#— › though i burn‚ how could i fall when i am lifted by every word you say to me? — ⌜& annie astre / actstogether⌟

[thirdofdxcember]

I KNOW IVE MENTIONED HOW MUCH I LOVE I CARRION ICARIAN BUT YOU GUYS DONT UNDERSTAND IM JUST TRYING TO STUDY AND LISTEN TO HOZIER BUT THEN THIS SONG CAME ON AND NOW IM FUCKING CRYING

[youngpeachenthusiast]

date idea: i am icarus and you are the sun

[swordmaid]

curating shri’iia’s playlist as one does n the high by the beach -> burn -> i, carrion (icarian) progression

[ghostclefable]

Katsuki flying his broken body to Mt Fuji with this song playing in the background

[theperksofbeingaprocrastinator]

Hozier's new album is all about aziraphale and crowley and nothing will convince me otherwise

[apastronism]

general tag dump + dynamics ✨

[lushleona]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 15th. mattheo riddle — slow down!

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary ; mattheo’s got a crush that’s hard to ignore, but every time he tries to get close, you disappear. good thing he’s got a few ways to catch you when you run. words ; 3.9k warnings ; smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, creampie, spanking, mentions of blood

navigation masterlist

The corridor was unnervingly quiet, save for the the faint scrape of shoes against stone. You hugged your books tightly to your chest, trying to make yourself invisible as you hurried toward the library. The cold December air seeping through the castle walls bit at your skin, but it wasn’t nearly as alarming as the warmth you suddenly felt—someone approaching from behind.

“Hi.”

His voice slid into your awareness before you even heard the sound of his footsteps, sending your heart skittering like a startled bird. Turning your head slightly, you caught sight of him—dark curls falling into his eyes, his signature Slytherin tie loosened at his throat, and that grin. The grin that made your chest feel too tight and your thoughts scatter like spilled ink.

Your first instinct, as always, was to flee.

Before he could say more, you ducked your head and pivoted on your heel, muttering something about being late to the library. 

“Oh, no, you don’t.” His hand was warm and firm around your wrist, stopping you mid-flight. He turned you gently to face him, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your cheeks burn. “Would you please stop running away from me? It’s worrying me, you know. The way you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time I’m around.”

You didn’t dare meet his eyes. Not yet. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the traitorous flush that gave away just how much he affected you. “I’m not running,” you mumbled, though the evidence was damning.

“Oh, come on.” He laughed, soft and incredulous. “You bolt every time I so much as look at you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to catch up with you? You’re like—like a mouse slipping through cracks.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. He tilted his head, the faintest frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t bite, you know. Not unless you ask.” 

His teasing tone made your stomach flip. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, dropping your gaze to the floor.

“Don’t be,” he said softly, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go entirely. “I just—look, you know I’m not going to hurt you, right?”

“I-I know,” you stammered, and it was true. He wasn’t threatening to you, not even close. But that didn’t make the rapid thudding of your heart any less overwhelming. 

His brow furrowed slightly. “Then what is it?” His voice dropped, quieter now, as if he was trying not to spook you. “Am I too much? Too… loud? Intense? I can tone it down if that’s what you need.”

The earnestness in his voice nearly unraveled you. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault—that it was you, and your inability to handle the way he seemed to draw everyone’s attention with effortless charm. The way he smiled like he knew every secret in the world. The way his presence made you feel like you were standing too close to the sun.

“I—” You bit your lip, scrambling for an excuse, any excuse, but your brain seemed to be short-circuiting under his gaze. “I’m just...not used to people like you.”

“People like me?” His eyebrows lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “What does that mean?”

“You know.” You waved your free hand vaguely, avoiding his eyes again. “Confident. Charming.”

“Ah.” He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and rich, wrapping around you like a blanket. “So, what? You’re allergic to confidence?”

“No! I just—” You huffed, flustered, and Mattheo’s grin widened.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” he said, and your stomach flipped violently.

“I am not,” you mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks.

“You are,” he insisted, his tone teasing but gentle. “And I’m not saying that to make you run away again, by the way. I’d really prefer it if you didn’t.”

You glanced up at him then, your heart doing somersaults at the soft, hopeful look in his eyes. And for a moment, you thought maybe you could do this—stay, talk to him, let yourself believe that someone like Mattheo Riddle could actually like someone like you.

But instead, you mumbled something incoherent and, in a sudden burst of courage—or cowardice—twisted out of his grasp and darted down the hallway.

“Wait—! Oh, come on! Slow down!” His exasperated laugh echoed behind you, followed by his voice, playful but resigned. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

Oh, but you weren’t getting away that easily.  

Because by some twist of fate—or Mattheo’s uncanny ability to be everywhere you didn’t want him to be—you found yourself crossing paths with him again that very afternoon. And this time, there was no escaping.  

The hospital wing was quiet, the kind of quiet that wrapped itself around you like a blanket, broken only by the soft clink of glass vials as you worked. You were perched at Madame Pomfrey’s desk, carefully restocking rows of remedies, when the heavy wooden door creaked open.  

You didn’t look up at first, assuming it was Madame Pomfrey returning from her rounds. But then you heard the familiar drawl.  

“Madame Pomfrey, I—oh.”  

Your hand froze mid-reach for a jar of bruise balm. Your stomach plummeted. You knew that voice.  

You froze, your hand stilling mid-reach for a jar of essence of murtlap. Slowly, as though moving too quickly might summon some greater disaster, you turned your head toward the door.

There he was.

Mattheo Riddle, leaning casually against the doorframe, one arm tucked against his side, the other pressed lightly to his jaw where a streak of blood stood out against his pale skin. His shirt was untucked, his tie gone, and his dark curls were just messy enough to make him look infuriatingly perfect.  

Your heart started to pound, the air in your lungs thinning to a whisper. “You,” you said before you could stop yourself, the word barely louder than a squeak.  

Mattheo grinned, even as he winced slightly, straightening from the doorframe. “Me,” he echoed.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the desk as if it might keep you grounded. “What... what happened?”  

“I fell,” he said simply, though the smirk on his lips made it impossible to believe him.

“You fell,” you repeated flatly, crossing your arms.

He nodded solemnly, though there was nothing solemn about the way his eyes flicked over you, taking in the rolled-up sleeves of your uniform and the faint smudge of ink on your wrist from earlier. “Tragic, I know. But lucky me—I’ve landed in the most capable hands.”

Your cheeks burned, and you immediately dropped your gaze, fussing with the nearest jar of ointment to avoid his eyes. “Madame Pomfrey isn’t here,” you mumbled. “I’m just helping... for now.”  

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said, moving toward one of the hospital beds. “I think I like the idea of you taking care of me.”  

Your fingers fumbled, nearly knocking over a bottle of murtlap essence. “Sit,” you said quickly, pointing to the bed without looking at him. “You need to sit so I can... um... look at that.”  

He chuckled softly but complied, settling onto the edge of the bed. “As you wish.”  

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you grabbed a cloth and some antiseptic. But when you turned back, he wasn’t sitting anymore. He was standing again, closer now—too close, that lazy grin still firmly in place.

Your breath caught. “You—what are you doing?”  

“Stretching my legs,” he said easily, his voice low and warm.  

“You’re supposed to be resting,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to sound firm. “You’re injured—”  

“It’s nothing,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned against the desk, his dark eyes fixed on you. “I’m not that fragile, you know.”  

“But—”  

“Do I make you nervous?” he interrupted, tilting his head slightly, his curls falling into his eyes.  

You immediately shook your head, even though you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. “N-no. I mean—why would you think that?”  

“Because you’re practically shaking,” he said, his tone softer now, though no less teasing. “And because you keep looking anywhere but at me.”  

Your eyes flicked up to his for a fraction of a second before dropping back down to the floor. “I’m not... I mean, I just—”  

“You’re adorable,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made your pulse race.  

You froze, your fingers tightening on the cloth in your hands. “I should clean your cut,” you mumbled, stepping back toward him.  

But before you could reach him, he moved again, his hands finding the edge of the table on either side of you, caging you in.  

“Mattheo—”  

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur. His dark eyes held yours, the intensity in them stealing the words right out of your throat. “So stop running.”  

His face was so close now, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your cheek, making your skin tingle. You could see the individual lashes framing those mesmerizing eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the way his teeth nipped gently at his lower lip...

"Come on," you muttered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. You lifted the antiseptic in your hand. "Just... please let me help you."

It sounded weak, pathetic even, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

For a long moment, he simply looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped back, giving you space to breathe again.

"You're right," he said, his voice a little rougher than usual. "Thank you."

He sat back down on the bed, his posture a bit less casual now, more tense. He looked up at you through his lashes, his gaze softer than before.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I just..." He paused, seeming to struggle for the right words. "I like you, Y/N. A lot. And sometimes I forget myself around you."

You blinked rapidly, processing his words. "You... really?" you asked softly, hardly daring to believe it. Slowly, hesitantly, you took a step closer, drawn to him despite your nerves.

"Yes, really," he confirmed, his voice low and sincere. As you drew near, he reached out, his large hands coming to rest on your hips. In one smooth motion, he pulled you down onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

You gasped, your hands flying up to press against his chest. You could feel the firm muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid thud of his heartbeat. Your own heart raced in response, your cheeks flaming with heat.

He smiled softly, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your hip bones as he held you close. "There," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Isn't this better?"

You squirmed slightly in his lap, hyper-aware of every point where your bodies touched. "I... I don't know if this is a good idea," you whispered, even as your traitorous body melted into his embrace. Your hands slid up his chest to loop around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls at his nape.

He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through you. "Why not? We're alone, aren't we?" His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your blouse. "No one has to know..."

He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. "Let me take care of you," he breathed against your skin, his other hand sliding down to palm your ass. "I promise I'll make it feel good."

You whimpered softly as his lips and tongue worked magic on your sensitive skin, your head lolling back to give him better access. But as he kissed lower, you suddenly felt something wet and sticky on your throat–his cut.

"Wait," you gasped, pulling back slightly. You brought a hand up to your neck, your fingers coming away streaked with blood. "You're still bleeding, Mattheo. We should clean that first before... before anything else happens."

He paused, looking up at you with lust-darkened eyes. A slow, amused grin spread across his face. "You think I give a fuck about that right now?" he muttered, pulling you flush against him again. "Don't worry about that."

His hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he attacked your throat with renewed fervor, licking and sucking at the bloodied skin. 

"M-Mattheo," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "We shouldn't... not here..."

Even as you protested weakly, your hips started to move of their own accord, grinding down against the growing hardness you could feel pressing against your thighs. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making your head spin.

He groaned into your neck, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into yours. His hands tightened on your hips, encouraging your movements as he rocked up against you.

"Oh, fuck. You're not as innocent as you pretend to be, huh?" he noted, his voice rough with desire.

In one fluid motion, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the bed as you stumbled back. His hands roamed possessively, sliding from your waist to the curve of your lower back before trailing up to cup the soft swell of your tits. His touch was rough and insistent, squeezing and kneading as if he couldn't get enough of you. 

Before you could catch your breath, he turned you around, his firm grip guiding you into place. His hand pressed against the small of your back, a silent command that sent heat pooling in your belly as you bent forward, your chest and palms flattening against the bed.

You felt the air shift around you, cool and heady against your heated skin, as Mattheo's fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. He dragged it up slowly, deliberately, his movements measured, as though savoring every inch of you revealed to him.  

"Running from me, again and again," he muttered, his voice dark and edged with amusement. "And now look at you. Right where I’ve always wanted you."  

Your breath caught, shame and desire tangling in your chest. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond—not when his hands curled under the waistband of your panties, dragging them down the curve of your thighs in one slow, tantalizing motion.  

"Mattheo," you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible above the pounding of your own heart.  

His low laugh sent shivers through you. "Finally saying my name. Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that? And not just in your shy little apologies."  

Your knees nearly buckled as his fingers teased the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, tracing lazy circles closer and closer to where you ached for him. He let the silence hang, heavy and charged, before looping his arm around your front. 

"Cute,” he murmured. "You’ve spent weeks avoiding me, playing coy. But I think you’ve wanted this just as much as I have. Haven’t you?"  

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—only gasp as his fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks skittering up your spine.  

"Answer me," he demanded, his tone soft but unyielding. "I want to hear you say it."  

Your nails dug into the bedspread, and you shook your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. "I-I don’t…"  

"Don’t what?" His fingers curled around the back of your neck, squeezing lightly. "Don’t want me? Don’t need this? Say it, sweetheart, because your body’s telling me a very different story."  

You whimpered, the heat pooling between your thighs making it impossible to deny him—or yourself. "I…I want you," you finally choked out, your voice so quiet you weren’t sure he’d heard.  

But he did.  

"Good girl," he praised, the words dripping with satisfaction. His movements quickened, drawing tight, delicious circles that had your legs trembling. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? All you had to do was stop running."  

A soft gasp escaped your lips as his hand slid down from your neck, tracing the curve of your hip before gripping your ass firmly. His other hand left your front, joining its twin to knead and grope the plush flesh, his thumbs digging in with a possessive hunger that made heat bloom low in your belly again.  

