take me to Kamui

REQUESTS CLOSED

*** As of right now I write for Naruto characters only; if that changes I will update that here!

*** I will probably write majority NSFW; if you are a minor get off of my page, don’t interact

***I will not write anything to do with incest, piss, scat, pedophilia, bestiality, gore, or abuse: don’t ask

***I will only write the female reader perspective since that is what I am personally good at and most comfortable with

*** I am usually open for requests, though that may change depending on my workload, however I do not have a set schedule: I write when I want and I keep a running list of ideas and WIPs. Just know that I will see your request and get to it when I can.

*** Any and all characters in my fics are over the age of 18

*** I will update these rules as I see fit at any time -----------------------------------

Characters I will write for: Naruto Uzumaki, Kakashi Hatake, Obito Uchiha, Itachi Uchiha, Gaara, Jiraiya, Shikamaru Nara, Sasuke Uchiha, Shikaku Nara

Characters I will NOT write for: Hidan, Kakazu, Orochimaru, Kabuto, Deidera, Might Guy, Rock Lee, Neji Huyuga, Sasori, Pain/Nagato, any female characters, Kisame

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

Masterlist

——————————-

The door clicked shut behind you, the weight of the day still clinging to your shoulders like damp fabric. Missions had run long, nerves frayed, bodies pushed past their limits. But the moment you stepped into the quiet apartment, you felt it—the shift in the air.

Kakashi was sprawled on the couch, mask tugged down just beneath his nose, silver hair messy, Icha Icha book forgotten on his chest. Itachi stood near the window, arms folded, black eyes already locked on you with that quiet, predatory calm that always made your pulse skip. They had been waiting.

“Rough day?” Kakashi’s voice was lazy, but the glint in his visible eye was anything but.

You barely managed a nod before Itachi crossed the room in two silent steps. His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your face up. “Ours too,” he murmured, voice low and velvet-rough. “We thought we’d… unwind together.”

Kakashi rose, stretching like a cat, then stepped in close on your other side. “You know how we like to destress, don’t you, sweetheart?” His gloved hand slid down your arm, fingers tracing the inside of your wrist. “We take care of you until you can’t think. Until you’re shaking and begging and so full of us you forget everything else. And we get to watch every second of it.”

Heat flooded your belly. You knew exactly what that meant.

Itachi’s thumb stroked your lower lip. “You’re already wet just from the thought, aren’t you?” His Sharingan flickered to life for a heartbeat—crimson and spinning—before he blinked it away. He liked to save it. Liked to watch you fall apart with perfect clarity.

They didn’t wait for an answer. They never did when they were like this—when the stress of the world had them both coiled tight and the only release they wanted was the kind that came from ruining you sweetly.

Kakashi’s hands were already at the hem of your shirt, peeling it up and off with practiced ease while Itachi’s mouth found the side of your neck. Slow, open-mouthed kisses, teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp. By the time they walked you backward into the bedroom, your clothes were gone, scattered like breadcrumbs. You were naked between them, skin prickling under their hungry gazes.

“On the bed,” Itachi ordered softly. You obeyed, crawling onto the sheets on your back. Kakashi followed immediately, mask finally tugged all the way down, revealing the sharp line of his jaw and that lazy, filthy smirk.

Itachi stayed standing at the foot of the bed for a moment, just looking. Then he crawled up between your thighs, spreading them wide with his hands. “Look at you,” he breathed, voice almost reverent. “Already glistening. We haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

Kakashi settled beside you, propped on one elbow. His hand cupped your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it peaked. “She gets so pretty when she’s needy,” he told Itachi conversationally, like they were discussing the weather. “Bet she’s throbbing already.”

Itachi didn’t answer with words. He lowered his head and dragged his tongue in one long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. Your hips jerked. He hummed approvingly and did it again, slower, the flat of his tongue pressing firm against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Kakashi watched your face the whole time, eyes half-lidded. “That’s it. Let him taste how worked up you are.” His fingers pinched your nipple, rolling it, sending sparks straight down to where Itachi was now sucking gently on your clit.

Itachi was methodical. Precise. He licked you like he was mapping every fold, every twitch, learning exactly what made your thighs tremble. When he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked, you moaned loud enough that Kakashi chuckled.

“Already close? We’ve barely started, baby.” He leaned down and kissed you, tongue sliding into your mouth at the same moment Itachi pushed two fingers inside you—crooking them immediately against that spot that made your vision blur.

You came with a broken cry, back arching, walls clenching hard around Itachi’s fingers. Pleasure crashed through you hot and sudden.

But they didn’t stop.

Itachi kept sucking, kept thrusting his fingers in slow, deep strokes, drawing the orgasm out until it crested again, sharper. Your thighs tried to close; Kakashi’s hand pressed one down, holding you open.

“Too much—fuck—Itachi—” Your voice cracked.

He lifted his head just enough to speak, lips shiny. “You can take it.” Then he dove back in, tongue flicking rapidly over your oversensitive clit while his fingers curled relentlessly.

Kakashi’s mouth moved to your ear. “That’s our girl. Cum again. We want to feel it.” His free hand slid down your stomach, pressing just above your pubic bone, adding pressure that made everything ten times more intense.

You shattered a second time, harder, a sob tearing from your throat. Your whole body shook. Itachi didn’t let up—he eased the pressure on your clit to soft, kitten licks, but his fingers kept moving, fucking you through the aftershocks until you were whimpering, hips twitching away from the overwhelming sensation.

Only then did he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were dark, pupils blown. “Good,” he praised quietly. “So good for us.”

Kakashi was already moving. He shifted down the bed, replacing Itachi between your legs. “My turn to taste.” He didn’t bother with teasing licks. He buried his face in your pussy like a man starved, tongue thrusting inside you before dragging up to your clit. The contrast was immediate—Itachi had been precise and devastating; Kakashi was enthusiastic, messy, groaning into you like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted.

You were still so sensitive. Every flick of his tongue made your hips buck. Itachi moved up beside you, capturing your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand. The other stroked your cheek, then your throat, then down to your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples in time with Kakashi’s tongue.

“Look at me,” Itachi murmured. When your eyes met his, he activated the Sharingan again—just for a second—letting you see the reflection of your own wrecked expression in those spinning tomoe. “Watch how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

Kakashi sucked your clit hard and you came again, thighs clamping around his head. He didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down, two fingers sliding in beside his tongue, fucking you fast and shallow while his mouth stayed locked on your clit.

Tears pricked your eyes from the intensity. “Kakashi—please—I can’t—”

“You can,” Itachi said calmly, thumb brushing away a tear. “You’re doing so well. One more. Give us one more like this.”

Kakashi’s fingers curled, pressing that spot inside you with ruthless accuracy. Combined with the relentless suction on your clit, it was too much. You came with a scream this time, whole body seizing, vision whiting out. Clear fluid gushed around Kakashi’s fingers—he pulled back just enough to watch it with a low, filthy groan before licking you through it, slower now, almost soothing.

When he finally lifted his head, his chin was wet. He grinned up at you, lazy and satisfied. “Fuck, you taste good when you squirt for us.”

Itachi released your wrists and kissed your forehead. “Breathe, love.”

You were trembling, chest heaving, pussy still fluttering with aftershocks. They gave you maybe thirty seconds.

Then Kakashi sat back on his heels, palming the obvious bulge in his pants. “Think she’s ready for cock?”

