Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The heat was already clinging to everything when Sakura rolled out of bed.

It was barely eight, and the fan in the corner of her bedroom was working overtime, whirring steadily in its oscillation, blowing warm air around the room like it had given up. She lay there for a minute longer, one arm thrown over her eyes, the soft hum of cicadas rising beyond the window screen.

Then the alarm on her phone buzzed again.

She groaned, shoved the sheets off her sticky legs, and swung her feet onto the hardwood floor. Her ankle cracked. Her back protested. Twenty-seven, and she already felt like someone’s tired aunt.

The air outside her bedroom was thicker, heavier. No A/C—she hadn’t been able to justify the repair bill last month. And really, she hadn’t planned to be home this week anyway.

The kitchen was dim, the blinds drawn against the sun. She flicked the light on and opened the fridge, letting the cool air hit her face for a second too long before she reached in for a half-empty bottle of water. She drank standing up, hip leaned against the counter, hair already starting to stick to the back of her neck.

She hadn’t packed yet.

Her phone buzzed again. This time a message from her aunt:

Still planning on leaving this morning? Roads are dry now but the coast is supposed to get the edge of a storm tomorrow. Safe travels, sweetheart. We’ll be waiting!

Sakura stared at the screen, thumb hovering. Then she sent a quick reply:

On my way soon. Just finishing up here.

That was a lie. Her suitcase was still open on the couch, half-filled with clothes she wasn’t even sure she wanted to bring. The bag of toiletries was somewhere under the sink. She hadn’t found the charger for her GPS. And the canvas tote of books she kept by her bed had grown heavy with additions over the last few weeks—stuffed full of dog-eared paperbacks and impulsive late-night romance buys from the bargain bin.

She scratched her head, sighed, and turned toward the living room.

The reunion was supposed to be a full weekend thing. A ranch her aunt’s husband’s family had owned for generations. Somewhere way out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods and farmland, and no cell reception for miles. Supposedly peaceful. Idyllic. Healing.

Sakura couldn’t think of anything less relaxing.

Still, she’d said yes. Because her mom had asked. Because it had been years since she’d seen most of her extended family. Because a part of her—some small, guilty part—thought maybe getting out of town would help.

Help what, she wasn’t sure.

She threw on a pair of shorts and a cotton tank top, grabbed the half-full suitcase, and zipped it shut with a knee. The books went in the tote. She tried to narrow them down, but every time she put one aside, she hesitated, then shoved it back in.

“One bag of clothes, one bag of smut,” she muttered, slinging it over her shoulder. “Balance.”

By the time she loaded everything into the car, the sun was high and the heat had turned sharp. She could feel it rising off the sidewalk as she locked her front door.

When she got in and turned the key, the car groaned before starting. The A/C kicked on with a wheeze. She plugged in her phone, queued up a playlist, and tapped the GPS to life.

Four hours and forty-two minutes.

Avoiding tolls.

Taking the scenic route.

She pulled out of the driveway and didn’t look back.

Chapter Two

The first two hours passed easily enough.

Sakura had rolled the windows down partway, letting the wind whip through her car, tangling her hair and pushing out the stagnant air. The playlist was all late 2000s road trip classics—somewhere between nostalgic and terrible—and she didn’t bother skipping any songs.

The farther she got from town, the more the scenery changed. The streets thinned. The buildings spread apart. Fast food chains were replaced with old gas stations and small produce stands. She passed a handmade sign for boiled peanuts, then another for fresh eggs.

By hour three, the road had narrowed into a two-lane strip of faded asphalt with patchy gravel shoulders. Trees crowded closer on either side, dense and shadowy, with only occasional mailboxes to suggest anyone lived back there at all.

Her GPS chirped. Continue for 28 miles.

She checked her gas gauge. Half a tank. Still good.

The sun sat high above the treetops, beating down through her windshield. Sweat gathered beneath her knees. She shifted, trying to peel herself off the seat.

The canvas tote sat beside her in the passenger seat, slumped over under the weight of at least fifteen paperbacks. A familiar corner stuck out—black with gold lettering.

She reached over and pulled it out without thinking. One of the darker romances. A guilty pleasure. She hadn’t even cracked the spine yet.

At the next slow bend in the road, she tossed it back in the bag.

“Focus,” she muttered, eyes flicking to the phone mounted on her dash. A new notification popped up.

Storm warning extended through Sunday. Heavy rain and potential flooding expected in low-lying areas.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

Another bend in the road. No service.

She hadn’t passed another car in at least twenty minutes. The woods had grown thick now—heavy-limbed pines and oaks, Spanish moss hanging like tired silk in the heat. She glanced at the fuel gauge again. Still hovering over halfway.

She felt the sputter before she heard it.

A subtle lurch beneath her foot.

She frowned.

Tried the gas. The car responded, barely.

Another sputter. A deeper one.

“Don’t you dare,” she muttered.

One more lurch, and the engine gave a full-body shudder. Dashboard lights blinked. The wheel stiffened in her hands.

She coasted as far as she could, off to the side of the road near a break in the trees. A mailbox stood askew next to a gravel path, half-swallowed by weeds. A rusted metal gate blocked the way.

Sakura stared at it. At the dashboard.

The gas gauge still said half.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered.

She turned the key. Nothing.

Once more. Just a click.

Then her phone vibrated in its mount, screen flashing a warning:

Temperature too high. Cooling down.

The screen went black.

She let her head fall forward against the wheel.

“Perfect.”

The car was dead.

Sakura sat behind the wheel with her hands still on it, like maybe if she stayed very still, the whole thing would undo itself. Like she could glitch back five minutes and coast through whatever the hell this was.

But no. The engine had made its decision, and the screen on her dash blinked at her once—like it was shrugging—before going black.

The hazard lights ticked on.

Click. Click. Click.

The sound was too loud in the silence.

She exhaled slowly and looked out the windshield.

Gravel shoulder. Low fence line. Thick woods stretching off in every direction. A dented mailbox to the left with peeling numbers—just three of them, sun-bleached to the point of unreadable. Beyond it, a closed gate. Rusted metal, chained at the top. The path it blocked curved out of sight, flanked by tall grass and trees that leaned too close together, like they were whispering.

Sakura rubbed her thumb against the heel of her palm and sat back in the seat.

“Okay,” she said to no one. “Okay. It’s fine.”

The car was old. She’d inherited it from her roommate when he’d moved overseas, and it had already had over 200k on it by then. The gas meter had always been finicky—she knew that. She’d just… believed it this time. Wanted to believe it.

Because believing it meant she could get there without stopping.

Because stopping would’ve meant looking at the reality of her situation—at the fact that even after budgeting, even after skipping every non-essential this month, she’d barely scraped together enough for the drive, let alone anything that might go wrong.

She didn’t have money for a tow truck.

Didn’t have the bandwidth to explain that to anyone on the other end of the phone, either.

Not when she’d already gotten that text from her mom:

Don’t forget sunscreen. Be nice to Uncle Dai this time. Let the kids braid your hair if they ask—it meant a lot to them last time. ❤️

As if Sakura were ten again. As if everything was fine. As if she weren’t driving straight into a weekend of small talk and family scrutiny and polite, forced nostalgia she didn’t feel.

She stared out the windshield and tapped her fingernail against the wheel.

Okay.

The phone.

She grabbed it off the mount, held the button to wake it up. Nothing.

The screen was dark, faintly warm.

She turned it over and read the message:

Device too hot. Cooling down…

“Of course.”

She popped the glovebox, fished out a tiny foldable sunshade, and awkwardly shoved it into place against the glass. It didn’t quite fit, and it bent in the middle, but it dimmed the light a little.

The heat, though—that wasn’t stopping. Her shirt was damp. The seat under her thighs was unbearable. She shifted, trying to find a spot that hadn’t turned into a stovetop.

