Just one?
Don't ask how we got there IDKK (ㄒoㄒ)
[ made tha btw reef pin tx]↑
(Y\n - is called Aruu in this ff as it's a fan made request)
They fall asleep on the couch without meaning to. It isn’t dramatic—no big goodbye to the night, no last line delivered like a confession. Just Aruu slowly going slack against him, the fight leaving her shoulders one breath at a time, and Kakashi staying still because moving would wake her and waking her would mean talking. The lamp stays on low. The dinner sits untouched, cooling into silence. Kakashi keeps one arm around her like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and hates—quietly—how natural it feels. When her breathing evens out, he tells himself he should move her to the safe room. He should be responsible. He should be disciplined. But Aruu’s cheek is pressed to his chest like she chose this spot on purpose. Like she decided, without asking, that this is where she belongs. And Kakashi—who has spent years surviving by not letting anyone close enough to matter—stays right there. He dozes, too. Not deeply. Not the way civilians sleep. But enough that when morning comes, it finds them tangled in the same blankets, the same warmth, the same quiet.
8:00 AM Sunlight slips into the room thinly, filtered by curtains and caution. Aruu wakes first. She doesn’t move right away—just blinks, slow, listening to the house like she’s checking if the world is safe before she remembers she’s allowed to be soft. Kakashi is still asleep. Or close to it. His mask is on—because of course it is—but his arm is around her, firm even in sleep, hand resting at her shoulder like an anchor. His hair is messier than usual, and there’s something unfair about seeing him like this: quiet, unguarded, almost peaceful. Aruu’s heart does that stupid thing again—tightening like it’s too full. She shifts carefully, turning just enough to look up at him. And because she’s Aruu—because she can’t keep anything gentle in her chest without letting it spill out—she whispers: “Kashi…” His eye doesn’t open, but his grip tightens slightly, as if he heard her anyway. Aruu swallows. “A proper one,” she murmurs, voice shy and bold at the same time. “Just one…?” Kakashi’s eye opens. Just one. He looks at her for a long moment like he’s scanning for traps, except the trap is her face and the way she’s asking like she’s trying not to ask too much. His voice is low, rough with sleep. “You’re negotiating again.” Aruu pouts a little, but it’s softer than her usual mischief. “I’m asking.” Kakashi exhales—slow, careful—like he’s deciding which part of himself he can afford to offer. Then he lifts his hand, pauses, and speaks quietly: “Permission?” Aruu’s throat bobs. She nods once, earnest. “Yes.” Kakashi’s fingers hook the edge of his mask. There’s a second where he hesitates—not from teasing, not from fear of her, but from the weight of what it means to be seen. Then he lowers it. Aruu’s breath catches like it’s the first time all over again. Kakashi leans in. The kiss is slower this time. More certain. Still gentle, still controlled, but with a depth that makes Aruu’s whole body go warm, like she’s been waiting for him to stop holding the world at arm’s length. And for a moment, he does. It starts as “just one.” It doesn’t stay that way. Kakashi’s hand slides into her hair, steadying her—not pressing, not demanding—just holding her like he’s choosing her again. Aruu clutches his shirt like she’s afraid he’ll change his mind mid-breath. His mouth brushes her cheek, her temple, the corner of her jaw—soft, reverent touches that make her feel both treasured and undone. Aruu whispers his name like a promise. Kakashi’s breath stutters once—tiny, honest—and then his voice drops into something too quiet to be anything but real: “…Inside,” he murmurs, as if reminding himself of his own rules. “You’re safe.” Aruu nods, eyes half-closed. “I know.” The morning softens into something private, something that doesn’t belong to the outside world at all— And then it goes deeper too fast, like neither of them knows how to stop once they’ve finally started. Kakashi presses his forehead to hers for a second, breathing like he’s trying to steady himself. “Aruu,” he whispers—half warning, half permission, half surrender. Aruu answers with a small sound that isn’t words. And the rest— The rest is theirs. Fade to black.
2:20 PM Time returns in pieces. Aruu wakes slowly, heavy-limbed, warm in the way that makes the sunlight feel too bright and the air feel too soft. She realizes she’s wrapped up in blankets. Only blankets. Curled into Kakashi’s side like she’s been placed there carefully and never moved again. For a while she doesn’t do anything except breathe and let her thoughts catch up. Her cheeks feel hot. Her chest feels full. Her body aches in a gentle, honest way—nothing frightening, nothing wrong, just the aftermath of being held too long and kissed too deeply and… more. Kakashi is still asleep beside her, turned slightly toward her, one arm draped across her waist as if even unconscious he refuses to let her drift away. Aruu stares at the line of his throat, the corner of his mouth, the faint shadow of exhaustion under his eye, and feels the reality of it sink in like warmth under skin: He chose me. Not as a fantasy. Not as a story. As a person in his home, in his arms, in his day. Aruu presses her face into the blanket to hide the stupid little smile that tries to happen. She’s still there, still letting it sink in, when Kakashi finally stirs. A slow inhale. A subtle shift of muscle. His eye opens halfway—alert even through sleep. He blinks once, taking in the scene: blankets on the couch, the dim lamp now fighting daylight, her curled against him, her hair everywhere, his mask— His mask is on again. Of course it is. Aruu’s heart tugs at that for a moment… and then she realizes something else: He put it back on after. Which means he woke up at least once. Which means he made a choice to stay gentle even after the part he doesn’t know how to talk about. Kakashi’s voice is low, faintly gravelly. “You okay?” Aruu nods, shy. “Mhm.” His gaze sharpens slightly, scanning her—too practiced not to. Then his eye softens by a fraction when he finds nothing wrong. “Good,” he murmurs. He shifts carefully, moving slow like he’s aware she might be sore. He pulls the blanket up around her a little more, tucking it like a habit—like patching a wound. Then he sits up. Aruu watches him, suddenly nervous, like she’s waiting for the regret she feared in the morning. Kakashi doesn’t give her regret. He gives her something else: responsibility. He runs a hand through his hair, exhales, and says the most Kakashi thing imaginable: “…Lunch.” Aruu stares. “Lunch?” Kakashi stands, stretching once, back and shoulders rolling like he’s resetting his body into functional. “You’re not going to stand for a bit,” he says, as if it’s a tactical assessment. Aruu’s face goes scarlet. “Hatake!” Kakashi’s eye crinkles, faint amusement hiding inside his usual calm. “I’m not wrong.” He moves toward the bedroom with quiet efficiency, grabbing his clothes. He dresses fast—too fast, like he’s trying not to think too hard about what just happened if he wants to keep breathing like a normal person. Aruu stays curled in the blankets, watching him with wide eyes, the warmth in her chest turning soft and sentimental. Kakashi comes back out wearing his usual dark clothes, vest in hand but not on yet—like he’s not leaving, not today, not right now. He pauses at the couch. Looks down at her. His voice is quieter than before. “Aruu.” She blinks up at him. “Yeah?” Kakashi hesitates, then reaches down and brushes his knuckles lightly against her hair—barely a touch, but deliberate. Not an accident. Not a reflex. A choice.
Kakashi looks away like he’s allergic to the feeling in the room. “Stay put. I’ll make something.” He turns toward the kitchen. Aruu, still bundled in blankets like a burrito.
Aruu smiles into the blankets so hard it almost hurts. Kakashi disappears into the kitchen, and the sounds start—water running, a pot set down, the quiet rhythm of him moving around like he belongs in this domestic space even if he pretends he doesn’t. Aruu lies there, warm and sore and safe, watching the ceiling and thinking: This is what “inside” feels like.
Y'all want the after math?
Lemme kknow :3