This is just my personal hc but I like to think the Hatake clan has more doglike traits similar to the Inuzuka but toned down. Enhanced smell, extreme loyalty, and a love for praise.
Because of all the shit Kakashi has gone through I think once he finds a partner, sex with them would be very needy and desperate. All tongue and teeth. To me he comes off as either a pleasure dom or a service oriented sub, but regardless I think his main priority would be to please you.
If you could write Kakashi with some of the traits I said that'd be amazing but atp I'll take any Kakashi smut with an afab reader (I'm so thirsty)
i know this is a bit longer than what you probably intended, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless!
❥ anchored - kakashi hatake x fem!reader
he lost his teammates, his sensei, and his soul to the anbu. the only thing left was the girl who still looked at him like he was human.
it was the smell of old stone and damp earth that hit you first when you walked into the meeting room. or maybe it was just the heavy, suffocating weight of grief that seemed to cling to the very walls of the hidden leaf lately. standing next to minato sensei felt like standing next to a sun that was trying its hardest not to flicker out, and across from you—god, across from you were the ghosts.
rin gave you a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, something soft and fragile, like she was afraid if she moved too fast she’d break. and then there was him.
he didn't even look at you. his gaze stayed fixed on some point over your shoulder, his posture so stiff he looked more like a weapon than a 13 year old boy. you knew the stories. everyone knew. the boy who lost his father, then his teammate, then his heart, all in the span of a few years. you were the 'replacement.' the third seat. the one meant to fill a hole that was clearly still bleeding.
you didn't blame him for the ice. honestly, you got it. if you were him, you’d probably want to bite the hand of anyone trying to pat your head, too.
the first few weeks were… quiet. a lot of walking in single file where the only sound was the rhythmic thud of sandals against dirt. kakashi led the way, his back a permanent wall between you and the rest of the world. he was efficient. clinical. he gave orders in a voice that sounded like grinding glass, never using your name, only "replacement" or "you."
it wasn't just that he was mean. it was that he was gone.
you’d watch him sometimes during the late watches of their missions. he’d sit on a high branch, his nose twitching almost imperceptibly, catching scents on the wind that you couldn't even dream of. there was something primal in the way he tracked. a tilt of the head, a stillness that went deeper than just ninja training.
a lot of times your quiet analysis would be interrupted by none other than rin. "he'll come around," she whispered to you one night while kakashi was out scouting the perimeter. she was sharpening a kunai, her fingers trembling just a little. "he just… he doesn't know how to lose anyone else. so he thinks if he doesn't let you in, he won't have to."
you looked into the dark woods where the silver haired boy had disappeared. you could smell the pine needles and the faint, metallic scent of his whetstone. "i know," you said, and you meant it. "i'm not trying to take his spot, rin. i'm just trying to hold the line."
weeks had passed by now and you were already on your third mission as a team. a simple scrolls delivery turned into a messy ambush in the land of fire.
the rain was coming down in sheets, turning the forest floor into a sludge of mud and blood. there were six of them, rogue chunin who thought a trio of kids would be easy pickings. they were wrong, obviously, but they were fast.
kakashi was a blur of blue sparks and lethal precision, but you could tell he was overstimulated. the scent of ozone from his chidori, the iron tang of blood, the frantic heartbeat of the enemies—it was hitting his heightened senses all at once. he was breathing too fast, his movements getting jagged, desperate.
one of the rogues swung a heavy spiked club toward kakashi’s blind side while he was finishing off another. rin was tied up with two more. you didn't think. you just moved.
the end of your kunai connected with the man’s ribs with a sickening crack, sending him flying back into a cedar tree. you didn't stop to see if he was getting up. you stepped right into kakashi’s personal space, the space he usually kept guarded and pressed your back against his.
"left side is clear," you barked over the thunder. "i've got your back. don't stop."
you felt him stiffen. for a split second, you thought he might actually shove you away. he hated being touched. he hated being helped. but then, slowly, you felt the tension in his spine shift. he leaned back, just an inch, letting his weight settle against yours.
he took a deep, shuddering breath, his nose pressing briefly toward the crook of your neck, catching your scent, cataloging it and realizing you weren't an enemy. "fine," he gritted out, "keep up."
and for the first time, he didn't go ahead on his own. he fought with you.
the trek back to konoha was usually a race to the finish. kakashi set a pace that left no room for breath, let alone conversation. but today, the rhythm was off. the rain had stopped, leaving the forest dripping and heavy with the scent of wet cedar and ozone.
he was walking a half step behind you. it was a subtle shift from his usual position at the front, but you felt the weight of it. he wasn't leading you like a subordinate; he was trailing you like a shadow, his presence a steady, humming warmth at your back.
rin was a few paces ahead, humming a low, tuneless melody to herself, her spirit seemingly lighter now that the blood had been washed off her hands.
"hey," you said, your voice cutting through the quiet. you didn't turn around. "how's the leg? i can stop if the bandage is rubbing."
"it’s fine," he replied. his voice was still rough, but the sharp, jagged edge was gone. "i've had worse."
you huffed a small, dry laugh. "yeah, i'm sure you have, mr. prodigy. but 'fine' usually means you're just ignoring it until it starts bleeding again."
you expected a sharp retort, or maybe that heavy, dismissive silence he was so fond of. instead, there was a pause. you heard the soft crunch of his sandals on the forest floor, a little closer now.
"it doesn't hurt," he said, and this time, it sounded more sincere. "you did a good job with the stitches. cleaner than most field medics."
you stopped in your tracks, surprised enough to actually turn around. kakashi almost walked into you, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder before he caught himself. he didn't pull back as far as he usually would. he stayed within that golden circle of personal space, his gaze dropping to the bridge of your nose.
the sun was beginning to dip below the canopy, casting long, golden fingers of light across his mask. his eye—the dark, expressive one—softened in a way you hadn't seen before. he looked at you with a quiet, intense focus, his nose twitching just the smallest bit as if he were committing the scent of you to memory.
"well," you stammered, feeling a flush creep up your neck. "i, uh. i try. wouldn't want the captain's leg falling off on my watch."
he didn't laugh, but the crinkle at the corner of his eye told you he wanted to. he stepped around you, but as he passed, his gloved hand brushed against yours. not a mistake, but a deliberate and grounding touch.
"we're nearly at the gates," he murmured. he took a few steps ahead, then paused, looking back over his shoulder. the aloof mask was still there, but the wall behind it had finally crumbled.