Outside, the cicadas buzzed louder.

She rolled the windows down another inch, but there was no breeze.

The air was still. Heavy. Like the whole world was holding its breath.

She reached for her water bottle, only to find it had gone warm. The kind of warm that left a plasticky aftertaste. She sipped anyway, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

The smell of her own sweat was starting to rise off her collarbone.

She blinked toward the trees, squinting past the gate. Still no movement. Still no signs of life.

Just gravel and green.

Somewhere past those trees was a ranch filled with relatives she hadn’t seen since college. People who’d ask about her job. Her apartment. Her love life. People who meant well but always seemed to touch her nerves anyway.

And the worst part?

They’d be kind about it.

Too kind.

Like when she’d lost her job last year and her aunt sent that very thoughtful care package of organic soups and a scented candle labeled “new beginnings.” Like when her cousin Aimi had posted an open invitation to stay at her place “whenever, no pressure!” on the family group chat, and everyone heart-reacted it.

Like when her mom called three days after her breakup, not to say “I told you he was trash,” but just, “I made the soup you like, want to come over?”

The love in their voices made it worse.

Made it harder to admit that she didn’t have it together.

That the job she picked up last month barely covered her rent. That she’d been rationing groceries. That her check engine light had been on for six months and she just pretended it wasn’t.

She could handle people being disappointed. She didn’t know how to handle them being worried.

Worried made her feel like a failure.

And the truth was, she was tired of pretending she wasn’t one.

She looked down at her legs, the curve of her thighs sticking to the seat. Sweat glistened on the tops of her knees. The hem of her tank top was soaked through at the back, clinging to her spine.

The Kindle was still on the passenger seat, its screen half-glared but legible.

With a quiet sigh, she reached for it, propped one knee up against the console, and settled into the thick, stale heat of the car.

At least her books didn’t ask questions.

She swiped open to her current read—something filthy and gothic, with a castle full of cursed men and one fearless woman with a knife under her pillow and a biting problem.

Sakura read two paragraphs before her mind wandered.

She couldn’t focus.

Her shirt stuck in places it shouldn’t. Her hairline felt like it was sweating from inside. Her bra was a swamp.

She threw the Kindle down gently, opened the door, and climbed out.

The world outside was brighter somehow—like the air itself was white-hot. She shielded her eyes, then turned in a slow circle. Not a single car had passed since she broke down. Not one.

That was the risk of back roads.

No tolls. But no traffic, either.

No help.

Just her and the bugs and whatever lived down that long gravel path.

She wiped her arms, then peeled the tank top over her head and tossed it through the open window. Her bralette was damp, but not as bad. She could breathe.

She leaned against the car and let the sun bake her for a second.

Then crossed to the gate.

It wasn’t tall. Maybe four feet. Chain-link, but older. The kind that squeaked when you touched it. She wrapped her fingers around the top rail and looked down the path again.

Still nothing.

No dogs. No wind. No signs of movement.

Her palms itched.

She could wait. She could just sit here. Maybe the phone would cool off in another ten minutes. Maybe a car would come by. Maybe her aunt would check in again.

Or maybe she’d be stuck here all day.

She dropped her forehead to her arm and closed her eyes.

The sweat on her skin felt like it was boiling.

And for the first time since this mess started, Sakura felt it—really felt it.

That soft tug of panic.

Not the loud kind. Not the dramatic kind.

The quiet, creeping kind that curled low in her belly and said:

You’re alone. You have no signal. And no one knows where you are.

A bird cried out in the trees behind her. Sharp. Sudden.

She flinched.

Then laughed once. Short. Bitter.

“Jesus,” she muttered, and turned back toward the car.

Just in time to hear it.

The low rumble of tires on gravel.

Steady.

Approaching.

She froze.

And slowly turned toward the sound.

The sound came slow.

Tires crunching on gravel. A low engine hum. Measured. Steady.

Not the kind of sound that rushed. It didn’t growl like a diesel or chatter like a beat-up sedan. It rumbled—like thunder caught in the throat of something older, something that didn’t need to prove itself.

Sakura turned.

Just beyond the gate, a black pickup truck had come to a stop halfway up the gravel road. The kind with a boxy front and squared mirrors, like it had been made to survive things. A man sat behind the wheel, one arm draped lazily out the open window, fingers curled against the door.

She couldn’t see much at first—just a silhouette. Sunglasses. A mess of silver hair, disheveled by heat and wind. Long fingers tapping once against the metal. Watching.

Her pulse kicked.

She blinked, turned quickly, and popped the hood of her car.

It creaked loudly.

She bent forward into the shadow it made, as if she were checking something, as if she hadn’t just been caught half-dressed and sweating in the middle of a nowhere road like a raccoon with a book problem.

She could hear the truck’s door open. The crunch of boots on gravel.

She didn’t look.

A beat of silence. Two. Then—

“You okay over there?”

Deep voice. Lazy rasp. Not unkind.

She didn’t look up.

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “All good.”

Another step. The scrape of metal—the sound of the gate latch shifting.

“Looks like you’re in a bit of a bind.”

“I’ve got it,” she said, crouching slightly, as if that made her more convincing. “Just letting it cool down.”

A pause.

“Ah.”

Another few slow footsteps. Still behind her. Still unseen.

“Want a second opinion?”

“No, thanks,” she called, a little too brightly. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Can’t get through the gate if you’re stuck in front of it.”

Her face flushed.

Behind the hood, she adjusted her stance and pretended to examine the battery like it was about to confess something.

“What happened?”

She stayed bent over.

“I’m trying to figure that out.”

Silence again. Then something subtle shifted in his tone. Humor, almost—but low, like it hummed just under the surface.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Not the starter?”

“I mean…” She hesitated. “It could be. It’s… not starting.”

The pause that followed felt too long.

She could feel him smiling.

“You check the terminals?”

“Yes.”

“Coolant?”

“Yup.”

“Spark plugs?”

She squinted at the engine and gently poked a random wire.

“Totally.”

Another few beats.

“Did you try the flux capacitor?”

She straightened. The hood slammed down with a metallic clunk.

She marched around it, eyes narrowed, tank top forgotten inside the car, skin flushed and gleaming from the sun. Her bralette was soaked through at the center, clinging to the curve between her breasts. Her shorts had ridden up, sticking slightly at the crease of her thighs. Her hair was frizzed out around her face, curls damp at the nape of her neck, and one streak of sunscreen had clearly failed along her collarbone where she was turning visibly pink.

Her hands were on her hips. Her shoulders were taut. She was breathing hard—not from the walk, but from sheer, exhausted indignation.

She looked like a woman who had been trying very hard to keep her shit together, and had just officially hit her limit.

And Kakashi—

Kakashi took her in with one quiet, unmoving breath.

There was something distinctly not amused in his eyes now.

Not lust, not yet. But something more elemental. Recognition. Surprise. That subtle, instinctual stillness that happens when a man sees something beautiful and real and doesn’t know what to do with it.

Because she was beautiful. Not polished, not posed. Not the kind of beauty meant for cameras.

But real.

Sun-flushed and raw, with sweat glinting off her sternum and a bag of books still visible through the window behind her. She looked like she’d walked out of some old Southern myth—feral and stubborn, lips parted in breathless fury, eyes burning with heatstroke and pride.

And she was glaring at him like he’d just asked her if she needed help finding the gas pedal.

“Wow,” she said, voice flat. “Hilarious.”

Kakashi blinked once. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“If you don’t mind,” she went on, sweeping a damp curl back from her face with the back of her wrist, “I’m busy. And I don’t need help.”

He scratched his chin slowly. His hand was tanned, knuckles rough. A faint scar near the thumb.

“I believe you,” he said.

She stared.

“I mean, clearly,” he added, gesturing toward the hood. “You’ve got this handled.”