“You’re perfect here,” he mused, his voice a deep hum as he spread your cheeks apart, his touch maddeningly deliberate. “Bent over for me like this. Made for me, aren’t you?”  

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape, but Mattheo didn’t miss it. He laughed softly, the sound dripping with smug satisfaction.  

“Don’t hold back now,” he coaxed, his hands trailing up and down the back of your thighs, lingering just long enough to tease but not satisfy. “I want to hear every little sound you make for me.”  

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could form a word, his palm landed on your ass with a sharp smack—not hard enough to hurt too much, but enough to send a jolt of heat straight through you.  

“Mattheo!”  

“There it is,” he purred, his hands smoothing over the spot he’d just struck, his touch soothing and warm. “You sound so fucking sweet when you say my name like that.”  

Before you could respond, you felt the hard press of his length against you, separated only by the fabric of his trousers. He rolled his hips, letting you feel the full weight of him, and your knees buckled slightly at the realization of just how much he wanted you.  

“You feel that?” he murmured, his lips brushing the back of your neck as he reached down to unbuckle his belt. The soft clink of metal was almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you run, every time you look at me with those shy little glances—you drive me fucking insane.”  

The ruffling of fabric being lowered was too hard to ignore, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back over your shoulder. The sight of him—breathing heavily, his cock thick and hard, standing proudly against the taut muscles of his stomach—sent a wave of heat washing over you.  

“Eyes front,” he ordered, his voice rough with arousal. When you didn’t obey fast enough, his hand came down on your ass again, the sharp sting making you gasp. “Now.”  

You did as he said, pressing your forehead into the bedspread as his hands roamed over you again, his touch both reverent and demanding. One hand slipped between your thighs, spreading you open, while the other gripped your hip, holding you steady.  

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. He teased your entrance with the tip of one finger before pushing inside, curling it just enough to make you arch back against him.  

“You like that?” he asked, his voice laced with a dark kind of affection as he added another finger, stretching you slowly. “I can feel how tight you are. So perfect. So ready for me.”  

Your answer was a broken moan, your body moving instinctively against his hand.  

“Shit,” he breathed, pulling his fingers out only to replace them with the blunt head of his cock, teasing your entrance with maddening slowness. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”  

The stretch of him entering you was almost too much, but the way he worked you—inch by agonizing inch, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still—sent a wave of pleasure through you that made your toes curl.  

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice a husky growl as he bottomed out, filling you completely. He stayed there for a moment, his breathing ragged, his hands running over the curve of your back and the swell of your ass. “You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight, so perfect. Tell me how it feels.”  

“Good,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “So good.”  

“Yeah?” He pulled back slowly, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you before snapping his hips forward again with a deep thrust, filling you completely. You gasped, your body jerking forward at the force, but he didn’t give you a moment to adjust. He set a slow, measured pace, his thrusts deep but deliberate, pulling out and pushing back into you with an almost agonizing slowness that made your heart race. “You like it when I fill you up like this? When I make you mine?”  

Your only response was a strangled moan, your fingers clutching the sheets as he sped up his rhythm, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.  

His hand left your hip, sliding down to your front to brush your clit with just the right amount of pressure. "God, you’re perfect," he muttered, his voice rough as he continued to slide in and out of you, each stroke a slow burn. "I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone like I want you right now."

The pressure inside you was building, slow and steady, like the tightening of a coil. You could feel every inch of him, each thrust dragging out the pleasure until it was almost unbearable. You clenched around him, urging him deeper, and he groaned in response, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushed you harder into the bed.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he breathed, his voice rough and full of need. His thrusts picked up, faster now, more urgent, but still controlled, as if he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. “You feel so fucking good, so warm and tight around me. Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

Your hands gripped the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as the pleasure mounted. He hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, driving you mad with the sensation, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your lips.

“Please…” you gasped, not sure if you were begging for more or for him to take you faster. It didn’t matter. You just needed him. 

Mattheo smirked, his fingers still pressing against your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "You want it faster? You want me to make you come on my cock?"  

You nodded, desperate for more. “Yes, please…”

“That’s what I thought,” he rasped, his thrusts quickening as he slammed into you with abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with the low groans escaping both of you.  

With one final, devastating thrust, you shattered, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. Mattheo wasn’t far behind, his rhythm growing erratic as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name as he followed you over the edge.  

For a moment, the world was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths and the heat of his body against yours. Then, slowly, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.  

“You’re not running from me again,” he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. “Not now. Not ever.” 

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

© lushleona 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[sweetbans29]

Risk - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: Everyone believed the world revolved around Caitlin but if you were to ask her, she would say hers centered around something (someone) the world was too blind to see. AKA Caitlin is completely in love with you. Loosely based off Risk - Gracie Abrams.

Warnings: slow burn

Word Count: 5k

Sweetbans Masterlist

Caitlin has known you since freshman year. She learned early on that the two of you shared the same major (which she was over the moon about). You caught her eye long before she ever caught yours and that was only because she had put herself in a position to get noticed by you (when she finally got the guts to do so). It took her a whole year before she worked up the courage to say a single word to you and do you remember that word? No. But does Cait? Absolutely.

It was in a stats class sophomore year, she was sitting right behind you, has been in every class she has had with you. There was an exam that day and you had realized you didn't have a no.2 pencil for your scantron. You turn behind you, eyes meeting Cait's and you ask her for a pencil. Her response? 'Yes.' And she provides you with the only pencil she has.

See Caitlin would typically facepalm at the fact that she now has no way of completing her own exam but instead she sat there memorizing the moment when your eyes connected with hers and the faint look of concern that disappeared the second she passed her pencil to you. Caitlin was left rushing to finish the exam when her friend sitting next to her passed her a pencil.

Caitlin ended up getting a C on the exam. To her, it was worth it. She would do it again in a heartbeat.

All throughout college, Caitlin would secretly hope that you would be in each of her classes. She even went as far as changing her schedule a few times when she found out you weren't in her class. That was not an easy feat considering she was a student athlete but once Cait set her mind to something, her determination moved mountains.

Even though she would be in the same class as you, the most she would do is stare at the back of your head - wishing you would turn around so she could see your eyes. She felt like a fool waiting for you turn your head just so she could get a good glimpse of you.

There was one day about half way through spring semester when class ends early and Caitlin has her second conversation with you.

You were about to head out, grabbing your bag from your desk after packing it up. As you grab the strap, lifting it up, it breaks causing all of your belongings to scatter across the floor. You curse under your breath as you bend down to grab the contents of your bag.

As you are on the ground, you notice someone crouching next to you and the next moment you feel yourself being pushed to the ground.

You fall to the side with a little 'hmmmph'.

"I am so so sorry," the girl mumbles, as red as a tomato. She doesn't know whether to help you up or continue gathering your things. As Caitlin was bending down to help, she lost her balance and ended up pushing you over.

You see the conflict in her eyes and begin to laugh, which only makes the girl even more red.

You lift you hand up, asking for her help up.

Caitlin freezes, looking at you, knowing the palms of her hands are sweating. You lift your eyebrows, then let out a little frown. She tries to compose herself and decides to wipe her hands on her pants before taking your hand to help you up.

"Thanks," you say softly, realizing how nervous the girl in front of you is.

She just nods and goes back to gathering your belongings.

It makes you smile.

The two of you finish picking up the contents of your bag and stand. Once you do, you introduce yourself.

Caitlin, of course, already knows who you are but she isn't going to admit that fact. Nor is she going to admit the fact that she has known of who you are for over a year and could probably tell you more about yourself than you may even know.

Like when you sit down, you flip the hair on the left side of your body over your shoulder and then tuck it behind your ear. Or how when you are thinking really hard, your eyebrows furrow and you lick your lips. She has also learned that you never use your phone in class, even when waiting for the professor to begin lecture or during breaks. You sit there and review your notes or turn to your side and spark up a conversation with someone around you - she only wished she had the courage to sit closer to you so that conversation would be directed at her.

Caitlin has also noticed how you tap your pencil when you daydream. Not an annoying tap, you tap it on your hand as your eyes seem to be looking at the professor but your mind is completely elsewhere. This one took Cait a long time to learn since she would almost always sit behind you. But there was one class where the professor had you all sit in a circle of desks rather than in lines and she got to observe you in a different light.

One of her favorite things she has noticed and has come to love is your smile. She didn't catch it all the time but when she did, she was completely and utterly smitten. She would find herself smiling, then blushing realizing she is smiling uncontrollably due to you.

"I'm Caitlin," she says with a little smile. If anyone asked, you would say her little smile was adorable.

No one asked.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Caitlin," you say with a smile of your own. "You are on the basketball team, right?"

Cait nods a little faster than she intends to.

"That is so cool," you say. "I'll have to come check out a game."

Caitlin feels like she could combust from excitement. YOU coming to one of HER games? Where you would watch her do what she does best, absolutely.

"Hey thank you again for helping me out," you say, touching her arm lightly with a smile. "It was nice meeting you Caitlin."

Before she knows it, you have your back to her and are walking out of class.

Caitlin was too excited at the fact that you now know who she is and wanted to come to a game of hers to be embarrassed by the fact that she didn't say anything other than her name. She is also trying to savor the feeling of your touch on her arm. Your hand felt like the softest hand to have ever graced her.

Over the next few weeks, Cait has tried not to think too much into the fact that you could potentially be at one of her games. The last thing she needed was a reason to be nervous in the one area of life that she has never been nervous.

When she didn't see you at the first home game following your meeting, she tried not to be disappointed. If anything, she hid it really well. She played like she always did - all gas, no brakes.

The next few games, she found herself looking over at the student section more often than she had before. Walking over to celebrate with them in hopes that her eyes will fall upon you standing in the middle of the crowd, cheering her on like everyone else. But she doesn't - you are not found in the crowd and her disappointment grows.

After that, things went back to the way they used to be. Caitlin observing you in class and not really doing much to seek out your attention.

That is until March of junior year when she looks out into the crowd during one of the games leading into March Madness and finds you. She is ecstatic which quickly turns to sick when she sees someone's arm wrapped around you as they pass you a drink, kissing your temple.

Caitlin doesn't remember much after that, but she ends up snagging a triple-double during the game. Over the next few weeks, Cait feels the full effects of why it's called a crush.

Senior year rolls around and without having to switch any classes, you are in 4 out of the 5 classes Caitlin is taking. She still finds herself looking your way when you enter the room - really whenever you make any sort of move.

In one of the classes you shared during the second semester, you took the liberty to sit next to her for the first time. Of course it makes Caitlin's heart go a mile a minute but she has to constantly remind herself that you are taken and she has every reason to have no strings holding her down. With her battling with the decision to declare for the W draft or stay, she needs to make the decision that is best for her and only her. Also when Cait thinks about it, it's crazy that she thinks about you in her future when you are taken and haven't shown any interest in her.

Day one, you sit next to her with a wide smile.

"Caity girl!" You say with an enthusiasm that could have Caitlin run a marathon.

"Hi," she says, hoping she doesn't sound as sheepish as she feels. Hearing your little nickname for her has her wanting to hear it 24/7.

"After how many classes we have had together, we finally get to sit next to each other. Seems like a long time coming, am I right?" You say as you situate yourself.

Caitlin nods, she knows no matter what the two of you could talk about, you would always be right.

"Well, better late than never," you say as you open your notebook. It was in this moment that Caitlin realized something that she never really noticed before. You are the only one in class who is handwriting their notes while everyone else is on their laptop. She wonders why.

As the semester goes on, the two of you have little conversations here and there. You try not to pry into the life of a girl who you think always has eyes on her while Caitlin wants to unload everything about who she is to you. It is a very interesting balance really.

There is one week when Cait is super sick and doesn't make it to any classes but ends up traveling and playing a massive game.

When she gets back, and finally begins to feel like she is recovering - she gets an email from you.

[Class Notes 2/11

Hey Caity Girl - we missed you in class this past week but a friend said you were really under the weather. I thought I would share the notes from this past week so you don't fall too far behind. I know you are already doing so many different things and hope this makes it a little easier to manage. Feel better soon, ya? I miss having my notes buddy in class.

One attachment: Scanned by Gmail - *Notes for Caity Girl*]

Caitlin is smiling from ear to ear when she sees your email come in. After she noticed that you handwrite all your notes, she converted to doing the same. She was nowhere near as fast as you were but whenever you noticed she was slightly behind, you would slide your notebook towards her to help her catch up.

Caitlin distinctly remembers when you showed up to class one day with a messy bun and puffy eyes. She was ready to get up and fight whatever or whoever left you in this state.

You go throughout class trying to be as normal as possible, not noticing the worried glances of the girl next to you. At the end of class, you don't move to get up. Neither does Caitlin.

The two of you just sit there. Caitlin doesn't try to say anything and you don't talk either. At one point, you lean your head onto her shoulder and let out a shaky exhale. Caitlin slides your rolling chair closer to hers and lets you rest on her. She brings her hand to rub soft, slow circles on your lower back - just like her mom would for her when she was overwhelmed.

"I am here if you ever want to talk," Caitlin says softly, not wanting to push you in any way.

