his hand drift higher, massaging gently along your lower back where the tension liked to gather. His fingers were clever—finding knots you didn’t even realize were there, working them out with patient pressure.

“Want tea? Soup? I can order something if you’re hungry,” he offered after a few minutes, though he made no move to get up. His legs tangled with yours, keeping you anchored.

“Just this,” you whispered. “Stay.”

“Wasn’t planning on leaving.” He tugged the fluffy blanket over both of you, cocooning you in softness and his body heat. Outside, the sun dipped lower, painting the room in warmer tones. Inside, everything felt smaller, safer. His thumb kept up its lazy rhythm on your abdomen, and every so often he’d murmur something random—complaints about the latest political nonsense at work, a half-formed shogi strategy he was pondering—just to fill the quiet and keep your mind off the discomfort.

As the evening settled in, the pain dulled to a manageable background hum. You drifted somewhere between awake and dozing, safe in the circle of his arms. Shikamaru didn’t move much, content to be your personal space heater and distraction. When you shifted to look up at him, his eyes were already on you—soft, attentive, the usual laziness replaced by something deeper.

“Still hurts?” he asked.

“A little. But you make it better.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, gentle kiss that tasted like chocolate and comfort. “Good. That’s the only thing I care about right now.”

I’d love for them to take me to Paris 😩😛

———————————

The Hokage Tower was quiet on weekends, the usual bustle of shinobi reduced to a handful of dedicated—or unfortunate—souls buried in paperwork. Shikamaru had promised you the whole day. Lazy mornings, shogi in the shade, your head in his lap while he complained about how troublesome everything was. Instead, a stack of mission reports had demanded his attention, and you’d given him those big, pleading eyes until he sighed and relented.

“Fine. You can come. But you need to promise to behave,” he’d muttered, tugging you along by the wrist. “No distractions. Sit quietly, read something, whatever. Just… don’t be a brat.”

You’d nodded sweetly, swearing up and down you’d be good. Lies, of course. Thirty minutes. That’s how long you lasted before the boredom set in. First it was soft sighs, shifting in the chair across from his desk. Then little whines under your breath. Then “Shika~ I’m bored” while you draped yourself over the arm of his chair, fingers tracing idle patterns on his thigh.

He’d swatted your hand away the first few times, eyes narrowed in that lazy warning glare. “Behave.” But hours dragged on. Two hours of you testing every boundary—leaning over his shoulder to “help” read reports (pressing your chest against his back), sliding a foot up his calf under the desk, pouting dramatically until he finally snapped.

“Enough.”

One moment you were perched on the edge of his desk, swinging your legs. The next, Shikamaru had you flat on your back atop the scattered scrolls, his hands rough and efficient. Your shirt was shoved up roughly, bunching under your arms to expose your tits to the cool air of the office. He didn’t even bother with your skirt beyond hiking it to your waist, yanking your panties down one leg until they dangled uselessly around your ankle.

“Shika—wait—” you gasped, but the protest melted into a broken moan as he freed himself and thrust in deep in one smooth stroke. He was already rock-hard, thick and insistent, stretching you open with that familiar burn that made your back arch off the wood.

“Too late for waiting,” he growled, voice low and edged with that rare impatience. His hips snapped forward again, setting a punishing rhythm. Deep, deliberate thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, making your eyes roll back. “You’ve been teasing me for hours. Now take it.”

The desk creaked under you. Papers fluttered to the floor. Your whimpers filled the room—wordless, needy sounds as pleasure coiled tight in your belly. Shikamaru’s hands pinned your wrists above your head with one of his, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. His hair fell messily across his forehead, eyes half-lidded with dark satisfaction as he watched your face contort.

“Fuck… so tight. Always so fucking tight for me,” he muttered, leaning down to bite at the swell of one breast, tongue flicking over your nipple before sucking hard.

You were lost in it, hips bucking up to meet him, when the door clicked open.

Kakashi stood in the doorway, silver hair tousled, mask in place, one hand still on the knob. His visible eye widened fractionally—the only sign of surprise—as he took in the scene: you spread out like an offering on Shikamaru’s desk, tits bouncing with every thrust, skirt rucked up, panties swinging uselessly from your ankle, Shikamaru’s cock disappearing into your dripping pussy with wet, obscene sounds.

You flushed crimson, mortification crashing over you. “K-Kakashi—!” You tried to sit up, to cover yourself, twisting against Shikamaru’s hold. Shame burned hot in your cheeks, but it twisted strangely with the pleasure still pulsing through you.

Shikamaru didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow. He held you down harder, one hand pressing firmly on your sternum as his hips kept rolling in those deep, grinding thrusts. “Door’s open, Kakashi,” he said casually, voice rough but steady, like he was commenting on the weather. “Either close it and leave… or close it and join. Your choice.”

Your eyes flew to Kakashi’s face. He hadn’t moved. For a long second, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the slick slap of skin on skin.

Then Kakashi’s eye curved in that familiar, lazy smile. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. The lock engaged. “Troublesome as always, Shikamaru.” His voice was calm, but there was heat in it—low and interested. He crossed the room in unhurried strides, pulling his mask down as he approached. The scarred cheek, the sharp jaw, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Couldn’t even wait until you finished the reports?”

“Blame her,” Shikamaru grunted, punctuating the words with a particularly hard thrust that made you cry out, back bowing. “Brat wouldn’t stop.”

Kakashi hummed, shedding his flak jacket and letting it drop. He stopped beside the desk, gloved hand coming up to cup your flushed cheek. His thumb brushed your lower lip, pressing in slightly. “Look at you. All worked up and embarrassed.” His mismatched eyes—sharingan spinning lazily—drank in every detail: your exposed body, the way you clenched visibly around Shikamaru, the tears of overstimulation pricking your lashes. “Pretty little thing. Can’t blame him.”

You whimpered around his thumb, instinctively sucking on it. Kakashi’s breath hitched.

“Still want to cover up?” Shikamaru taunted, releasing your wrists only to grip both your thighs, spreading you wider. He slowed his thrusts deliberately, letting Kakashi watch every inch of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked folds. “Or do you want him to stay?”