She crossed her arms. Immediately regretted it. Her skin was tacky with sweat, and now she just felt sticky and annoyed.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her.

“Phone dead?” he asked.

She hesitated.

“Just cooling down.”

“Mm.”

Another pause.

“I can call you a tow truck.”

“No need.”

“You sure?”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Okay.” He held his hands up. “Not trying to push.”

He stepped back once, toward the gate. His boots were dusty. Worn. The jeans he wore were dark and heavy-looking for this kind of heat, but he didn’t seem bothered.

She realized, absently, that she hadn’t seen a ring.

Not that it mattered.

He reached for the gate latch again, started to lift it.

Paused.

Looked back over his shoulder.

“You’re gonna sit out here all day?”

She shrugged, still hugging herself against the sun.

“I’ve got water. And books.”

His brow arched above his sunglasses.

“…You one of those doomsday types?”

She rolled her eyes.

He smiled again—small, but amused.

“Suit yourself.”

He opened the gate. It creaked wide. He stepped halfway through, then paused, one hand on the hinge, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

“You sure you’re good?”

Sakura blew a curl from her face.

“I’m sure.”

He studied her another beat. Nodded once.

“All right,” he said.

Then he slipped back into the truck and disappeared down the gravel path, leaving her in silence once more.

He should’ve kept driving.

Kakashi told himself that as he rolled slow down the gravel drive, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose out the window. He eased around the first curve, out of her line of sight, and stopped just before the split in the trees where the light broke through in thick amber shafts.

He didn’t turn off the engine.

Didn’t check his mirrors.

Just… sat there. Listening to the tick of the motor cooling under the hood and the cicadas screaming through the woods like they were trapped in their own bodies.

She was still behind him, that girl.

He couldn’t remember the last time something caught his attention like that. Not beauty—not exactly. He’d seen plenty of that. But something else. Something about her particular flavor of fuck this mixed with the kind of pride that kept people stranded longer than they needed to be.

Her eyes were fierce. Her mouth sharp. She looked like she was five seconds from throwing a wrench at his face and six seconds from crying. He’d seen the type before. Grew up around women like that. His mother had been one of them.

He leaned forward and watched through the side mirror as her blurry form moved around the car—grabbing something off the seat, then tossing it down again. Flustered. Hot. Pacing in a space too small for pacing.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

He let the truck idle a little longer.

Then, with a sigh, popped the door open and stepped out.

Dust shifted under his boots as he walked back through the gate. She didn’t look up at first—too busy wrestling with the crumpled sunshade, trying to wedge it back into place with the kind of stubborn grace only a woman trapped in a melting car could manage.

She had her hair up now. Somewhat. Wisps stuck to her cheekbones and the back of her neck. Her face was flushed. That same bralette darkened in new places, sweat gathering where her skin met itself.

He stopped a few feet away and braced his hands on his hips, cocking his head.

“Got a lot of fight in you,” he said, “for someone who knocked on my door and ran before I had a chance to say hello.”

Her head snapped toward him.

She squinted. Blinked once.

“Oh,” she said, dryly. “You’re still here. I barely noticed.”

That pulled a sharp laugh from his chest.

Low. Genuine.

“Well,” he said, “I’d hate to get in the way of your suffering.”

She glared, wiping the back of her wrist across her lip.

“I wasn’t—”

He raised a brow.

She shifted her weight and pointed vaguely at the gate. “My GPS just… recalculated. Thought maybe there was a house down there.”

“Your GPS sent you to a chained gate in the middle of a forest.”

“It’s very advanced,” she muttered.

He smiled again.

She crossed her arms like she regretted speaking at all.

“Don’t you have something to do?” she asked. “You can go. I’m fine.”

“You’ve said that.”

“And it’s still true.”

He nodded slowly, then glanced down the road. “Storm’s supposed to roll in this afternoon. You planning on riding it out in the oven?”

“I’ve got windows down.”

“You’ll get cooked before the clouds break.”

“Better than talking to you.”

“Now that’s just rude.”

She didn’t answer.

He studied her for another beat, then rubbed the back of his neck.

“You got a phone?”

“It’s—yeah. It overheated. It’ll cool off.”

“You want to use mine? Call someone?”

Her jaw clenched.

“Cop, maybe?” she offered instead, weakly.

Kakashi squinted. “You think the police are going to help push your car into town?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “It’s what they’re there for.”

He gave her a long, flat look. “You ever met a rural cop?”

She exhaled hard and turned away.

He stepped closer to the car and glanced inside. Her bag was in the passenger seat, slumped over. The corner of a paperback stuck out—black cover, red letters, a naked man with horns. He didn’t comment.

Instead, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone.

“I can call my brother,” he said. “He’s got the rig to pull a car like this. Hitch it and take you into town.”

Her head turned, slow.

“How far’s town?”

“‘Bout an hour.”

She looked back at the road ahead—empty, bright, relentless.

“…That’s fine. I’ll just wait. I’ll figure something out.”

“You sure?”

She nodded.

He dialed anyway.

“Suit yourself.”

He stepped a few paces off to the side, thumbed the screen, and lifted the phone to his ear.

Ringing.

Then—

“Yo.”

“Hey. You in the truck?”

“Yeah, heading back from the mill. What’s up?”

“Got a girl stranded on 1847. Car’s dead. Phone overheated.”

“Shit. That road even open?”

“Dry for now.”

“I’d come, but I just passed the creek near the ridge. Rain’s already hitting out here. Visibility’s shit. If I try to tow anything right now, I’m likely to slide into a tree.”

Kakashi glanced up at the sky. Still bright. Still cloudless here. But he could feel the shift. The air had gone heavier in the last ten minutes. It smelled different now—wet dirt on the horizon.

“Alright,” he said. “Get safe. I’ll figure it out.”

“Want me to call Asuma?”

“I’ll ask.”

He hung up and turned back.

She was sitting in the car again, legs out the door, elbows on her knees.

“Well?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

“Storm’s already hit his end. Says the road might not hold much longer once it starts coming down.”

“So?”

“So if you’ve got someone else who can come get you, now would be the time.”

She opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Her throat bobbed once.

He didn’t press. Just leaned on the side of the car and waited.

After a moment, she said, “It’s fine. They’re already at the ranch. They’re not coming back for me.”

Kakashi studied her.

Then said, voice low, “Alright.”

He tapped the hood of her car twice. “I’ll get the chain off the gate. You wanna try rolling it out of the way, I’ll help push.”

She looked up at him—sweaty, tired, maybe more grateful than she wanted to be.

“…Okay.”

He gave a short nod.

Then walked toward the gate.

He undid the chain in two motions, letting it clink down against the gate with a rusted rattle. The metal squeaked open beneath his hand, swinging wide enough for the car to pass if it had the will to move—which it didn’t.

Kakashi turned and found her watching him from the driver’s seat, legs still braced outside the open door like she hadn’t fully committed to either staying or getting out.

“Name’s Kakashi,” he said, brushing his hands on his jeans. “By the way.”

She blinked. Her mouth twitched like she wasn’t sure if that was a threat, a favor, or just a loose fact he thought she needed.

“…Sakura,” she said after a beat.

He nodded, then jerked his chin toward the sky. “Storm’s moving in fast. You’re welcome to wait inside till Obito gets clear.”

She immediately shook her head. “I’m good here.”

Kakashi sighed.

He reached behind him, into the back pocket of his jeans, and pulled out the small black-handled knife he kept clipped to his wallet. Flicked it once open. Walked forward a few paces and let it clatter onto the gravel at her feet.

She stared down at it.

Then back at him.

“…Are we dueling?” she asked, deadpan.

He couldn’t help the laugh that ripped out of him. Sharp, surprised, bright in his chest.