You let out a soft, 'thank you' and sit up on your own. The two of you finally leave the classroom and head your separate ways.

Later that day, Caitlin finds out that you and your girlfriend broke up. She didn't know details nor did she want to. All she wants to do is hold you and tell you that everything is going to be alright because you are you. And that she thinks you are the most amazing girl in the world and that you are loved and cherished and deserve nothing but best for the rest of your days. But she doesn't, she can't.

Neither of you talk about that day. You seem to go back to your normal self and Caitlin wonders how you compose yourself so easily.

As the semester is coming to a close and Caitlin's world feels like it is about to explode with different things, she can't help but sit and grieve the fact that you aren't going to be a part of it.

Over the past four years, she has slowly gotten to know you and has secretly fallen in love. No one knew and no one would ever know, but her heart screams for you. No other person compares to you in her eyes and she feels like she will never find another you.

Caitlin believes that you are the one for her.

She doesn't know how that would ever happen considering she doesn't even know where the next few weeks will take her but she is down right convinced that you are a part of her future.

When the time comes to leave campus for the final time as a student, Caitlin prays she runs into you. She doesn't care if she see's you across campus and has to spring to catch you, she would do it. She just needs to get one moment with you so she can open the door to a possibility of more.

If there is one regret that Caitlin has at her time as a Hawkeye, it is never being bold enough to get your number. She knows she has had to be careful but when it came to you - she should have been bold.

As she drives off campus with her parents, her heart breaks wishing she would have had the courage.

The next few months for Caitlin are a whirlwind. Being drafted no.1 to Indiana and going from the NCAA championship to her rookie season without slowing down has taken a bigger toll on her than she would ever admit. But she couldn't slow down.

Cait is so caught up that she misses when you attend one of her games - your first time watching her as a professional.

You didn't want to make a big deal out of it because to anyone around during your college days the two of you were just classmates. You never hung out outside of class and really only knew each other because you studied the same major. So when it came to trying to get her attention after a game - a sold out, Fever home game - there was really no pull as to trying to get her attention. You honestly didn't even know if she would recognize you.

It is after the game, after the team huddle and the stands are cleared when one of the members of the media team came up to show Caitlin some of the raw photos they took of the game when she sees you.

Caitlin almost drops the camera and asks how she can zoom in. And sure enough, there you were. Sitting in an Indiana Fever hoodie, a fat smile on your face watching her.

Cait runs back out to the floor, looking around as if she would magically find you but the fieldhouse is practically empty. She runs over to where you were sitting in the photo and she just stares at the empty row of seats.

You were there. You came to watch her play and she had no idea.

Later that night, she did a little stalking to see if you had posted about being at the game. She comes across your IG profile and sees there is a story waiting to be seen.

Would you think she is a stalker for finding you and watching your story? Should she follow you and send a message? The two of you hadn't talked, let alone had any messaging communication prior to now, even when you were in the same classes (minus that one email, of course).

Cait is overthinking when she decides to call Kate.

"CC?" Kate says, voice thick with sleep.

"Kate! I need you to do something for me," Caitlin then begins to ramble about how you were at the game and that you didn't ask to see her but you posted and she wants to see it but doesn't want to seem weird.

"Caitlin," Kate begins after Cait explains everything. "You called me, at - what time is it? Caitlin, you called me at 1am to have me view a girl's story for you?"

It is only now that Caitlin see's how this might be a little crazy but she doesn't care.

"Yes..." Caitlin responds.

"The girl you had a fat crush on in college but pretended not to," Kate says and Caitlin cuts her off.

"Woah, let's not blow this out of proportion," Caitlin says. She can almost feel Kates stare through the phone.

Kate sighs and goes to her IG. She finds you and views your story.

"It is a photo of the Gainbridge Fieldhouse, with your photo on the big screen. The one they put up for introductions," Kate says and Caitlin feels her chest swell.

"Thank you," Caitlin whispers and hangs up leaving Kate even more confused.

Caitlin doesn't sleep that night. How could she? She missed what could have been her only other opportunity to see you again. What if this was the last time? What if she missed her last chance to say how she feels? Even if she had the opportunity, would you be freaked out by her confession? The next day is hell for her.

The rest of the season she makes a point to look into the crowd - searching for familiar eyes. Just to her luck, she doesn't find what she is looking for.

She loses hope as the season comes to an end. The high of the though subsides as life goes on.

The next time you appear out of the blue is when Caitlin is scrolling through IG. Initially she scrolls past, but then freezes when her brain catches up to fingers. She scrolls back up to see a picture of you with your dog.

Caitlin immediately smiles, when she sees the smile you are wearing. She takes the opportunity to tap on your profile.

She sits up when she sees that you are following her and probably have been following her. She feels herself getting nervous as her thumb hovers over the follow button and decides she literally has nothing to lose.

Caitlin hits the follow button and then decides to add you as one of her close friends. She never really uses it for anything, but just knowing that she has you on it makes her feel special.

Time goes on and before she knows it, Caitlin is back in Iowa City on a chilly February morning. She is back with her family as her jersey is going to be retired in Carver-Hawkeye Arena, quite the honor.

She is walking around with her brothers to some of her favorite spots, stopping at the best bakery around just outside of campus. It's a little mom n' pop shop that has been family owned for 50 years. It was one of the only places she gate-kept in college because she didn't want them selling out of her favorite pastries.

As she walks in, she is caught in her tracks by the last person she would imagine in one of her favorite places.

You are sitting in a little table in the back corner with a book in your hand, eyebrows lightly furrowed as you are completely unaware of what's happening around you.

The little nonna, comes out and yells Caitlin's name before she has the time to walk over to you and say hello. Not that she knew what to say, but she was going to.

Your head whips up and you make eye contact with your favorite class partner.

A smile shines on your face causing Caitlin to smile even wider now.

Her brothers look at each other as they are forgotten in the background as Caitlin comes up to you.

"Why hello there," you say, smile never leaving your face. "What a nice familiar face to see." You put your book down and stand.

You go in for a hug and the second your arms are around her, she never wants to leave them.

"It is so good to see you," Caitlin whispers into you.

"It is good to see you too, Caity girl," you say as you pull away.

Caitlin tries to hide the disappointment in the separation. It then occurs to her, that you are standing in front of her. She didn't imagine this ever happening again, after missing you the last time the two of you were in the same room.

"You came to one of my games," Caitlin says before she can stop herself.

You laugh and nod.

"I did, I was traveling for work and the schedule aligned perfectly," you say.

"I would have said hi," she says.

"I didn't want to bug you," you say with a little shrug. You wanted to, you really wanted to.

"You could never bug me," Caitlin says softly.

The two of you just look into each other's eyes. You feel like you can really see Caitlin for the first time. You can see what you had suspected but never truly known until this moment.

You give her a soft smile and nod. A promise for next time. A promise that there would be a next time.

"Wait, what are you doing here?" Caitlin asks. From what she can remember from posts, you live in Manhattan now. You are a little ways away from home.

"Well this place has the best bear claws known to man, so I had to come snag one. Then I got caught up in this," you say lifting your book.

"I mean in Iowa," Caitlin says with a little blush. She has no idea why she is blushing but it is a reaction you seem to bring out of her whenever the two of you are together.

You knew that is what she was talking about, but it is just so easy to tease her.

"Well, I heard there was something pretty big happening and I just couldn't miss it," you say.

"You came for my jersey retirement?" Caitlin asks. She is in awe of you.

"Of course, I came for your jersey retirement," you say.

Caitlin leans in and places her head on your shoulder, trying to hide the blush that has crept up her neck into her cheeks. She is over the moon. Never in a million years would she have imagined to be important enough for you to make a trip to watch her jersey retirement.

You wrap you arm around her with a little laugh and rub her back. You let her take her time to compose herself, finding it incredibly cute at the affect you have on her even after all this time. Even after how big she is.

Nothing else in the world mattered to Caitlin in this moment, just you. Just you with your arms around her - hidden from the world.

This is what she wants - she wants this to be the norm between the two of you. Morning dates to your local bakery. Light touches. Comfortable silence.

"How long are you here for?" Caitlin asks before she can think too much.

"I leave tomorrow morning," you say, slightly disappointed.

Caitlin could take this as a sign that this was just another fluke, that the moments shared between the two of you will always be fleeting. But standing here, your hand still on her arm, she knows that she is done waiting for you. She's in. All in.

"What if it wasn't tomorrow morning?" She says, trying to be bold but her voice comes out slightly shaky.

"And what would I fill my time with if I didn't get on a plane tomorrow morning?" You say, baiting her.

Caitlin stands there, mind blank. She has thought about this moment on countless occasions but had never thought about what she would say if you said yes. She wanted to be bold but here she is, making a fool of herself. Little to her knowledge, you plan on seeing her regardless of what she says. If Caitlin wants to spend time with you, you are all hers.

"Uhhhh," Caitlin tries to find words. Her arm, where your hand is placed on her, is burning up.

You remove your hand and bring it up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

If Caitlin wasn't in love before, she is in love with you now. But she was in love with you before and now she is double in love, if that is even possible.

Maybe it is the fact that up to this point, all of it was in Cait's head. She never ran the risk and here she is, trying to do exactly that. Even when she is cringy and feels like anyone else on this planet would run the other way, you remain in front of her. You are giving her the chance she has always wanted.

Blake comes over and taps Caitlin's arm. "We need to get going," he says.

Caitlin doesn't want to leave. She doesn't want to leave you. Now that she thinks of it, she never wants to leave you again.

"Go," you say with a smile.

She nods, a silly little grin on her face as she begins to talk out, completely forgetting the pastries she walked in to get.

"Wait," she says as she runs back to you. Cait pulls out her phone, opening it for you to put your number in. You do and save it.

"Stay," she says, rushed.

"What?" you ask.

"Tomorrow morning, stay," Caitlin says. "Don't get on your flight tomorrow morning."

"Okay," you say, unsure of where this is going but you are more than open to find out.

Caitlin leaves with her brothers and can't believe what just happened.

She tries to focus on the events of that night - it really is a special moment, getting her jersey retired is huge. She gets ready and she makes her return to Carver-Hawkeye. Caitlin has her friends, family, old teammates and coaches in the building for a special night. She soaks it all in, marveling in the memories made.

When the time comes, she gives her speech and takes photos with her family. She smiles and stands proudly.

You are among the sea of people who are there to support Caitlin and all she has done. You cheer her on as you watch her surrounded by all the people she loves. In the midst of the chaos, you watch her eyes wander to the crowd - searching for something.

Cait's eyes meet yours, yet another sign to her that this is what she has waited 5 years for. Her smile widens as she sees you. Nothing could make this night better.

As the night comes to a close, Caitlin takes photos with friends and fans all around. She gets a little antsy, hoping you have waited to come see her.

You wait and watch as everyone showers Caitlin with so much love. You feel a little weird waiting around but selfishly want a photo. After what feels like forever, the crowd dies down enough to where you feel comfortable heading over to the superstar.

"Think you can spare one more photo tonight?" You ask as you come up, bumping her shoulder with yours.

"For you?" Caitlin begins, confidence oozing from her from the night. "I'd do anything."

The two of you stand together to take a photo. After a few seconds, Caitlin turns to pull you into a hug. Your arms wrap around her and you feel her face bury itself in your shoulder, then turning to hide in your neck. You laugh when you feel her breath graze your neck, tickling it.

"You are amazing," you say, pride evident in your voice.

Cait could die happy now. Hearing you say that, she never wants to let you go.

"I moved my flight," you say when she finally lets go of you.

"Good," Caitlins says.

"Good," you respond.

"Good, because we have a lot to talk about," Cait says.

You smile.

"I look forward to getting to know The Caitlin Clark," you say and she blushes.

"There isn't much to me," she says. "I am much more interested in getting to know you."

"Well, we can get to know each other with time," you say. "How does that sound, Caity girl?"

Caitlin smiles at you, heart full thinking back to her freshman self. 5 years in the making and she finally has the opportunity to get the girl.

AN: Well, that was longer than I expected. I hope you enjoyed this! Let me know your thoughts! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

[arabella0001]

Hiiii

Reminder for kakashi x foreign fem story

Please pls 🥺

finally FINALLY i finished

｡˚ fandom: naruto

pairing: kakashi hatake x reader

request scenario: kakashi is falling in love with a refugee civillian who doesn't speak konoha's language

cn: slow burn, lots of fluff, loss of virginity. over 6k words

༄

After the war, Tsunade was more than happy to hand over the Hokage position to Kakashi. Especially knowing just how much he didn’t want it. Tormenting him over and over again with mundane tasks—after all, she knew what it was like to have a mountain of paperwork stacked on your desk from morning to night.

As Kakashi skimmed through the documents, one finger pressed between his brows from stress, he sensed Tsunade’s presence before she even entered. It’s not like he didn’t already know the rhythm of her footsteps.

“What a lovely day to be Hokage, don’t you think, Kakashi?”

You followed her into the office slowly, hands folded in front of you, gaze slightly lowered.