Kakashi didn’t wait for your answer. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss—tongue sliding against yours, tasting your moans while Shikamaru kept fucking you steady. When he pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Gloves came off. Kakashi’s hands were surprisingly warm as they roamed your chest, palming your tits, pinching and rolling your nipples until you keened. He bent lower, sucking one into his mouth while Shikamaru watched with dark, approving eyes.

“Her mouth’s free,” Shikamaru suggested, voice strained now as your walls fluttered around him.

Kakashi straightened, already working his pants open. His cock sprang free—heavy, flushed, the head glistening. He tapped it against your lips. “Open up, sweetheart.”

You obeyed with a shaky breath, taking him in. Kakashi groaned low, hand threading gently into your hair as he fed you more. The dual sensation was overwhelming—Shikamaru’s relentless thrusts hitting deep, Kakashi’s cock sliding over your tongue, the salty taste of him filling your senses.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Kakashi murmured, hips rocking shallowly. His free hand returned to your chest, kneading. “So eager. Were you this distracting on purpose?”

You couldn’t answer, only moan around him. Shikamaru chuckled darkly, thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles. “Of course she was. Little brat knew exactly what she was doing.”

The pleasure built fast—too fast. Your thighs trembled in Shikamaru’s grip. Kakashi’s pace matched his partner’s, careful but insistent, the head of his cock nudging the back of your throat on every other thrust. Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks, tongue swirling.

Shikamaru cursed under his breath. “Close already? Come on then. Let Kakashi see how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

His thumb pressed firmer on your clit. A few more deep, grinding thrusts and you shattered—clenching hard around him, a muffled scream vibrating around Kakashi’s cock as waves of ecstasy crashed through you. Your vision whited out, body shaking.

Shikamaru fucked you through it, groaning as your orgasm milked him. He didn’t pull out, just slowed to savor the pulses. Kakashi eased back slightly, letting you gasp for air, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to his cock.

“Good girl,” Kakashi praised, voice husky. He stroked your hair. “So good for us.”

Shikamaru finally pulled out, his cock shiny with your release. He flipped you effortlessly onto your stomach, chest pressed to the desk, ass up. Papers crinkled beneath you. “Your turn to feel her, Kakashi. She’s still twitching.”

Kakashi didn’t hesitate. He positioned himself behind you, rubbing his cock through your slick folds before pushing in with one smooth glide. You moaned loudly at the new stretch—slightly different angle, different girth. He was thicker at the base, and the way he filled you made your toes curl.

“Shit… so wet,” Kakashi breathed, hands gripping your hips. He started slow, savoring, then built speed. Each thrust rocked you forward on the desk, your tits dragging against the wood.

Shikamaru moved to the side, leaning against the desk. He tilted your chin up with two fingers, feeding his cock back into your mouth. “Clean me up while he fucks you.”

You did, tasting yourself on him, the mingled flavors making you dizzy. The two of them used you like that—Kakashi pounding into your pussy from behind, Shikamaru fucking your throat in lazy, deep strokes. Their hands roamed: Kakashi’s slapping your ass lightly, Shikamaru’s tugging your hair just right.

“Look at her taking us both,” Shikamaru murmured, voice laced with satisfaction. “Our perfect little distraction.”

Kakashi’s pace grew erratic. “Close… where do you want it?”

“Inside,” Shikamaru answered for you, knowing your preferences. “Fill her up.”

Kakashi groaned, burying himself deep as he came, hot pulses flooding you. He stayed there a moment, grinding through the aftershocks, before pulling out. Shikamaru took his place immediately, sliding back into your cum-slick heat with a satisfied grunt. He fucked you harder now, chasing his own release, the wet sounds even filthier with Kakashi’s spend easing the way.

Kakashi knelt beside the desk, kissing you messily while his hand slipped between your legs to rub your clit. “One more. Come on, sweetheart. Give us another.”

You broke again—harder this time—clenching around Shikamaru as he spilled deep inside you with a low, drawn-out groan. His hips stuttered, pressing flush as he emptied himself.

For a long moment, the only sounds were heavy breathing and the distant creak of the tower settling. Shikamaru pulled out slowly, watching with dark eyes as their combined release leaked down your thighs. Kakashi helped you sit up, surprisingly gentle, wiping your mouth and chest with a clean handkerchief from his pocket.

“Reports can wait,” Shikamaru muttered, pulling you into his lap on the chair now. He tucked your head under his chin, one hand stroking your back. Kakashi settled nearby, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh.

“Next time,” Kakashi said lightly, eye crinkling, “maybe actually behave… or don’t. This worked out.”

Shikamaru came back from a week-long mission exhausted and in need of your home-cooked food and his cozy bed. It was near midnight when he entered your apartment and immediately crashed on the couch in the living room. He was dozing off when he heard you whimpering wildly in the bedroom.

Paranoia and jealousy hit as he bolted in, already imagining the worst—you in bed with another man, but instead he walked into you pleasuring yourself with utmost obscenity—humping a dildo strapped to a pillow, nipple clamps shearing your tits, you smothering your face with his unwashed black top. The air in the room heavily infused with his perfume.

“Shikamaru…!” You choked when you saw his face, standing at the doorway, your voice erratic and broken, “I thought you’d only be back tomorrow…”

(Really hope you’d take this one, coz I wonder how Shikamaru would react… I leave it to your expertise!) ❤️

ANONNNN 😩😛😛🕺😛 fuck this is so good; you’re thinking of my fic “help yourself (to everything)”

————————————

The door to your apartment clicked shut with a soft, deliberate sound—Shikamaru’s way of announcing himself without wasting energy on words. The mission had been a drag: endless days of tracking, feigned laziness masking sharp calculations, and a body that felt like it had been dragged through the dirt for a week straight. All he wanted was your cooking, the familiar dip in the couch cushions, and the warmth of your bed. Maybe your arms around him if he wasn’t too tired to reach for them.

He dropped his pack by the door, kicked off his sandals, and collapsed face-first onto the couch in the living room. The fabric smelled like home—faint detergent, your lingering scent, and a trace of whatever you’d cooked in the kitchen earlier. His eyes were already sliding shut, the tension in his shoulders uncoiling, when the sound cut through the quiet.

