Hatake Kakashi enthusiast

Your wedding happens very suddenly. Your father offers his precious jewel of a daughter as a token of your clan’s influence, all in exchange for some negotiations over the Yashiro commission affairs. Ayato knew you were intriguing at the very least since your wedding day. He can tell there’s more to you despite being seemingly obedient to your father’s wishes. It’s clear how unhappy you look with the whole affair—so he decides then and there that he’ll make you happy, treat you properly as a wife should be, show you love so that you don’t regret fulfilling your father’s wishes to join your clan with his.

But you make it difficult. For months, you make it difficult. You’re stubborn and just a little bratty when you want to be. You eat dinner before he’s arrived to your chambers after a long day of working, using it as an excuse to avoid meals with him. You’re out for strolls in the estate frequently but happen to be tired just when he has the time to spare to join you. You’re busy reading a book and happen to be at the most exciting part right when he’s free to come have a conversation with you. When you both need to make an appearance together, you’re stiff as you link arms—it’s a rare occasion as a whole, anyway, seeing as Ayato doesn’t show himself in public often, but he certainly doesn’t miss the way you seem extra on edge to be seen with him.

It’s not until the first time you witness him evade an assassination attempt do you start to shift in your demeanor. A little spooked by the blood he shows up covered in, you stay close enough to keep an eye on him for the night. Far enough away that it’s subtle, but certainly not too far. You’re softer with him from then on, a little cautious of what he does and who he trusts. Sure, you may not love your husband, but he is still the man you have vowed your loyalty too—it leaves you at a constant sense of unease to know his life is in persistent danger.

So you question where he’s off to more. You check him subtly over for injuries or tears in his robes. You slowly join him for meals sometimes and when he asks, you cave and let him accompany your strolls. Sometimes you willingly tell him about your book—you’ll lend it for him to read too, if he asks nicely. He notices you’re a little extra kind to him when he’s read your suggestions of what to read from the Yae Publishing House and can hold a discussion with you about the novels. And slowly….well, slowly, you’re prouder to be his wife. Happy, even.

Dare you say you’ve even fallen in love.

It’s not until you run into your old lover in the markets on a rare day off with Ayato does it become clear to him why you were so distant in the earlier days of your marriage. Why you were so unhappy to be wed to him. Why he couldn’t seem to earn your companionship let alone your affections. The man breathes your name, a touch too fond with a concerning amount of longing in his voice that makes Ayato stiffen. And your face says it all—the melancholic regret written all over it.

You pause. Linger your gaze over the man’s face for a moment before murmuring, “I trust you’ve been taking care? It was lovely to see you—I’ll be off, now.” Ayato doesn’t like the way your eyes hesitate for a moment before it pulls away from this mystery man. There’s a sadness to your pupils as you stare down at your feet, fingers gripping his hand tighter as you drag Ayato along.

“Who was that?” He asks.

“Oh, just someone I used to know,” you whisper.

He doesn’t like the vagueness of that answer. And more than that, he doesn’t like the sad, far away and guilt-ridden look on your face for days to come. Sometimes, at night, he can feel you tossing and turning beside him as you can’t seem to sleep. He stays carefully still, trying not to alert you that he’s awake when you inevitably cup his cheek and press a long, lingering kiss to his forehead—almost like it’s more for yourself than for him.

Ayato is not stupid. He knows that man means something to you. Meant something to you, he has to correct his own thoughts—he knows he’s the only man in your heart now. He’ll die before he faces a reality where that is not the truth. And if he’d wanted, he’d have dug up all he could about that man by now—but he wants to hear it from you. He wants to know from your own lips and your own words that this man is not someone who owns the strings of your hearts.

“You’ve been off,” he murmurs casually one day, “Ever since that run in with that strange man. Do tell, is there something I am missing here, my love?”

“No, my lord,” you say hesitantly, “He is just…a man of my past life, that is all.”

“A friend, perhaps?” He asks, lips curling into a cunning, bitter smile.

He’s caught on. More than anything, Ayato is intelligent. Exceedingly, painfully so. It’s how he’s come as far as he has. He was a smaller, frailer child in his earlier years, someone that earned the scoffs of those around him when they’d realized this boy was meant to be an heir.