“Ha-ha, really funny, Tsunade. Sure you don’t mind switching pla—”

But the words caught on his tongue as his eyes lifted—at first set on Tsunade—until he saw you, standing just behind her.

Tsunade gave him an almost wicked smile, bringing her hands together like she was about to applaud.

“Today, we have a new visitor. Or should I say… a new member of the village.”

Kakashi narrowed his eyes. Who are you?

He couldn’t quite see your face—not until you lifted it, leaving him utterly speechless.

No, he didn’t know you. Hell, there was no way he wouldn’t recognize you if he had. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman more beautiful. Your features were like something out of his grandmother’s stories about angelic beings—not quite human, radiating warmth with every graceful movement, mesmerizing without even trying.

But knowing his nature, Tsunade didn’t catch much of a reaction on his face (well, the half of it not covered by his mask), except for the slight widening of his eyes. She didn’t know that Kakashi’s cheeks had flushed with boyish embarrassment, mercifully hidden. Saving him.

And if his mind wasn’t already halfway to breaking, you started to speak—with a tone so soothing it felt like balm to his soul. He could’ve listened to it forever. Though, oddly, your intonation felt foreign.

You said simply, “Nice to meet you, Hokage.”

Kakashi responded almost instantly, voice flat but carrying a clear eagerness.

“The pleasure is mine.” A short pause. “Who are you?”

As your eyes were still locked on eachother , Tsunade couldn’t help but chuckle, barely managing to snap him out of the trance you’d put him in.

“Don’t get too excited yet, Kakashi. She’s a civilian refugee from the nearby forest. Got separated from her people after the war. She doesn’t speak our language.”

“What?!” Kakashi cleared his throat, his voice cracking slightly from how shocked he’d sounded. “Well… that’s a shame. I’ll make sure everything’s arranged so she feels at home here.”

Tsunade answered in a dismissive tone, heading for the door.

“Great. Because I’m leaving her under your responsibility anyway. I’ll only handle her training—her abilities are far too interesting to be taught by anyone other than me.”

But Kakashi didn’t hear anything past the first part. His responsibility? He couldn’t say he was unhappy to hear that. But his primal thoughts responded immediately: How the hell am I supposed to control myself around someone like you every day? Damn it, Tsunade.

You bowed respectfully before following Tsunade out of his office.

Only after you left did Kakashi sink back into his chair, head tilted up as he exhaled deeply, staring blankly at the ceiling.

༄

Kakashi had spent the past few days hunting for a book—any book—that could translate your language into theirs. Not that he cared about the reports piling up on his desk, now doubled in number thanks to his little quest. At least now he’d have a solid excuse when he inevitably asked Tsunade for help.

Or the fact that he’d spent more time reading about your origins than he had with his beloved comfort book, Icha-Icha. Which, frankly, was far more concerning.

He managed to carve out a break in his schedule and made his way toward your group. Kurenai was all smiles (and this time, it wasn’t just because Asuma was sitting beside her, toothpick tucked at the corner of his mouth—a habit he’d picked up to help quit smoking, something he’d promised Kurenai since she became pregnant).

No, her smile was clearly directed at you—you, dressed in something completely unexpected, completely contradictory to what Kakashi had imagined you might wear. A stunning, long dress that looked like it belonged to a fairy. Not that he was complaining—your training clothes, most likely chosen intentionally by Tsunade to distract him even further, already fit you perfectly.

The dark green, form-fitting outfit, complete with empty pockets likely meant for kunai (their weapons stock hadn’t been updated in a month), hugged your body like it was tailored for you.

He struggled to pull his gaze away from you—though you somehow sensed it immediately, your eyes turning toward him first as he approached with calm, measured steps.

Asuma gave Kakashi a slight nod of acknowledgment, accompanied by Kurenai’s warm greeting. Tsunade, hand on her hip, was the first to speak.

“Rough nights, huh?” she remarked, clearly referring to the exhaustion under Kakashi’s eyes—worsened ever since he began researching you far more than he probably should have.

Kakashi just shot her a warning glare, his expression friendly enough for public display, before she continued.

“Looks like our foreigner here has an inclination for medical jutsu. But also… brute force. Ironic, huh? Just like me and Sakura.”

The first one seemed fitting for you. But the second? He couldn’t picture you splitting the earth in two with a single punch. The more he learned about you, the deeper he dug himself into the pit of his barely-contained curiosity.

Still, his voice tried to remain neutral.

“That’s good news.” Then he added, “I found a dictionary translating her language into ours. We’re going to try teaching her to speak it… but also teach ourselves enough to show some respect for her homeland.”

He paused, collecting himself before finally meeting your gaze—those intense, difficult-to-hold eyes—and addressed you, a little uncertain, in your native language.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope we’ll get along well.”

His heart nearly jumped out of his chest—not just because you spoke back, but because you smiled for the first time. He didn’t think it was possible for you to be more beautiful… and yet.

You responded with a hint of excitement, your eyes sparkling sweetly.

“Nice to meet you too! I’ll do my best to become one of you. Thank you for welcoming me!”

Well, Kakashi thought, looks like I’m not the only one who made an effort to learn her language.

His eyes softened, reflecting your smile with one of his own—genuine, though subtle.

Neither of you noticed the way the others were watching, a knowing look in their eyes. It was like no one else existed in that moment—just the two of you, with a delicate thread of tension starting to form between your worlds.

But Tsunade had to ruin it, a playful disgust bubbling up inside her at all the sweetness.

“Well, my time here is up. Good luck with your teaching, Hokage.”

She tossed Kakashi a mocking look, while Kurenai and Asuma followed her out—sensing ttoo, that it was probably time to leave.

And in that moment, Kakashi felt just a little helpless, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly before turning to you again.

“Ahm… okay. Let’s find a more comfortable place before I introduce you to Konoha’s world. Come with me.”

You didn’t understand half of what he said—but the tone in his voice was enough for your feet to follow him without question.

༄

Kakashi couldn’t think of anywhere safer to take you than his office. Even though it feels a bit too intimate for him to share his personal space this much, he figures it’s necessary—if he really wants to help you.

“Ahm, tea?” he glances over his shoulder as he pours himself a cup of green tea, gesturing toward the teapot so you understand what he means. You nod in agreement, a small smile playing on your lips as you curiously echo,

“Tea?”

He quickly turns to pour you a cup too, a little flustered by how cute you are in your cluelessness.

He hands it to you while maintaining eye contact. You accept it with a smile. His lips press into a thin line as he awkwardly moves to sit in his chair, shrugging off his Hokage cloak—which he finds a little stupid sometimes wearing it.

He doesn’t realize you’ve had red ears since the moment you walked into the room.

He glances at you again, unsure where to begin. But your curious gaze manages to snap him out of the hypnosis your eyes creates..

“Right, so… we should start with language first.” He looks at you for a second before translating it into your language and writing it on a piece of paper with his pen. You can’t really see from where you’re sitting, and he notices.

“C-come closer.”

He gestures for you to sit next to him, but ends up standing and dragging your chair over himself.

Damn.

He realizes—too late—that this was a mistake. His suspicion is confirmed the second he catches a hint of your scent. Or maybe it’s just your natural smell. It makes him a little dizzy, but he composes his voice quickly.

“Here and here—” he says, circling the words he just translated on the page.

You respond with a short but genuine, “Okay.”

After a few hours, Kakashi managed to pretend your presence doesn’t affect him. His usual seriousness returned. You’ve made it past basic expressions and greetings, which is good. He noticed you have a strong memory—though he’d love to know what your real personality is like.

Though his stoicism came back and he’s no longer delusional about what he feels around you, something unusual for him, but, on your end—you’ve grown more observant.

Since meeting him, you’ve started unconsciously seeking him out with your eyes whenever he’s around, and his voice sticks in your mind more than anyone else’s. Of course, you never want to disrespect the Hokage, but still—it’s hard not to wonder what he looks like without the mask. Or even deeper: who he is beneath the mask and title. How the scar under his eye only intensifies his gaze, pulling you out of the present moment sometimes. Your thoughts always arrive at the same quiet, unwavering conclusion. “Beautiful.”

Which is why, by the end of the session, you’re a little distracted. You’re listening—but not really. You nod, but don’t fully comprehend.

Kakashi has started to pick up on your little reactions and expressions. His experience reading people—especially what they don’t say—helps too.

So when you go quiet, his brows furrow slightly. He flips through the dictionary, then starts speaking slowly but clearly:

“That’s enough for today. You look tired.”

Blink. Another blink.

Now you’re no longer spacing out—your cheeks flush, and Kakashi can’t tell if it’s because of how close you are to his face or because he caught you not paying attention, even though your eyes had been tracing every curve of his face.

“Sorry, I—I—”

You quickly get up, prompting him to stand too. You subtly wipe your sweaty palms on the tight, uncomfortable pants you’re still wearing from your intense training with Tsunade.

 Impressive woman, you think.

Kakashi watches as you move to the other side of the desk, bowing slightly, and say,

“Thank you!”

What surprises you is that you think you heard something like a chuckle from him. Oh, he should laugh more.

Kakashi speaks just as you’re about to leave:

“No worries. See you tomorrow.”

You at least understood the first part before stepping out of the room, not forgetting to give him a grateful smile.

After the door clicks shut and your footsteps fade, Kakashi lets out a breath, shoulders relaxing as he stands in the middle of the office, still facing the door you left through.

But somehow, now, it’s different—because he smirked. As he sets his ridiculously big hat down on his desk, his hair tousled in all directions, a thought settles in.

So I’m not the only one affected by your presence

༄

Today, Kakashi decided to show you the most sacred places in Konoha. First, he waited for you after your training with Tsunade, leaning against a tree with his arms lazily crossed.

It’s his day off, so his clothes are finally normal now.

Though “that black t-shirt without sleeves” distracted you instantly when you saw him from the training field. Your eyes avoiding him a little more, just to make sure it’s not obvious that his prominent muscles, painted by that red tattoo that makes him even more attractive, are affecting your brain chemistry. You don’t want to give the impression of unseriousness or, even worse, to behave inappropriately towards him.

It’s not easy for Kakashi either — he got to see a bit of your abilities. And seeing how your chakra-enhanced strength was acting was a true sight to witness. His eyes widened especially when your small fist landed a brutal hit into the ground — taijutsu really suits you. Still, he couldn’t stop his gaze when you bent down slightly to stretch your back after that hit.

Tsunade let out a theatrical sigh after how much work you did — meaning just giving you commands and pushing you to the limit — but she always loves to dramatize a little.

Her steady gaze, which defines her confidence in herself, settled on Kakashi as you both approached him.

“Day off, huh?” Looking him up and down before teasing him like she always does.

“Poor Kakashi, so little time for your disgusting books. What a shame you’ll miss out on Konoha’s streets.”

Kakashi let out just an annoyed huff — their sibling-like relationship sometimes gets the best of him.

“Wow, your observation skills are truly groundbreaking.” A pause. “Or not.”

Tsunade rolled her eyes at that, before he added:

“In fact, I don’t mind.”

Finally, looking at you and giving you a small smile before greeting you.

“Hello. Good to see you.”

It’s hard for him to choose the appropriate greeting expression in order not to overstep. So the words left his lips almost forced.

“Hey, Hokage-sama!”

You bow politely, while Kakashi slightly widens his eyes and waves his hands in disapproval, a bit embarrassed.

“Hah, no need for—”

Tsunade lets out a snort at that, tossing her ponytails over her shoulder with her usual assertiveness.

She didn’t bother to announce her leaving after seeing how you both act like teenagers — even if it’s quite a show — the slow build between you that she anticipated from the first time the lone wolf Kakashi laid eyes on you.

You’re not different either — women can tell pretty quickly when another woman has a thing for a man, you don’t even have to speak the same language.

༄

While you were both immersed in each other’s presence, your eyes sometimes slipped down to his body, which drew too much attention. You’re almost ashamed to admit you don’t want anyone else to see him right now or admire him. Not that he noticed anything, especially now, focused only on taking you to as many places as possible and explaining things.

“So … it’s … a …”

Your words start forming much better than before — he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of you.

“That’s …? Konoha Toshodokoro?

“Yes, indeed.”

Even though he talks more than you sometimes, somehow it helps you understand better. Hard to believe, but you actually managed to laugh together when he tried to show you how … it works, his hands miming clumsily — it was too funny how awkward he was, and for a moment you felt even closer to him.

Your laughter grew louder after he scolded you playfully:

“That’s mean, don’t laugh. I’m trying to help.”

But his smile (too big, though — he’s lucky it’s hidden) said something else.

Meanwhile, Genma and Kotetsu were leaning against a post from a common gathering spot in Konoha.

Genma sends a side-glance to his friend,  then returns with a sly smirk at how you two look together, laughing and walking on the streets like you’ve known each other for years.

“Well, well, well. Such a sight to behold.”

Kotesu accompanies him:

“A short trip sometimes needs a break. Right, Kakashi-san?”

Kakashi felt a bit annoyed when he got pulled out of the bubble he was in with you. Even though you didn’t mind, the smile was still intact on your face.

His usual demeanor brought back his rigidity.

“Hello, Genma and Kotetsu-san.”