A whimper. Low, needy, broken.

Then another, sharper, muffled but unmistakable. Coming from the bedroom.

Shikamaru’s eyes snapped open. Paranoia hit first—sharp and instinctive, the kind honed by years of shinobi life. Someone else? His mind supplied the worst images in a flash: you pinned under another man, gasping his name by mistake, or worse—enjoying it. Jealousy coiled tight in his gut, hot and unfamiliar in its intensity. He was on his feet before he consciously decided to move, shadow tendrils flickering faintly at his fingertips as he bolted toward the bedroom door.

He pushed it open without knocking.

The sight that greeted him stopped him cold in the doorway.

You were on your knees in the center of the bed, back arched like a bowstring, hips grinding down desperately onto a thick dildo strapped securely to a pillow beneath you. The obscene stretch of it disappearing into your slick heat made his mouth go dry. Your tits were bound tight by a pair of shiny nipple clamps, the chain between them swaying with every frantic roll of your body, your nipples pulled taut and flushed dark. Your face was buried deep in one of his unwashed black tops—the one he’d worn for three days straight before leaving—the fabric smothering your mouth and nose as you inhaled him like oxygen. The entire room reeked of his cologne, heavy and masculine, like you’d sprayed it everywhere to chase the ache of his absence.

“Shikamaru…!” Your voice cracked as your eyes flew open and locked onto him. You froze mid-thrust, thighs trembling, the dildo still buried deep. Your expression shattered between shock, shame, and raw, desperate hunger. “I—I thought you’d be back tomorrow…”

For a long second, he just stared. The jealousy evaporated, replaced by something darker, hotter. Possession. Amusement. And a bone-deep need that made his exhausted body wake up fast.

“Troublesome woman,” he drawled, voice low and rough from the mission, but laced with that signature lazy smirk. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His eyes raked over you slowly—taking in the clamps, the way your pussy clenched visibly around the toy, the way you were still clutching his shirt like a lifeline. “Coming home to this? You couldn’t even wait one more day?”

He shrugged off his flak vest, letting it drop to the floor, then peeled off his shirt. The movement revealed the lean, corded muscle underneath, marked here and there with fresh bruises. He approached the bed like a predator who had all the time in the world, even though his cock was already straining against his pants.

You whimpered again, half from embarrassment and half from the way his gaze made your core throb. “I missed you… so much. The bed smelled like nothing without you. I just—needed—”

“Needed to fuck yourself on a poor imitation while huffing my dirty laundry?” He climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress. One hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back so you had to look at him. The other traced the chain of the nipple clamps, giving it a light, testing tug that made you gasp sharply. “Look at you. So obscene. So mine.”

He leaned in, inhaling the heavy mix of his cologne, your arousal, and that sweet, desperate scent that was purely you. His mouth crashed against yours in a bruising kiss, tongue sweeping in to claim every broken little sound you made. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath mingling.

“Keep going,” he ordered quietly, voice dropping into that commanding tone he knew made you melt. “Ride it. Show me exactly how you’ve been keeping yourself busy while I was gone.”

Your hips jerked at the command, resuming that filthy grind. The wet sounds of your pussy sliding up and down the dildo filled the room, obscene and loud now that you weren’t trying to stay quiet. Shikamaru watched with hooded eyes, one hand still tangled in your hair while the other tugged rhythmically on the clamp chain—sharp little pulls that sent sparks of pain-pleasure straight to your clit.

“Fuck, you’re dripping everywhere,” he murmured, glancing down at the mess you were making on the pillow. “That desperate for cock? Or just desperate for mine?”

“Yours—only yours,” you choked out, grinding harder, the clamps making your breasts bounce with every movement. “Shikamaru, please—”

He hummed, the sound vibrating low in his chest. With lazy efficiency, he freed his cock from his pants, thick and flushed and already leaking at the tip. He stroked himself once, twice, eyes never leaving the sight of you impaling yourself.

“Take the clamps off,” he said, voice deceptively calm. “Slowly. I want to see how sensitive those pretty tits are after you’ve been torturing them for me.”

You obeyed with shaking hands, unhooking one clamp. The blood rushed back in a burning wave, and you cried out, clenching hard around the dildo. The second one followed, drawing another wrecked moan from your throat. Shikamaru immediately replaced the pain with his mouth—sucking one aching nipple deep, tongue flicking mercilessly while his hand palmed the other.

The dual sensation—your hips still working the toy, his hot mouth on your chest, the scent of him everywhere—pushed you right to the edge.

“Not yet,” he growled against your skin, pulling back just enough to speak. He gripped your hips, forcing you to slow your frantic pace. “You don’t get to come on that thing. Not when I’m right here.”

In one smooth motion, he pulled you off the dildo, the sudden emptiness making you whine pathetically. He tossed the pillow aside and flipped you onto your back, settling between your spread thighs. His cock nudged against your soaked entrance, sliding through your folds teasingly.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded, sliding in with one deep thrust that bottomed out and stole your breath. The stretch was so much better, thicker, real. He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he savored the tight heat. “That’s it… fuck, you feel perfect.”

He set a punishing rhythm—deep, rolling thrusts that hit every sensitive spot inside you. One hand pinned your wrists above your head, the other gripping your thigh to spread you wider. Every snap of his hips drove the air from your lungs, your moans mixing with the wet slap of skin on skin.

“You thought I’d be gone another day?” he panted against your ear, biting down on the lobe. “Good thing I came early. Can’t have my girl fucking herself stupid without me.”

You were babbling now—his name, pleas, broken admissions of how much you’d missed him, how nothing felt as good as him. Shikamaru drank it all in, pace never faltering, until your walls started fluttering around him.

“Come for me,” he growled, releasing your wrists so he could reach between you and rub tight circles over your clit. “Let me feel it. Show me how much you needed this.”

The orgasm crashed over you hard—back arching, vision whiting out, a wild cry tearing from your throat as you clenched and pulsed around his cock. Shikamaru fucked you through it, hips stuttering, before he buried himself deep and came with a low, guttural groan, filling you with hot pulses.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the apartment. Shikamaru stayed buried inside you, collapsing half on top of you with a tired, satisfied sigh. His face pressed into the crook of your neck, inhaling you right back.