Itachi’s gaze raked over you. “She’s dripping. Yes.”

They undressed efficiently. Kakashi’s cock sprang free—thick, flushed, already leaking. Itachi’s was longer, slightly curved, the head dark and perfect. You reached for them on instinct, but Itachi caught your hands again.

“Not yet,” he said. “We’re not done making you cum.”

Kakashi moved first. He flipped you onto your stomach, then pulled your hips up so you were on your knees, chest pressed to the mattress. “Ass up, sweetheart. That’s it.” He rubbed the head of his cock through your soaked folds, teasing your entrance, your clit, back again. “Still so sensitive, huh? Perfect.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until his hips met your ass. The stretch was exquisite. You moaned into the sheets.

Itachi knelt in front of you, one hand stroking your hair. “Open.” You did, and he fed his cock into your mouth, slow and careful. “Good girl. Just like that.”

Kakashi started moving—deep, rolling thrusts that made your eyes roll back. Every time he bottomed out, the head of his cock dragged against that spot inside you. Itachi fucked your mouth with shallow rolls of his hips, letting you set the pace at first, then taking a little more when your moans vibrated around him.

Kakashi’s hand slid under you, fingers finding your clit again. He rubbed tight circles, never letting up even when your walls started fluttering around him.

“Gonna cum on my cock?” he panted. “Yeah, you are. I can feel it. So fucking tight.”

You came again with Itachi’s cock in your mouth, muffled cry vibrating through him. Your pussy clamped down hard on Kakashi; he groaned but didn’t stop thrusting, didn’t stop rubbing your clit through it.

Itachi pulled out of your mouth, letting you breathe. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice strained. “Falling apart so beautifully.”

Kakashi pulled out and flipped you onto your back again. Itachi took his place between your legs, lifting one of your thighs over his shoulder. He slid into you in one smooth thrust, deeper than Kakashi had been, hitting places that made you see stars.

Kakashi moved to your side, mouth latching onto your breast, sucking hard while his fingers found your clit again. Itachi fucked you with long, powerful strokes, eyes locked on your face, Sharingan spinning lazily now—watching every micro-expression, every flutter of your lashes.

“You’re going to cum again,” Itachi said, voice calm even as his hips snapped harder. “And then again. We’re going to keep you right here until the only thing you remember is how good it feels to be ours.”

Kakashi’s fingers sped up on your clit. Itachi angled his hips just right. The combination was lethal.

You came so hard your vision blacked out for a second, body bowing off the bed. Itachi didn’t stop. He kept thrusting through it, pace never faltering, while Kakashi kept rubbing, kept sucking your nipple, kept murmuring filthy praise.

“Fuck, look at her shake,” Kakashi groaned. “She’s so fucking sensitive now. Every touch probably feels like too much, huh, baby?”

Itachi’s hand slid up to your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, grounding. “But you’re still taking it. Such a good girl for us.”

They switched again. Kakashi fucked you next, faster, a little rougher, while Itachi kissed you deep and played with your nipples, rolling and tugging until they were swollen and aching in the best way.

You lost count of the orgasms after that.

At some point you were on your back again, legs spread wide, Itachi’s cock buried deep while Kakashi’s mouth was on your clit. Every time you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure, strong hands held you down. Every time you sobbed that it was too much, they praised you and kept going.

“One more,” Itachi would say, voice low and coaxing.

“You can give us one more,” Kakashi would agree, lips shiny, eyes dark with lust and something softer.

Your body was oversensitive to the point of pain-pleasure. Every brush of fingers, every thrust, every flick of tongue sent electric shocks through you. Tears streaked your temples. Your voice was hoarse from moaning and begging.

They didn’t stop until you were a shaking, boneless mess—limbs trembling, pussy swollen and dripping, clit so sensitive that even the brush of air made you whimper.

Only then did they let themselves finish.

Itachi came first, buried deep inside you, groaning your name against your neck as he filled you. Kakashi followed seconds later, pulling out at the last second to stroke himself and paint your stomach and breasts with thick ropes of cum, eyes locked on your face the whole time.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and their quieter ones.

Then gentle hands were moving over you. Itachi fetched a warm cloth, cleaning you with careful strokes while Kakashi pressed soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

“You did so well,” Itachi murmured, voice back to its usual quiet warmth. “So perfect for us.”

Kakashi pulled you against his chest once you were clean, tucking you under his chin. Itachi curled in behind you, one arm draped over your waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip.

“Feel better?” you managed to ask, voice wrecked.

Kakashi huffed a laugh against your hair. “Immensely.”

Itachi pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “The stress is gone. All that’s left is you.”

You smiled sleepily, body still twitching with occasional aftershocks. “Good. Because I don’t think I can move for a week.”

Kakashi’s hand stroked down your side, soothing. “Then don’t. We’ve got you.”

Itachi’s fingers found yours and laced them together. “Rest. We’ll take care of everything else.”

You drifted off between them, warm and sated and thoroughly, deliciously overstimulated—exactly the way they liked to destress. And exactly the way you loved being undone by them.

———————————

The breakup had been a long time coming, but the freedom still felt surreal, like stepping out of a fog that had clung to your skin for years. Your ex had spent the last year and a half draining you dry—emotionally, physically, and sexually. He’d cancel plans with a curt text, no apology, leaving you dressed up and disappointed in empty restaurants. In bed, it was always the same: quick, selfish fucks where he’d shove into you with barely any foreplay, grunting and sweating against your neck for a few frantic minutes before finishing with a shudder. He’d roll off, satisfied, while you lay there staring at the ceiling, body aching with unresolved tension, your core throbbing emptily. He never went down on you. Never cared if you came. You’d faked orgasms so many times—the exaggerated moans, the clenching around him—that you’d almost forgotten what real pleasure felt like, the kind that made your toes curl and your mind blank.

But the real reason you’d stayed as long as you did was Shikamaru Nara.

Your longtime friend. The lazy genius who’d been a constant in your life since the old days, his presence as steady and comforting as the shade under a tree. Countless afternoons spent on quiet hills watching clouds drift lazily across the sky, the grass warm beneath your backs, the faint scent of pine and earth in the air. Playing shogi until the stars came out, the wooden pieces clicking softly as he dismantled your strategies with that trademark smirk. Sharing silences that felt more intimate than anything your ex ever gave you—his shoulder brushing yours, the occasional brush of his fingers when he handed you a snack. You’d fallen for him slowly, deeply, hopelessly. The way his dark eyes would half-lid in thought, the low rumble of his voice when he called something “troublesome,” the rare, genuine smiles that made your stomach flip. But Shikamaru always seemed so detached, so effortlessly above it all, like emotions were just another game he’d already solved. You convinced yourself the pining was one-sided. That a man like him could never want someone like you in that way.

So you settled. Until you couldn’t anymore.

You found him that evening on your favorite hill just outside the village, sprawled on the grass like he’d been waiting for you, arms behind his head, ponytail fanned out like ink on the green. The sun was dipping low, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks, the air cooling with the promise of night. The moment he saw your tear-streaked face, his usual half-lidded expression sharpened, brows drawing together in that focused way that made your heart stutter.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

“I dumped him,” you whispered, voice cracking. “For good this time.”