Glory had fallen from the Kamisato clan when he was just a boy. Power had consumed every corner of his estate by the time he was a young man.

He’d done it alone. Sure, he is no longer that frail nor little boy of his youth—the small arms have been replaced by muscled biceps and the tiny frame is broader and wider now. But above all, his intelligence from the shadows has carried him as far as it has.

And he’s smart—he knows his wife and her tells. Ayato knows how you look when you’re in love. You look at him that way—he can tell there are shattered fragments of a broken love still littered on the tiles of your past.

“You could say that,” you say carefully. “We…knew each other well.”

“Do you wish to scare me?” He chuckles. Dry. Humorless. Almost acrid tasting on his tongue. His laugh is anything but joyful. “It almost feels like I should compete for your heart.”

“Don’t say that, Ayato,” you huff. Your fingers tremble a little when they grasp at his, linking them delicately as you give his hand a squeeze. “I am a dutiful wife, am I not?”

“Dutiful is not always the same as devoted,” he murmurs.

“Oh?” You quirk an amused brow, “Do I not seem as though I am devoted to you?”

“You have been off,” he repeats. His voice is a touch more vulnerable now. Something Ayato does not know how to be—but if there is one thing his father has left with him before passing, it is that love is not pursued from the safety of shadows and strength. It is best pursued on your knees, where you are weak and susceptible to pain. “Ever since you have run into him. Any husband would be rightfully worried at such a discouraging sign.”

“My husband has nothing to worry about,” you whisper. You mean it.

That much, he can tell—but it’s not enough.

“Tell me who he was,” he demands softly, “Tell me so I know what history I must rewrite.”

You laugh. It’s a fond, cherished sound. He feels his heart relax at least minimally at the melody of your joy.

“I loved him once,” you admit. The hurt on his face is palpable—raw enough that you sigh, and stroke his cheek. “Not as much as I love you now.”

"Bittersweet it is indeed," he murmurs, "to be not my wife’s first love, but the greater one. I cannot decide if I am fortunate or doomed."

“Love is a complicated thing, Ayato,” you murmur, “I feel fortunate to have loved at all. And to love the one I am wed to now.”

“He still loves you,” he all but grumbles. You don’t enjoy seeing your husband upset, but the Gods need not make him so precious when he is. You fight back a smile as you lean to press a kiss against his jaw.

“I never got to tell him of my marriage until much later. I suppose the guilt of breaking another’s heart has never quite stopped haunting me.”

“Is that why you did not like me?”

You throw him an amused look. “Who says I did not like you?”

“I could tell,” he mumbles petulantly, “I am a wise man, I shall have you know.”

“Perhaps not wise when it comes to the ladies, my lord,” you grin, cupping his cheek. Gently, you press a kiss to his forehead, leaning closer as he grips at your waist. “I did not dislike you. Ever.”

“Then why be so cold in the beginnings of our relationship?” He presses.

“I felt disloyal,” you admit. He quirks a questioning brow up at you. “I…I was troubled that my husband seemed to have charms that I was not immune to…despite being in love with another. It was conflicting, you see. I was not ready to accept that perhaps….perhaps loving you was meant to be in my nature.”

He blinks, registering your words for a moment before a smug, arrogant little smile tugs at the corners of his lips. You roll your eyes at the way he gives you a sly look.

“Ah,” he nods, “So it was my charms that drove you away? Dare I say my wife was falling much earlier than I had assumed?”

“No,” it’s your turn to grumble. “I did not like you.”

“That is not what you claimed but moments ago," he goads, shifting to loom over your body. In his gaze, hunger and desperation mingle with the faintest trace of fear as he softly declares, "I shall be your final love. It will be I, or no one at all.”

“An arrangement I find most agreeable,” you tease softly, your eyes warming with affection. “If you are to be the only man I shall love, then I count myself fortunate indeed—so long as you remain ever deserving of such devotion.”

“Shall I earn your devotion now?” He hums, hand grazing lower, lower, lower.

Your breath hitches before you whisper, “Go on, then. Earn my affections, my dear husband.”

“As you wish, my darling wife.”

He’s needy that night. Hard and leaking into his pants for quite some time as he earns your body’s approval first with his tongue and next with his fingers.