“Troublesome,” he muttered, but there was a smile in his voice. He pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to your damp skin. “Next time you miss me this bad… just wait. Or at least leave the door open so I don’t have to imagine the worst.”

You laughed breathlessly, fingers threading through his hair. He was still hard inside you, hips giving a lazy little roll that made you gasp.

“Round two in the shower?” he suggested, voice already heavy with exhaustion and renewed interest. “Then you’re feeding me. And I’m sleeping in that bed with you wrapped around me like a damn koala. No more fake cocks. Just the real thing.”

anything for you pookie <3 (part one can be found: here)

--------------------------

The rain hammered relentlessly against the thin roof and windows of your apartment, a steady, drumming roar that filled the quiet spaces between your ragged breaths. Cold drafts slipped through the old window frames, carrying the sharp, clean scent of wet earth and Konoha’s night air. Shikamaru stood under the narrow awning for a long moment, jonin vest heavy and darkened with rainwater, before he finally knocked twice—sharp, decisive sounds that cut through the downpour.

You opened the door in just an oversized shirt and sleep shorts, hair tousled from another sleepless night. The cool, damp breeze rushed in past him, raising goosebumps along your bare legs. Your eyes widened. “Shikamaru…?”

He stepped inside without waiting, rainwater dripping from his dark hair and clothes onto your wooden floorboards with soft, rhythmic plops. The apartment instantly filled with his scent—faint cigarette smoke clinging to his vest, the rich, earthy musk of rain-soaked fabric, and that underlying warm, masculine aroma that was unmistakably him. He closed the door with a quiet, final click that seemed to seal the world outside.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, voice low and rough like gravel underfoot, still laced with that familiar lazy drawl but heavier now. He pushed wet strands of hair back from his face, droplets tracing paths down his neck. “A lot. About that night. The way I pinned you with shadows, the way my tongue tore those screams out of you, and how I walked away like you were nothing.” His dark eyes, shadowed and intense, locked onto yours, reflecting the dim lamplight. “I wanted you to hurt exactly as deep as you hurt me. And I made sure you did.”

You swallowed hard, the taste of salt from unshed tears already on your tongue, back pressing against the cool wall as he closed the distance. The heat radiating from his body cut through the chill of his wet clothes. He stopped inches away, close enough that you could feel the cold dampness of his vest brushing your chest.

“But hating you… carrying that weight every damn day?” He exhaled slowly, breath warm against your lips, carrying the faint bitterness of tobacco. “It’s more exhausting than loving you ever was. I forgive you.”

The words sank into you like warm sake on a cold night. Tears spilled hot down your cheeks. “You… forgive me? After everything?”

“Yeah.” His calloused fingers cupped your jaw with surprising gentleness, thumb brushing away the tears, the rough pad of his skin warm against your damp cheek. “Doesn’t erase the pain. But I’m done punishing both of us.” He leaned in, forehead resting against yours—the cool wetness of his skin meeting your feverish heat. “I miss you. More than I thought I would. More than I wanted to admit.”

The first kiss was tentative, his lips cool and rain-soft against yours, tasting faintly of smoke and storm. You whimpered brokenly and pressed forward. That sound unlocked him. Shikamaru groaned low in his throat—a deep, vibrating rumble—and deepened the kiss, tongue sliding lazily, hot and velvet-smooth against yours in slow, claiming strokes. His hands roamed down your sides, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your shirt, pulling your body flush against his soaked clothes. The contrast of cold wet fabric against your warming skin made you shiver.

“Bedroom,” he murmured against your mouth, the word husky and warm. “Unless you want me right here against this wall.”

You tugged him down the hallway by his vest, fingers slipping on the damp material. Clothes fell in a messy trail: his heavy vest hit the floor with a wet thud, followed by his shirt, revealing the lean, sculpted planes of his chest glistening with rainwater. Your oversized shirt peeled away next, cool air kissing your bare breasts, nipples tightening instantly. Shorts and panties slid down your legs, the fabric catching briefly on your thighs already growing slick with arousal. By the time you reached the bed, both of you were naked, skin flushed and damp.

He laid you down on the cool sheets with deliberate care, the mattress dipping under his weight as he settled between your spread thighs. The room filled with the scent of your combined arousal—musky, sweet, and heady.

“No shadows tonight,” he whispered, breath ghosting hot over your inner thigh. “Just me.”

His mouth started at your neck, open-mouthed kisses that left cool-wet trails turning warm as he sucked lightly, the faint sting of teeth sending sparks down your spine. Lower, his tongue swirled hot and wet around one nipple, sucking it deep into the furnace of his mouth while his fingers rolled the other, calluses scraping deliciously. The wet, obscene sounds of his sucking mixed with your soft gasps and the constant roar of rain.

When he moved lower, he spread your thighs wider with strong hands, thumbs parting your slick folds with a lewd, wet sound. “Been dreaming about this taste,” he growled, voice muffled. The first long, slow drag of his tongue from your dripping entrance to your swollen clit pulled a broken moan from deep in your chest. He groaned in response, the vibration buzzing through your core as he devoured you—broad, flat licks gathering your tangy sweetness, tight circles around your clit, and two thick fingers sliding into your tight heat with a slick squelch. They curled gently, stroking that spongy spot while his tongue worked in devastating rhythm. The wet, filthy sounds of him eating you out filled the room, louder than the rain.

“Shikamaru—oh fuck—” Your fingers tightened in his damp hair, hips bucking against his face as the pleasure built in heavy, molten waves. He sucked your clit between his lips with perfect pressure, fingers pumping steadily, until your first orgasm crashed over you—walls fluttering and clenching hard around his fingers, a hot gush of slick coating his chin and dripping down to soak the sheets. He licked you through every pulsing aftershock, savoring every drop with low, satisfied hums.

He crawled up your body, kissing a glistening trail of your own arousal across your stomach and breasts, the taste of yourself on his tongue when he claimed your mouth again in a deep, messy kiss. His cock—thick, heavy, burning hot, and leaking precum—nudged insistently against your soaked entrance.

“Look at me,” he breathed, voice strained.

Your eyes locked. His were dark, hooded, and filled with genuine warmth.