“No,” he said, voice still amused. “You made it pretty clear you don’t trust me, which is fair. I’m a stranger. And a man.”

She arched a brow, still unmoving.

“So,” he went on, “if you feel even remotely worried, or weird, or like I’m going to pull anything—go ahead and stab me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

She bent, picked it up. Tested the weight. It was light, but solid.

“Like… the smallest reason?”

“Yes.”

She paused. Twisted it slowly in her fingers. “You want me to hurt you?”

He met her gaze, expression unreadable. “No. I want you to feel safe.”

The cicadas had gone quieter now, their scream replaced by the distant low belly-growl of thunder, miles off but rolling closer.

She looked at the knife. Then at him.

Something shifted in her mouth—a ghost of a grin.

“What if I’m the danger?” she asked. “What if I stab you because I’m a serial killer?”

Kakashi snorted. “Then do me the kindness of letting me finish a beer before carving me up. And take care of my dog, would you?”

That startled a real smile out of her.

It was quick, reluctant, but it softened her face like a drop of honey in strong tea. Her eyes were still wary, but there was humor under it now. Interest, even.

She looked at the knife one last time, then tossed it back down at his feet.

It landed point-down in the dirt with a soft thunk, tip wedged perfectly upright.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll stay here.”

He looked at her, at the knife, at the sweat still clinging to the curve of her jaw.

“In your car.”

“Yes.”

“In the rain.”

“Yes.”

“You’re really committed to this bit.”

“I am,” she said primly, “as you are to yours.”

Kakashi scratched his temple, then bent down to retrieve the knife.

The wind had picked up. Not much—but enough to stir the tips of the grass. The air was shifting now. That weird charged feel like something was watching, or waiting, or both.

“You’ll regret it,” he said mildly, slipping the knife back into his pocket. “Give it another twenty minutes.”

She leaned back in her seat, defiant, eyes sharp.

“I’ve regretted worse.”

He smirked.

Then stepped away, shaking his head, and left her there—sitting in the hot breath of a dying car, arms crossed, pride intact, waiting for the storm to prove her wrong.

It had started slow—soft taps against the roof like moths knocking.

Sakura didn’t notice at first. She was curled sideways in the driver’s seat, the Kindle dimmed to save battery, one leg bent and tucked under the other, her foot jammed awkwardly between the seat and door. The windows were cracked just wide enough to let in a whisper of air, which was now thick and cold and wet-smelling.

She was on book four.

Something about a cursed bloodline and a vigilante wolf who could only be calmed by rutting his mate into submission. She wasn’t really reading it—her eyes kept sliding off the page. Her shirt had been sacrificed hours ago. Her bralette had cooled and dried and was now clammy in a way she couldn’t fix without stripping entirely. Her stomach growled. Her mouth was dry.

The rain got louder.

She blinked and looked up from the page. It was coming down in full now—sheets of it, hammering the roof, the windshield, the trees. Water pooled along the road’s edge, rising in slow ripples.

Sakura exhaled.

Her phone was face-down on the console. She picked it up.

The screen flickered.

A miracle.

She thumbed it open and checked her texts—nothing new. One bar of service. GPS still circling. She tried sending her aunt a message, but it didn’t go through.

She leaned her head back against the seat and stared at the ceiling.

Ten more minutes. Then she’d go.

She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until the thunder cracked loud enough to wake her.

She jerked upright, heart racing. The car was fogged inside. Her knees ached. Her mouth tasted stale. It was still raining—harder now. The kind of rain that moved sideways. That blurred the trees and turned gravel to mud.

Sakura rubbed her eyes.

Then opened the door, stepped into the storm, and made for the gate.

Her sneakers were soaked in seconds. The water ran down her back, slid into her waistband. She climbed the gate and jogged the short path to the porch.

By the time she knocked, her hair was plastered to her scalp and her shorts clung like second skin.

The door opened before she could second-guess herself.

Kakashi leaned on the frame, barefoot in a black t-shirt and low-slung gray sweats, a cold beer in one hand. His hair looked even wilder damp, like it couldn’t decide which direction to spike.

He raised a brow, then gave her a grin like he’d been waiting.

“How goes it, killer?”

Sakura pushed wet strands off her face.

“Have you heard from your brother?”

“Last I checked,” he said, taking a sip, “they’re locked down on his end. Power’s flickering. Roads are flooding. Real fun.”

“…Oh.”

She hesitated.

Then cleared her throat. “Would it be okay if I just… stayed here?”

His smile stretched wider. “What a lovely idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

She winced. “Shit—forget it. I’ll just—”

She turned, half-shuffling toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” he called.

“My stuff. I left my phone, and books, and clothes in the car—”

“You stay here.” He passed his beer to the side table. “I’ll grab them.”

Before she could protest, he reached behind him, pulled the same knife from earlier out of his waistband, and flipped it open with a soft click.

He held it out to her, handle-first.

“It flicks out fast. Should be easy to stab me.”

Sakura blinked, soaked and breathless.

She took it slowly.

“Okay…”

He gave her a dry look. “Or should I be asking you for lessons? Since you’re the serial killer.”

She smirked. “Is this how you flirt?”

“No,” he said, stepping backward into the rain. “This is how I keep my internal organs intact.”

She watched him jog down the path, dark shirt sticking to his back, and leaned against the porch post with the knife loose in her hand.

Kakashi’s POV

The rain stung.

Not cold, but hard—pelting his shoulders and soaking through his clothes in seconds. He reached the car, popped the door, and slid into the driver’s seat, dripping and breathing a little too hard for someone pretending not to care.

The first thing he saw was the phone. He grabbed it.

The second thing he saw was the bag.

Canvas. Heavy. Fraying at the seams.

He reached down and hauled it onto his lap.

Inside: paperbacks.

Dozens of them.

He blinked.

“Oh… good heavens,” he muttered.

He picked one up at random. Gold-lettered title. Bare-chested alpha with claw marks down his ribs. He flipped to the middle.

“His growl rolled through the cave as he pressed her thighs apart with his knees. Her heat called to him—slick and begging—and he bent low, tongue dragging over her swollen clit before he buried his cock in her with one slow, brutal thrust that made her scream.”

Kakashi blinked once. Twice.

“Jesus.”

He picked up another.

This one darker. Blood-red cover. A man in a half-mask. Leather gloves.

He opened to a page near the back.

“She whimpered against the gag, wrists bound to the headboard. The man’s breath was hot on her inner thigh. Then his tongue—wet, unrelenting—found her, and she sobbed. ‘Good girl,’ he whispered. ‘Take it. Take it until you break.’”

Kakashi stared.

Then closed the book very slowly.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m gonna need the knife.”

He gathered her phone, her duffle, and the bag of porn.

Then made the run back.

She was waiting under the porch overhang when he arrived—wringing water from her braid, knife still clutched in one hand.

He dropped the duffle and her phone beside her feet.

Then dropped the bag.

Hard.

She looked down.

Then up at him.

He was grinning.

“So,” he said, brushing rain from his face, “maybe I need the knife. With all that filth you’re carrying around.”

Her face went hot. “It’s not—! They’re good stories.”

“Oh, sure. Deep plots. Very literary.”

“They are!”

“You dog-ear all the breeding scenes?”

“I will stab you.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

She picked up the bag and hugged it defensively.

“You read two lines and now you’re a critic?”

“I read two scenes,” he said, “and I think I’ve seen god.”

She rolled her eyes, grinning despite herself.

He stepped closer, arms crossed, still dripping.

“You gonna stab me now?” he asked.

“Depends. You gonna shut up?”

“Not likely.”

She sighed and turned toward the door.

He followed.

And as they stepped inside, the storm behind them swallowed the last of the daylight.

Sakura stood just inside the doorway, dripping and vaguely stunned.