Like a good husband, he thinks—one who puts you above himself. No one will care to put you above all else the way Ayato would. He thinks Inazuma itself is not as important as you. So, like a dutiful husband, it’s not until you’ve come undone a second time does he prod the thick, warm tip of his cock into your folds.

He fucks you well, too—enough times that you’ve lost count and can’t discern much outside of the way he’s all but whimpering into your neck himself.

“Just one more,” he pleads, desperately rolling his hips into you, sweaty and quivering over your body as he buries himself deep into your cunt. “P-please, my love. Just one more.”

“Are you sure you can even handle it yourself?” You tease. It’s a silly effort, though—one more thrust of his hips as you squealing under him as your eyes roll back.

“I can handle more of you any time,” he grins smugly.

You both fall apart not long after that. His rips thrust in a quick, sloppy pace before he stills with a groan, emptying one last load into your abused cunt. You quiver around his length for what feels like eternity, coming undone around him once more.

“Ayato,” you sob, chanting his name as though it’s the only one you know. (It is. For tonight, it is.)

“My love,” he responds shakily, moaning into your neck as another wave of his orgasm pulses through his body. “Promise me you’ll love only me. I fear the lengths I would go if you shouldn’t are not pleasant.”

He slumps over you, tired. Spent. Stubbornly in love. Scarily devoted. You are the only reason he is tethered to the ounce of sanity he has.

“You are most needy when you’re envious,” you laugh, stroking his hair as he huffs into your neck, nuzzling closer. “Do keep in mind that should you love another apart from me, I shall take equally as unreasonable lengths.”

“I have vowed to you my life,” he murmurs, “Since the day I was wed to you.”

“And I have done the same,” you hum, delicately raking your nails over his back, scratching soothingly over the skin, feeling every mole that catches along the way.

“Then your friend shall be made aware of his place in your past,” he says contently.

You glance at the side of his head from the corner of your eyes, rolling them when he refuses to look up from your neck and meet your gaze. “Be nice, Ayato.”

“I only intend to drop a friendly visit,” he says innocently.

“You are anything but friendly,” you snort.

He grins before pressing a kiss into your neck, right over your pulse point. Right over the proof of your beating heart that belongs to him.

By the time you scrambled in with a steaming cup of your boss’s favorite tea and his stack of reports to review and meeting requests to schedule, the older man was tapping his foot and crossing his arms. He didn’t look disappointed, not quite, but the gentle warmth in his eyes was gone and his small smile was flat.

In your desperation not to lose your job, this was your first and you’re only in your junior year of college, you follow him into his office and set down your things. Your cherry Marc Jacobs tote bag (bought by him, his papers and tea (bought by you with his money), your SINOCULTURAL orchid leather handbag (also bought by him, for variety).

Zhongli wasn’t the kind of pervy boss who’s hit on you before, you guess now that he was just lying in wait. You were the one that draped yourself over his desk with tears in your eyes, desperate and naive and relying on the principle of ‘sex sells’.

He’ll draft up a different beginning to your love story at your wedding.

“You take cock so well, perhaps we’ll have to have a discussion about adding this to your list of duties, hm?”

The condom sliding in and out of your walls makes you want to pout, but you know he has to have one. How he was able to pull a pack from his desk drawer on the spot is beyond you, you’re not quite willing to admit that you’d be so willing to keep your job you’d risk a baby and/or STDs.

“A-ah! Y-yes, sir, whenever you’re available, i-i’ll do anything.” You whisper over your shoulder and push your ass up, wanting the sight of his long cock disappearing under the thick cheeks to be as enticing as possible.

You clutch onto the golden plague bearing his esteemed name for dear life, muffling your sounds into the furniture’s lacquer, and let your boss pour all his stress into your holes. You tried to goad him into taking your ass but he gave you an amused chuckle and a firm pat to each cheek, chiding at you that he’d do it properly another time. He’s a gentleman under his silvered tongue and all his golden scales.

Zhongli seems to get fed up with the condom the closer he gets to his roaring orgasm, and all you’re able to let out in a punched squeal as he sharply pulls out and rips the condom off.

“This damn thing,” He huffs, snarling as he tosses the shredded scraps of plastic to the side, sinking back into your pussy in one go. “There, much better.”