"you did well today," he said. he hesitated, the words seemingly catching in his throat for a second before they smoothed out. "thank you... y/n."
hearing your name come from him, not 'you’ or 'replacement' felt like a physical weight being lifted. it was low and intimate, the syllables rolling off his tongue with a familiarity that made your heart do a strange, frantic little flip.
he didn't wait for a response. he just turned and kept walking, his stride a little more confident, his shoulders finally relaxed. he didn’t just tolerate you anymore. he had let you in. he had accepted you into his pack, into his space and into his loyalty.
you stood there for a second, watching his silver hair catch the light. you realized then that the boy who didn't want to be touched was starting to look for reasons to be near you.
weeks passed and the world ended. it didn’t didn’t end with a bang. it ended with the sound of chirping birds and the smell of ozone so thick it made your lungs ache.
you weren't fast enough. that was the thought that looped in your head, a jagged, broken record as you watched kakashi’s hand—the same hand that had brushed yours so carefully only weeks before—buried deep in rin’s chest. the blue sparks of the chidori reflected in his wide, shattered eye, and for a heartbeat, the entire forest went silent. even the wind stopped breathing.
when she fell, she fell like a doll with its strings cut. and kakashi… he didn't even scream. he just collapsed, the silver of his hair disappearing into the blood-soaked mud.
the aftermath was a blur of grey stone and black funeral clothes. the village felt like a ghost town, even with the crowds. you stayed by his side in the hospital, sitting in the hard plastic chair until your bones felt like lead. he didn't speak. he didn't eat. he just stared at his right hand, scrubbing at it until the skin was raw and weeping, trying to wash away a scent that his hatake genes wouldn't let him forget.
the iron. the copper. the smell of his best friend’s life leaking out.
"kakashi," you whispered one night, reaching out to stop his frantic scrubbing. "it’s gone. there's nothing there. please."
he flinched like you’d burned him. his gaze snapped to yours, and for the first time, you saw it. the complete, utter vacancy. the loyalty he had finally started to give, the 'pack' he had finally accepted, was decimated.
"don't touch me," he rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over broken glass. "you'll get it on you, too."
minato sensei or hokage-sama now, though the title felt heavy and wrong on your tongue, didn't know what else to do. he looked at you with eyes that were too tired for a man so young.
"he's drowning, y/n," minato said, standing behind the great desk in the tower. the red and white hat sat there like a judge. "if I leave him in the regular forces, he’s going to seek out a death he doesn't deserve. he needs a place where the darkness is the point."
"you're sending him to anbu," you said, already knowing where he was going with this, your voice flat.
"i have to. it’s the only way to keep him moving."
you wanted to scream. you wanted to tell him that sending a boy who was already haunted into the literal shadows was a death sentence of a different kind. but you knew. you saw the way kakashi looked at you now. it was a desperate, terrifying kind of hunger that he immediately choked out with coldness. he was terrified that if he loved you, you’d be next.
the day he left, he didn't even say goodbye.
you found him at the training grounds, already dressed in the grey flak jacket, the porcelain mask tilted against his hip. the 'hound' mask.
it felt like a sick joke.
he didn't look at you. he just stood there, catching the scent of the morning mist. you could already smell the sterile, cold air that always seemed to follow the anbu.
"kakashi," you started, your throat tight.
"i'm not coming back to team minato," he interrupted, his voice devoid of any emotion. "there is no team minato anymore."
"i'm still here," you stepped closer, desperate to ground him, to remind him of the 'y/n' he had whispered in the woods just less than a month ago.
he finally turned, and the look in his eye nearly leveled you. it was that deep, instinctive need for praise and belonging, warring with a self-loathing so potent it was nauseating. he wanted to crawl into your lap and hide; he wanted to run until his lungs burst.
"stay away from me," he said. it wasn't a threat. it was a plea.
and then, in a swirl of leaves and shadows, he was gone.
you were left standing in the middle of the field, the silence of the village pressing in on you. the third seat was empty. the pack was gone. and for the first time in years, you were truly, devastatingly alone.
the village didn't smell like pine and hope anymore. to you, konoha smelled like damp concrete, cold grief, and the lingering, phantom scent of ozone that never quite left your nose.
at 18, you were a ghost in a flak jacket. you had become everything the academy promised. strong, silent, quick and efficient. a jonin-in-waiting who moved through the streets like a shadow, because shadows were the only thing you had left. minato sensei was gone. the fourth's golden hair was just a memory etched into a mountain now, and the night he died had taken the last of the light with him.
you stood on a rusted fire escape, tucked into the darkness, watching a small apartment window.
inside, a boy with messy blonde hair and whiskers on his cheeks was sitting at a small, scarred table. he was five years old and staring at an empty cup of ramen like it was the most tragic thing in the world. naruto. he was the living legacy of a man you loved and respected, and yet the village looked at him and saw a monster.
your heart ached with a familiarity that was almost nauseating. you knew what it was like to be the 'spare.' you knew what it was like to be alone in a room full of people who wished you weren't there.
you hopped down, silent as a falling leaf, and tapped on the glass.
naruto jumped, his blue eyes wide and wary. when he saw it was you—the "nice lady with the cool ninja stories"—his face lit up like a sun. he scrambled to open the window.
"hey, kid," you murmured, climbing inside. you didn't miss the way his stomach let out a treacherous growl.
“you're back!" he whisper-shouted, his hands balled into tiny fists of excitement. "did you bring more stories? about the cool ninja with the lightning?"
"first," you said, pulling a warm container of pork miso soup and fresh rice from your pouch. "we eat. a ninja can't learn anything on an empty stomach."
you sat on the floor with him, watching him inhale the food with a desperation that made your throat tight. you didn't tell him that the 'cool ninja' was a boy who wouldn't look you in the eye anymore. you didn't tell him that his father was the reason you knew how to efficiently throw a kunai.
instead, as he finished, you leaned back against the wall. "i knew someone once," you started, your voice low and melodic. "he was the strongest man i ever met. he used to say that the village wasn't just buildings and trees. it was a family. and as long as you have the will to protect that family, you’re never truly alone."
"was he a hokage?" naruto asked, his eyes shimmering with that raw, unfiltered hope.