Kakashi’s house wasn’t what she expected. Not exactly rustic—nothing mounted on the walls or overly masculine—but not overly polished either. It was quiet. Lived-in. Dim, with warm wood floors and soft light filtering in through gauzy curtains. A single low bookshelf near the couch was stacked with paperbacks, half-crushed cardboard boxes, and a few unframed paintings leaning against the wall. The kind of clutter that said he was either always in the middle of something or didn’t care enough to pretend otherwise.

And it smelled… good.

Like rain-soaked pine, cedar soap, and coffee that had gone cold hours ago.

Kakashi set her duffle by the stairs, ran a hand through his damp hair, and nodded down the hallway.

“Come on. I’ll show you the room.”

She followed, fingers still curled around the knife he’d given her, bag of smut slung over one shoulder like a badge of shame. He didn’t mention it.

The guest room was small but clean. Cream walls, a dark metal bedframe, and a soft cotton quilt that looked handmade. There was a small dresser, a nightstand with a chipped ceramic lamp, and a power strip waiting like an offering near the bed.

“The bathroom’s across the hall,” Kakashi said, gesturing. “Towels in the cabinet. Door sticks sometimes, just give it a nudge.”

She nodded.

“I’ll be quick.”

“No rush,” he said, already turning away. “You’ve been cooking all day, then got hit with a damn monsoon. Take your time.”

Then he disappeared back toward the kitchen, socked feet soundless on the floor.

Sakura lingered in the doorway a moment before stepping into the bathroom.

The lights were warm. The mirror was fogged from humidity. The towels smelled faintly of detergent and woodsmoke.

She peeled off her bralette, grimaced at the smell, and turned on the water.

It came alive in a loud hiss—hot, fast, glorious.

She stood under it for a full minute before moving. Just letting it pummel her shoulders, her neck, her scalp. Steam wrapped around her like a second skin. The aches in her calves unwound. Her jaw finally relaxed. She ran her hands through her hair and watched dirt and sweat circle the drain.

It felt like pressing pause.

Like standing in someone else’s life.

By the time she stepped out, she was pink from heat and half-dazed. She dried off, wrapped a towel around her body, and opened her bag to dig for clothes. She settled on loose cotton shorts and an oversized tee—an old university shirt that had faded almost white.

She opened the bathroom door slowly, still toweling her hair.

And froze.

Kakashi’s voice, low and calm, drifted from the kitchen.

“Yeah. I told her she could wait it out here. Obito, it’s bad. The road past the creek’s already flooded—no one’s coming through tonight.”

She crept to the corner and peeked.

He was leaned against the counter, phone to his ear, one arm crossed over his chest. His other hand rubbed the back of his neck. His hair was still damp. His shirt clung at the shoulders. The muscles in his arms shifted subtly as he moved.

She pulled back and waited until his voice dropped again—something quieter, harder to catch—before stepping into the hall.

He looked up as she entered.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

He ended the call and slid his phone into his back pocket.

“Storm’s getting worse. Obito says the coast’s already getting slammed. Power’s out in parts of town. Debris on the roads.”

Sakura’s stomach tightened.

“Is everyone okay?”

“As far as I know,” Kakashi said, “but no one’s getting in or out tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, either.”

She nodded slowly.

The quiet stretched.

Kakashi tilted his head.

“You hungry?”

She blinked. “Kind of. Yeah.”

“I made biscuits and gravy.”

“…For dinner?”

He gave her a slow, amused blink. “I don’t let the man define what I eat and when.”

She laughed—soft, tired, startled.

“Fair enough.”

He moved toward the kitchen, motioned to the table.

“Sit. I’ll plate you.”

The table was small, set for one, but clean. A candle—half-melted—burned in a short glass jar near the salt shaker. She sat down, and the chair creaked slightly beneath her.

Kakashi moved like he was used to being alone in the kitchen. No unnecessary motion. One hand sliding into the drawer for a fork. The other lifting a pan lid with casual grace. He spooned creamy, pepper-flecked gravy over two golden biscuits and slid the plate in front of her, then leaned back against the counter with his own.

She looked up to thank him.

And got a full look at him.

Barefoot, still damp, shirt clinging slightly to his chest. Not ripped—but cut. Lean muscle, the kind built from manual work. Forearms dusted with pale hair, veins visible where his sleeves were pushed up. His face was sharp but soft around the edges—angular jaw, a faint scar above one brow, mouth curved like it always had a secret. His nose looked like it had broken once. Maybe twice.

And his eyes—

They were the color of wet ash. Pale, intelligent, patient. The kind of eyes that didn’t just look, but read.

She swallowed a too-large bite of biscuit.

He tilted his head.

“So,” he said, “what brings you all the way out here besides muling porn?”

Sakura choked.

“Jesus—don’t say it like that!”

His smile tugged wider. “What would you prefer? Curating smut? Escorting erotica?”

“Oh my god.”

“Smuggling kink?”

She threw her napkin at him.

He caught it one-handed.

“I’m going to stab you.”

He grinned. “You already had the chance.”

She gave him a look, then exhaled, shoulders dropping.

“I was going to a family reunion,” she said. “On my mom’s side. My aunt owns this ranch way out past town.”

“You were driving into that?”

“Didn’t think it would hit this soon.”

Kakashi nodded slowly.

“And what are you doing all the way out here?” she asked, arching a brow. “This where you hide the bodies?”

“I’m a private guy.”

“Oh, sure. Nothing says private like going through a stranger’s library of filth.”

He raised his hands in mock defense.

“You left it unlocked.”

“You sat in the driver’s seat.”

“I was sheltering from the rain,” he said solemnly. “And the smut called to me.”

She snorted.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, chewing slowly.

“You always carry that many books?”

“I like options.”

He smiled.

She dipped her biscuit in gravy and tried not to notice the way his legs looked stretched out under the table. Or the way he rolled his fork between his fingers when he was thinking. Or the way he was still watching her like she was more interesting than the storm.

The rain tapped hard against the windows.

And for the first time all day, Sakura didn’t feel stranded.

She felt… caught.

On purpose.

The rain hadn’t let up.

If anything, it hit harder now—smearing sideways across the windows in loud gusts. The power flickered once. Then again. The kitchen dimmed for half a second before stabilizing.

Neither of them moved.

They were still at the table. Kakashi half-reclined in his chair, one ankle propped lazily over the opposite knee. Sakura had finished eating but hadn’t stood yet, hands curled around the empty mug he’d poured water into before sitting down with his own plate. The air between them had shifted. Loosened. Slowed.

“So…” he said, tone casual. “This family reunion. How’re we feeling about it?”

Sakura made a face.

“Does mild dread and full-body cringe count as a feeling?”

“Very legitimate feeling.”

“Honestly, I only agreed because my mom made me feel guilty and I figured I could fake-smile through one weekend of small talk and passive-aggressive comments about my life choices.”

He nodded slowly.

“I once told an aunt I was a bounty hunter just to shut her up.”

“Seriously?”

“I got her to stop asking about marriage, didn’t I?”

Sakura snorted. “So what do you actually do?”

“I used to do contracting. Carpentry. That kind of thing. These days it’s more private handyman work, here and there.”

“And people find you all the way out here?”

“If they need me enough.”

She gave him a look.

He stood and walked to the sink, rinsed his plate lazily.

“You want some water?” he asked over his shoulder.

She hesitated. “Do you have anything stronger?”

He glanced back, smirking. “You gonna poison me?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one worried about that?”

“With your reading history?” He dried his hands. “No. I should definitely be worried. In fact—” He scanned the table. “Where’s my knife?”

She burst into laughter.

He opened a cabinet and pulled down two short glasses. “Whiskey or wine?”

She blinked. “You have both?”

“I’m a man of taste and impulse. Pick your poison.”

“Whiskey. If I’m staying in the woods with a stranger during a storm, I want it to feel like a noir film.”