He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching your walls with a delicious burn that made you both groan. The wet, squelching sound of him sinking deep echoed obscenely. Fully seated, balls pressed against you, he paused, forehead to yours, sharing hot, panting breaths. “Mine again,” he whispered. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, legs wrapping tight around his waist, heels digging into his back.

Shikamaru began to move—long, lazy rolls of his hips that dragged his cock along every sensitive ridge inside you. The rhythmic, wet slap of skin on skin joined the rain, growing louder as sweat slicked your bodies. One hand pinned yours above your head, fingers laced tightly, while the other gripped your hip, angling you perfectly so the thick head kissed your cervix with every deep thrust. Your breasts bounced with each impact, nipples grazing his chest.

You came again hard—walls clamping down around his pistoning cock, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as pleasure flooded your veins. He fucked you through it steadily, murmuring hot praise against your ear. “Good girl… so fucking tight and perfect for me.”

He pulled out with a wet pop, flipped you onto your stomach, and covered your back with his chest, the heat of his skin searing. Sliding back inside from behind in one smooth, deep thrust, the new angle made stars burst behind your eyes. His arm banded around your waist, holding you tight as his hips snapped forward harder, skin slapping wetly, balls smacking against your clit. His free hand reached underneath, fingers rubbing tight, slippery circles over your swollen clit.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled against your ear, teeth sinking lightly into your shoulder, the sting blooming into heat. “Want you dripping with my cum for days. So you remember exactly who you belong to.”

You shattered a third time, body shaking violently, cunt pulsing and gushing around him as you moaned helplessly into the pillow. Shikamaru followed with a deep, guttural groan—hips stuttering as thick, hot ropes of cum pulsed deep inside you, flooding your walls. He kept thrusting lazily through his release, pushing every drop deeper until it leaked out around his cock in creamy rivulets, coating your thighs and the sheets.

He stayed buried inside you as he rolled you both onto your sides, chest pressed to your back, arms wrapped possessively around your trembling body. The room smelled of sex, rain, and sweat. His lips pressed slow, lingering kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulder, the sensitive spot behind your ear, his breath warm and steadying.

“No more running,” he murmured, voice sleepy and sated. “I’m not chasing you again. Too troublesome.”

You smiled, pressing back into his solid warmth, feeling his heartbeat thrum against your spine and the slow, sticky leak of his cum down your thigh.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

👀 yeah I can fuck with this

——————————-

You’d been testing Shikamaru for hours—leaning over him while he tried to read, letting your breasts brush against his shoulder, “accidentally” wiggling in his lap when you reached for a snack, and giving him that innocent little smile every time he shot you a warning glance. The final straw came when you snatched his strategy book from his hands and held it just out of reach, giggling.

“Troublesome woman,” he sighed, but there was a dangerous edge beneath the usual drawl. In one fluid motion, he grabbed your wrist, yanked you forward, and pulled you face-down across his lap on the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped under your combined weight. His muscular thighs felt solid and warm beneath your stomach, the coarse fabric of his dark pants rubbing against your bare skin where your oversized shirt had ridden up. His large hand settled heavily on the curve of your ass, fingers splayed, palm warm and slightly rough from years of shinobi training. He gave one slow, possessive squeeze, kneading the soft flesh.

Then his hand lifted.

SMACK.

The sharp impact jolted through your body. A hot, stinging bloom spread across your right cheek, the skin instantly warming as blood rushed to the surface. You gasped, then let out a deliberately breathy, playful moan, arching your back to push your ass higher into his touch.

“Harder, Daddy~”

Shikamaru froze completely. You felt every muscle in his thighs tense beneath you. His cock, which had been steadily hardening against your belly, gave a violent twitch and surged to full, throbbing thickness. The heat of it pressed insistently through his pants, heavy and demanding. His breathing, usually so calm and measured, hitched audibly.

“…What the fuck did you just call me?” His voice had dropped into a low, gravelly register that sent shivers racing down your spine.

Before you could tease him further, his hand came down again—much harder. CRACK. The heavy slap of skin on skin echoed sharply in the quiet room. The sting was deeper this time, a burning heat that radiated outward and sank straight into your core, making your pussy clench hard. His rough palm rubbed firmly over the sore spot, dragging across the sensitive, heated flesh and making the burn flare even hotter.

“Say it again,” he commanded, voice rough with newfound hunger.

“Daddy—,” you whimpered, wiggling deliberately against the rigid length trapped beneath you.

Shikamaru groaned, the sound low and raw. He spanked you in a steady rhythm now—crack, crack, crack—each impact jarring your whole body. His calloused palm connected with your soft, yielding flesh, sending ripples through your ass and thighs. The skin grew tighter, hotter, glowing a deep red under his relentless hand. Every smack left a throbbing pulse that made fresh slick drip from your folds, soaking through your panties and smearing messily against his pant leg. The sting melted into a deep, aching warmth that had your toes curling and your breath coming in short, needy gasps.

“Fuck… you’re soaked,” he muttered, sliding two fingers between your thighs to confirm. They slipped under your panties and glided easily through your dripping wetness, the rough pads teasing your swollen folds before pulling away. He brought his hand down again, smacking the underside of your ass where it met your thighs, the new angle making your eyes roll back.

He flipped you onto your back without warning. The cool sheets pressed against your overheated, stinging ass, the contrast drawing a sharp hiss from your lips. Shikamaru loomed over you, one strong hand pinning both your wrists above your head. His loose hair fell around his face like a dark curtain, the strands brushing softly, ticklishly over your collarbones and breasts. His body heat poured over you, his chest hovering just above yours.

He shoved your shirt up roughly, exposing your breasts, then yanked your panties down your legs in one impatient tug. Cool air kissed your soaked, aching pussy, making you shiver. Two thick fingers pushed inside you immediately, stretching your slick walls with a wet, obscene sound. The rough texture of his skin dragged deliciously against your sensitive inner walls as he curled them deep, stroking that perfect spongy spot with practiced precision. His thumb pressed firm, slick circles over your swollen clit, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your core.

You moaned loudly, hips bucking up into his hand. “Daddy—fuck, Daddy!”