"the best one," you smiled, though it felt like a pull on a fresh wound. "and if you eat your vegetables and train hard, maybe one day you'll be just as strong. maybe even stronger."
you stayed until he fell asleep, tucked under a thin blanket. you brushed a stray blonde hair from his forehead before you left through the window, but you didn't head home. you didn't really have a home anymore, just a place where you kept your bedroll.
you were walking through the training grounds, the same ones where you used to be a team, when the air shifted. it grew cold. the signature scent of an anbu hit you like a physical blow.
standing on a high branch, his porcelain hound mask catching the moonlight. he looked like a statue. he had been in the anbu for five years now, and in that time, he hadn't spoken a single word to you. not when you passed him in the halls of the tower. not when you stood over minato's grave at the same time.
he was "hound" or most famously, the “copy ninja” now. cold. detached. a killing machine that the village whispered about in hushed, fearful tones.
you stopped in the clearing, looking up at him. you didn't say anything. you knew better. if you spoke, he’d just flicker away into the leaves.
for a long minute, he just stared down at you. you could feel the weight of his gaze behind that frozen, painted scowl. his nose twitched just a tiny, almost invisible movement as he caught the scent of the soup and the lingering warmth of naruto’s apartment on your clothes.
he knew where you’d been. he knew you were the only one left who still cared about the boy he was supposed to be guarding from the shadows.
you saw his hand twitch, his fingers curling into a fist against his thigh. the loyalty was still there, buried under miles of trauma and anbu conditioning. he wanted to come down. you could feel the pull of it, the desperate, needy urge to be near the only person who still remembered his name.
"kakashi," you whispered, the name a ghost on the wind.
he stiffened. the name seemed to cut through the silence like a blade. for a split second, the cold mask of the anbu slipped, and you saw the silhouette of a boy who was drowning.
then, without a sound, he vanished. a swirl of leaves was all that was left.
you stood there in the quiet, the smell of ozone fading into the night. you were both alone, both carrying the weight of a fallen era, and yet the distance between you felt like a chasm that would never be bridged.
22 felt older than it had any right to.
at 18, you were a ghost. at 22, you were a fixture. the quiet jonin with the steady hands and the eyes that had seen too many sunsets over too many graves. you had your own apartment now, a small place near the edge of the village, and your flak jacket felt like a second skin. you didn't have a genin team yet; the hokage seemed content to keep you on high level solo rotations, perhaps because he knew your heart wasn't ready to be responsible for three more lives that could be snuffed out.
so, you gave that heart to the one life that was already flickering.
"i'm never gonna get it!" naruto yelled, frustrated tears pricking the corners of his blue eyes. he kicked a fallen log in the training clearing, his orange jumpsuit a loud, defiant blotch against the green. "the leaf just falls off! every time! kiba laughed so hard he almost choked on akamaru!"
you leaned against a tree, crossing your arms. you looked at the kid—nine years old now, scrawny and loud and carrying a weight he didn't even understand. iruka sensei was doing his best at the academy, providing the structure the boy needed, but naruto needed more than a teacher. he needed a tether.
"naruto," you said, your voice soft but firm. “come here."
he stomped over, pouting. you reached out, ruffling his blonde hair, and for a second, the ghost of minato sensei’s smile flitted through your mind. you pushed it down.
"you're trying to brute-force the chakra," you explained, picking up a stray leaf. "you've got more energy in your pinky than most of those kids have in their whole bodies. you have to coax it. like you’re trying to keep a butterfly from flying away, not squashing a bug."
you spent the next two hours showing him the subtle shift in focal points, the way to breathe until the world was quiet. you weren't just teaching him a graduation requirement; you were teaching him how to survive himself.
“you're the best, big sis!" he grinned, finally managed to keep the leaf stuck to his forehead for a full ten seconds. he lunged at you, wrapping his arms around your waist in a messy, rib-cracking hug.
your breath hitched. you weren't used to being touched—not like this. not with such pure, uncomplicated affection. you hugged him back, resting your chin on his head. "go on, get some sleep. iruka sensei will be grumpy if you're late for class again."
you watched him bolt toward the village, his laughter echoing through the trees. the clearing went silent, the shadows stretching long and jagged across the grass.
then, the air turned cold.
you didn't move. you didn't even turn around. you knew that feeling all too well. the scent and feeling of a certain anbu.
"he's getting better," you said to the empty air.
kakashi was standing on the branch above you. he didn't answer. he never did. for the past 9 years, this had been your dance. you would look after the boy, and he would watch from the periphery, a silent, porcelain faced judge. he was still 'hound’ and the ‘copy ninja,’ buried under the grey porcelain and the blood stained missions.
he didn't acknowledge the fact that you were a jonin now. he didn't acknowledge that you were the only person in the village who still looked at him and saw a human being instead of a weapon.
you looked up, catching the glint of his mask in the moonlight. "he looks like him, doesn't he? especially when he smiles."
a sharp, sudden intake of breath from above. it was the first sound you'd heard him make in years that wasn't a combat grunt.
kakashi shifted, his gloved hand gripping the bark of the tree. you could feel the intensity of his gaze—that desperate, starving loyalty that he kept locked behind a thousand locks. he wanted to say something. you could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his nose flared as he caught the scent of you. the same scent of safety and home that had calmed him when he was thirteen.
but the anbu didn't have names. the anbu didn't have pasts. without a word, he flickered away. a body flicker so fast it left a vacuum in the air.
you sighed, rubbing your arms against the sudden chill. you were used to it. the silence, the distance, the way he treated you like a stranger. you had accepted it as the price of staying alive in this village.
but as your tired body walked back toward your lonely apartment, you didn't notice the silver haired figure following you from the rooftops. you didn't see the way he stopped outside your window, staying long after your lights went out, catching the scent of your sleep on the breeze—clinging to it like a dying man to a lifeline.
the pack was broken, scattered, and grieving. but he was still there. he was always there.
the village was colder after the uchiha fall. it had been a couple months since the massacre, and the weight of it had finally pushed the third hokage to pull kakashi out of the shadows.
ten years. ten years of porcelain masks and "hound" and the smell of blood that never quite washed off.
now, he was back in a standard flak jacket, but he wore it like a costume. he looked the part of a jonin, but his soul was still vibrating with the frequency of a ghost. he’d started failing genin teams one after another, a revolving door of disappointed 12 year olds who couldn't meet his impossible standards. he claimed they lacked teamwork, but you knew the truth. he was still protecting himself. he wasn't ready to be responsible for more lives that could end in lightning and chirping birds.
you were 23 now, a senior jonin who spent more time in the archives or training naruto than on active squad duty. the village council seemed hesitant to give you a team, perhaps sensing that your heart was already full with a blonde boy and a silver haired shadow.
the very first acknowledgment in years came on a Tuesday, under the bridge near the training grounds.
you were sitting on the railing, watching the water, when he walked by. he didn't flicker away. he didn't vanish into the trees. he just… walked. his hands were in his pockets, his gaze fixed on a small orange book that he used like a shield against the world.
"kakashi," you said, your voice a soft tether.
he paused. the air between you hummed with a decade of silence, of missed birthdays and shared graves. slowly, he tilted his head. he didn't look at you directly, but he didn't look away, either.
your name. it sounded different now. deeper, weathered by the things he’d done in the dark. it wasn't the tentative whisper of a 13 year old; it was the heavy, tired recognition of a man who had finally come up for air and realized you were still standing on the shore.