“Attagirl.”

He poured.

She watched as he handed her the glass, knuckles brushing hers. He sat back down, forearms resting on the table, the whiskey gold in his palm.

She swirled hers thoughtfully.

“So,” she said, “if you live this far out, how often do you go grocery shopping?”

“Once a month. Maybe twice if I’m feeling social.”

“And that doesn’t cost a fortune?”

“It does. But peace and quiet has its price.”

She tilted her head. “So it’s just you out here?”

He lifted a brow, sipped.

“Yes.”

“…No one else?”

“No one else,” he said, voice low, amused. “Which means there’d be no witnesses.”

Sakura choked on her whiskey.

He watched her, eyes lazy. “You’re surprisingly calm for someone being lured into a potential murder cabin.”

“Oh, I’m very much rethinking my life right now.”

“Good. I like to keep things exciting.”

The silence stretched for a breath. Then he grinned.

“So you’re an avid reader.”

She groaned. “You’re not letting that go, huh?”

“I just need to understand the appeal.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why not? Maybe you’ll convert me.”

“You? You don’t seem like the kind of man who wants to be converted.”

He leaned back. “Try me.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“It’s the plot,” she said finally.

He didn’t blink.

“…All eight inches of it?”

Her cheeks flushed instantly. “Oh my god—”

He laughed—really laughed. Full and raspy and real.

She pressed her palm to her face. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

She groaned. “You read the most hardcore ones, didn’t you?”

“I read what fate handed me.”

She jabbed a finger at him. “Those are not representative of the genre.”

“Sure, sure. But let me recap what I remember: growling, bondage, multiple orgasms, a man with a muzzle eating a woman alive—”

“It was a mask, and he was gentle!”

He stared at her, eyebrows slowly rising.

She rolled her eyes, laughing despite herself. “Ugh.”

He sipped his whiskey, lips curved.

“You’re fun when you’re flustered,” he murmured.

She met his eyes—and the smile wavered at the edges. Just a little.

The space between them shifted again.

Outside, thunder cracked.

Inside, her breath caught in her chest and refused to move

The lights gave out just after she finished her whiskey.

A single flash. A low click. Then darkness.

Sakura froze with her hand halfway to the rim of her glass.

“…That normal?”

Kakashi didn’t even flinch.

“Out here? Very.”

She turned toward him.

In the dark, he was a silhouette—sharp jaw, broad shoulders, pale hair catching what little moonlight made it through the storm.

He stood without a word and moved across the room, barefoot and sure-footed. A moment later, the flick of a match. Then the glow of a candle lit his face from below.

His expression was relaxed. Focused.

He lit another. Then a third.

Soft, golden light began to bleed into the space, carving shadows across the wood floor and the lines of his throat. The table between them flickered with motion.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “Not bad.”

Sakura blinked, still adjusting to the quiet. The real quiet now. No fridge hum. No overhead buzz. Just the rain. The storm pressing like a hand against the windows. The low crackle of a candle wick.

She drew her knees up into the chair and hugged them lightly, arms looped around her legs.

“…Why do you live out here alone?” she asked.

Kakashi glanced at her over his shoulder.

“Straight to the deep cuts, huh?”

She tilted her head. “It’s just—this place is nice. You cook. You’ve got extra towels. Feels like someone should live here with you.”

He gave a low chuckle and sat back down, glass in hand.

“You sound like my grandmother.”

Sakura rolled her eyes and leaned into the table. “Ugh. Don’t even. That’s all I hear.”

She twisted her voice into a high, nasal warble:

“‘Sakura, you’re almost thirty—when am I going to have nieces and nephews? Sakura, you should find a nice man with a real job, stop reading that filth and settle down—’”

Kakashi’s eyes crinkled.

“She ever read one of the books?”

“She picked one up once. I still have PTSD.”

He grinned. “They don’t get it. It’s a lifestyle.”

“Exactly,” she said, winking. “Like Clooney, baby.”

He laughed again, lower this time, thumb circling his glass.

Then—after a beat—he looked at her more directly. The humor softened behind his eyes.

“To answer your question,” he said, “no. It’s just me.”

Sakura watched him, waiting.

He exhaled slowly.

“Was in the navy. Seals. For a long time.”

Her brow lifted. “Seriously?”

He nodded once.

“Didn’t leave much room for anything else. Moved around a lot. Lived out of bags. Never thought much about settling down.”

She studied him in the candlelight.

That explained a lot. The calm under pressure. The way he moved like every step was calculated but easy. His quietness—not born of awkwardness but observation.

“So what made you stop?” she asked gently.

He ran a hand through his hair, then down the back of his neck.

“Got tired of watching people die.”

The words weren’t heavy, but they landed like stone.

Sakura went quiet. The storm hissed louder outside.

Kakashi tapped the side of his glass once. Twice. Then looked at her again.

“Didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

“No,” she said, voice soft. “Thank you. For telling me.”

They sat there for a long moment, both of them staring at their drinks, at the candles, at the flicker of shadow and light. Something between them had thinned. Gone delicate. Real.

She didn’t ask more. And he didn’t fill the silence.

They just sat.

Together.

While the storm curled closer around the house.

Kakashi was still half-lounging in the chair, fingers laced behind his head, book forgotten on the table between them. The candlelight flickered just enough to give her this golden outline—arms crossed, damp hair loose now, shirt slouched just slightly off one shoulder as she tried very hard to appear unbothered.

She was lying.

And it was adorable.

“So,” he said, drawing the words out, “go on. You were explaining…”

Sakura sniffed, lifting her chin like this was a graduate thesis defense.

“No, see—he’s the brother to the wolf king.”

“Of course.”

“But the wolf king usurped him. Years ago. Banished him to the northern wilds.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Seems rude.”

She ignored that.

“And she’s just a mortal girl—normal. She was hunting in the woods to help feed her family, and she thought he was an animal so she shot him. With an arrow. Right in the shoulder.”

Kakashi blinked. “Romantic.”

“It wasn’t—he kidnaps her. Takes her to his kingdom. It’s not even his technically, but he’s got followers, wolves loyal to him.”

“And then,” Kakashi said, smirking, “he gives her the craziest ride of her life.”

Sakura rolled her eyes. “Not right away.”

“Oh, I apologize. They build to the riding.”

“He hates her. Thinks she’s beneath him. She hates him right back. But they’re bonded. Mates. It’s ancient magic. They can’t break it.”

“Natural enemies,” he said, grinning wider now. “Predator. Prey. A tragic hate-fuck waiting to happen.”

She pointed at him. “Exactly.”

Kakashi leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“And what does absolutely wrecking some poor mortal girl do for her, huh?”

Sakura tilted her head, suddenly serious beneath the humor.

“She’s been told what to do her whole life,” she said. “How to behave. How to speak. Who she belongs to. She’s been a bargaining chip. Political collateral. Groomed to be property. And then this… wild thing shows up. Something feral. Something ancient. And he wants her.”

Kakashi didn’t move.

“She gets to say yes to it. Or no. He’s dominant, sure. But she has the choice. And the control. For the first time, she’s seen. She’s not royal. Not powerful. Just herself. And it’s enough.”

The candle popped.

Kakashi exhaled slowly, staring at her across the table.

“This is playing into a lot of kinks right now,” he muttered.

She smirked. “It enhances the relationship.”

“Oh I’m sure it does. I just don’t know how you come back from being railed like that. Like—do you go milk a cow? Write a letter to your cousin? Just move on?”

Sakura laughed, head thrown back, arms wrapping around herself as she tried not to lose it completely.

He watched her—unable to look away.

Still grinning, she leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm.

“Okay,” she said, eyes bright. “Your turn.”

He blinked. “My turn?”

“You still owe me a story.”

“Thought I paid for that already with live-action performance art.”