You’re discovering that Mr. Zhongli is not the kind of man who groans unabashedly in the heat of the moment, he's prone to contented sighs and easy laughs. The closest you get to anything animalistic is the guttural grunt he lets slip as you clench around him near the end of his deep thrusts, milking him for all the cum this HR nightmare of a quickie can get you.

“One more thing before you go, be a dear and clean that up for me.” He points a black nail down at the puddle of cum expectantly, somehow having pulled his cock free with a wet flopping noise when you were too dizzy to notice, sinking back into his swiveling chair.

Sugar Daddy!Capitano

Your back hits the hotel wall, softened by Capitano’s hands coming to slide in between you and the surface.

“Mmfh- I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.” You shyly admit as your sighs fade into whimpers, the man’s stubble rubbing on your neck during his rain of kisses.

He laughs and his hot breath hits your pulse point, your heart skips a beat. “So you’ve told me. Don’t worry, you’re nothing but safe with me. I’ve already wired the initial 50,000 for our first meeting to your account, we don’t have to do anything that you are not comfortable with.”

You nod and run your fingers through his black hair, offering up more of your unmarked neck. Of course you’re comfortable, you were so nervous you could die hours earlier, but your first sugar daddy experience has turned out to be the ideal. Capitano made sure you were happy and pliant, offering ten times the amount of what most other men would just for this one dinner. What wouldn’t you be down with doing now?

He nips at your bottom lip, wrapping his burly arms around your chubby thighs and hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and giggle as you fall onto the bed of the hotel’s presidential suite. You trade sloppy and clumsy kisses for less and less articles of clothing, he places your jewelry and your accessories neatly on the nightstand.

“So you don’t prick yourself or worry about losing them, bambi.” He explains and pulls you into another syrupy kiss.

You lose yourself to fit of giggles as he reverently kisses down your body. The next hour is spent with your new sugar daddy licking your pussy, eating you out like a man would gulp down an oasis after a lifetime of being stranded in the desert. You couldn’t say how many times you flood his awaiting mouth with your juices and seed, but you’ll always remember how his Adam's Apple bobs on every swallow. As if it nourishes him, replenishes his soul from inside and out, warms like a good hearty soup.

Capitano slithers up your body to stroke a finger down your face, “Are you ready for me, honey? You’re spewing like a fountain but we can always just cuddle.”

“No, I'm ready, I want this, want you. Please, Daddy, need your cock.” And your money, but mostly your cock right now.

You settle into your position on your back and spread your legs, you grab the back of your ankles and keep them that way. Bearing yourself for the hungry gaze of a man twice your age.

“Alright, needy love, aren’t you? Here you go.” He coos, lining up his fat dick with your slick entrance and sinking in.

You almost wish you had turned the lights off. The way his massive looks hovering above yours, muscles tense and waiting to be exercised. You don’t have to look down at where his cock feeds your pussy, it’s like you can feel what every nerve and vein is doing and touching in your guts. You’re so glad the conversation about being tested was had on the sugaring app, you’re both clean and on the pill so you thought why not indulge in another first.

“Gorgeous cunt. Worth so much fucking more than 50,000. You like France, bambi? I’ll get you a castle in the countryside, this pussy would look divine getting pounded in one of their foyer’s and over their balconies.” He groans, husky and scratchy, kissing you and grinding his cock deep in your quivering pussy like you just got married.

You have to show him how to take a video of his goopy cum dripping out of your puffy folds, spreading them with your fingers and pushing it back inside.

The next morning, you wake up to a bundle of fresh roses and a calligraphy note on the pillow next to your head. You smile and take it all in, but eventually you tug on last night’s clothes and grab your bag. You grin down at your phone, feeling the butterflies play war drums in your stomach, this going somewhere good. There are times when you can just tell.

The suite door is locked, a man’s voice outside asks if you’re ready to be taken back to the boss’s home. On the way there you look through your bag, a message from your intuition, and your birth control is gone. But there are listings for several foreign properties, with a sticky note attached to the first.

‘Tell me which ones you like when you get home. I have my broker on the phone.”