The title seemed to snap something in him. Shikamaru’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide. He added a third finger, stretching you wider, the pressure intense and perfect. His fingers pumped faster, curling, scissoring, the wet squelching sounds filling the room as your juices coated his hand and dripped down to soak the sheets beneath your reddened ass.

He pulled his fingers out abruptly, leaving you clenching around nothing, aching with emptiness. Then you felt the blunt, scorching head of his thick cock nudge against your entrance—velvety soft skin over rigid, pulsing heat. He pushed in slowly, inch by veiny inch, letting you feel every ridge and throb as he stretched you open. The burning fullness made your walls flutter and squeeze around him greedily. When he bottomed out, hips flush against your tender, spanked skin, the pressure was exquisite. His balls pressed warmly against you, heavy and full.

“Shit… so fucking tight and wet for me,” he rasped, voice hoarse.

He started thrusting—deep, powerful strokes that dragged along every sensitive nerve inside you. Skin slapped wetly against skin with every snap of his hips. His free hand reached down to grip and smack your ass again mid-thrust, the sharp sting blending perfectly with the deep, pounding pleasure of his cock filling you completely. Sweat slicked your bodies, making his chest slide hot and smooth against your breasts, his damp hair sticking to your neck and shoulder.

Every time you gasped “Daddy,” his thrusts grew harder, more desperate, his hips slamming against your sore ass. The bed creaked rhythmically beneath you. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss, tongue sliding against yours as he fucked you deeper.

You came first with a broken cry, walls clamping down around his thick length in pulsing, rhythmic waves. Your thighs shook uncontrollably against his sides, pleasure crashing through every nerve. The tight squeeze pulled Shikamaru over the edge right after. He buried himself to the hilt with a low, guttural groan, hips stuttering as thick, hot spurts of cum flooded deep inside you, the warmth spreading through your core.

For a long moment, he stayed buried inside you, both of you panting. Then he slowly pulled out, a trickle of his cum leaking from your swollen pussy. He collapsed beside you and pulled your trembling, sweat-damp body tightly against his chest. His skin was fever-hot, heart still hammering beneath your cheek. His fingers traced feather-light, soothing patterns over your stinging, swollen ass cheeks, the gentle touch sending pleasant aftershocks through your sensitized nerves.

He pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your temple, then another to your shoulder, his breath warm and ragged against your skin.

morning sex is the best sex ngl

——————————-

The first thing that pulls you from sleep is the overwhelming heat—thick, heavy, and pressed flush against your entire back. The room is bathed in soft, hazy morning light filtering through the half-drawn curtains, casting a warm golden glow over tangled sheets and bare skin. But it’s not the sun that wakes you.

It’s the slow, lazy grind of Shikamaru’s thick, heavy cock sliding between your ass cheeks, already slick with his precum.

His body is a solid wall of warmth behind you, chest rising and falling against your spine with each slow breath. One arm is tucked possessively under your pillow, fingers loosely tangled in your hair, while his other hand aggressively kneads your bare breast. His large palm engulfs the soft flesh, squeezing hard enough that you feel the slight sting of his fingertips digging in, then releasing only to grip again—rough, greedy, almost absentminded in its possessiveness. He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and tugging until it’s swollen and aching, sending sharp jolts of heat straight down to your core.

A low, raspy groan vibrates against the nape of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin, carrying the faint, musky scent of sleep and last night’s sex. His hips roll forward in that trademark lazy rhythm—unhurried, almost sleepy—dragging the thick length of his cock up and down the cleft of your ass. The velvety, heated skin feels impossibly heavy against you, the fat head catching and nudging at your entrance with every forward push. Warm, sticky precum leaks steadily from him, smearing across your skin and making the glide slick and filthy, the wet sound of skin sliding against skin barely audible beneath your shared breathing.

“Mmm… fuck, you feel good,” he mutters, voice gravelly and thick with sleep, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His tongue darts out lazily to taste the salt on your skin.

You shift instinctively, pressing back against him, and a soft gasp escapes your lips as the blunt, swollen head of his cock catches firmly against your folds. He’s rock-hard, pulsing with lazy throbs that match his heartbeat.

“Shikamaru…” you breathe, voice still husky.

His hand on your breast squeezes harder, nails scraping lightly over sensitive skin, while his other slides down to grip your hip, fingers pressing into the soft flesh with bruising strength to hold you exactly where he wants you. He angles his hips and pushes forward—slow, deliberate—stretching your pussy open around his thick girth. The burn is delicious, a slow, aching fullness as your walls flutter and clench around the intrusion. You can feel every ridge, every vein as he sinks deeper, the slick heat of your combined arousal easing the way but not hiding the intense stretch.

A deep, satisfied sigh rumbles from his chest when he bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, his heavy balls pressed warmly against you. The coarse hair at the base of his cock tickles the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. For a moment he just stays there, buried to the hilt, savoring the tight, wet heat pulsing around him.

Then he starts moving.

Slow, deep, grinding thrusts that barely pull out—just rolling his hips in lazy circles, stirring your insides and dragging perfectly against that spongy spot deep inside you. The wet, obscene sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy fills the quiet room, mixed with the faint creak of the bed and his low, sleepy groans. His hand returns to your breasts, kneading both of them now with rough, possessive squeezes—palms hot and slightly calloused, fingers pinching and tugging at your nipples until they’re tight and throbbing. The slight sting mixes with pleasure, making your back arch.

His skin is damp with a light sheen of sweat where it presses against yours, the salty, masculine scent of him surrounding you completely. One hand finally drifts lower, fingers finding your swollen clit with effortless precision. He rubs slow, firm circles, the pad of his middle finger slick with your juices, the pressure building that heavy, molten pleasure low in your belly.

“Shit… so fucking tight in the morning,” he groans against your neck, teeth grazing your skin before he sucks lightly, leaving a faint mark. His thrusts stay languid but relentless—each one pushing you forward slightly in the bed, your breasts bouncing in his greedy hands. He catches them immediately, squeezing harder, almost punishing the movement.

You’re completely surrounded by him: the heat of his body, the thick stretch of his cock filling you over and over, the rough texture of his hands claiming every inch of you, the wet sounds of sex, and his lazy, raspy voice murmuring filthy praises right against your ear.