After considering their suggestion to grab a drink before heading off — seeing how Genma nods toward the place — Kakashi speaks again:

“Maybe next time. Still, thank you for your offer.”

༄

A year and a half after the war, things in Konoha were slowly starting to return to normal.

Missions weren’t as frequent anymore, reports from other villages and management issues no longer gave Kakashi constant dark circles, and people seemed happier.

Or maybe it was just the two of you who felt that way more than others.

The truth is, for more than half a year since you arrived here, you managed to learn the language pretty well. Slowly, Kakashi realized that you’re a person impossible to avoid. You even managed to make contact with your family, but you firmly told them to come here after you.

He still doesn’t understand your reason for that, because you haven’t told him. He can only be glad that you’re staying here, but why?

Kakashi is a selfless man, not by choice. Life taught him to fight and help every time he could, but in the process, he sabotaged himself and never let anyone help him too much. Not that he necessarily thinks he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s no longer an optimistic person — not since he was very young — and he doesn’t expect miracles.

And this is where he’s wrong. But “luck” is on his side, because you’ve liked him since you arrived here. You can’t say it was just his appearance, you couldn’t even fully see him, since he was hidden — just like his soul.

It was because his energy warms yours, his kindness, his awareness of his surroundings, his choice of words, and the chemistry between you? It hasn’t gone unnoticed by others.

You’re not someone who hides behind things, your boldness starting to strike when Kakashi least expected.

If before you were afraid of being inappropriate, that concept doesn’t exist anymore. Especially once you realized it wasn’t just in your head.

While you were packing your gear into your training backpack, sitting on a tree stump, a few strands that slipped from your hair — though it was braided into two — clung to your face and made it hard to see.

Tsunade was just waiting for you to finish, her gaze had already drifted to the usual spot where Kakashi waited for you, immersed in his book, which he had kind of been ignoring these past few months.

“How long is this little theatre  you two are putting on going to last?”

You looked at her, squinting from the sunlight behind her, not understanding the expression.

“Theatre?”

“The play you’re putting on, with Hokage – student.”

You dodge the question, as expected.

“I think we are even friends now.”

Tsunade called your name and as you stood up, you maintained eye contact while she spoke.

“You know Kakashi likes you, right? You are a smart woman.” Sensing your dismissive retort coming, she didn’t let you speak. “Kakashi is different. He faced some terrible things and will never say it out loud or directly in order to not burden another person.”

You blinked at her, your soul starting to throb violently as she confirmed what your perceptions of him already were.

As a final note, she added, “Do what you want with this, it’s completely your choice. As a suggestion, what we all see here is that you two are alike and have a connection rare to find.”

You gulped, glancing distantly at Kakashi while he had already stopped reading, trying to figure out what’s taking so long.

Tsunade’s seriousness surprised you at the time. But it didn’t last long. When you admitted you liked him, she teased you almost every time.

Sometimes you think she created a monster. You. Because now, you act directly around Kakashi.

For example, you linger too much in his presence, you ask too many shady questions just to get to ask his opinion, you fix his hair if a leaf has landed on him. You insist on helping him with Hokage tasks even though he almost always refuses.

Which slowly kills Kakashi.

What shocked him the most was when you made him vulnerable in front of everyone during a meeting, exposing his sacrifice behavior and… his care.

While Kakashi was presenting the risky mission he said he had to personally undertake — even though arms supply management wasn’t his responsibility, even though many suspicions confirmed that intruders started stealing them and it led to distrust between villages.

Kakashi started speaking in that firm tone no one wanted to challenge — except, of course, Tsunade. But now, you too.

“I will go to assure the safety of the shinobi in that area. We need to find the persons responsible for this.”

And you didn’t think twice before daring to speak.

“As I read about Hokage responsibilities in the rules of council’s book (your pronunciation isn’t the best yet), this doesn’t seem like one.”

Kakashi’s attention shifted from Guy Sensei, who was definitely offering to come with him, to being fixed on you, slightly surprised.

“Not everything is written down. As a Hokage, you need to show people you care about their safety — and not from behind a desk.”

“Is it? Or is this your personal desire to carry everything on your own shoulders, like you’re used to?”

Everyone went quiet for a second. Until Tsunade, mockingly, gestured with her hand and said:

“A mission like this is insignificant compared to what Kakashi has been through.”

So you added, firmly, “If it’s so insignificant, I don’t think Hokage-sama himself would have a problem if I accompanied him. For his safety, of course, which is the priority.”

Asuma made a “tsk” sound with his toothpick in his mouth. As if to say indirectly, “She got you there, mate.”

Kakashi still kept his gaze on you — your angry expression interested him so much he dismissed the others in order to speak with you.

You sat back down, still a little upset.

Kakashi took off his Hokage robes, remaining in your favorite black clothes of his, putting his hands in his pockets and starting by saying your name to get your attention.

“Dare to say what happened?”

Your tone was slightly ironic, but there was more to it.

“Was I wrong?”

A pause.

“No.”

“So you don’t disagree with me coming as a guardian? Since my safety as a villager is more important than the Hokage himself?”

Kakashi was a bit surprised, though oddly, it seemed that when you’re angry, you speak better.

“You think I’m irresponsible.”

“No. I think your life is just as important as ours, not just because you’re Hokage. You’re important. And to me, as well.”

Kakashi felt like there was no air in his lungs when he tried to breathe again.

So you added, while walking out the door with determination:

“So from now on, you’re not doing things alone anymore, Kakashi. Not when I’m here. Unless you want to exile me from the village.”

You slammed the door a little, and that day and night, Kakashi spent hours processing the care behind your words. As if a small door in his well-protected soul had opened, and you’d stepped right through it.

For the first time since he was born, his instinct was to make a “selfish” decision and accept you in his life. But he still doesn’t know how.

༄

Since then, you made Kakashi realize he wasn’t alone anymore. Not just the kind of alone where you’re not surrounded by people—but the kind that settles deep in your soul.

You’d started spending time together outside of training, outside of missions. You carved yourself a quiet little space in his office. Rumors, of course, began to spread about how much time you two spent together, but everyone could see it—this was the best thing that could’ve happened to Kakashi.

Now, the two of you were buried in your books. You were still reading historical texts about Konoha—its language, its traditions—while Kakashi sighed behind his desk, flipping through today’s mission reports.

You peeked up from your book with a small smile.

“Need help?”

But Kakashi waved a dismissive hand without even looking up, too stressed to bother responding. You walked closer, placing your hand on his desk and leaning in.

You tilted your head slightly, watching the tension in his furrowed brows. Kakashi paused just long enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye before going back to his work, clearly trying not to focus on how close you were.

“You can’t help, don’t worry. Just some mundane, meticulous Hokage stuff,” he mumbled mostly to himself. “I don’t know how Tsunade ever dealt with all of this.”

You chuckled quietly and replied with a grin, “I’m pretty sure Shizune was the one forced to do most of it.”

He huffed. “Most likely.”

Kakashi looked at you again, and his eyes betrayed him for just a moment—scanning you, lingering just a second too long.

You felt your cheeks flush, subtly tucking some hair behind your ear as you shifted and hopped up to sit on the edge of his desk, facing him.

Kakashi leaned back slightly in his chair and gave you a teasing look.

“Highly inappropriate for a shinobi, dear.”

You smirked. “Lucky for you, I’m basically your qualified assistant at this point, considering how much time I spend in here.”

Even if you let the bold words slip out, your hands were a little sweaty as you nervously fiddled with the edge of your short skirt, which barely covered the tight training shorts beneath.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“As your qualified assistant, is your job to motivate the Hokage… or distract him?”

You leaned in just a little closer, smile widening as you feigned innocence.

“Oh, I assure you, my intentions are entirely pure. I’m only here to encourage the village leader. Don’t tell me I’m distracting you?”

Kakashi shook his head, half in disbelief, half amused. He cleared his throat before replying.

“What am I going to do with you?”

Your eyes locked with his, full of unspoken meaning. Something deeper passed between you—something warm, quiet, and magnetic.

༄

The next week bring more promises ahead.

It was a normal spring day, the kind where everything felt a little more hopeful when you looked around and saw cherry blossoms swirling over Konoha. You’d all decided to go out for drinks and catch up.

You sat between Tsunade and Shizune. Asuma and Kushina were chatting nearby, not separated from the group but in their own little corner. Guy-sensei—whom you adored for how much he inspired you to work harder—was arguing with Kakashi over something ridiculous, as usual, while Iruka laughed along. Kotetsu, Genma, and Anko were too busy racing to see who could down a shot the fastest.

“Kakashi, my man, why can’t you accept defeat for once?” Guy’s eyes were red from laughing, his wide grin only making Kakashi roll his eyes as Guy shook him by the shoulders.

“Guy, please. For the millionth time—you were the one who lost—”

You cut in, feigning a shocked gasp. “That’s a lie! I saw Guy-sensei land the final strike!”

Kakashi raised an eyebrow at your blatant betrayal, while Tsunade tossed back another shot with a smirk and Shizune giggled sweetly.

Guy’s eyes sparkled dramatically.

“See, Kakashi?! She recognizes true effort and extraordinary talent!”

Kakashi shot you a teasing look before turning back to Guy, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Okay, okay. You win. My ego is so crushed—I think I need to step outside and recover.”

He got up with exaggerated exasperation, shooting you a short, private glance over his shoulder before heading out.

You couldn’t help but grin wider as Tsunade nudged you lightly, pretending to cough.

“Right… W-Well… Excuse me for a second, I need to use the bathroom.”

Guy gave you a thumbs-up, totally buying your excuse. The others were too distracted to notice—except the girls. Even though Kushina was clinging to Asuma, she didn’t miss it. She exchanged a knowing glance with Tsunade and Shizune.

You didn’t bother taking the long way to make your lie believable. You walked straight outside and found Kakashi leaning against the bar wall, clearly waiting.

You brushed off a speck of nonexistent dust from your dress. The colors you wore mirrored the season—a pale pink and white kimono tied lazily with a floral sash that framed your figure and bared the skin above your chest, where the curve of your breasts pressed against the short, fitted dress beneath. The gold chain around your neck held a sun-shaped pendant—the one they gave you on your one-year anniversary as a shinobi of the village.

You’d never forget Kakashi’s gentle hands pushing your hair aside to clasp it for you. It might’ve looked like a casual moment to anyone watching, but both of you had felt your hearts about to burst out of your chests.

You stepped beside him, leaning against the wall with your shoulder.

“Sobering up a little?” you asked with a soft smile.

“Not much of a drinker,” Kakashi replied. “Sorry to disappoint.”

His eyes drifted across your face… and then, slowly, down your body. He didn’t bother hiding it. Maybe the alcohol had lowered his guard a little.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

You bit your lip, shy, glancing down before lifting your gaze with an honest smile.

“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He shook his head and looked forward again. “You always dodge compliments.”

You chuckled. “And you always deflect them.”

“Guess we’re a match.”

He meant it teasingly at first—but both of you froze for half a second, eyes widening at the implication.

A pause.

He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Right. We should go back in. The wind’s getting rougher and you could catch a cold—”

“No.”

He turned to you quickly, swallowing hard, searching your face for an answer.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

He looked confused. “Wait for what? Did something happen?”

You shook your head, closing your eyes as your heart pounded against your ribs. You exhaled shakily, trying to steady yourself.

“No, it’s just—Kakashi.”

You looked at him—really looked. He froze.

“Kakashi, I like you. I’ve liked you since I met you.”

Did you really just say that? Or did he imagine it? That couldn’t have—

But when he saw your face again—your flushed cheeks, your shaky breathing—he felt his heart almost stop.

“Are you sure you know what that means—?”

You cut him off. “Kakashi. Yes, I’m sure.” Your voice was firmer now, tinged with frustration. “I thought I wasn’t the only one feeling this. But maybe I read it wrong. If I did, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

You started to turn away—but he caught your arm. In one swift motion, his other hand slipped behind your back, and before you could blink, he’d pulled his mask down and kissed you.

Your eyes widened for a moment before closing, melting into how soft his lips felt against yours.

Kakashi kissed you slowly at first, savoring every second, until your fingers tangled in his hair and you tugged gently. His mouth parted—and at the same time, you both deepened the kiss.

His tongue met yours, the taste of you overwhelming in the best way. All the tension, all the feelings he’d buried—it poured out in that kiss. Especially when you let out a soft gasp between kisses, making him lose control for just a second.

He didn’t want to rush. He didn’t want the moment to be tainted by tipsy bravado, so when he finally pulled away, he kept one hand on your cheek and rested his forehead gently against yours.

You were both breathless, staring into each other. Vulnerability shimmered in your eyes. There was so much there—too much to name. Your ears were ringing, your vision blurred from unshed tears.

“Kakashi…”

“Yes,” he replied with the same intensity, his thumb softly brushing your cheek. “I—I feel the same. In case I haven’t made that clear enough.”

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “You made it very clear.”

He nodded, finally stepping back, placing his hand on the small of your back to guide you toward the door.

“Let’s go back in. I can’t use the wind as an excuse anymore.”

You laughed quietly as you let him guide you, eyes still glowing with love—and you never once looked away from him.