Stalker!Childe

It’s a routine for him, slip in under your window, sink onto your bed and straddle your sleeping body, and fill you up with his cum until your belly bloats. You’ve never noticed, he’s good at cleaning up. And if you have, you’re docile enough to let him keep at it. Let the rabid wolf keep pawing at your door with bloody paws, leaving a carcass at your feet and doing it all over again the next day.

You know it’s just your boyfriend loving on you in private until you’re ready to go public. He understands you’re shy, a lot of the partners he’s had in the past haven’t exactly been social butterflies, but baby it’s just little ol’ Ajax! He wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone his precious significant other, don’t be silly. He has these kinds of conversations with you through hushed whispers against your ear and trembling fingers slipping under the straps of your tank top.

Ajax always preps you, save for a couple of times in the beginning because he was too excited. He prefers doing it with his tongue, but he does love a good fingerbanging session. He’d never cause any pain that wasn’t fun for the both of you, cross his heart and hope to die. He even brings a back up inhaler that he stole from your pharmacist in case you lose your current one.

He grins as he shimmies you out of your sleepwear, you never much, another sign that you’re meant to be “Shh, lovebug, I hope you’re having the sweetest dreams right now. I’m just stopping by to say hi. I have to be quicker this time, I'm real sorry, bub.”

Some as-gentle-as-possible rough fingerbanging it is.

Ajax keeps his eyes peeled so wide they burn a little as he crooks and curls his fingers in your tight pussy, marveling at your groggy whimpers that sooner than later snowball into light moans.

“You looked stunning in your outfit today, I like looser tops on you. I can see your titties bounce, swear to god. The leggings were a nice touch too, wanted to jog over during your walk and smack the shit out of it. But that’s not the meet cute you deserve, is it cutie?” He grips your face in one hand, the free one that’s not knuckles deep in pussy juice, shaking your head for ‘no’ for you.

“I promise we’re gonna meet soon, it breaks my heart to see you look so lonely, bub.” He’s not fazed when you seem like you’re waking up, he just ‘aw’s and strokes his thumb on your clit until you’ve fallen back asleep. “I can’t wait. I’ve gone over everything a million times, what I’m gonna wear, what I’m gonna say, our first date, our “first” time, I'm so ready for it all with you.”

You’re adorable, your brow is pinching and you’re tossing and turning. Your soft moans become louder and since you’re a heavy sleeper that doesn’t live in an apartment (not that he’d stop anyway, he’s seen how your next door neighbors check you out when you’re not looking), he scissors his fingers and speeds up the thrusts of his hand.

After months of this and vigorous hours at the gym, his wrist has stopped cramping entirely. He slips his free hand under his jeans and clasps it around his leaking dick, jerking himself off as he finger fucks your perfect pussy.

“Oh, there it is, honey.” Ajax gasps, tightening his grip around his painfully hard cock just as your walls tighten around his fingers. “It’s okay, keep going for me, you can do it.”

He times his strokes to the thrusts of his fingers, his breathing in sync with every rise and fall of your chest. You’re so wet, you’re leaking around his digits, your pussy making a sick squelching sound

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum baby, just from fingering your pretty pussy.” He pants, circling his thumb over the head of his weep dick and smearing his precum all over his length.

He’s moving so fast his hand is a blur, and he really doesn’t even register the sensation of fucking himself with his fist. Instead what he feels is the way your thighs seize up and your breath hitches, you arch your back off the bed in your sleep and that’s when he knows it’s time.

“Fuck, okay. Lemme get a little closer, lovebug, don’t want any of it to go to waste, right?” He keeps stroking his throbbing cock and blasting his fingers into your pussy, awkwardly trying to find his footing so he can get a good position.

He takes his fingers out of you and his heart squeezes in his chest when your hips buck after them and you whine.

“Here it comes, baby.” Ajax laughs at his own joke, positioning the tip of his dick right against your hole. With a shaky breath and an even shakier smile, he breaches your hole with only that part of himself, loving the way your cunt welcomes it in.

He laughs again when he floods your insides, crossing his fingers behind his back for this one to take. Don’t worry, it’s only a fantasy for now, you should at least have your first date before he knocks you up.

OBGYN!Baizhu

“Just lie back on the exam chair for me and we can begin.” Dr. Baizhu smiles warmly at you as you nervously play with your hands in the clinical room.