“Gonna stay buried in you like this all morning,” he whispers, voice low and dark with lust. “Just you clenching around my cock… nowhere else to be.”

Strip shoji???? Yeah I’m gonna start BARKING

——————————

The shogi board lay in total disarray on the low table, black and white pieces scattered across the tatami mats like casualties of war. The late afternoon light slanted through the half-closed blinds, casting warm golden stripes over Shikamaru’s increasingly exposed body. The air in the room had grown thick and intimate, heavy with the faint herbal scent of his shampoo and the unmistakable musk of building arousal.

You had thrown the game from the very beginning—sacrificing major pieces with reckless abandon, deliberately feeding him openings while sneaking your own pawns and knights into his territory.

His forehead protector came off first with a quiet clink. Then the mesh shirt, peeled away with a frustrated sigh, revealing the warm, smooth expanse of his lean chest. The fabric whispered against his skin as it hit the floor. His black pants followed, sliding down his long legs with a soft rustle, leaving him in just his boxers. The thin material strained tightly over his growing erection, the outline clear and tempting.

“Again?” Shikamaru’s voice came out in a low, gravelly growl, thick with irritation as your latest promoted pawn clicked firmly into place. His brown eyes narrowed, a faint flush creeping across his sharp cheekbones. With an impatient huff, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and shoved the boxers down. The fabric pooled at his ankles before he kicked it aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, the velvety skin already hot and throbbing as it bobbed in the cool room air. A single bead of precum glistened at the tip. He stood there completely naked—lean hips, defined V-lines, the light trail of dark hair leading downward—all of him tense and visibly aroused. “You’ve thrown every decent piece away. I’ve captured damn near everything, and you’re still dressed except for one sock. What a pain in the ass…”

The rough frustration in his tone sent a shiver of heat straight between your thighs.

He didn’t give you time to respond. Strong, slightly calloused hands seized your wrists, yanking you around the table with surprising force. Scattered shogi pieces clattered and skittered noisily under your feet as he stripped you. Your shirt was tugged roughly over your head, the cool air kissing your heated skin. Your bra followed with a quick snap of the clasp, then your pants and panties were dragged down your legs in one impatient motion, the fabric scraping lightly against your skin. The tatami mats felt cool and slightly textured against your bare back as he pushed you down, the woven fibers pressing into your shoulders and spine.

Shikamaru hovered over you, his body radiating intense heat. His cock rested thick and heavy against your inner thigh, the hot, silky skin leaving a slick, wet trail of precum as he shifted. You could feel the faint throb of his pulse through it. He pinned your wrists above your head with one firm hand, the grip tight enough to feel the strength in his fingers. His free hand slid between your legs, two long fingers pushing into your soaked heat with a wet, obscene squelch.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he murmured hotly against your neck, his breath fanning over your skin. His fingers pumped slowly, curling and stroking that sensitive spot inside you with practiced precision, making filthy, slick sounds that echoed in the quiet room. His thumb found your clit, rubbing firm, slick circles that sent electric jolts through your body. You moaned loudly, hips bucking into his touch, the wet glide of his fingers driving you higher.

His mouth latched onto your breast—hot, wet suction pulling at your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive bud with just enough pressure to make you gasp sharply. The contrast between the cool floor beneath you and his burning, slightly sweaty skin above was overwhelming. You could feel every ridge of his fingertips inside you, every brush of his thumb.

He withdrew his fingers with a lewd, wet pop, spreading your thighs wider. The blunt, swollen head of his cock nudged your entrance, sliding through your folds with a slick glide before he pushed in—slow, deliberate, stretching you inch by thick inch. You felt every vein, every ridge as he filled you completely, bottoming out with a shared groan. The fullness was intense, bordering on overwhelming, his cock twitching deep inside you.

“Shit… so tight and warm around me,” Shikamaru breathed raggedly against your shoulder, voice husky. He stayed buried for a moment, letting you adjust, then began to move—long, deep thrusts that rocked your body against the mats. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, rhythmic and filthy, accompanied by the soft creak of the floorboards beneath you. Sweat slicked his back under your nails as you dug them in, feeling the firm muscle flex and tremble with each powerful roll of his hips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into the taut muscle of his ass, pulling him deeper. His dark hair tickled your collarbone, his hot, panting breaths ghosting over your ear with every thrust. “Wanted me like this?” he growled, voice strained and low, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. His pace quickened, hips snapping harder, the slick, pounding sounds growing louder. One hand gripped your hip bruisingly tight, fingers digging into soft flesh, while the other slipped between your bodies to rub fast, slick circles over your swollen clit.

The coil in your belly tightened unbearably fast. His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, the wet sounds almost pornographic as he chased release. “Come on,” he panted harshly against your ear, voice rough and desperate. “Squeeze my cock—let me feel you. You wanted me naked and frustrated, fucking you like this… so take it.”

Your orgasm crashed over you violently. You cried out sharply, walls clenching and fluttering rhythmically around his thick length, pulling him deeper as pleasure ripped through you in pulsing waves. Shikamaru groaned deeply, the sound raw and guttural, his hips stuttering before he buried himself to the hilt with one final, powerful thrust. You felt the hot, pulsing rush of his release flooding you—thick spurts of warmth as his cock throbbed hard inside your spasming heat, his entire body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, only your mingled heavy breathing and the faint creak of the floor filled the room. Shikamaru’s weight pressed you deliciously into the mats, his sweat-slick skin sticking to yours, heartbeat thundering against your chest. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, placing a lazy, open-mouthed kiss there, his softening cock still twitching occasionally inside you.

“Next time,” he muttered, voice lazy and sated, breath warm against your damp skin, “just say you want me naked. This game was way too much damn work…”

You smiled breathlessly, threading your fingers through his damp hair and tugging him up for a slow, lingering kiss—tasting the salt of sweat on his lips, feeling the gentle press of his mouth against yours.

i’d like to request a modern au shikamaru fic! reader and shikamaru have been best friends since middle school, the’ve pretty much been inseparable. at this point, they already have jobs and stuff, but one night, their friends dragged them into a party a friend of their friend was hosting… 👁️👁️

tensions rise in that crowded dance floor. there’s gradual passion and intensity when they realize “OH SHIT! I’M KINDA INTO THIS?!”