"i heard you failed another one," you said, a small, sad smile tugging at your lips. "the takeda kids? they seemed promising."
"they didn't understand the difference between a mission and a life," he replied, his voice flat. he finally looked at you, and for a second, the 'hatake' in him surfaced—that keen, observant flicker of the eyes, taking in the way you’d grown, the way your hair caught the light, the scent of the tea you’d had for breakfast.
he was cataloging you. he was re-learning the shape of his pack.
"you should try being a teacher sometime," he added, his tone almost conversational, though the distance was still a mile wide. "you're already doing half the work with the blonde brat."
"he's not a brat, kakashi. he's a legacy."
kakashi’s eye crinkled, just a fraction. "i know."
he didn't stay to talk. he wasn't there yet. he turned and continued his slow, deliberate walk toward the memorial stone, his shoulders slightly less tense than they’d been in the anbu. he was a man trying to remember how to be human, and you were the only person left who knew the boy he’d been before the mask.
the three years that followed felt like the village was finally exhaling. 26 was a strange age. you were no longer the "young" prodigy, but a seasoned jonin with a reputation for being the calm in the center of every storm. and yet, your world still revolved around a blonde boy with a loud laugh and a silver haired man who lived in the margins of your life.
the summons to the hokage’s office felt different this time. lord third looked at you over the rim of his pipe, the smoke curling around his hat like a tired dragon.
"i'm putting you on a team, y/n," he said. "but not as the lead. not yet."
"team seven," he continued, his eyes twinkling with a knowing sort of mischief. "kakashi is the lead, but i want you there as a second. naruto needs you—he needs that tether you’ve spent years building. and frankly..." he paused, tapping his pipe. "kakashi needs you, too. he’s failed every team i’ve given him for years. i think having you there to balance his... eccentricities... might actually give these kids a chance."
your heart thudded. working with kakashi. every day. no more silent nods in the hallway or watching him from the rooftops.
the morning of the meeting, the academy hallways felt smaller than you remembered. you walked a half step behind kakashi, the familiar scent of his soap and that underlying hint of static electricity filling your lungs. he was buried in that orange book again, but you noticed his pace was slower today. he wasn't trying to outrun you.
"you know they've been waiting for an hour, right?" you murmured, glancing at the clock on the wall.
"mm," he hummed, not looking up from the page. "it builds character. or spite. both are useful for a ninja."
he stopped in front of the classroom door, finally closing the book with a soft thud. he looked at you then—really looked at you. his eye was soft, the habitual tension in his brow smoothed out by your presence. "ready to see what the 'legacy' has been up to?"
you smiled, reaching for the sliding door. "ready."
the door slid open just an inch before a chalk filled eraser tumbled from the top, bouncing off kakashi’s silver hair with a dull poof of white dust.
naruto burst into a fit of hysterical laughter, pointing a finger at his new sensei. "hahaha! i got him! he totally fell for it!"
sakura was shrieking apologies, and sasuke was looking out the window like he wanted to be anywhere else, but you? you couldn't help it. the sight of the legendary, "cold" elite ninja standing there with a face full of chalk dust, looking utterly unimpressed, was too much.
you let out a laugh. not a polite chuckle or a small smile, but a genuine, bright laugh that bubbled up from your chest. it was a sound that hadn't been heard in these hallways since before the uchiha fell, since before the fourth was lost.
kakashi froze. he didn't look at naruto. he didn't look at the eraser. he looked at you.
his eye widened, his pupils dilating as the sound of your laughter hit him like a physical wave. to his heightened senses, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard—a melody he hadn't realized he was starving for. he watched the way your eyes crinkled and the way your shoulders shook, and for a split second, the "hatake" in him wanted to lean in and capture that sound, to bottle it up and keep it forever.
"my first impression of you guys..." kakashi said, his voice a bit throatier than usual as he finally tore his gaze away from you to look at the kids. "is that you're a bunch of idiots."
he reached up, casually dusting the chalk off his head, but his fingers lingered near his temple for a second longer than necessary—the ghost of your laugh still ringing in his ears.
"meet us on the roof," he added, his tone lighter than you'd heard it in a decade.
as the kids scrambled out, he paused at the door, waiting for you. he didn't say anything, but as you walked past him, he leaned in just enough for his shoulder to brush yours.
"you have a nice laugh, y/n," he murmured, so low the kids couldn't hear. "i almost forgot what it sounded like."
months passed by now. the chunin exams started off great, until it didn’t.
the tower at the forest of death felt like a tomb. the air was thick with the sterile scent of floor wax and the metallic, rotting tang of the forest outside. but underneath it all, there was the heavy, suffocating weight of the curse mark—a jagged, oily chakra that made the hair on your arms stand up.
kakashi had just finished the sealing ritual. he was leaning against the cold stone wall of the corridor, his shadow stretching long and distorted under the flickering overhead lights. he looked drained. his sharingan was closed, his head tilted back, and his breathing was too shallow, too rhythmic.
you stood a few feet away, watching him. you knew that look. it was the look of a man who had just seen the history of the uchiha and his own failures, staring back at him through a 12 year old boy's skin.
"he's asleep," you said softly, stepping into his space. "the seal held."
kakashi didn't open his eye. instead, his nose twitched. he caught your scent—the familiar, grounding mix of your skin and the faint herbal tea you’d had before the proctors called the start. his posture shifted instantly. the "jonin sensei" mask didn't just crack; it dissolved.
"it’s happening again, y/n," he rasped. his voice was a ghost of itself, vibrating with a decade of repressed terror. "i can't... i'm going to lose them. just like before."
"no," you said, firm and steady. you stepped closer, closing the gap until you could feel the heat radiating off his overtaxed body. "you aren't alone this time. i’m right here. we’re a team, kakashi. remember?"
he finally opened his eye, and the look in it was raw. it was the look of a hound that had been wandering in the cold for years and finally saw a door left ajar. he didn't care about the rules or the village or the fact that anyone could walk down this hallway.
he reached out, his fingers trembling as they curled into the fabric of your flak jacket. he didn't pull you in for a hug; he anchored himself to you. his forehead dropped onto your shoulder, his weight slumping against you with a sudden, needy desperation that made your heart ache.
"stay," he breathed, his face burying into the crook of your neck. "just... let me catch my breath. please."
he started huffing—small, frantic inhalations against your skin, cataloging your scent as if he were trying to drown out the smell of orochimaru’s lingering darkness. his teeth grazed the collar of your shirt, a sharp, instinctive nip that spoke of a loyalty so deep it bordered on possession. he wasn't the cool copy ninja right now; he was a man starving for the only person who made the world feel quiet.