You nod, wanting to speak at little as possible. The chair’s paper covering crinkles and creases as you climb onto it, shuffling around before settling into a somewhat comfortable positon lying on your back. You look to Dr. Baizhu on your right, he’s available on your insurance and he has stellar reviews on any site worth trusting you could find. You’re just anxious anyway, and this is something you have to do, it won’t do you any good to get paranoid about all the things that could go wrong in a doctor’s office.

Baizhu’s eyes crinkle in the corners and he takes a seat on one of those rolling black stools. “So I take it that this is your first pelvic exam? Well, then be assured that you’re in good hands. It’s nothing scary, but I need to make sure your vulva and reproductive organs are in perfect working order.”

You laugh awkwardly and mutter back a “I know, I'm fine. Just a little tired, traffic was a nightmare.”

Your nerves already feel like they’re fading away, Dr. Baizhu’s voice is so pleasant and he has such a kind demeanor, you understand why this clinic was so eager to have him. The woman who signed you in was raving that it was his first day after leaving a major hospital, that they were so lucky and you were too.

“Now I'll have you slide down to the end of the table and put your knees in these stirrups, it’s perfectly safe and if you need to take a breather, please let me know.” He croons, allowing you the freedom and comfort to act on your own. He’d never want to make you feel panicked, as if he were forcibly restraining you.

The exams aren’t really a big deal when you’ve gotten over that hump, but Baizhu knows that first times of any variety can be scary. Especially for skittish patients such as yourself, with as much prey drive as a barn bunny being chased by a sheepdog.

You lie there and endure every probe and thoughtful hum. Your vulva is fine and Dr. Baizhu ends that part of the inspection with a quick pat to your mound, his lips twitching as if trying to resist the urge to kiss.

“Okay, now I'm just going to check out your cervix, keep still.” The man hums, smoothing a hand down your right calf from the stirrup to your knee. “You’ll feel some pressure, but nothing painful.”

“Really?” You bite your lip and eye the instruments on the little table by the sink.

Dr. Baizhu chuckles, “Of course. Some patients do experience pain, but it’s not a definite thing, everybody’s different. At most, you’ll feel a tad uncomfortable and exposed.”

So you brace yourself and expect to feel the cold metal of what looks like some kind of forceps. Instead you look down to see your doctor unbuttoning his pants.

He catches your eye and waves off your concern, “Cold metal just seems so abrasive for your first time. You might do better with a more… human approach, something to test how well you can stretch. Don’t worry, I'll put protection on, I'd be a horrible doctor if I didn't.”

Sure enough he slides a latex condom on, covered in tiny holes but you brush it off as being a part of the design. Baizhu’s cock twitches, feeling a sick thrill at how easy you are, at how he can whip his dick out and you’ll believe it’s in your best interest.

He doesn’t release you from the stirrups, and they rattle as he plunges inside inch by inch. Slowly and mind numbingly, to properly gauge your cunt’s ability to expand around the intrusion. You gape up at him, feeling far more than just a tad uncomfortable and exposed. His lips twitch again, torn between maintaining the facade and stuffing your cervix with his cock or breaking character and dipping down to kiss your adorably parted lips.

“I’d give you a piece of candy if that wouldn’t embarrass you. You’re doing great, just relax and the pressure will ease up.”

“Ngh- hah- O-okay, doctor. Thank you for helping me.” You don’t know why you say it, who thanks their doctors for doing a basic exam? But he groans and his hips rush forward all the same.

Your cunt is impossibly tight, which is to be expected but it’s not any less delightful to experience.

The paper underneath you makes you want to claw your eyes out as his thrusts force your back to slide back and forth on it. That, the stirrup straps clacking, and your shared soft pants are the only sounds in the locked room. It’s not as anxiety inducing as you’d expect, the planets in the office orbit around the doctor and as long as they think he’s in an appointment (and isn’t he?) they won’t interrupt. His eyes crease, he promises to give you a home visit when you’re done here, just to be thorough and make good on that promise of candy.

Something sweet for the embodiment of the cavities is in his soul, cunny strangles him tighter than a noose.

Dr. Baizhu shudders as you reflexively clench around his pulsing cock and attempt to kick out your legs only to be held back by the stirrups, “Don’t mind the mess, ‘s all par for the c-course, my dear.”