༄

There hadn’t been any more hesitations since then. Even though Kakashi had always been careful to make you feel as comfortable as possible.

He avoids openly affectionate gestures in public, but he stands just a little closer to you—his presence a quiet shield.

Kakashi as Hokage makes quiet mornings more peaceful. He hands you a perfectly brewed cup of tea without a word, grounding you with his presence alone.

He insists on walking you almost everywhere, especially after work, brushing it off with a simple, “It’s on my way,” even though it's clearly not.

He notices your favorite flowers and sometimes surprises you with one, leaving it where he knows you'll find it.

He sits with you under the stars after a long day, offering advice only if you need it—just that silent comfort that he’s here, and he always will be.

But something is missing. With not much experience, you struggle to find what exactly it is...

You both walk through the village together, the lantern lights casting a soft orange zigzag glow over the street and the breeze pleasant against the heat of an overly hot summer day.

You’d bought yourself a fan from a stall in the village center, waving it dramatically while already crying a couple of times—but Kakashi was only amused by your frustration. Your pouty expression was too cute to him.

He couldn’t help but glance occasionally at the slight curve of your cleavage, brought out by the heat, a bead of sweat slipping between them.

But you? You’d started feeling insecure, not aware of his thoughts—not that you had any experience. You didn’t know if Kakashi respected you too much, or maybe… maybe you just weren’t compatible?

Was your lack of experience that obvious? Did it not excite him? You didn’t know what to think… especially today, when your thoughts were more tangled than usual. Not that you were trying to get his attention—but you'd woken up earlier just to pick your favorite dress. The first one he ever saw you in, a year ago. Your hair was softly wavy from the braids you did the night before, and a subtle line of soft blue eyeliner hugged your eyelids. And yet, you felt like you’d just finished three hours of intense training with Tsunade, in yesterday’s clothes. Because Kakashi didn’t seem to react at all. But he noticed. Like he always do.

As you stared blankly ahead, slightly tilted down, he gently nudged your shoulder.

“Hello? Is somebody here?”

You looked up suddenly, as if snapped out of your thoughts, then smiled—though it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“A-ah! Haha, She's away for a minute. Lemme check in the back for you.”

Kakashi smiled back, but it's not like you could fool him, the one of the best lie detectors alive. Still, he didn’t push. Not until you reached your favorite spot—by the little fountain, where you sometimes picked wild yellow flowers while he likes to enjoyed the sun barefoot. Little moments when he actually relax. But is besides you.

But when you sat on top of a small mound of stones—placed by Kakashi during your last visits so you’d be more comfortable—he didn’t hesitate to break your usual routine. A strand of hair was gently tucked behind your ear by his fingers as you squinted at him, eyes narrowed from the sun, until he moved to block it with his body.

“Tell me. What’s weighing on your heart, darling?”

You let out a breath, half a scoff, half a laugh—because he always knows. Always, even when you don’t have the words.

“Fear.”

“Of what?” His reply was immediate, his gaze unwavering.

It took a moment to find the right word or the courage to say it.

“That we’re not right for each other.”

Kakashi furrowed his brows slightly, trying to ignore the pang that hit his chest.

“Why would you say that?”

You looked at him for a second before turning your gaze away again.

“I don’t think you feel the same way I feel about you.”

Kakashi blinked a few times. That didn’t make any sense. Did I miss something?

“What do you feel for me that I don’t?”

“Desire.”

You answered quickly—because if you didn’t say it now, the tension in your heart might crush you.

Kakashi didn’t move for a few seconds.

He bent one knee, just to see your face better, which you were trying to hide.

“You’re trying to tell me I’m not attracted to you?”

Your lips pressed together, nervous, and Kakashi didn’t look away this time.

“It feels that way.”

And that’s when he realized. He’d made a mistake. He’d always feared he’d be seen as some frustrated, sex-obsessed jerk. Less of a man if he ever let himself show what he truly wanted.

He lowered his head to breathe, voice muffled slightly by his posture.

“Wrong.”

You didn’t understand, but didn’t have time to be confused.

“What did—”

Kakashi swept you off your feet then, making you laugh from sheer surprise, your hair falling halfway over your face. “Kakashi, what are you doing?” Your arms wrapped around his neck as he took two steps before taking off into the air.

You felt your heart pounding louder than your thoughts, pressing harder into his chest as you flew. To his place? Yours? You didn’t care. Not really. You just anticipated the moment, even if you didn’t understand—Why only now?

Kakashi had one goal now: to calm down, and unravel slowly if possible the desire he’d held in since the first day he saw you. A smirk formed under his mask at the thought that you were finally about to find out what kind of man he really is.

When you arrived at your place, he didn’t even let you down to open the door—he’d already memorized your entrance seal.

Only once inside did he let you down gently, but the distance between you didn’t grow.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as your eyes met his—just for a second, before they fluttered shut when you felt his lips on your neck. Between the burning kisses, his voice grew slower. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel that way.” His hands ran slowly down your back, tracing the seam of your dress before sliding down to your leg and lifting it, drawing you in closer. “But that’s nothing more than a wrong impression.” His last word landed right as his lips met yours.

Your mouth opened immediately to welcome him in, a low hum of pleasure escaping him that made you burn—especially somewhere unfamiliar.

His hand gripped the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, and the sound you let out was so sweet it made him squeeze your thighs even harder.

When he pulled away just to let you breathe, you admitted shyly,

“I’ve never…”

“I know,” Kakashi reassured you softly, and that was part of why he’d avoided getting close like this—he didn’t want to scare you. His breath ghosted along your spine as he leaned to whisper in your ear, “We’ll only do this if you want to.”

If you weren’t sure before, his low, rough voice was enough to make your legs tremble. You could only nod and Kakashi could already feel the effect he had on you.

Fuck.

He looked into your eyes for a second too long—maybe just to calm himself—before moving behind you to undress you gently.

His fingers traced slowly over your hot skin, and goosebumps bloomed in their wake, down to the zipper that he lowered slowly, the dress slipping off your hips.

He returned to face you, kneeling until he was level with your stomach, slipping the dress from your body. You were left only in your underwear, but Kakashi never looked away from your face, making sure you were still with him.

“Can I?”

Your voice came out raspier than expected.

“Y-yes.”

He nodded, his gaze finally settling on the part of you he’d shamefully dreamed of more nights than he could admit.

They say fantasies are better than reality. That’s a lie. He doesn’t think he’s ever been luckier than in this moment.

His hand slid between your legs, gently parting them. His lips kissed everywhere, starting inside and outside your legs. And when he felt how soaked your panties already were from just his touch—your legs nearly gave out at his lips touching the fabric over your pussy.

He rose, trailing kisses all over your body, one hand unclasping your bra. Your hair covered your nipples, barely.

His breath grew heavy as he looked at you, his hand cupping your cheek. “You’re so beautiful.” He lifted your face and kissed you again.

As you feel too shy to be standing fully naked in the middle of the room, you urge him with a whisper.

“You too need-,” Your hands removed his mask completly, then his black shirt, your fingers trailing down his toned muscles before reaching his pants. Kakashi decided that was enough—he took your hands and gently pushed you onto the bed’s edge, kneeling between your legs again.

You led him in. At this point, you didn’t even have coherent thoughts left. He was a sight to behold. So beautiful.

Your trembling legs made Kakashi smirk wider as he pulled your panties down slowly. But you couldn’t look away. And neither could he. He let out a soft gasp when one finger parted your glistening folds and circled your clit slowly.

You moaned with flushed cheeks—and just as your legs started to close, he pinned them down.

“Mhm.” His teasing voice quickened your breath. But once his mouth found your pussy, your head dropped hard onto the bed.

You couldn’t believe you’d missed out on this until now.

For Kakashi, your taste was all he could focus on. He licked and kissed you with such hunger he almost didn’t notice how hard you were trembling—until your louder moans pulled him back. Your eyes met his, and that alone made you come, your first time, on his tongue.

He hadn’t expected it to be so fast. Neither had you. The pleasure overwhelmed you, and Kakashi let you squeeze his face between your thighs as his tongue gently cleaned you off.

He rose over you slowly. Your dazed, fucked-out expression was mesmerizing. You both laughed softly.

“We’re not done, sweetheart.”

You swallowed just before he kissed you again, and the new taste on your tongue made your cheeks burn again—realizing it was yours.

“K-Kakashi.”

His cock twitched at your needy stutter.

“Yes?”

“Can y-you—”

Your hand moved over his cock through his pants. It didn’t feel small. At all. You were a little scared—it felt big.

“Of course.” He took off his pants—but it still wasn’t enough. But Kakashi didn’t want to rush. He had to prepare you. “Shh, let me.” Hearing you whine in his neck, he sped up just a bit, slipping one finger in gently. “Tell me if it’s okay, okay?”

You only nodded, keeping eye contact, mind focused on the foreign sensation as his finger pushed in. It wasn’t as painful as you thought. You gasped at the slight pain, but that was it. The feeling eased and Kakashi was watching you closely as your breathing quickened and your hips started to move.

“Oh my—”

He silenced you with a kiss, swallowing your moans as a second finger entered you. Pushing harder, your thoughts blurred, reduced to pleas.

“P-please, please, please—”

“You’re gonna come again for me? Yes, sweetheart?” Kakashi groaned as your tears stung your cheeks, your nods frantic.

Your body convulsed on the mattress, mouth opening to release a long cry.

Kakashi left kisses all over your face and neck, drawing out your orgasm until his fingers left you.

As you caught your breath, you watched him take off the last of his clothes. Your eyes widened, but Kakashi reassured you before positioning himself.

“I’ll go as slow as you want.”

And he kept his word. You bit your lips so hard they nearly bled as he pushed into you. You felt so full—and he wasn’t even halfway in.

“Sweetheart?”

He looked a little worried at your expression, until you encouraged him.

“Keep going, Kakashi. Please.”

The rumors were true. It hurt. Like hell. But after? No one warned you how it would feel after. Or maybe it only felt this way with him.

Once his movements found a rhythm, hitting that one spot that left you breathless, especially when Kakashi noticed and didn’t stop—

“Kakashi, it feels so good, so good—”

Kakashi agreed. He tried to focus on anything else—your pleasure, your face, the wall behind you—just to keep from coming the second he entered you. He’d never felt anything like this.

“Yes?”

“Y-yes yes!! Please, please kiss me—”

He kissed you immediately, the kiss messy from how he hit inside you, your tongues battling, desperate to consume the other.

That same sensation built again, especially when Kakashi lifted your leg to go deeper. Your moans turned to cries.

And when you came again, so hard, it took everything in him not to pull out. You clenched so tightly, Kakashi didn’t last much longer. But before he could pull out—

“N-no, no! Please—in me, Kakashi!”

And how could he say no to that?

A deep groan escaped him as he filled you completely, so much it spilled down your thighs.

Not that you noticed. You both had only looked at each other the whole time.

He stayed over you for a while, catching his breath and your hand instinctively running through his hair.

Then he cleaned you off gently, moving you onto his chest. His fingers ran through your hair, caressed your cheeks as you smiled nonstop.

“So I was wrong,” you murmured.

He chuckled.

“Definitely.”

Your smile stayed, then your expression grew serious. He tilted his head slightly, waiting.

“I love you, Kakashi. A lot.”

His heart beat harder. He knew. Or hoped. But it had always been hard to accept someone loving him. And just as hard, saying it back. But now, it came naturally.

“I love you too, as much.”

Your insides tingled, hugging him tightly.

And Kakashi didn’t think he’d ever slept better than he did that night—something he’d only admit to you long after. About half a year later, by the time he was already planning to propose. He didn’t want to waste another second, knowing that kind of luck would never come twice in his life.

[ratwieldingpolearm]

and though I burn, how could I fall? when I am lifted by every word you say to me?

if anything could fall at all, it’s the world

that falls away from me

[sonarspace]

❝ BOYS SUCK AND GIRLS I’VE NEVER TRIED… ❞

⭑ synopsis. after finding out your boyfriend cheated, revenge felt sweeter in shoko’s hands—and on her tongue .ᐟ

content. shoko x fem!reader. nsfw.

shoko's apartment was dim, lit only by the soft golden glow of the floor lamp in the corner and the muted flicker of the city lights seeping through half-closed blinds. the low hum of music vibrated through the walls, something sultry and slow, matching the quiet tension hanging thick in the air.

you hadn't planned to come here tonight. not after the fight, not after finding out about him. the betrayal still fresh and burning under your skin like an open wound. but here you were, gripping a half—empty glass of wine, the bitter liquid doing little to ease the ache gnawing at your chest.

shoko leaned against the counter, swirling her own glass lazily between her fingers. the rim clinked softly as she lifted it to her lips, eyes never leaving you. dark and unreadable, they studied every inch of you with a quiet intensity that made your skin prickle.