"i'm not going anywhere," you whispered, your hand coming up to rest on the back of his silver hair.
he let out a low, shaky sound—somewhere between a sigh and a whimper—and pressed closer, his body vibrating against yours. he was seeking praise, seeking comfort, seeking the reassurance that he hadn't already failed.
"tell me," he muttered against your skin, his grip tightening until his knuckles were white. "tell me i'm doing it right. tell me they're okay."
"you're doing a good job, kakashi," you murmured, your fingers tracing the nape of his neck. "you saved him. you're a good sensei. you're a good man."
the way he reacted to the praise was almost visceral. his muscles relaxed, his breathing evened out, and he leaned into your touch with a heartbreaking kind of surrender. he was service oriented down to his marrow. he lived to protect, to please, to serve the village and his pack. and right now, the only 'pack' that mattered was you.
he stayed like that for a long time, draped over you in the empty hallway, a silver haired shadow finally finding rest in the only light he had left.
the air in the village was stagnant, heavy with the metallic scent of rain that refused to fall. it had been 48 hours since the medical teams had brought back the battered, broken bodies of the genin from the valley of the end. naruto was in a hospital bed, his spirit quieter than you’d ever known it, and sasuke… sasuke was a ghost, a void where a heart used to be. you had a feeling deep down he’d leave this village in a desperate attempt to fulfill what he thought was his duty, but not this soon.
you sat in your darkened apartment, the scroll you were supposed to be filing long forgotten on the coffee table. the silence was deafening. you knew that silence. it was the same one that had followed the uchiha massacre, the same one that had settled over the village after minato sensei died.
it wasn't the sharp, rhythmic rap of a shinobi delivering a message. it was heavy, uneven—the sound of someone who was barely holding their own weight against the wood of the door.
you didn't ask who it was. you already knew.
when you pulled the door open, the hallway light spilled over him. kakashi looked like he had aged ten years in a single night. his flak jacket was gone, his dark undershirt damp with sweat and grime, and his silver hair was a mess, falling over his forehead in jagged streaks. he didn't look at you. he was staring at the floor, his shoulders shaking with a fine, microscopic tremor.
"kakashi," you breathed, reaching out.
the moment your fingers brushed his arm, he didn't flinch. he leaned.
he stumbled into your space, the door clicking shut behind him as he practically collapsed against you. his forehead hit your shoulder with a dull thud, and he let out a sound. a jagged, broken huff of air that caught in his throat. he smelled like ozone, dirt, and a deep, agonizing exhaustion.
"i failed," he rasped, his voice vibrating against your collarbone. "i failed to get him to stay and i failed to bring him back. i was too late. again. always too late."
"it wasn't your fault, kakashi," you whispered, your hands finding the small of his back, pulling him into the safety of the dark room. "you did everything you could."
"it wasn't enough." his hands came up, clutching the back of your shirt, his fingers curling into the fabric with a white-knuckled desperation. he was seeking you out—not just as a comrade, but as his North Star. he started to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, his nose dragging against your skin as he took in deep, shaky breaths of your scent.
he was huffing, his hatake instincts completely bypassing his logic. he needed to know you were there. he needed to know you were alive, that you were whole, that he hadn't lost the last piece of his world.
"p-please," he stuttered, the word muffled against your skin. "just... tell me i'm still here. tell me i haven't lost everything."
"you haven't," you murmured, your heart breaking at the raw need in his voice. "you’re right here with me. i've got you, kashi. you're home."
the use of the nickname—something you hadn't said since you were kids—seemed to snap the last string holding him together. he let out a low, whimpering sound, his teeth catching the skin of your shoulder through his mask in a sharp, possessive nip. it wasn't meant to hurt; it was a mark. a claim. a desperate plea for you to stay.
he moved his head, his mask dragging roughly against your cheek until his eye met yours in the dark. his pupil was blown wide, dark and swimming with a decade’s worth of repressed devotion and current grief. he looked at you with such a terrifying amount of loyalty that it felt like he was offering you his very soul.
"i want to please you," he whispered, his breath hot and frantic against your lips through his mask. "i need... i need to be yours. tell me what to do. tell me how to make it right."
he was vibrating, his body pressed so tightly against yours that you could feel the frantic triphammer of his heart. he didn't want to lead. he didn't want to be the genius ninja or the elite sensei. he wanted to be at your feet, grounded by your touch, serving the only person who had never walked away.
his hands slid down to your waist, dragging you closer until there was no air left between you. "praise me," he breathed, his voice dropping into a needy, guttural register. "please, y/n. tell me i'm yours."
the air in the room felt thick now, charged with the kind of electricity that only follows a decade of suppressed lightning. kakashi stayed there for a heartbeat, his hands trembling where they gripped your thighs, his head bowed in a gesture of absolute, soul-deep surrender. he looked so small like this, so willing to be whatever you needed him to be just to stay in your orbit.
but you weren't looking for a subordinate. you were looking for him.
your fingers curled into the collar of his dark undershirt and with a firm, steady tug, you pulled him upward. he didn't resist; he rose with a staggered, breathless hitch in his chest, his body following your lead until he was hovering directly over you, his knees boxing yours in against the edge of the mattress.
his breath was hot against your lips, frantic and uneven. without the mask, every little expression was laid bare. you watched the way his pupils dilated until the dark ink of his irises nearly vanished, the way his jaw tighted with a hunger he clearly didn't know how to contain.
"i can make you feel good too, kashi," you whispered, your voice a low vibration that seemed to travel straight down his spine.
he let out a broken, guttural sound, a whine that started deep in his throat and died against your mouth. the idea of being cared for, of being pleased by you, seemed to short-circuit his brain. he had spent so long being the weapon, the protector, the one who carried the weight of the village, that the thought of receiving anything felt like a physical blow.
"y/n," he rasped, his forehead dropping against yours. he was huffing again, his nose dragging along the bridge of yours, catching the scent of your skin as he unraveled. "please. i don't... i don't know if i can take it.”
"you can," you murmured, your hands sliding from his collar to the nape of his neck, your fingers tangling in those silver strands. “you've done enough, kakashi. let me take care of you for once."
it was the final crack in the dam.
he collapsed forward, pinning you into the softness of the bed, his weight a heavy, grounding comfort. it wasn't the clinical, calculated movement of a shinobi; it was the desperate, messy scramble of a man who had finally found home.
his mouth found yours again, and this time there was no hesitation. it was all tongue and teeth, a starving man finally allowed to eat. he was nipping at your lips, his breath hitching every time you made a sound, his hands mapping your body with a frantic, tactile obsession. he was seeking praise in every touch, his body vibrating with a needy energy that screamed for your approval.