She gave him a look.

He leaned back, arms crossed, thoughtful.

“I got stranded on a beach in Malaysia for three days once,” he said casually. “Storm hit, boat broke down, radio was toast. We had a can of peaches and a bottle of coconut rum. One of my guys built a signal fire that accidentally lit half the shoreline.”

Sakura stared.

“…How are you this calm?”

“I’m not,” he said, sipping his whiskey. “I’m just retired.”

She snorted. “You’re the weirdest man I’ve ever met.”

“You read books where men with tails tie their girlfriends up with magic rope.”

“That was one time.”

“Was it?”

Pause.

“…No.”

Kakashi chuckled and reached for the bottle.

Kakashi stretched, rolled his neck once, then clapped his hands together with the wild glee of a man possessed.

“Alright,” he said, grinning, “onward to the next sacred text.”

“Oh god,” Sakura groaned.

But he was already moving, sliding her bag across the floor like it was loot and crouching beside it like a raccoon at a Vegas buffet.

He pulled out a thick, pink-splashed paperback with foil embossing and a half-naked man on the front surrounded by… four other half-naked men. One of them had a knife. Another had a book. All of them looked like they’d just finished doing very bad things in a medieval stable.

Kakashi flipped it over and read the back aloud:

“They were brothers by blood and by blade—and now they would share the only woman brave enough to challenge the throne they’d sworn to protect…”

He paused.

Turned to look at her.

“Sakura,” he said, scandalized. “This is a why choose reverse harem.”

She shrugged, deadpan. “And?”

He opened it like it had insulted his family.

Found a page.

Started to read:

“His mouth was hot on her neck, tongue dragging along the pulse at her throat while his hands kneaded her breasts, rolling the nipples between his thumbs like he was trying to claim them.”

Sakura inhaled sharply through her nose.

Kakashi raised his voice, dramatic now:

“Between her thighs, another cock ground up against her—thick and heavy—dragging across her soaked center again and again until her hips were bucking in time with his rhythm.”

She covered her face. “Please stop.”

“The third slid his fingers into her mouth while he kissed her, deep and slow, while one of his hands slid between her legs to find the place the second man had left soaked.”

Sakura was silently shaking with laughter.

“And the fourth… watched. From the foot of the bed. One hand stroking himself lazily, the other giving orders like he owned her.”

Kakashi closed the book with a snap.

There was a long beat of silence.

Then, flatly:

“There is absolutely no way you can explain this. This is just pure porn.”

Sakura lifted her chin. “Actually—”

He tossed his head back and laughed so hard he nearly choked.

Sakura dissolved too, curling forward and gripping her side, her face bright pink, mouth wide in delight.

Kakashi wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

“Oh my god,” he said, breathless. “You’re not serious.”

“I am! There’s world-building! There’s politics!”

“There’s group sex in the war tent!”

“There’s tension!”

He was grinning like a wolf now. “Was there ever a single chapter where she wasn’t being railed by a different configuration of swordsmen?”

She held up a finger. “There’s emotional arcs!”

“Uh huh. Between orgies?”

She gasped. “It’s about healing.”

Kakashi slammed his hand on the table. “From what?!”

She doubled over, laughing so hard she wheezed.

He watched her, caught between awe and something deeper—something warmer.

Because yeah, this was filth, but this was her—open, wild, unashamed, light pouring out of her like she hadn’t had a reason to laugh like this in a long time.

And Kakashi, who had spent most of his adult life building walls, suddenly didn’t mind that she was kicking them in.

He leaned back in the candlelight, one arm draped over the chair, watching her recover.

“Alright,” he said eventually, voice low. “Convince me.”

Sakura looked up, eyes sparkling.

“I dare you.”

The laughter had faded into something else.

Not silence—no, not with the storm still pounding and the candles still flickering—but something slower. Something heavier in the air. A weight between them, familiar but not yet acknowledged.

Sakura had her chin propped on her fist again, still grinning, her damp hair curling where it brushed her cheeks.

Kakashi was leaned back, watching her from beneath heavy lashes, one leg stretched out under the table, glass half-empty in his hand.

She was flushed from whiskey and giggles.

And maybe something else.

“You know,” she said, tilting her head, “men watch porn all the time.”

Kakashi shrugged. “Sure. Everyone does.”

“But?”

He paused, smirked. “I’m different.”

She squinted at him. “Don’t tell me you’re celibate.”

He rolled his eyes, low and dry. “No.”

“Then what?” she asked, swirling the last of her drink. “You only read, like, classic novels about love and longing and tortured devotion?”

“I like stories with depth.”

“Mmhmm. What stories?”

He took a breath.

Then, evenly: “Icha Icha Tactics.”

Sakura froze.

Then launched forward like she might flip the table.

“You absolute menace. That’s the same thing as my books!”

“I’ll have you know—”

“It’s exactly the same!”

“—that Icha Icha is a multi-volume character study—”

She groaned. “See! This is what I mean! It’s not that simple! It’s complicated! There’s layers! There’s tension!”

He blinked slowly. “Wow.”

“What?”

“You’re clutching your smut like I’m trying to take it away.”

“You were just clutching your pearls about four men and a prince!”

He sipped. Calmly.

“Compared to those books,” he said, “Icha Icha is practically the Bible.”

Sakura pretended to yawn. Loudly. “Sure. Let me guess. You only fuck in missionary, too. Lights off. No pillow under the hips.”

He grinned, slow and sharp. “That’s what the good Lord intended.”

“Oh, well. Keep your missionary, Jebidiah. I’ll stick to my filth.”

He leaned forward, eyes glinting.

“Because you’ve got four men and an alpha prince to help you forget the word vanilla?”

Sakura smirked. “If by four men and an alpha prince you mean my right and left hand, then yes.”

Kakashi barked a laugh—loud and unrestrained.

She lost it too, covering her face as she howled into her palm.

He leaned back, shaking his head.

Then, after a moment—lower, almost tenderly:

“Oh, you poor baby,” he said, mock-sympathetic. “That must be hard for you.”

Sakura froze.

Not visibly.

But something inside her brain short-circuited.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Her hand hovered halfway between her chest and the table like she’d forgotten how to move.

Kakashi caught it instantly.

The flicker. The shift.

He blinked once.

Started to say something—

But his phone buzzed against the counter, loud in the quiet.

He glanced at the screen.

Obito.

“Give me a sec,” he said, already moving toward it. “It’s my brother.”

He picked it up, voice low.

And left her there, blinking at the flickering candles and trying very hard not to think about the fact that the first man to tease her like that in years had just left her halfway wrecked over a comment and a glass of whiskey.

Obito’s call had been short.

Roads out past the river were flooded. A downed tree had taken out the main power line. No ETA on when it’d be cleared. No way anyone was getting through.

Kakashi hung up, dropped his phone back onto the counter, and returned to the table just in time to find Sakura pretending she hadn’t been checking her reflection in the back of a spoon.

He grinned and slid back into his chair.

“Well?” she asked.

“You’re stuck with me,” he said, lifting his glass again. “At least until the county figures out what to do with a few hundred gallons of standing water and a power line.”

Sakura nodded slowly. “Could be worse.”

Kakashi arched a brow. “That almost sounds like a compliment.”

She smiled over the rim of her glass. “Don’t get cocky.”

He leaned forward and reached for the bag again. “In that case—one more. Before bedtime.”

“Oh my god—”

“Consider it a bedtime story.”

She groaned as he pulled out a dark red paperback with gothic font and a man in a velvet coat on the front, fangs just visible. Lightning forked dramatically behind his head.

“Oooh,” Kakashi said, delighted. “A vampire.”

“I plead the fifth.”

He thumbed through it. Then paused.

One page corner was creased—folded with care, almost reverently.

Kakashi looked up, eyes narrowing.