Shikamaru exhaled slowly, a long, controlled breath, then sat up with surprising fluidity. For a long moment he just looked at you, dark eyes searching your face as if memorizing every detail—the redness around your eyes, the tremble in your lip. Then he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness, his calloused fingertips lingering on the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Good,” he said simply. “That guy was never good enough for you.”

The words poured out of you then—the neglect, the loneliness that gnawed at your chest like a constant bruise, the nights you lay there wondering if this was really all love was supposed to be: cold sheets, fake smiles, and an emptiness that echoed louder than any moan. Shikamaru listened without interrupting, his jaw tight, one hand resting warmly on your knee, thumb stroking slow circles through your clothes. The scent of him—clean sweat, faint pine from the woods, and something uniquely him—wrapped around you like a blanket.

When you finally fell silent, he leaned in until his forehead touched yours, warm skin to skin, his breath mingling with yours.

“I’ve wanted you for years,” he admitted, voice rough and low, vibrating through you. “Every time I saw you with him… it was troublesome as hell. I thought you’d never look at me that way. So I waited. Like an idiot.”

Your breath caught, heart pounding so hard you felt it in your throat. “Shikamaru… I thought I wasn’t your type. That I was just a friend.”

“You were never just a friend.” His thumb stroked your cheek, wiping away a lingering tear, the touch electric. “You were the only one who ever made life interesting.”

The kiss started tentative—his lips warm and soft against yours, slightly chapped from the outdoors, testing, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t. You melted into him, hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders, feeling the firm muscle beneath his shirt. The kiss deepened fast, years of quiet longing pouring out in the slow slide of tongues—wet, hot, tasting faintly of the tea he’d been drinking earlier. Soft, desperate sounds escaped you both: his low hum, your breathy whimpers, the slick sounds of mouths moving together.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours again, breathing hard, pupils blown wide. “Come home with me.”

The walk to the Nara compound felt endless, the night air cool against your flushed skin, crickets chirping in the underbrush. The second his bedroom door slid shut behind you, Shikamaru had you pinned against it, the wood cool and solid at your back. His mouth claimed yours in a hungry kiss, all teeth and tongue now, while his hands roamed—big, warm palms sliding under your shirt, mapping the curves of your waist, your ribs, the undersides of your breasts. He stripped you slowly, reverently, like he wanted to savor every inch revealed. Your shirt whispered off, then your bra; cool air kissed your skin before his mouth latched onto one breast, hot and wet. His tongue swirled around your nipple in lazy, deliberate circles, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, while his fingers rolled and pinched the other, sending sparks straight to your core. You arched into him with a whimper, fingers tangling in his hair.

When you were completely bare, trembling under his gaze, he dropped to his knees on the tatami floor. “Been thinking about this for so long,” he murmured, voice husky, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. The stubble on his jaw scraped deliciously against your sensitive skin. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, spreading you open wide, cool air hitting your soaked folds. Then he dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, broad and flat, collecting your wetness with a deep, appreciative groan that vibrated against you.

You moaned loudly, fingers threading into his ponytail, tugging as pleasure shot through you. He groaned again at your taste—musky, sweet, addictive—and dove in like a man starved. His tongue was relentless: broad, lazy strokes over your throbbing clit followed by tight, focused circles that made your hips buck. Two long, thick fingers pushed inside you, curling expertly against that spongy spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids and your knees buckle. He sucked your clit into his mouth at the same time, humming low, the vibration sending you spiraling into the first orgasm. It hit you hard and fast—your thighs clamping around his head, body shaking as you cried out, hips jerking against his face. Slick heat flooded his tongue. He didn’t stop. He kept licking you through it, gentler now, lapping up every drop, drawing out the aftershocks until you were trembling and oversensitive.

Then he added a third finger, stretching you deliciously, scissoring while his tongue flicked rapidly over your swollen clit. The second orgasm built slower, deeper, coiling tight in your belly. You came with a broken sob, gushing around his fingers as pleasure crashed over you in heavy, pulsing waves, your walls fluttering wildly.

Only then did he rise, lips and chin shiny with your arousal, eyes dark with raw lust. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself—tangy and intimate—while guiding you backward onto his bed, the sheets cool and rumpled beneath you.

You reached for his pants, palming the hard, thick length straining against the fabric. He was heavy, hot, veins pulsing under your fingers, already leaking precum when you freed him. Shikamaru hissed sharply, hips twitching forward into your grip, the sound sending a fresh rush of wetness between your thighs.

“Not yet,” he rasped, voice strained. “I want you coming on my cock first.”

He settled between your spread thighs, rubbing the thick, flushed head of his cock up and down your slick folds, teasing your clit with slow, deliberate drags until you were whining and begging, hips chasing him. Then he pushed in—slow, steady, letting you feel every thick inch as he stretched you open, the burn melting into overwhelming fullness. “Fuck… so tight,” he groaned, bottoming out with a deep roll of his hips, his balls pressed against you. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, grinding in small circles that rubbed against every sensitive spot inside while he kissed you senseless, tongue mimicking the motion.

One hand slipped between your bodies, thumb rubbing firm, slick circles on your clit. The third orgasm took you by surprise—your walls fluttering and clenching hard around his cock as pleasure ripped through you again, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. Shikamaru cursed softly, holding still, jaw clenched, until you came down.

Then he started moving. Deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against every nerve, no rushed pounding—just perfect, devastating rhythm. Sweat slicked his skin, the musky scent of sex filling the room. He watched your face the entire time, drinking in every moan, gasp, and flutter of your lashes like it fueled him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “Look at you. Taking me so well.”

He flipped you onto your hands and knees, pulling your hips back as he thrust in from behind. The new angle made you see stars, his cock hitting deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing. He reached around to rub your clit again, pace quickening, fingers slick. You came a fourth time with a muffled scream into the pillow, body shaking violently, juices dripping down your thighs.

Shikamaru groaned, thrusts growing erratic, breath hot against your neck. “One more. Come on, baby. Give me one more.”

He pulled you up so your back was flush against his chest, one strong arm banded around your waist, the other working your clit in tight, relentless circles. His cock drove up into you hard and deep, the angle perfect. The fifth orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave—long, intense, almost overwhelming—your walls spasming wildly around him, vision whiting out. That finally pushed him over the edge. With a low, guttural moan that vibrated through your body, Shikamaru buried himself to the hilt and came hard, pulsing deep inside you as he filled you with hot, thick spurts of cum, hips jerking with each wave.

You both collapsed onto the bed, sweaty and spent, hearts pounding. He stayed inside you for a long moment, arms wrapped possessively around your waist, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, tasting the salt of your skin.

When he finally pulled out, a warm trickle of his release following, he rolled you gently onto your back. He cleaned you up with a warm, damp cloth—gentle strokes that made you sigh—then pulled you into his chest, your head tucked under his chin.

“You okay?” he asked softly, fingers tracing lazy patterns along your spine, voice tender in the quiet.

“More than okay,” you whispered, still catching your breath, body humming with afterglow. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Shikamaru smirked, that familiar lazy confidence returning as he tilted your chin up for a slow kiss. “Told you that guy was an idiot. We’re just getting started.”

His hand was already sliding down your stomach again, fingers teasing between your legs with gentle, coaxing touches, circling your sensitive clit until you shivered.