"good?" he muttered against your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of your neck. "do you like that?”
"yes," you breathed, arching into him, your nails catching against the muscles of his back. "you're doing so well, kashi. you're perfect."
the praise hit him like a drug. his muscles relaxed, his movements becoming more fluid, more intense. he started to leave a trail of damp, biting kisses down your throat, his "hatake" instincts flaring. he was marking you, claiming you, needing to be so deep inside your space that the rest of the world ceased to exist.
his hands were trembling as they hooked into the hem of your shirt, his gaze flickering up to yours for a split second, seeking permission even now. when you lifted your arms, he pulled the fabric over your head with a desperate, jerky motion, casting it aside as if it were the only thing keeping him from breathing.
he didn't wait. he couldn't.
kakashi sank back over you, his silver hair a messy halo in the moonlight as he began to map the skin he’d spent a decade imagining. his mouth was hot, his tongue tracing the dip of your ribs, leaving damp, stinging trails in his wake. he was nipping at the soft skin of your stomach, his teeth grazing you just enough to make you gasp, his breath huffing against your navel in those short, needy bursts of air.
"you're so beautiful," he rasped against your skin, his voice a broken, guttural vibration. "y/n... god, you're perfect."
when he reached your waistline, he stopped. his forehead dropped against the band of your bottoms, his shoulders heaving. he was vibrating with the effort of holding back, his fingers hooking into the fabric but not pulling. he was waiting. even in this state, unraveled and starving, his loyalty to your comfort was the only thing stronger than his hunger.
he looked up at you, his eye blown wide and dark, searching yours. "can i?" he whispered, the words barely a breath. "please... let me... i want to see all of you."
"yes, kashi," you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. "please."
it was like a tether snapped. he stripped the fabric away with a frantic, focused efficiency, leaving you exposed to the cool night air and his burning gaze. he didn't give you a chance to feel insecure; he was back on you instantly, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
he was all tongue and teeth again now, leaving a trail of dark, possessive marks that made your toes curl into the sheets. he was whining low in his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated need as he worked his way upward. you were shivering, your skin sensitized to the point of pain, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
and then he reached the last layer.
he didn't pull the lace aside yet. instead, he pressed his face into the heat of you, breathing you in until his lungs felt like they were bursting. he began to kiss you through the thin fabric, his lips soft and then firm, his tongue swirling against the lace in a way that made your hips bolt off the bed.
"kashi-“ you choked out, your hands clutching the headboard.
he let out a muffled groan, his mouth latching onto you through the damp silk. he began to suck gently, a slow, rhythmic pull that sent sparks of white-hot lightning straight to your core. his hands were braced on either side of your hips, his knuckles white, his entire body a cord of tension as he focused everything he was, every ounce of his genius, every drop of his devotion on the space between your legs.
you were unraveled, sobbing his name into the quiet of the room, your body arching and trembling under the weight of his worship. he was serving you with a desperation that was terrifying and beautiful all at once, his tongue and teeth working in tandem to pull a confession from your very soul.
"do you like that?" he muttered against the fabric, his voice thick with a needy, dark heat. "tell me... tell me i'm doing it right for you."
"you’re doing so good, kashi," you choked out, your fingers tightening in his silver hair, pulling him even closer against the heat of you. "don't stop. please, don't stop."
the praise hit him like a physical jolt. he let out a low, vibrating growl against the damp silk of your underwear, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as the crushing weight of his self-doubt finally began to dissolve. he was a genius, a man who could master a thousand jutsu in a heartbeat, but the only thing that mattered in this darkened room was the way your voice hitched when he touched you.
if you said he was doing well, he would give you everything he had left.
with a sudden, focused intensity, his fingers hooked into the edge of the lace. he didn't tear it; he peeled it back with a reverence that made your breath hitch, pinning the fabric against your thigh to expose the slick, aching center of you to the cool night air.
he didn't give you a second to feel the chill.
his mouth was back on you instantly, his tongue swirling against your bare skin with a devastating, practiced precision. soft, wet laps followed by the sharp, grounding nip of his teeth against your folds and sensitive clit that made your vision white out. he was huffing, his nose pressed into the center, breathing in the scent of your arousal like it was the only air he had ever been allowed to breathe.
the sounds you were making—the broken, high-pitched whimpers and the way you sobbed his name into the quiet—were like fuel to him. his confidence surged, that deep rooted hatake loyalty morphing into a quiet, dominant pride. he knew exactly how to make you come apart. he knew the rhythm you needed, the way to swirl his tongue until your hips were bucking off the mattress in a frantic search for friction.
he was relentless. every time you tried to close your legs, he nudged them wider with his shoulders, his hands moving to your inner thighs to hold you open, to keep you vulnerable to his worship.
"look at me," he rasped, pulling back for a split second, his chin slick, his eye dark and blown wide with a terrifying level of devotion. "let me see you, y/n. i want to watch you break for me."
he didn't wait for an answer before his tongue was back on you, harder this time, his suction turning rhythmic and deep. he was drinking you in, his body vibrating with the effort of staying on his knees when every instinct he had was screaming at him to climb over you and claim what was his.
you were shivering, your hands clutching the sheets until they tore, your entire world narrowing down to the heat of his mouth and the desperate, needy way he was looking up at you. he was yours. heart, soul, and body. he was finally, irrevocably yours.
without pulling his mouth away, he slid two fingers inside you.
the intrusion was sudden and perfect, the digits thick and calloused from years of being a ninja, but they moved with a gentleness that only you were allowed to feel. he started to pump, a deep, rhythmic thrusting that hit the sensitive curve of your g-spot with every inward slide, while his mouth and tongue never left your clit.
the friction was too much. it was a sensory overload of heat and pressure, and the low, vibrating growl in his chest as he felt your internal muscles clamp around his fingers only made it worse.
you were sobbing his name now, your heels digging into the mattress as you arched your back. he didn't slow down. if anything, he got faster. his tongue was just wet heat pressed against your sensitive bud, sucking and licking around it. his fingers curling and driving into you with a pace that matched the frantic hammering of your heart. he was huffing against your skin, his nose buried in you, taking in the scent of your climax as it began to boil over.
when it hit, it was like a dam breaking.
your walls clenched around his fingers in a series of violent, rhythmic pulses, and you cried out, your voice breaking in the quiet of the room. you were shaking, your vision white and blurred, but kakashi didn't let go. he stayed right there, his fingers still buried deep inside you, riding out every contraction while his mouth stayed latched onto your core.
he didn't pull away when the initial wave passed. instead, he let out a low, needy sound and began to lap at you. he was desperate, his tongue moving in slow, heavy swipes to catch every drop of your release. he was drinking you in like a man dying of thirst, his chin and lips slick with you, his eyes half closed in a daze of absolute worship.
he stayed there for a long minute, his forehead eventually coming to rest against your inner thigh, his breathing coming in ragged, wet hitches. he looked completely undone, the "copy ninja" persona buried under the weight of his own hunger for you.