(reader and shikamaru pretty much have the same vibe, but reader is much more vocal/talkative.)

vibes i’m inspired by the songs pretty please and sex love drugs by dutch melrose. 👅 OFC, FEEL FREE TO ADD YOUR OWN CREATIVE FLAIR. YOU’RE AWESOME SAUCE!!! 😛

I need this man biblically

———————————-

The bass throbbed deep in your chest like a second heartbeat, heavy and insistent, vibrating up through the sticky floorboards into the soles of your shoes. The air was thick—humid with sweat, sweet perfume, sharp cologne, and the faint metallic tang of spilled beer. Colored lights swept lazily across the crowd in deep reds and purples, but all you could focus on was the press of bodies around you and the solid warmth of Shikamaru at your back.

The crowd surged again, forcing you flush against him. His chest was firm and radiating heat through his black button-up, the fabric slightly damp with sweat where it clung to his skin. You could feel the subtle shift of his breathing, the steady rise and fall against your shoulder blades, and the faint thrum of his heartbeat when your back pressed fully into him.

“God, it’s so sticky in here,” you muttered, voice cutting through the music as your usual commentary spilled out. “My shoes are practically glued to the floor, and if one more person—”

Shikamaru’s hand settled on your hip, fingers spreading wide. The heat of his palm burned through the thin material of your top, calloused fingertips pressing just enough to feel possessive rather than casual. His touch was firm, grounding, the slight roughness of his skin dragging deliciously as he pulled you back against him.

You turned in his arms, the movement sliding your bodies together—chest to chest, hips brushing. His dark eyes met yours in the flashing lights, half-lidded with something far from boredom. Strands of his messy black hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat, and when you placed your hands on his chest, the fabric of his shirt was warm and slightly wrinkled under your palms, the lean muscle beneath shifting as he breathed.

His thigh slipped between yours with the next sway of the music, the firm pressure of it rubbing right where you were starting to ache. The friction was electric—rough denim against softer fabric, the solid muscle of his leg flexing as you moved together.

“Shikamaru…” Your voice came out breathier, fingers curling tighter into his shirt, bunching the material in your fists. The cotton was soft but clung damply to his skin from the heat of the room and the growing tension between you.

“Yeah sweetheart?,” he murmured, voice low and rough, the term of endearment sending a shiver down your spine. His other hand slid up your back, fingers tracing the line of your spine through your top before settling at the nape of your neck. His grip was warm, slightly calloused, thumb stroking the sensitive skin there in slow circles that made goosebumps erupt across your arms.

The realization crashed over you both as your bodies moved in sync—slow, grinding, inevitable. Years of casual touches suddenly felt loaded: the way his fingers dug into your hip, pulling you harder against the growing hardness you could feel pressing into your lower stomach. The heat of his skin seeped through every point of contact, making your own clothes feel too tight, too restrictive.

You tilted your head up and kissed him first.

His lips were surprisingly soft but firm, warm from the stuffy room. The faint stubble on his jaw scraped lightly against your skin as he tilted his head, deepening it. When your tongues met, the slick heat and taste of him—whiskey, salt, something uniquely Shikamaru—flooded your senses. His hand tightened at the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair and tugging with just enough pressure to send sparks down your spine. The other hand gripped your ass fully now, squeezing the soft flesh and pulling your hips tighter against his thigh.

The friction built with every roll of your bodies. Sweat slicked the places where skin met skin—your neck, his collarbone where you’d popped a button without realizing. Your fingers slid up into his hair, gripping the damp strands and tugging. They were silky at the roots but slightly gritty from the heat. He groaned into your mouth, the vibration rumbling against your chest, deep and raw.

You broke apart gasping, lips swollen and tingling. His forehead pressed to yours, slick with shared sweat, breaths mingling hot and fast.

“Holy shit,” you laughed shakily, voice wrecked.

He smirked, that lazy curve turning sharp. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, then trailed down to press against the pulse fluttering in your throat. The light pressure made your knees feel weak. “You talk too much,” he said, voice hoarse, but his fingers kept exploring—sliding under the hem of your top to trace bare skin at your waist. His touch was hot, slightly rough, leaving trails of tingling heat everywhere he went. “But I like feeling you like this. All flushed and trembling.”

You shivered hard at his words, nipping at his jaw in retaliation. The skin there was warm and faintly salty under your lips. In response, he pressed his thigh firmer between your legs, the deliberate drag pulling a soft whimper from your throat.

“Car,” he growled against your ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “Now.”

The night air outside was a sharp, cool shock against your overheated skin, raising goosebumps along your arms and neck. Shikamaru’s hand stayed laced tightly with yours, his grip firm and slightly sweaty, thumb stroking the back of your hand as he tugged you toward his car. The pavement felt uneven under your feet, your legs still shaky from the dance floor.

The second you reached the car, he backed you against the cool metal door. The contrast was intense—chilled steel seeping through your clothes against your back while his body burned hot against your front. His hands roamed greedily now, sliding under your shirt to palm your bare waist, fingers digging into soft flesh as he kissed you again. This one was deeper, slower, his tongue stroking yours while his hips pressed forward, letting you feel the hard length of him through his jeans.

Your hands slipped under his shirt, mapping the smooth planes of his back—warm skin stretched over lean muscle, slick with a light sheen of sweat. You dragged your nails lightly down his spine and felt him shudder against you, muscles tensing under your touch.

“We’re so screwed,” you murmured against his mouth, smiling as your fingers traced the dip of his lower back. “But don’t stop touching me like that.”

Shikamaru nipped your bottom lip, soothing it with his tongue. “Not planning on it.” His hand slid higher under your shirt, cupping your breast through your bra, thumb brushing over the fabric until your nipple hardened. The sensation made you arch into him.

“Then drive,” you breathed, tugging him closer by his belt loops, fingers brushing the warm skin just above his waistband. “Take me home before I drag you into the backseat right here.”

He opened the car door for you, eyes dark with promise, his hand lingering on your lower back—hot, steady, and full of unspoken intent.