“Rest for a minute,” he murmured against your ear, breath warm, lips brushing the lobe. “Then I’m eating that pretty pussy again before I fuck you slow and deep until you can’t remember anyone else’s name.”

jiraiya smut where him and reader meet at the bar but reader is actually an assassin meant to kill him and her job is basically to seduce him and then kill him?? so she goes along with it until she’s got him in bed but she gets distracted because he’s SO good in bed? and then jiraiya leans down and is all cocky because he knew she was an assassin heheeehehehhehe and then he taunts her 😋😋

———————————

The bar was dim, smoky, and loud with the clink of sake cups and low laughter. You spotted him immediately—Jiraiya, the Toad Sage, sitting alone at the far end of the counter like he owned the place. Tall, broad-shouldered, that ridiculous long white hair tied back messily, red facial markings sharp under the lantern light. He was nursing a bottle of sake, scribbling something in a little notebook, a lazy, knowing smirk already on his lips as if he could feel every pair of eyes in the room.

Your target.

The mission had been simple on paper: seduce the legendary pervert, get him alone, and end him before he could react. You were good at this—beautiful, trained, patient. The client wanted the Sannin gone quietly. You’d worn the dress for exactly this: deep crimson silk that clung to your curves, low enough in the front to promise everything, slit high on the thigh. No visible weapons. The real ones were hidden where they always were.

You slid onto the stool beside him, crossing your legs slowly so the slit parted.

“Mind if I sit here, handsome? The rest of the bar feels… boring.”

Jiraiya’s head turned. His eyes dragged down your body without shame—lingering on the swell of your breasts, the bare skin of your thigh, the way your lips curved. A low whistle escaped him.

“Well now. If this isn’t the best thing that’s walked through that door all night.” His voice was deep, warm, already dripping with interest. “Name’s Jiraiya. And you, my lovely flower, look like trouble wrapped in silk.”

You smiled the smile you’d practiced—sweet, a little shy, the one that made men lean closer. “You can call me whatever you want tonight.”

He laughed, rich and loud, and poured you a cup without asking. “Careful with that kind of talk. I’m a simple man with very complicated tastes.” His fingers brushed yours as he handed you the sake. The touch lingered. “What brings a woman like you to a place like this? Looking for a story to tell? Or maybe… someone to make one with?”

You played along perfectly. Laughed at his jokes (some genuinely funny, most shamelessly perverted). Let him buy the next round. Touched his forearm when you leaned in to “hear him better,” feeling the solid muscle under his sleeve. He flirted back shamelessly—complimenting your legs, your mouth, the way you smelled “like sin and flowers.” Every time his eyes dropped to your cleavage you let him look. Every time his hand “accidentally” brushed your knee you didn’t pull away.

By the third round his hand was resting on your thigh, thumb stroking slow circles just above the slit of your dress. Your skin was warm. Too warm.

“You’re not like the usual crowd,” he murmured, voice dropping lower. “Most women who approach me want an autograph. Or a night they’ll never forget.” His fingers inched higher. “Which one are you?”

You met his gaze, heart steady even as your pulse kicked. “Maybe both.”

His grin turned predatory. “Then let’s get out of here before I decide to write the next chapter right here on this counter.”

You let him lead you out, his large hand splayed possessively on the small of your back. The inn he chose was quiet, discreet—the kind of place ninjas and travelers used when they didn’t want questions. The room was simple: futon on the floor, low table, paper screen. Lantern light flickered warm and golden.

The second the door slid shut behind you with a soft wooden click, Jiraiya had you pinned against it, his massive frame crowding you completely. The air in the dimly lit inn room was thick with the scent of aged wood, cheap incense, and the faint trace of sake on his breath. His mouth crashed down on yours—bold, hungry, no hesitation at all. His tongue invaded deep, slick and demanding, tasting of warm alcohol and something darker, earthier, purely masculine. One huge, calloused hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers threading possessively into your hair, while the other gripped your ass hard enough to bruise, hauling you up so your feet barely touched the floor. You felt the thick, heavy length of his hardening cock pressing insistently against your core through his pants, already throbbing with need.

You moaned into the kiss deliberately, loud and breathy, arching your body against his solid chest. Your fingers tangled roughly in his wild white hair, tugging just enough to make him growl. The heat of his body radiated through your clothes; he was like a furnace.

“Fuck,” he growled against your lips, the vibration rumbling through your mouth as he ground his hips forward. You felt every thick, veined inch of his massive erection dragging against you, hot and heavy. “Been hard since you sat down next to me at the bar, pretty little thing. Could barely focus on my drink with you smelling so damn good.”

Your hand slipped between your bodies, palming the rigid bulge through the fabric. He twitched and swelled even more under your touch, the heat of him scorching your palm. “Then do something about it, Sage,” you whispered, voice husky with challenge.

He didn’t need another invitation.

Clothes came off in a frantic, messy rush. He peeled your dress down your body like unwrapping a gift, his dark eyes devouring every inch of newly exposed skin—your full breasts spilling free, nipples already tight and aching; the soft curve of your waist; the flare of your hips; and the delicate lace panties you’d chosen for the mission, now damp with your arousal. His rough fingers traced every curve, leaving trails of fire. He shrugged off his haori and shirt, revealing a broad, heavily muscled chest covered in old scars, powerful arms corded with strength, and the solid, battle-hardened body of a man who’d spent decades fighting and fucking his way through life. The scent of his skin—sweat, smoke, and something spicy—filled your lungs.

He lifted you like you weighed nothing, massive hands under your thighs, and carried you to the futon. He laid you down with surprising care before following, his mouth latching onto your neck immediately. He sucked hard, teeth grazing sensitive skin, leaving blooming red marks that would be impossible to hide tomorrow. His hands were everywhere—squeezing your breasts roughly, rolling and pinching your nipples until sharp sparks of pleasure-pain made you gasp and writhe. Then one hand slid lower, cupping your pussy through the soaked lace, fingers pressing the fabric against your slick folds.

“Already so fucking wet for me,” he rumbled, voice low and smug, thick with lust. “Naughty little thing. This pussy’s dripping just from a few kisses.”

Your mind screamed at you to stay focused. The hidden blade in your dress lining. The vial of fast-acting poison in your pouch. But his thick fingers shoved the lace aside, stroking through your slippery folds, spreading your wetness, and your thoughts fractured. Two long, calloused fingers thrust inside you without warning, stretching your tight walls. You cried out sharply, hips bucking wildly as wet, obscene sounds filled the room.

Jiraiya watched your face the entire time, eyes hooded and burning with dark hunger. “That’s it,” he praised, curling his fingers perfectly against that spongy spot inside you that made your toes curl and your vision spark. “Let me hear how good it feels, sweetheart. Sing for me.”

He went down on you like a man starved for weeks. Your panties were ripped off and tossed aside. Jiraiya shoved your thighs wide apart, settled his broad shoulders between them, and dragged his hot, wet tongue up your entire slit in one long, filthy lick. The rough texture of his tongue against your swollen clit made you arch violently off the futon, a broken, keening moan tearing from your throat. He groaned deeply against your pussy, the vibration shooting straight through you, as if your taste was the best thing he’d ever had—sweet, tangy, addictive. He sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked hard, tongue flicking and circling relentlessly while two thick fingers pumped deep and steady, curling with expert precision.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers yanking hard—half trying to push him away, half desperate to pull him closer. Pleasure crashed through you in hot, liquid waves, your juices coating his chin and dripping down your thighs. Every time you tried to gather your thoughts—the mission, the blade, the poison— he’d suck harder, hum against your clit, or twist his fingers just right until your mind went blindingly white.