"y/n," he rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. he looked up at you, his face flushed and damp, his pupils still blown wide with a terrifying, loyal intensity.
he was still on his knees, still serving, but the look in his eye had shifted. the "needy" energy was still there, but it was being eclipsed by a raw, masculine hunger that said he was done waiting.
"did i..." he paused, his tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop on his lip. "did i do good? did i take care of you?"
“perfect,” you muttered, still in a daze of pleasure and heat.
the praise hit him like a physical blow to the chest, his eye fluttering shut as he let out a long, shuddering exhale. he looked so small for a second, just a man who had been starving for a kind word and a warm touch for half his life.
"perfect," he repeated, the word a ragged ghost of a sound. "i'm... i'm glad."
you didn't give him time to sink back into his head. reaching down, you caught him by the shoulders and pulled, guiding his heavy, overtaxed body up until he was flat on his back against the pillows. he went willingly, his limbs heavy and fluid, his gaze never leaving yours.
"my turn," you whispered, the words a promise that made his pupils blow wide until the dark swallowed the grey.
you shifted, moving with a slow, deliberate grace until you were straddling his hips. he let out a choked sound, his hands coming up to hover near your waist, trembling, uncertain if he was allowed to touch you yet. he was so beautifully needy, his chest heaving as he looked up at you from the mattress, the elite shinobi completely replaced by a man who was utterly at your mercy.
your hands moved to the waistband of his dark trousers, hooking into the fabric. with a steady tug, you pulled them down just far enough. the compression boxers underneath did little to hide the reality of his hunger for you. the thick, long and heavy length of him was straining against the dark fabric, a physical testament to how much he had been holding back.
you didn't pull the fabric away. not yet.
instead, you sank down, your weight settling directly over the heat of him. you were still in your thin, damp lace panties, and the friction of the two layers of fabric between you felt like a live wire. you began to grind, a slow, torturous circle of your hips that dragged the lace across the ridge of his length.
kakashi’s back arched off the bed, a low, guttural whine breaking from his throat. his fingers dug into the sheets, his knuckles white, his head tossing back into the pillow.
"y/n-“ he gasped, his voice cracking. "please. i can't... you're so warm."
you didn't speed up. you kept the pace agonizingly slow, teasing him with the pressure, the way the silk of his boxers gathered and rubbed against you. you leaned forward, your hair draping over his chest like a curtain, your lips ghosting over his jaw.
"do you like this, kashi?" you murmured, your hips hitching in a way that made him let out a sharp, frantic huff of air. "is this what you wanted while you were watching me from the shadows all those years?"
he let out a broken, needy sob, his eyes snapping open to find yours. they were hazy, swimming with a decade of repressed devotion and a current, soul-deep desperation. he was vibrating under you, his "hound" instincts screaming for him to flip you over and take what he wanted, but the loyalty won out. he stayed still, his hips stuttering upward in a silent, begging plea for more.
"yes," he rasped, his hands finally finding your waist, gripping you with a strength that said he was never letting go. "everything. i wanted everything. please... don't stop. i'll do anything. just don't stop."
he was completely unraveled, his pride a distant memory as he lay there underneath you, begging for the friction of your lace against him, his breath coming in short, wet gasps as you continued to tease him toward the edge.
the slow, agonizing circles of your hips began to tighten, the friction of your damp lace against his thin compression shorts creating a heat that felt like it was going to set the sheets on fire. you could feel the ridge of him, thick and unyielding beneath you, pulsing with every stuttering breath he took.
you started to pick up the pace, your movements becoming more rhythmic, more demanding. the sound of the fabric rubbing together was loud in the quiet room, underscored by the frantic, wet hitches in kakashi’s chest. he was whimpering now, his head thrashing against the pillow as he tried to keep up with the friction you were forcing on him. his hands moved from your waist to your outer thighs, his grip bruisingly tight as he tried to pull you closer, to ground himself in the middle of the storm you were creating.
"y/n... please," he choked out, his voice cracking on your name. "i'm... i can't... it's too much."
you didn't listen. you leaned down, your chest brushing his, your lips catching the shell of his ear. "you're doing so good for me, kashi," you whispered, the praise a jagged blade of pleasure that made his entire body lock up. "just stay still. let me take care of you."
you were moving faster now, the grinding becoming a desperate, sliding heat that had him sobbing into the dark. he was so close—you could feel the way his muscles were vibrating, the way his hips were stuttering upward in a blind, instinctive search for more. he was a man possessed, his loyalty and his hunger warring in the space between your bodies.
and then, just as he reached the precipice, you slowed down.
you dropped the pace to a crawl, a slow, agonizing drag of your weight over his length that was more of a suggestion than a touch. you sat back, your hands resting on his heaving chest, watching the way his eye snapped open, blown wide and hazy with a devastating level of betrayal.
"y/n?" he rasped, the word a broken plea.
you just smiled, a small, teasing tilt of your lips, and stayed perfectly still.
that was it. the last thread of his legendary composure finally snapped.
kakashi let out a low, guttural growl. a sound that was pure, unfiltered hatake instinct. his hands flew to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with a strength that said the 'sensei' was gone and only the 'hound' remained. with a sudden, forceful heave of his lower body, he bucked upward, forcing the friction he was starving for, his teeth baring in a silent, desperate snarl of need.
"no more," he hissed, his voice dropping into a dark, needy register that made your blood run hot. "no more teasing. please. i'm yours, i'm yours, just-“
he didn't wait for permission this time. his hands hooked into the waistband of his shorts and your lace, stripping both away in one frantic, clumsy motion until there was nothing left between you but heat and the wetness of your slick and his precum.
with one sudden, forceful surge of his hips, kakashi buried himself inside you.
it was a single, seamless motion that left no room for thought or hesitation. you let out a sharp, choked gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders as he bottomed out, all nine inches of his thick, pulsing length filling you to the absolute hilt. the stretch was immediate and intense, a blunt, heavy pressure that seemed to touch the very center of your soul.
he stayed perfectly still, his teeth gritted, his head falling back into the pillow as he let out a long, shuddering groan that vibrated through both of your bodies. his hands, still gripped tight on your waist, were trembling—not with hesitation, but with the sheer force of the self control it took not to immediately start moving.