"you really came here to mope about him?" her voice was low and flat but carried a sharp edge. she tilted her head, letting her hair fall over one shoulder, casual but calculating.

you exhaled slowly, gripping the stem of your glass tighter. "no. i came here because i didn't want to be alone."

a flicker of something passed behind her eyes, gone before you could name it. "sure. that's all it is."

you didn't answer. couldn't.

because it wasn't just that.

it was the way your body seemed to gravitate toward her despite every rational thought. the way you remembered fleeting touches and lingering glances, how her eyes sometimes hovered on your mouth for a second too long. how maybe you had thought about this before tonight.

and maybe she knew.

shoko pushed off the counter slowly, her glass abandoned. the soft pad of her heels against the wood floor filled the quiet as she crossed the room. each step was confident and unhurried until she stood in front of you, looking down with that same unreadable expression

"forget him," she said softly. the words weren't soft, though. they were firm. final.

you swallowed hard. "and how am i supposed to do that?"

her hand moved, slow and steady, fingers curling around your chin. the cool press of her thumb traced your bottom lip, dragging softly before tilting your face up to hers.

"let me show you."

her lips met yours before you could think to breathe, a slow, sinking kiss that made your heart stutter in your chest. it wasn't soft. it wasn't sweet. it was deep and consuming, like smoke curling around your throat, making you dizzy.

shoko kissed you like she smoked-slow, indulgent, like every second was meant to burn.

her hands slid up, dragging beneath the hem of your shirt, cold fingers skating along hot skin. a shiver rippled through you, and she smiled against your mouth, nails scraping lightly down your sides.

"you don't need him," she murmured into the kiss, her breath hot on your lips. "not when you have me."

you didn't realize she'd backed you into the couch until the backs of your knees hit the cushions, sending you tumbling down. she followed effortlessly, knees bracketing your thighs as she leaned over you, eyes dark and glinting.

her fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, glancing up as if asking permission-not that she needed it.

"off."

you obeyed, fumbling to pull the fabric over your head, breath catching in your throat. her eyes raked over you, slow and unashamed, drinking in every inch of bare skin with quiet hunger.

"so fucking pretty," she breathed, leaning down to press her lips along your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. her mouth moved lower, dragging down the slope of your collarbone, leaving warmth in its wake.

her hands roamed with purpose-firm palms smoothing over your stomach, thumbs brushing the underswell of your breasts before her mouth followed, tongue flicking against your skin, teasing.

you whimpered, arching into her, but she only chuckled, biting softly at your ribs.

"impatient."

her fingers slid lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, dragging them down at a maddeningly slow pace. cool air kissed your skin, making you shiver, and she hummed approvingly at the sight of you laid out beneath her.

"let me help you."

and then her mouth was on you.

the first slow swipe of her tongue against your core made your hips jolt, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. she groaned lowly, the sound vibrating against you like she was drunk on the taste of you.

her grip on your thighs tightened, nails biting into flesh as she licked again, slower this time, savoring every reaction.

"so wet for me already," she purred, voice thick with want. "was he ever able to get you like this?"

you couldn't answer. not when her tongue circled your clit, slow and precise before she sucked, pulling a broken moan from your lips.

she was relentless. her mouth worked you over with maddening precision, switching between slow drags and sharp flicks, drawing sounds from you you didn't know you could make.

when two fingers slipped into you, curling just right, your back arched off the couch, a strangled cry escaping.

"that's it," she whispered, lips brushing your thigh.

"let me hear you."

her fingers thrust deep and steady, filling you perfectly as her mouth stayed on your clit, tongue flicking and sucking, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

you were unraveling, every nerve raw and burning, the coil in your stomach wound impossibly tight.

"sh-shoko, i-"

"cum for me." her voice was dark, commanding.

"now."

and you did.

your body snapped tight, orgasm tearing through you so hard it left you gasping, legs shaking as she kept going, dragging it out until you were whimpering and pulling at her hair.

she finally pulled back, lips glistening, smirking like she owned you.

"feel better?"

you could only nod, chest rising and falling, skin flushed and tingling. 

"good." she leaned in, lips ghosting over yours, warm and teasing. "because i'm not finished."

her mouth was on you again before you could think, and suddenly, the thought of him didn't matter anymore.

an. tried to post this earlier but it got flagged 😔

[sinofwriting]

Burning Satisfaction - Charles Leclerc (Dark Fic) (Part One)

Words: 1,177 Summary: People always said that Charles would do the right thing, they just never actually expected him to do it. Note(s): Slightly Dark Fic, Age Gap of 7/8 years (Reader is 20), Gasly!Reader, Reader is Pierre’s younger sister, barely any physical descriptors are given for reader so she could be adopted (as is usually the case for all my sibling!reader fic). Also Charles calls her ‘Petit’ because she is the youngest aka littlest Gasly.

Read Part Two Here

Masterlist | Support Me! 

“Cha?” He turns at the nickname, beaming at the girl.

“Petit! I didn’t know you would be coming today.” He’s unable to stop himself from looking her up and down, wishing the marks he left on her just yesterday were visible.

Her eyes dart downwards, fingers tugging at the hem of her top. “I need to talk to you.”

The quietness of her voice makes his smile drop and he sets his drink on the bar, wrapping an arm around her and ushering her into his bedroom on the yacht. Happy that everyone is still out on deck while he had left to grab himself a drink while taking a quick call.

“What is wrong, petit?” Charles asks, voice as gentle as he can make it as he guides her to sit on the edge of the bed, easily joining her, so he doesn’t have to remove his arm.

She takes a shaky breath, eyes focused on her hands that are now resting her lap, fingers twitching and he reaches with his free hand, stilling the nervous movements.

He says her name, her head nearly snapping upwards at it, the sound of him saying it nearly unfamiliar to her. “It is just me. You can tell me anything.” He squeezes her hands.

Another shaky breath exits her mouth and he watches as her throat bobs as she swallows harshly. “I,” she pauses, licking her lips. “I think I’m pregnant.”

His hand that had been unknowingly rubbing soothing circles on her back freezes for a split second.

“It’s just, I’m late. And I’ve never been late. And I didn’t lie about being on birth control, Cha, I promise! I know we used condoms and I don’t think any of them broke, but I’m late, and I’ve thrown up the last three mornings from the smell of eggs.” Tears are streaming down her face, her words growing more frantic, but he’s unable to speak. “But, please Cha, you have to believe me, I take my pill every day. At nine am, no matter what. I have an alarm set.” Her breathing is now choppy and he finds his words, shushing her.

“I believe you. I’ve seen your alarm, it is okay.” He soothes, lifting his hand from hers and wiping away her tears that are still falling. “Have you taken a test?”

She bites her lip, shaking her head. “No. I bought one, it’s in my bag, but I needed to tell someone.”

“So you came to me.”

She nods and it burns how he has to stop himself from looking satisfied at the answer.

“How about, you drink this and we will talk.” He reaches for the water bottle on his nightstand, smiling at the giggle she lets out when he has to lay flat on his back to awkwardly reach it while still keeping contact with her.

“You have options.” He says, the words burning, the idea of all of them burning him, though one for a very different reason.

“I know.” She says, after taking a drink of water. “But I want this baby, if I am. It’s just,” She pauses again, looking so shy and unsure it makes him move closer.

“What? It’s just what?”

She looks at him shyly, fingers back to pulling at her top before he intertwines them with his. “There’s a difference between having sex before marriage and a baby out of wedlock.”

His breath hitches at the words, at the shy suggestion. His want and satisfaction overwhelm him, his grip on her hand tightening, but before she can apologize or take the words back, he lifts her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it, hoping she can feel his love and devotion to her through the small action. “I would happily marry you if you are pregnant.” The last four words are forced out of his mouth in an odd way.

“I know how much your faith matters to you.” His eyes focus on the necklace she is always wearing, the cross hidden behind her t-shirt, a gift from Pierre when she had turned twelve. “And I would never ask that you sacrifice it like that.”

“It wouldn’t just be the baby if we were to get married. I, I want a real marriage, like my mama and papa.”

He smiles, “we can have a real marriage. I would not mind having one with you.”

“But if you found someone else?”

Charles shakes his head. “I don’t believe that will happen.” His voice is so firm, so certain, that he sees the slight uncertainty leave her eyes. “Now, finish your water.”

She immediately lifts the bottle to her lips and he has to look away before he smiles at the easy way she listened to him.

He is thankful it doesn’t take her long to have to use the bathroom and he watches as she gets up and goes to the small bathroom attached, the door closing with a quiet click.

As soon as it does, he’s unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across his face. Head dropping into his hands as he lets out a silent laugh. It had been a gamble if it would work, getting her pregnant. And really he is lucky, she was unlike Pierre, still unpracticed at sex at nineteen, or rather twenty now, and not realizing she should not feel so much leaking out at the end. But it worked. He had gotten her pregnant. Just barely eight weeks after the first time they had sex.

The flush of the toilet has him raising his head from his hands, body itching to stand and open the bathroom door, to stare at the test and watch as it makes his want for her to fully be his, finally be true.

The bathroom door opens with a small click and he smiles at her, opening his arms for her and she doesn’t hesitate, easily sitting on his lap so he can hold her.

“And now we wait?” He asks, running a hand up and down her back.

She takes a shaky breath. “And now we wait.”

The feeling of her in his arms is enough to stop him from going to the bathroom, to stare at the counter and watch as the test changes. It is all too easy for him to lose himself in her warmth, the smell of her, the brushes of her breath against his neck as she breathes in and out.

“Do you think it’s been five minutes?” Her quiet voice breaks the stillness of the room after a while.

“I think so.”

She’s slow to pull away from him, but before she can try and stand, he grabs her waist, keeping her where she is, before one hand raises to gently hold her face, eyes meeting.

“No matter what the test says, it will be okay. We will figure it out.” Charles tells her, waiting for her to give a nod before pressing their lips together in perhaps one of the most chaste kisses they’ve ever shared.

[kaciidubs]

Gentle | Monstober Mini Fic

We won't talk about how late I am to everything currently, yeah?

✧ Summary: In which you get to finally indulge in your Orc boyfriend, even if it's just the tip of the iceberg. ✧  ✧ Word Count: 1.7k ✧ Warnings: Monster fucking, Orc! Chris, smut, fluff, slight size kink, slight humor ✧  ✧ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ✧  ✧ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Channie, Baby, Reader is referred to as Pretty, Pretty Human, Human, slightly edited [I finished this at 3:40am] ✧ Stray Kids Masterlist ✧ General Masterlist

“Alright, Channie,” you spoke softly, your fingers tugging at the smooth ribbon of your sheer robe, “gentle.”

“Gentle.”

Your heart warmed at the way he parroted your advisory – a softness that was a stark contrast to his otherwise rugged features. 

Anyone in your position would've been fairly scared out of their minds, but you were far from it - this was liberating, exhilarating even. 

An orc and a human - your orc, the man you promised to remain by no matter the difficulties and stigma. 

This type of pairing wasn’t rare per se, but it was certainly less explored due to various... differences, to say the least; if not for the way he completely dwarfed you in sheer height and mass, then for the way he could lift a couch with one hand as if it were as light as a feather. 

Contrasts, like in the way his hand could easily cover your entire face while yours could barely cover the expanse of the line of his jaw to his upper cheekbone.

However, those differences only proved to fuel your desire for him more, and your sentiments were reflected tenfold – that much you were extremely positive about.

“Slowly.” Chris affirmed, the huskiness of his tone spurring goosebumps along your skin.

Nodding, you let the robe slip from your shoulders and fall to your arms, fighting back a smirk as his eyes flicked to the exposed skin. “Slowly – and if you want to stop, we’ll stop.”

His heated gaze met your own sultry stare, a knee-buckling grin accenting his gorgeous tusks. “If you want to stop, we’ll stop.”

Cementing the verbal agreement, you dropped your arms and let the robe flutter to the hardwood floor without a sound, leaving you bare and open to his viewing pleasure.

“Pretty.” Came a breathless sigh, and you weren’t sure if he truly meant to say it out loud as he regarded you with the same look of awe as one would to a radiant sunset.

You stepped away from the pool of fabric and sauntered your way toward the bed, climbing onto the plush mattress before finally making your first form of contact with him ever since you’d entered the room; hooking your leg over his waist and sitting pretty against his abdomen. 

“Hi.” Resting your hands against his chest, you reveled in the warmth that radiated off of his body before a small smirk grew on your lips, “Come here often?”

A strong huff shook your body against his as he rolled his eyes, though his amused smirk didn’t go unnoticed as a large hand trailed along your side before cupping your cheek. “Quiet, come.”

Obliging his request, you allowed yourself to be dragged down into a slow kiss, ever mindful of the tusks that grazed the corners of your lips.

Slow and steady only seemed to last as long as each breath that passed between the two of you - short and waning, while whatever semblance of control began to chip away with every subconscious grind of your hips against his lower stomach. Your desperation was only made worse when you felt the pressure of his tip meet the curve of your ass on one particularly long drag; the large head twitching slightly and the fabric of his boxers slightly damp.

“Channie?” You breathed against his lips, pulling away just enough to meet his eyes, your unspoken question translating perfectly with the heat of desire burning within your irises.

He took you in for a moment, eyes jumping between your own and your lips, “Okay.”