You came the first time with a choked scream, thighs clamping around his head like a vice, hips grinding shamelessly against his face as your pussy spasmed and gushed around his fingers. Jiraiya didn’t stop. He licked you through every shuddering wave, growling filthy praise into your cunt—“Good girl, fuck, you taste so sweet when you cum for me”—and kept devouring you until a second, sharper orgasm ripped through your body. Your vision blurred with tears of overwhelming pleasure. Your hands fisted desperately in the futon sheets instead of reaching for any weapon.

By the time he finally pulled back, his chin and mouth shiny and slick with your arousal, you were panting, trembling, every muscle lax and oversensitive, your pussy clenching emptily.

He crawled up over you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, wearing that cocky, knowing grin. His cock stood thick and flushed, heavy against his stomach, the head glistening with precum.

“Your turn, beautiful.”

You went down on him because it was part of the plan—distract, seduce, finish the job. But the second you wrapped your lips around the fat, leaking head of his cock, you knew you were in deep trouble. He was enormous, thick and heavy on your tongue, stretching your jaw wide until your eyes watered deliciously. The musky, salty taste of him flooded your mouth as you sucked greedily. Jiraiya’s big hand settled gently but firmly on the back of your head, guiding you as you bobbed deeper, taking more of his throbbing length.

“Shit—look at you,” he groaned, voice rough and wrecked. “Taking my fat cock so pretty down your throat. Bet you’ve been thinking about choking on this since the bar, haven’t you?”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him twitch, hollowing your cheeks and working your hand on the thick base you couldn’t swallow. Saliva dripped messily down your chin. Your free hand slipped between your own thighs, fingers rubbing frantic circles over your swollen, aching clit while you sucked him sloppily. Wet, gagging sounds mixed with his deep, filthy groans.

Jiraiya noticed immediately. “Greedy little thing,” he laughed breathlessly. “Can’t even wait your turn, can you? Go on then—finger that dripping pussy while you choke on my cock like a good slut.”

You came again like that—fingers buried in your own cunt, mouth stuffed full of his massive dick, his praise and degradation washing over you. When he finally pulled you off, strings of spit connected your swollen lips to his glistening cock. Tears streaked your cheeks and your chin was a mess. You looked utterly wrecked.

He flipped you onto your back, hooked your legs over his powerful arms, spreading you obscenely wide, and lined up his cock at your entrance. The first slow, deliberate push inside was overwhelming—stretching your tight, soaked walls inch by thick, veined inch. You both groaned loudly at the intense sensation. He was so big it bordered on painful, a burning stretch that melted into pure bliss as your body yielded, slick and eager. He bottomed out, hips flush against yours, heavy balls pressed to your ass, filling you completely.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight,” he hissed through gritted teeth, grinding deep. “Gripping me like this greedy cunt never wants me to leave.”

He started moving—deep, rolling thrusts that dragged every ridge and vein along your sensitive inner walls. The wet, squelching sounds of your pussy taking him were obscene. Your nails dug into his broad shoulders, leaving red marks. You told yourself you were just playing the role.

But Jiraiya fucked like he’d memorized your body years ago. He angled his hips perfectly to hammer your g-spot with every thrust, speeding up and slowing down until you were whining and desperately trying to fuck yourself back onto him. His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight, slick circles while he pounded you.

You came again—harder, screaming—your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice, milking him as waves of ecstasy rolled through you. Your whole body shook violently.

That was when he changed everything.

He leaned over you, caging you in with his massive frame, one hand pinning both your wrists above your head effortlessly. His white hair fell around your faces like a curtain. Those sharp eyes bored into yours as his hips kept moving in slow, grinding thrusts that kept you teetering on the edge.

“I knew what you were the second you walked into that bar,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous against your ear, breath hot on your skin.

Your blood ran cold even as your cunt fluttered traitorously around him.

Jiraiya chuckled darkly, rolling his hips in a devastating circle. “The way you moved. The way you watched me. Those tiny slips in your chakra. You weren’t there for a drink. You were there to fuck me… and then kill me.”

Sharp, punishing thrusts punctuated his words, punching moans from your lungs. He released your wrists only to fold you nearly in half, knees by your ears, and fucked you harder, deeper. The new angle made his cock hit places that made stars explode behind your eyes.

“But look at you now,” he taunted, nipping your lip. “Moaning like a desperate little slut on the cock of the man you were sent to assassinate. Came three times already and you’re still squeezing me like you want me to fill you up.”

He flipped you onto your stomach, yanked your hips up, and slammed back inside in one brutal thrust. Doggy style—deeper, rougher. One hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back sharply. The other reached around to torture your clit again.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice gravelly. “Say you were sent to kill me.”

“I—I was—”

“Try again sweetheart.”

“I was sent to kill you!”

He groaned in pleasure at your admission and fucked you mercilessly, the slap of skin on skin echoing. “Good girl. And now you’re getting fucked stupid by your target and loving every second. Your cunt’s fluttering, trying to milk me. You gonna cum again on my cock sweet thing?”

You shattered with a broken sob, pussy spasming wildly around him as tears of overwhelming pleasure and humiliation spilled down your face. Jiraiya roared and buried himself to the hilt, pumping you full of hot, thick cum that overflowed and dripped down your thighs.

He stayed buried deep, both of you panting in the humid, sex-scented air. Then he pulled out slowly, watching with dark satisfaction as his seed leaked from your puffy, ruined pussy.

Jiraiya pulled you against his chest, stroking your back possessively. His fingers soon returned between your legs, gliding through the messy mix of your juices and his cum, teasing your oversensitive clit until you twitched and whimpered.

“So,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, already hard again and pressing against your thigh. “Still planning on killing me tonight? Or did I fuck the assassin right out of you?”

His fingers pushed back inside your cum-filled pussy, curling lazily. “Because I can keep you here all night, sweetheart. Fuck you until you can’t walk. Make you cum until the only name you remember is mine.”

He rolled you beneath him once more, lining up and sinking back into your slick, welcoming heat with a satisfied groan.

“Round two. Moan my name while you’re supposed to be killing me.”

Jiraiya coming back to the leaf village with Naruto after they trained for 2 years. Jiraiya was really focused on Naruto and his book so he didn’t have that much sex. But then as he’s walking through the city he sees his favorite fuck toy.

They have been hooking up since they were both teenagers. But this time when Jiraiya is fucking her, she confesses her feelings for him… (a little bit of an age gap too. Maybe just like 5-6 years)

—————————

The streets of Konoha hummed with the lazy energy of dusk, lanterns flickering to life one by one as merchants packed up their stalls. The air carried the mingled scents of grilled dango, fresh river fish, and blooming cherry blossoms, but Jiraiya barely registered any of it. His sharp gaze locked onto you the moment he rounded the corner near the market square. Two years. Two fucking years of missions, of lonely nights with only memories and his own hand for company, and there you were—more devastating than ever.

Your body had ripened beautifully in his absence. The gentle curve of your hips had widened into a lush, womanly swell that begged to be gripped. Your breasts strained against the fabric of your top, fuller and heavier, bouncing subtly with each confident step. That same sway in your hips, the one that had haunted his dreams, made his cock throb instantly against the confines of his pants. The five-year age gap that had once felt like a barrier when you were sneaking kisses behind the training grounds as teenagers meant nothing now. You were both adults. And he was done waiting.