"just... give it a second," he rasped, his voice a broken, low-octave shadow of itself. "y/n... god, you're so tight. please... tell me if it's too much."
you shook your head, your eyes fluttered shut as you adjusted to the heavy, aching fullness of him. he was a part of you now, a physical anchor in a world that had tried to drift away from you for years. you leaned forward, your forehead resting against his, your breath mingling in the small space between you
"it's perfect," you whispered. "don't move. just stay."
he let out a ragged huff of air against your lips, his nose nuzzling yours in that sweet, dog-like gesture of loyalty. he waited, his body a cord of tension beneath you, until he felt your muscles relax, your walls softening around him, claiming him as their own.
slowly, he began to move.
it was a shallow, testing thrust—a slow upward tilt of his hips that dragged his length against your most sensitive spots. you let out a low whine, your fingers digging into his biceps, and that was all the encouragement he needed. he began to find a rhythm, a slow, deliberate pace that was focused entirely on your pleasure, his gaze fixed on your face as if he were trying to memorize the way you looked when you were filled with him.
"you want to lead?" he murmured, his voice thick with a needy, dark heat.
you nodded, your breath hitching, and he released his grip on your waist just enough to let you find your own pace. you began to bounce, a slow, wet sliding that had him sobbing into the dark. but he didn't stay passive for long. his hands moved, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass and gripping your waist roughly, his "hound" instincts flaring as he began to guide your movements, his hips snapping upward to meet every downward stroke.
"yes," he hissed, his teeth catching his bottom lip. "just like that. y/n... you're doing so good for me. so good."
the praise, even when he was the one receiving the pleasure, made your heart swell. you moved faster, the sound of skin hitting skin and wet squelching noises filling the room, until the friction became a white-hot blur.
then, with a sudden, possessive growl, he shifted.
he didn't pull out; he caught you by the waist and flipped you in one fluid, powerful motion, pinning you back into the mattress. he was over you in a heartbeat, his silver hair a wild mess, his eye burning with a level of intensity that made your vision swim. he slid back in, deeper this time, his weight a heavy, grounding comfort as he began to pound into you.
it was merciless. there was no more teasing, no more slow, polite movements. he was taking what he had been dreaming of for ten years. every thrust was deep and demanding, his length hitting your core with a force that made your entire body vibrate. he was huffing against your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone, his "loyalty" manifesting as a desperate, all-consuming need to be as close to you as humanly possible.
"i'm never... letting you... go…again,” he grunted between thrusts, his voice a rhythmic, guttural chant. "you're mine. do you hear me? mine."
you couldn't answer with words, only with high pitched, broken sobs of his name. you were unraveled, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting every ounce of the desperation he was pouring into you.
the end came like a landslide.
kakashi’s pace became frantic, his breathing a series of short, sharp gasps as he felt your walls start to clench around him in those final, violent pulses of release. he let out a loud, raw cry, a sound of pure relief and buried himself deep inside your walls, his body locking up as he spilled his seed into you.
he stayed there, pinned to you, his forehead resting against yours as the waves of aftershock rolled through both of you. the room was quiet again, the scent of ozone and vanilla heavy in the air, and for the first time in your lives, the silence didn't feel lonely.
the pack was whole. he was home.
the morning light filtered through the blinds in thin, dusty gold needles, smelling of rain washed pavement and the lingering, sweet musk of the night before.
kakashi was the first to wake, though he didn't move. for the first time in over a decade, the "hound" wasn't surging upright with a kunai in hand. instead, he lay paralyzed by a terrifyingly soft realization: you were still there. your head was tucked perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder, your breathing a rhythmic, warm puff against his skin. he looked down at you, his dark eye tracing the marks he’d left on your neck. the quiet, possessive brand of a man who had finally stopped running.
he felt human. he felt anchored.
a sudden, rhythmic pounding at the front door shattered the silence.
"big sis! hey! you awake? i found this awesome new ramen spot and i gotta tell you about it before pervy sage catches me for training!"
kakashi stiffened. that loud, unfiltered energy could only belong to one person. he looked at you, seeing you stir and groan softly against him, and a strange, protective warmth flared in his chest. he didn't want to wake you, but he also knew naruto wouldn't stop until the door splintered.
moving with a fluid, lazy grace he hadn't possessed in years, kakashi slid out of bed. he didn't reach for his flak jacket or his mask. he simply pulled on his dark trousers and a discarded shirt, his hair a silver disaster of bed-headed spikes.
he opened the door just as naruto was winding up for another hit.
"whoa-!” naruto tumbled forward, his blue eyes nearly bulging out of his head. he looked up, his jaw hitting the floor. "kakashi sensei?! what are you- why are you at her house? and why do you look like you just fell out of a tree?!"
naruto’s gaze traveled from kakashi’s bare face—the legendary, hidden face—to his rumpled clothes and the distinct lack of a mask. the boy’s brain seemed to be short-circuiting in real time. "wait... is she okay? did something happen? did the hokage send you?"
"naruto," kakashi started, his voice still raspy from sleep and the night's demands. he leaned against the doorframe, a small, tired, but genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "it’s 7:00 am. lower the volume."
"but…but…you're here! and you don't have your mask on! is this a genjutsu? i'm in a genjutsu, aren't i?!"
you stepped up behind kakashi then, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin on his bare shoulder. you were draped in a silk robe, your hair messy and your skin still glowing with the afterglow of his touch.
"he's real, naruto," you said, your voice warm and honeyed. "and he's not a genjutsu."
naruto froze, his gaze darting between the two of you. he saw the way you held kakashi, and more importantly, the way kakashi leaned back into you, the way his hand came up to cover yours, his thumb tracing your knuckles with a familiar, deep rooted loyalty. the boy didn't quite understand the complexities of what had happened, but he understood the feeling.
the cold, distant "sensei" was gone. the "big sister" who had always been alone wasn't alone anymore.
"oh," naruto breathed, a massive, toothy grin slowly spreading across his face. "oh! well... does that mean we all get ramen together? because three people is a team! and i'm starving!"
you laughed, a bright, genuine sound that made kakashi’s heart do that strange, frantic flip again. you looked at the blonde boy, the legacy of your sensei, and then up at the silver haired man who was finally yours.
the world was still dark. sasuke was still gone, the shadows of the akatsuki were moving, and the scars of the past would never truly fade. but as you squeezed kakashi’s hand, feeling the solid, living pulse of him against your palm, you knew one thing for certain.
the pack was back together. and this time, you were never letting go.