That was the last thing you remember properly registering before you found yourself grinding against his cock like a bitch in heat; your brain short circuiting the minute your pussy nestled against the wonderful veins that decorated his length like a textured map. It was heaven - at least, as close to heaven you would be getting as your aching cunt still felt empty, yearning for the final piece of your lover that was so close but still so far away.

“Fuck- ��M not going anywhere, pretty.” Chris huffed, grunting at the way your nails pressed a little harder into his chest, yet it still wasn’t enough to break skin. “Take your time-”

“Christopher,” you all but whined, pinning him with a look that made his dick throb underneath you, “we take our time when you eat me out, we take our time when you finger me - right now I need you as fast as I can, as hard as I can. Can you please just give it to me like I want?”

Sliding your hips up, your body shivered as the large head of his dick slid through your folds, the smooth skin a welcome sensation against your sensitive clit yet an agonizing reminder of what you’re unable to partake in full.

“Come on, take care of me the way only you can, baby.”

The way only he could - even if it wasn’t to the extent you deserved, you still ached for him, and what type of Orc would he be if he continued to deny his little human what she wanted?

You could sense a shift in the air, a change that caused a spark of electricity to shoot down your spine, but before you could say anything your body jolted forward from a cant of his hips; a fiery glint flashing in his lidded eyes.

“Don’t know if I should call you needy, or greedy,” he murmured, large hands coming to rest on either side of your waist, “always ready for more no matter the limits.” He took the initiative in guiding your hips up the underside of his cock, using you like a toy as his tip bumped against your clit, “Pretty human, can’t get enough of what’s already too much to handle normally - I wonder who spoiled her?”

A short whimper escaped you as his own hips rocked forward, dragging his veiny cock back through your folds in a pace reminiscent of intermittent, languid thrusts.

“Who did this to you, pretty? Hm? Who made you this greedy?”

His goading tone made your pussy throb, clipped gasps tumbling from your lips while you endured the ride he controlled.

“Answer me, human.” He snarled, eyebrows pinching as his intense gaze kept your eyes locked on his own.

“Y-You…” The timidness was foreign to your ears, this new side of your lover completely new to your psyche. “You, Chris.”

A deep rumble reverberated within his chest, a lowly chuckle as his lips curled into a cocky smirk, “Me? No - see, I only give you what I think you can handle, it couldn’t be me.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin, “Chris-”

“I’ve only given you enough to keep you satisfied, enough to make sure that your needs were well taken care of,” his faux thrusts grew quicker, slicker with the mixture of precum and arousal that glistened along his dick, “maybe that’s what made you start thinking you could take more - crave more, is that it? Did I ruin my pretty little human?”

“Y-Yes!” Dropping your head forward, you swallowed thickly as your legs twitched at his sides, the stimulation conquering you in ways you’d never felt before. “You ruined me, Channie - C-Can’t even think about going back to a-another human, it wouldn’t be enough.”

His hands flexed, body shuddering with a deep breath as he tried his best to conceal the pride that swelled within him. “Another human, hm? What about another Orc?”

You shook your head vehemently, “No- God, no, it’s only you!”

“Eyes up, pretty.”

Lifting your head, you met his sultry gaze with pleasure glazed eyes.

“Say it again.”

“I-It-” A broken moan tumbled from your lips, your orgasm just on the horizon, “It’s only you - I only want you!”

His eyelids fluttered, hips bucking just a bit harder, “F-Fuck, good girl.”

“I-I’m close, Channie,” you whimpered, your body working overtime to try to overpower his grip on you to garner a fraction of more stimulation, “I’m so close, baby.”

“Go on, pretty - come for me, show me how gorgeous you’d look coming on my cock.”

Your stomach clenched hard enough to make you double over, though his hands kept you steady as your walls fluttered and throbbed, choked breaths shaking your body all the while.

Chris grunted, clenching his jaw as he slid his hips back just enough to nestle his tip against your spasming cunt, daring to press it harder against your entrance in wishful desires of feeling more of your warmth - his eyes fluttering shut as his mind ran wild.

“C-Chris?”

“So close…” He breathed, hips twitching as his conscience fought against his reality. “Y-You’re not the only one ruined, pretty,” his hips continued to rock up, fucking you with the only part of his cock that could remotely fit, “what I wouldn’t give to be inside of you, to feel you fully - my pretty human.”

“Inside…” You parroted breathlessly, one hand sliding to his chest while the other ventured up to tangle in his mussed curls, “To feel me… To come in me…”

His hands squeezed your sides, trembling slightly as he shook his head, “D-Don't.”

“Can you? Like this? Just this once?” You rolled your hips back, wiggling against his tip, “Please, baby - show me how gorgeous you’d look coming inside of me.”

“F-Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

You felt his cock twitch, his hips bucking up until a loud moan flew past his lips.

The sensation was new, different yet welcomed all the same; the warmth of his seed flooding against your cunt before excessively dripping toward your clit and creating a puddle on his lower stomach.

Your body attempted to press back further but you were stopped by his vice grip, pulling you away so the last wave of his orgasm could paint a few lines up his stomach.

A whine of protest floated through you, “Channie!”

“Pretty,” he deadpanned, blinking hard before opening his eyes to look at you with a raised eyebrow, “you’re getting too greedy now.”

“It’s your fault for being so irresistible.” Huffing out a light laugh, a shiver ran down your spine as you felt some of his cum subsequently drip out of you.

Humming in faux agreement, he nodded, “Well, let’s go get cleaned up and you can tell me all the ways me being irresistible turns you into an insatiable beast.”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @4-chan-inpadella, @butterflydemons, @kimahreummm, @ta3baee, @bethanysnow,  @skz-smut-reader

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

[cece693]

I just like Hannibal crying...is that weird?? Like, there's just something beautifully poetic about this monstrous man who is still able to feel and show those emotions, in the face of something that does move him. Anyway, I just wanted to write something with a sad Hannibal and couldn't help myself. Be prepared, it's long and sad.

EVEN DEATH CANNOT SEPARATE US

pairing: hannibal lecter x gender neutral reader tags: sad ending, both characters are dead, you actually have a terminal illness, it's not specific though, use your imagination, hannibal dies because he can't fathom to continue living without you, I like how this turned out, mention of afterlife

The Baltimore townhouse is hushed in the late-winter dusk, firelight peeling slow amber across mahogany paneling and half-empty bookcases. It smells of eucalyptus and polished leather and, faint beneath it all, the sterile sweetness of the morphine drip that follows you now like a last, reluctant valet.

You sit in one of the Hepplewhite wing-backs, quilt tucked around your shoulders. Every motion has become deliberate: you fold your hands, you breathe, you listen to the crackle of cedar. Hannibal kneels at your feet to adjust the quilt as though it were ceremonial—perhaps it is. He smooths the fabric over your knee, tracing the bones beneath, catalogue-careful, a man committing sacred anatomy to memory.

“You should save that strength,” you murmur; your voice is frayed silk.

“So should you,” he counters, but the words lack their usual lattice of irony. When he looks up, his eyes are almost fever-bright. He is not wearing a suit tonight—only a dark cashmere sweater whose sleeves bunch at the elbows—and the small untidiness feels indecent, a bare throat in church.

A strand of silver hair has fallen forward. You lift a trembling hand to tuck it behind his ear. “I’m not afraid, Hannibal.”

“I know.” His fingers circle your wrist to steady you; the gentleness burns. “Neither am I.”

You could tell him he’s lying, but you don’t. Fear is too small a word for what lives behind his composure. He is a creature accustomed to eternity—cultivating it in cellars, plating it in crystal bowls—yet here you sit, proof that time can still spoil the very finest cut. That discovery terrifies him more than death ever could.

“Come here,” you say.

He rises, settles on the ottoman so your knees bracket his ribs. Your pulse drums weakly under his palm. The fire pops and a coal collapses—soft thunder, like applause heard from behind velvet curtains. Hannibal’s gaze drifts to the hearth; when he speaks again his voice is hoarse, low:

“Does it hurt?”

“It already does. Not in ways morphine can touch.” You give a rueful smile. “But that’s all right. Hurt means I’m still here with you.”

A muscle leaps in his jaw. “And when you are not?”

“Then the hurt is yours.” You skim his cheek with your thumb, feel the heat of unshed tears there—Hannibal Lecter, whose eyes have witnessed rivers of blood without once watering, and yet for you... The first tear breaks, slow as syrup. It charts a shining course along the fine line of his nose and drops to your quilt. Another follows. He doesn’t wipe them away; he lets them fall the way one allows candles to gutter after guests depart—a sign that the evening, at last, is over.

You try to memorize the sight: the tremor in his lower lip, the wet lashes, the velvet darkness of his irises. You realize you are smiling. “Beautiful,” you whisper.

He bows his head until his brow meets the back of your hand. “This is unbecoming.”

“It’s the most becoming thing I’ve ever seen you do.” Your lungs tighten; you rest, catching breath. Hannibal’s tears soak your skin, warm, startling. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Live. Live like you always do—gloriously, shamelessly. Don’t pickle yourself in grief. I wouldn’t stand for that.”

He lifts his head. “You would haunt me?”

“Relentlessly.”

A ghost of a smile touches his mouth, and you see the man you met years ago—the impeccable host with jokes folded between syllables like origami knives. Now the knife is turned inward. “Very well,” he says. “I will live. But I will not love.”

“You will,” you assure him, “because loving me taught you how. Even if you hate it, the lesson’s learned.” Your eyes sting; vision doubles. “And I’ll go knowing I moved an immovable heart.”

Silence settles, thick and reverent. Hannibal slips from the ottoman to the rug, drawing your hand to his lips. He doesn’t kiss it. Instead, he rests it over his own heart, as though he means to press it through flesh, through bone, lock it there before the beat stops beneath your ribs.

The townhouse remains hushed after the last ember fails, but something enormous and wordless ripples in its bones—a tectonic shift in the house’s cruel, curated stillness. Hannibal does not rise. He feels the thin weight of you cooling in his arms and discovers, with surgical clarity, that grief is a blade he cannot grip by the handle; it cuts no matter how delicately he holds it.

It is obscene, almost comical, that the Chesapeake Ripper should finally understand loss in so ordinary a fashion. All the elaborately posed corpses, all the aria-sweet deaths he has orchestrated, and here—when confronted with a passing as gentle as candle-smoke—he is undone.

Sadness was always a flavor he served to others. Now it coats the back of his own throat like ash. It has no elegance, no aesthetic potential; it is simply weight. It drags his ribs inward until every breath rasps. The house feels too voluminous, every hallway an echo chamber of absence. His monster’s brain chases solutions—taxonomies, distractions, new hungers to hunt—but they dangle uselessly, gutted of savor.

Hours slide apart from one another like pages warping in rain. He studies your face as rigor settles, committing each micro-contour to the cathedral of his memory. Then, slowly, he begins the rites:

He braids your fingers with his and speaks to you in unhurried Lithuanian lullabies remembered from childhood.

He wipes the last tears from your cheeks, then allows more of his own to fall and replace them—an unbroken exchange, grief for grief, salt for salt.

He refuses a physician, a coroner, any intrusion. Instead, he dresses you in the midnight-blue silk you once wore to the opera, fastens the pearl buttons with hands that suddenly shake, kisses each knuckle when the tremor threatens to snap a thread.

At dawn he carries you to the music room. Mahogany shutters filter new light across the Bösendorfer. He props your body against his chest, one arm beneath your shoulders, the other coaxing a final nocturne from the keys. The notes drag like chains—dense, deliberate—and in them Hannibal folds everything he cannot articulate: rage at his own helpless biology, reverence for your courage, the terrible privilege of watching fearlessness turn cold in his embrace.

By twilight he understands: living was your last command, but obedience has never been his native tongue. To remain here, breathing, is to endure a famine no feast can sate. The concept of years—a month, even a day—spinning forward without your pulse beside his is intolerable, a mathematical obscenity he refuses to solve.

“I will not outlast you,” he murmurs against your temple, voice raw as scraped violin strings. “I gave you my fullness—my darkness, my devotion. What remains is only residue.”

He imagines the simple choreography of a final dinner: crystal decanters reflecting candle-flame, the bouquet of a forty-year Barolo softening the air. There would be music—perhaps that very nocturne, recorded and looping, a hush between phrases like a held breath. And then—quiet, clinical—he will follow your path, matching your heartbeat’s last count with a dose measured to the milligram. An ending of his own composition, stitched neatly to the end of yours.

Before he executes the coda, he wraps you in a shroud of black cashmere and lowers you into the crypt beneath the townhouse, a space he once reserved for rarer vintages. Now, it becomes a sanctuary of two. He seals the room, presses his palm to the cool door, and speaks—not an operatic benediction, but a single, naked sentence that tastes of iron and farewell:

“Wait for me.”

And he knows you will.

When midnight returns, Hannibal ascends the spiral stairs, the house sighing underfoot like an old instrument retired from concert halls. In the dining room, he lights three candles—one for the life you lived, one for the life he spent beside you, and one for the small span that will soon join them.

The monster, at last, is no more afraid of death than you were, for death is only the corridor back to your side. Every other appetite pales. Every instinct of preservation folds, effortlessly, into hunger for reunion.