He crossed the distance in long, purposeful strides, his tall, broad frame cutting through the sparse crowd like a predator. Before you could even turn fully, his large, calloused hand slid possessively around your waist, fingers splaying wide over the dip of your hip as he yanked you flush against his solid chest. You gasped at the contact—immediately feeling the thick, heavy bulge of his erection pressing insistently against your lower belly, already rock-hard and radiating heat through his clothes.

“Been dreaming about this tight little pussy for two fucking years,” he growled low against your ear, his breath hot and ragged, voice gravelly with pent-up lust. His free hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head to expose your neck. “Every night on the road, jerking off to the thought of you creaming on my cock. You’re coming with me. Right fucking now.”

You barely had time to nod before he was steering you away, his grip on your waist unyielding. The walk to the discreet inn on the outskirts of the village was a torturous blur. His hand never left you—sliding down to squeeze your ass, dipping under your shirt to trace the underside of your breast, fingers brushing teasingly over your hardening nipple in public where anyone might see. Heated glances passed between you, heavy with promise. By the time the door to the private room clicked shut behind you, you were both breathing hard.

Jiraiya didn’t waste a second. He shoved you back against the wooden door with a solid thud, his massive body caging you in. His mouth crashed down on yours in a bruising kiss, tongue plunging deep and claiming every inch like a starving man. He tasted of sake and smoke, smelled of travel dust, sweat, and that raw, masculine musk that always made your core clench with need. One huge hand shoved your shirt up roughly, exposing your breasts to the cool air before palming one greedily. His thick fingers kneaded the soft flesh, pinching and rolling your nipple until it ached deliciously, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your pussy.

You moaned into his mouth as he ground his thick erection against your thigh, the heavy length already leaking pre-cum—you could feel the growing wet spot soaking through his pants and smearing against your skin. “Jiraiya…” you whimpered, hands fisting in his white hair.

Clothes were torn off in a frantic haze. He ripped your pants and panties down your legs in one brutal tug, nearly tearing the fabric. His own clothes followed, revealing the powerful, battle-hardened body beneath—broad shoulders, defined abs, and that obscene cock springing free. It was monstrous: thick as your wrist, veins pulsing along the girthy shaft, the fat purple head swollen and glistening with a steady flow of pre-cum. A thick, pearly bead dripped slowly down the underside as he gave himself two rough strokes, eyes locked on your naked form with raw hunger.

“On the bed. Legs spread wide for me,” he ordered, voice dark and commanding.

You barely took two stumbling steps before he grabbed you, lifting you effortlessly and tossing you onto the futon. He climbed between your thighs like a man possessed, shoving your knees up toward your chest and folding you open. Your dripping pussy was completely exposed—pink folds swollen, slick glistening in the low lantern light, clit peeking out begging for attention.

“Fuck… look at you,” he groaned, voice thick with awe and lust. “Dripping like a desperate little whore for this old pervert. Been waiting for my cock, haven’t you?”

He dragged two thick fingers through your soaked folds, spreading your arousal messily before pushing both inside you without warning. The sudden stretch made you cry out, back arching. He pumped them deep and fast, curling them relentlessly against your g-spot while his calloused thumb rubbed rough, insistent circles over your swollen clit. Obscene, wet squelching sounds filled the room as your juices gushed around his fingers, dripping down your ass and soaking the sheets beneath you.

“So fucking tight,” he snarled, leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his hot, wet mouth. He sucked hard, tongue flicking, then bit down just enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through you. Your hips bucked wildly against his hand, chasing the building pressure.

You were teetering on the edge when he suddenly yanked his fingers free. He brought them to his mouth, locking eyes with you as he licked them clean with a filthy, satisfied moan. “Still the sweetest cunt I’ve ever tasted. Missed this more than you know sweetheart.”

Then he lined up the fat, leaking head of his cock against your entrance and slammed in to the hilt in one powerful thrust.

The stretch was brutal and perfect—burning pleasure as your walls were forced to accommodate his massive girth. You screamed his name, nails digging into his shoulders. He bottomed out, heavy balls pressed tight against your ass, the thick ridge of his cockhead dragging against every sensitive nerve inside you. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled back almost fully, then drove in again, setting a punishing, relentless rhythm. The heavy, wet slap of his hips against your ass echoed with every thrust, his full balls smacking rhythmically against your skin.

“Take it,” he snarled, sweat already glistening on his muscular chest. “Take every fucking thick inch like the good girl you are.” The raw scent of sex—musky, salty, and wet—quickly overpowered the room. Your creamy arousal coated his shaft, dripping down to soak his balls and the futon.

He fucked you harder, folding you nearly in half so he could watch his veiny cock disappear into your stretched, fluttering hole. The lewd schlick-schlick-schlick of his thick cock pounding your soaked cunt was filthy and loud. Your tits bounced with every brutal snap of his hips, nipples stiff and sensitive.

Right as your orgasm began to crest, the words spilled out uncontrollably.

“I love you—” you gasped, voice breaking as the pleasure slammed into you like a tidal wave. Your walls clamped down hard around his pistoning cock, gushing and squirting around him. “Jiraiya—I love you… I’ve always loved you—”

His hips stuttered for a moment, eyes widening with something raw and possessive. Then he growled, slamming into you even harder, chasing his release while your orgasm milked his cock greedily.

“Fuck—say it again,” he demanded, voice hoarse with emotion and lust.

“I love you!” you sobbed, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaming down your flushed cheeks as another powerful wave crashed through you, your pussy convulsing violently.

With a deep, guttural moan that vibrated through his chest, Jiraiya buried himself to the hilt. His cock pulsed violently inside you as he came—thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy in heavy, endless spurts. You felt every throb, every jet of his seed painting your walls white, filling you so full it leaked out around his thick base in creamy rivulets.

He kept grinding deep, stirring his cum inside you, prolonging the ecstasy until you were both trembling and oversensitive. When he finally stilled, he stayed buried to the hilt, cock still twitching. His massive body collapsed over yours, sweat-slick skin sliding together as he kissed you deeply—slower this time, almost reverent—while one hand gently stroked your hair.

“You meant that?” he murmured against your swollen lips, voice rough but unexpectedly soft.

“Yes,” you whispered, clenching around him deliberately. “I love you, Jiraiya. Always have.”

He let out a low, satisfied chuckle, already starting to harden again inside your cum-drenched pussy. “Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you tonight.”

He pulled out slowly, watching with dark, hungry satisfaction as a thick glob of his pearly cum oozed from your wrecked, gaping hole. Then he flipped you onto your stomach with ease, yanking your hips up high into the air. He shoved back in with a wet, filthy squelch, fucking his own cum even deeper into you from behind. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly as he started a new, powerful rhythm.

The night stretched on—round after round of raw, passionate fucking. He took you against the wall, on your knees with his cock down your throat until tears ran down your face, then bent over the low table as he railed you senseless again. By the time dawn crept through the shoji screens, you were a boneless, cum-soaked mess, marked with hickeys and handprints, thoroughly claimed.

You’re in a meeting with ceo Shikamaru and other coworkers and one of the coworkers is flirting with you. And Shikamaru keeps glancing looks and seeing the flirting and he gets extremely jealous!

———————————

The conference room felt smaller than usual, almost claustrophobic under the low hum of the air conditioning and the faint ozone buzz of the projector casting its sterile blue glow across the polished mahogany table. The air was thick, heavy with the rich, bitter aroma of expensive dark-roast coffee from the half-empty carafes, the buttery scent of well-oiled leather chairs, and the subtle, masculine musk of cologne and warm skin from the dozen executives crammed inside. Your fitted black pencil skirt hugged your hips and thighs like a second skin, the silk blouse clinging slightly to the curve of your breasts from the building's recycled heat. Legs crossed tightly under the table, you kept your tablet balanced perfectly, stylus tapping notes while trying to ignore the way the room's tension pressed in on all sides.

CEO Shikamaru Nara lounged at the head like a king who couldn't be bothered to sit up straight—dark suit jacket unbuttoned, crisp white shirt stretched across his lean chest, tie loosened just enough to reveal the sharp, enticing line of his collarbone and the faint shadow of dark hair beneath. His expression was the picture of bored genius: eyelids half-lowered, fingers idly tapping the armrest, that trademark lazy drawl hidden behind every minimal nod. But you knew better. Those sharp, obsidian eyes missed nothing. They tracked every shift in posture, every nervous glance, every bead of sweat on a department head's forehead as they droned on about Q3 forecasts.

Especially Ken from marketing, who had deliberately slid into the seat right beside you at the last minute, his thigh brushing yours under the table.

Ken leaned in again, his overpowering woody cologne—something cheap and aggressive—invading your space, his voice pitched low and intimate beneath the cover of a PowerPoint slide. “You really saved our asses with that client data last month. The way you pulled those reports together under deadline… impressive as hell. Smart, beautiful, and always one step ahead. We should celebrate properly sometime. Dinner? My treat. I know this intimate little place downtown that does amazing wine pairings—dark lighting, soft music, the kind of spot where we could really… talk.”

His hand brushed your knee under the table, fingers lingering a second too long, warm and slightly clammy as they dared to slide an inch higher along your stockinged thigh. You shifted away politely, muscles tensing, offering a tight, professional smile that didn't reach your eyes. “I appreciate it, Ken, but I’m swamped with deadlines right now.”

From the head of the table, Shikamaru’s gaze snapped to the two of you with laser focus. His fingers, previously tapping idly, stilled completely. The lazy slouch straightened by a fraction, shoulders tensing beneath the tailored fabric. A muscle ticked sharply in his jaw, and the temperature in the room seemed to plummet, the air growing heavier, charged with unspoken dominance.

Ken, oblivious and emboldened, chuckled softly and leaned even closer, his breath hot against your ear, carrying the faint tang of mint gum. “Come on, one drink won’t kill you. I’ve been dying to pick your brain… among other things.” His hand dared another brush, bolder this time, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin just above your knee.

That was the final straw.

“Ken,” Shikamaru’s voice sliced through the room like a blade wrapped in silk—deceptively calm, low, and laced with icy authority that made every head turn. “If you spent less time chasing distractions and more time on your actual deliverables, maybe your projections wouldn’t look like amateur hour. Table it. Now.”

Ken jerked back as if burned, face flushing crimson, stammering a weak apology. A few coworkers exchanged uneasy glances, the air crackling with secondhand discomfort. Shikamaru’s eyes locked onto yours across the long table—dark, intense, and simmering with raw possessiveness that sent a hot, liquid rush straight to your core, your pulse quickening between your thighs.

The rest of the meeting dragged on in thick, tense silence, slides flickering forgotten. Shikamaru ended it abruptly.

“Everyone out. I need the room.” His tone left zero room for argument, sharp as a whipcrack. “You stay.”

Chairs scraped hurriedly against the carpet. Ken shot you one last disappointed, lingering look before the heavy oak door clicked shut, the automatic locks engaging with a soft, final beep. The city lights twinkled through the floor-to-ceiling windows like distant stars, but the glass walls suddenly felt far too exposed, the room now intimate and dangerous.

Shikamaru rose slowly, stalking around the table with that predatory grace he usually hid behind feigned laziness. Each step was measured, the faint rustle of his suit pants and the click of his dress shoes echoing. He stopped directly behind your chair, large hands descending on your shoulders. His fingers dug in firmly, thumbs pressing into the tight muscles there, kneading with just enough pressure to pull a sharp gasp from your lips as heat bloomed under his touch.

“Flirting in my boardroom,” he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel against your ear, his warm breath fanning across your neck and sending shivers racing down your spine. The faint scent of his cologne—clean sandalwood and something darker, smokier—enveloped you. “Letting him put his filthy hands on you while I’m right here watching. You enjoy making me sit through that shit?”

“I wasn’t—”

His grip tightened possessively, yanking you up from the chair in one fluid, effortless motion. He bent you forward over the cool, polished mahogany table, the surface shockingly cold against your flushed cheek and the swell of your breasts through the silk blouse. Papers and your tablet scattered with soft thuds and clatters. Your skirt rode up indecently as he kicked your heels apart with his foot, spreading your legs wider, the cool air kissing the heated skin of your inner thighs.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled, the sound vibrating through his chest. One large hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back firmly but not painfully, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat. His teeth sank into the sensitive junction of your neck and shoulder—a sharp, claiming bite that made you whimper, the sting blooming into molten pleasure. His other hand shoved your skirt roughly up to your waist, the fabric bunching, then ripped your delicate lace panties down your thighs with impatient force, the tear of fabric loud and obscene in the quiet room.

“I saw everything,” he continued, voice thick with jealousy. “His hand creeping up your leg. That pathetic little smile you gave him. This pussy is mine.”

You were already soaked—traitorously, shamefully wet. Slick arousal coated your folds, thighs glistening under the low lights. Shikamaru groaned deep in his throat at the discovery, the sound primal and hungry. Two thick fingers slid through your drenched slit, parting your swollen lips before plunging deep inside without warning. He curled them perfectly, stroking that spongy spot inside you that made your knees buckle and your walls flutter greedily around the intrusion. The wet, squelching sounds of his fingers pumping filled the room, humiliatingly loud.

“Fuck… already dripping for me like a needy slut,” he rasped, pumping faster, scissoring and stretching you open. “Jealousy turns you on this much, huh? Getting wet while another man touches what’s mine?”

“Shikamaru… please—” you whimpered, drool threatening to spill from the corner of your parted lips, your cheek sliding slickly against the wood.

He pulled his fingers out abruptly, leaving you clenching desperately around nothing, aching and empty. The metallic clink of his belt buckle and the harsh rasp of his zipper were your only warnings. The thick, heavy head of his cock—hot, velvety, and leaking precum—nudged insistently against your soaked entrance. He was rock-hard, veins pulsing along the impressive length, longer and thicker than you remembered, the girth promising to split you open so perfectly.

He thrust in to the hilt in one brutal, unrelenting stroke, bottoming out with a wet slap of skin on skin. A wrecked, broken cry tore from your throat as your walls stretched wide around him, burning deliciously, fluttering and squeezing every thick inch. The overwhelming fullness made your eyes water.

“That’s it,” he hissed through gritted teeth, grinding deep before snapping his hips again. “Take every fucking inch. Let the whole goddamn building hear how stupid my cock makes you.”

He didn’t ease you into it—jealousy had shredded his usual calculated patience. He fucked you hard and deep, the heavy mahogany table creaking and groaning under the relentless force, your hips slamming bruisingly against the edge with every powerful thrust. Your cheek slid messily against the polished wood, leaving a shiny trail of drool as your mouth hung open, slack and unable to close. Pathetic, broken moans and whimpers spilled uncontrollably—high-pitched, needy, sobbing noises that echoed off the glass walls.

“Ha—ah—Shika—fuck—! Oh god—”

“Can’t even speak properly anymore,” he laughed darkly, one hand cracking down hard on your ass, the sharp sting blooming hot and red across your skin before he gripped your hip bruisingly for leverage. The other kept your hair fisted tight, arching your back so he could drive even deeper, the fat head of his cock battering your cervix with every punishing stroke. His balls slapped wetly and rhythmically against your swollen clit, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure through you. The stretch burned so good, his cock filling and owning every inch of your pulsing heat.

You came first—hard, sudden, and shattering. Your walls clamped down around him like a vice, spasming wildly as your whole body shook violently. A loud, sobbing moan ripped from your throat, drool pooling under your cheek, thighs trembling and squirting slick arousal down your legs and onto the table.

Shikamaru cursed viciously, his pace faltering for a moment. “Good girl. Milk my cock just like that—fuck, so tight.” He fucked you through the orgasm, prolonging it until you were gasping and oversensitive, then pulled out with a wet pop. Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your back on the table, legs splayed obscenely. Your skirt was bunched uselessly around your waist, blouse half-open, breasts heaving.

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he drove back in, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth glide. He leaned over you, dark hair falling messily into his eyes, sweat glistening on his sharp jawline. He kissed you messily— all tongue, teeth, and raw hunger—swallowing your desperate whimpers while his hips pistoned relentlessly. One hand shoved your blouse fully open, palming your breast roughly, pinching and rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers until you arched and cried out.

“Again,” he demanded against your lips, voice gravelly and commanding. “Cum on my cock again. Show me exactly who you belong to.”

You obeyed helplessly, the second orgasm crashing over you even harder. Your vision blurred with hot tears of pleasure, body convulsing as you gushed around him, soaking his cock, his balls, and the expensive table beneath you in a messy flood of slick.

Shikamaru groaned long and low, a guttural sound of pure satisfaction, burying himself as deep as possible as he came. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after pulse filling you until it leaked out around his still-throbbing cock. He stayed buried inside, grinding lazily through the aftershocks, pressing soft, almost apologetic kisses along your jaw and neck now that the jealous fire had burned itself out, his breath warm and ragged against your damp skin.

“Mine,” he whispered huskily, nipping gently at your earlobe. “Next time someone flirts with you in my meeting, I won’t wait until the end. Understood?”

You could only nod weakly, still drooling, panting, body limp and thoroughly fucked stupid—limbs trembling, pussy twitching around his softening length, a sticky mess of your combined fluids dripping down your thighs onto the conference table.

Shikamaru smirked, that familiar lazy, satisfied expression returning to his handsome face as he brushed damp strands of hair from your forehead with surprising tenderness.

Could i request a Shikaku Nara drabble of him being gentle and taking care of reader during sex? Just reader being needy and Shikaku giving her Exactly what she needs, kissing her all over and caressing her as he does... Shikaku is such a dilf #needthat

If possible I'd love to see a bit of an age gap between adults added in!(im a sucker for older men being adoring to their slightly younger gf-)

——————————-

You lie spooned against Shikaku on the bed, the room softly illuminated by a single bedside lamp that bathes everything in a warm, golden haze. The air is thick with the mingled scents of sandalwood incense, clean sweat, and the unmistakable heady musk of your arousal. His massive, sturdy frame curls protectively around your smaller body—broad chest pressed flush to your back, the coarse hair on his torso tickling your skin, powerful thighs bracketing yours so you’re completely enveloped by his heat and strength.

One of his thick arms slides beneath you, forearm cradling your ribs while his large, calloused hand cups your breast, thumb lazily circling your pebbled nipple. His other arm drapes over your hip, fingers delving between your slick thighs with slow, deliberate intent.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” Shikaku murmurs, his deep voice a low rumble that vibrates straight through your spine. His lips brush the sensitive shell of your ear, warm breath fanning over it as he speaks. “I’ve got all night to play with this pretty pussy.”

His thick fingers glide through your drenched folds, parting your swollen, puffy lips with slick, obscene sounds. You’re soaked—embarrassingly wet—your juices coating his digits and dripping down onto the sheets. He teases your entrance, circling it slowly, before finally pressing two thick fingers inside you.

The stretch is delicious, his fingers so much thicker than your own, filling and rubbing against your sensitive inner walls as he sinks them to the knuckle. You moan sharply, hips twitching back against him instinctively. Shikaku groans deeply in response, the sound rough and hungry, his hard cock—thick and heavy—twitching against the curve of your ass through his thin pants.

“Fuck… listen to how wet you are,” he breathes, slowly pumping his fingers in and out. The lewd, squelching sounds of your slick pussy fill the room with every gentle thrust. “So hot and tight around me. Your little cunt is sucking my fingers in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

He curls his digits just right, stroking that spongy spot inside you while the heel of his palm grinds firmly against your swollen clit with each pass. The dual stimulation sends sparks of white-hot pleasure shooting up your spine. Your juices coat his hand, dripping messily down his wrist and onto the sheets in shiny rivulets. The wet, rhythmic sounds grow louder as he works you open, his pace steady and unhurried, drawing out every gasp and whimper from your lips.

Shikaku’s free hand pinches and rolls your nipple, sending jolts straight to your core. His mouth is everywhere—kissing and sucking lightly along your neck and shoulder, leaving faint red marks, his stubble rasping deliciously against your sensitive skin. “That’s it… rock those hips for me. Use my hand, baby. I love feeling you get even wetter for me.”

Your breathing turns into desperate little pants and whines. The coil of pleasure tightens low in your belly, thighs trembling as you clench rhythmically around his invading fingers. He keeps murmuring filthy praise right against your ear:

“You feel so fucking good inside… hot, silky, and gripping me like velvet. Makes me wonder how much better my cock would feel buried in this greedy little hole.” He nips your earlobe. “But tonight is about you. Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel this tight pussy flutter and milk my fingers. Be good and soak my hand.”

The orgasm crashes into you hard. Your back arches sharply against his solid chest, thighs clamping down around his wrist as your walls spasm violently around his fingers. A fresh gush of slick floods out around his digits, squirting messily over his palm and down your thighs in warm, sticky rivulets. You cry out, voice breaking into a long, shuddering moan as wave after wave of intense pleasure rips through you.

Shikaku growls softly in satisfaction, keeping his fingers buried deep as he gently works you through every pulsing aftershock, drawing out your climax until you’re a trembling, oversensitive wreck in his arms. Only then does he slowly withdraw, his fingers glistening with your cum. He brings them to his mouth, licking them clean with a deep, appreciative hum while holding your hazy gaze.

He kisses your sweat-dampened temple tenderly, then your flushed cheek, pulling you even tighter against his body. His hard cock presses insistently against you, but he makes no move to seek his own release yet—content to cradle you close, his large hand returning to cup your soaked, still-twitching pussy possessively.