“…This your favorite spot?”

Sakura’s ears turned pink. “It’s… a good scene.”

“Oh I bet it is.”

He cleared his throat, flipped the book open, and read:

“He dragged his knuckles up her inner thigh, slow as sin, breath hovering over her skin like prayer.”

Sakura swallowed.

“‘You don’t understand what you do to me,’ he whispered, fingers teasing the edge of her panties. ‘Every night, I think about your scent. About tasting it. About watching you unravel on my tongue.’”

Kakashi glanced at her. Her spine had gone stiff.

He kept going:

“His fingers found her clit, stroking with maddening patience. ‘I’ve waited a century to ruin something soft,’ he growled. ‘And you’re going to let me.’”

Sakura shifted in her seat.

“She gasped when he nipped her neck, sharp enough to make her blood sing. A finger slid inside her, slow and deliberate. She whimpered.”

Kakashi read slower now, voice low, deliberate:

“‘You’d look so fucking beautiful like this,’ he whispered, tongue dragging up her throat. ‘Weak. Needy. A mess on my cock. I want to fuck you until you forget your name, until your body only knows mine. You think you’ve known want? You haven’t even begged yet.’”

Silence.

Sakura’s breathing had changed.

She looked at him—but didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

Not before her phone buzzed, screen flickering to life for the first time since the breakdown.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Texts. Missed calls. Family group messages lighting up all at once.

She flinched like the real world had just punched through a dream.

“I—” she stood suddenly, tucking her phone to her chest. “I think I should go to bed.”

Kakashi blinked, still holding the book.

She hesitated in the doorway, brushing a damp curl behind her ear.

“Thank you,” she said, softer. “This was… really fun. And… thanks for the kindness.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just nodded once.

She slipped down the hall, door closing gently behind her.

Later — 

Kakashi’s POV

He was still at the table.

The book lay open, the candle’s glow soft over the crease in the page.

He stared at the text. Re-read the lines.

I want to fuck you until you’re dumb and drooling. Until you cry just from how deep I am.

He dragged a hand down his face.

Let me ruin you. Let me make you mine in a way that lasts longer than blood. Let me show you what I’ve waited centuries for.

He shut the book.

Hard.

Then looked at his dog, who had shuffled in and was now curled at the base of his chair.

“Well, girl,” he muttered, rubbing her head. “We’re fucked.”

The storm thundered outside.

And the warmth of her laugh still echoed through the walls.

The dream came in flashes.

Rain on her bare shoulders. Wet leaves dragging along her thighs.

She was running—feet sinking in mud, breath ragged, heart like a fist in her throat.

Someone was behind her.

Not chasing. Not quite.

But there.

The air was thick with it. With wanting.

A shadow brushing her spine.

A voice in her ear.

Her name, like a prayer.

Sakura woke with a jolt.

The ceiling was white. Still.

Rain murmured softly against the roof. The fan hummed.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand with a low series of pings—missed messages, updates, unread everything.

She sat up slowly, hair tangled, shirt clinging at the back.

It was nearly 10:00.

The guest room door creaked as she pushed it open, bare feet padding softly into the quiet house.

She found Kakashi in the living room, crouched on the rug, tugging gently at a rope toy clamped in his dog’s teeth.

He wore joggers and a sleeveless shirt, hair mussed, forearms flexing as the dog growled happily.

He looked up as she entered.

“Well, good morning, killer.”

She smiled, ducking slightly behind her coffee-colored curls. “Morning.”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” she said. A little too quickly.

He nodded once, then paused. Straightened.

“…Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Were you walking around last night?”

She blinked. “What?”

“After I went to bed—I thought I heard someone moving. You were… talking, I think. Maybe?”

The color drained from her face.

“Oh,” she said. “Shit.”

Kakashi tilted his head.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said, tugging at the hem of her shirt. “You’re not going crazy. I—I sleepwalk. And talk. Sometimes. Not all the time. It’s—it’s a stress thing. I used to do it when I was a kid, mostly when things were bad.”

He watched her, quiet.

“I guess I’ve been so wound up lately it just… happened.”

Kakashi nodded, slow. “Do I need to lock the door so you don’t wander into the woods?”

She huffed a laugh. “No. It’s usually harmless.”

He raised a brow. “Do I need to lock my door?”

That pulled a real smile from her.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I think we’re safe.”

He looked at her for another beat, then tossed the toy. His dog bounded after it.

“All things considered,” he said, “you’ve got a right to be stressed.”

Sakura’s eyes dropped. “Yeah. Past year’s been… a lot.”

He nodded. Not pushing. Just… there.

After a beat, he added, “Sorry to hear that.”

She stood a little awkwardly, arms folded now.

The weight of it suddenly pressing behind her ribs.

She hadn’t planned on saying anything else—but somehow, standing there in bare feet and someone else’s house with candle wax still melted on the table…

It came up anyway.

Kakashi glanced back at her, quiet.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked gently.

Her laugh was soft, incredulous. “You want me to trauma dump over coffee?”

“Last night was a trauma dump.”

She blinked, then flushed. “Okay, yeah—sorry about that—”

“Don’t be,” he said, grinning. “That was so much fun.”

The grin faded into something gentler.

“But,” he added, “don’t say what you don’t want to. Least of all to a stranger. I just meant—if you want to get something off your chest, I’m all ears.”

Sakura tilted her head. “You like this with all your guests?”

He snorted. “You’re the only guest I’ve ever had who brought a four-man orgy to my kitchen table.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling, then shifted her weight and looked down.

“It’s just been… a year,” she said after a moment. “Work fell through. Savings disappeared. Roommate left. My ex… didn’t.”

Kakashi stayed quiet.

“I thought I had a plan,” she said. “And then everything went sideways. And now I’m twenty-seven, living on coffee and overdraft protection, with a phone that overheats and a car that lies.”

She blinked hard.

“I didn’t mean to cry,” she muttered.

“You’re not.”

She looked up.

Kakashi gave her a small smile. “You’re just leaking a little.”

She laughed once—wetly—and wiped under her eyes.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Not making it weird.”

He looked at her a long moment.

Then tossed the dog toy again.

“You hungry?” he asked.

She nodded.

And the silence that followed wasn’t awkward anymore.

It was safe.

She hadn’t even realized she was staring at her hands until he spoke.

“You know,” Kakashi said, pushing back from the table, “you’re doing your best.”

Sakura blinked. Looked up. “What?”

He was already rising, collecting his plate, casual as anything—but his voice was steady.

“You said the past year’s been rough. But you’re still here. Still making it through. That counts.”

She scoffed before she could stop herself.

Kakashi arched a brow. “What?”

“No one else seems to think so.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “How do you mean?”

Sakura rolled her eyes, stood up from the table, and waved him off. “It’s dumb. I’m sorry—I’m just wallowing. Have you heard from Obito?”

Kakashi hesitated like he was going to say something else, but before he could open his mouth, Sakura gasped.

“Shit—my aunt! I need to call her.”

He nodded and gestured toward the living room. “Go for it. Signal’s holding for now.”

She grabbed her phone and wandered off toward the couch, chewing her lip. The call connected after three rings.

“There you are!” her aunt’s voice blared through the speaker. “We’ve been calling you since last night!”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Sakura said, shifting her weight. “The signal out here’s crap.”

“Out where?”

“I told you—I took the scenic route. I’m stuck until the storms pass. I found a house, someone’s helping me.”

“A stranger’s house? Sakura—what if they’re—”

“They’re not. He’s fine.” She kept her voice steady. “And it’s temporary.”

“Is he with you now?”

“No,” she muttered.

“I just—when do you think you’ll get here? Everyone’s been asking. Your mom’s right here, hang on—”

The shuffle of voices. Her mother’s hello. Her cousin’s chipper tone in the background. A dozen questions overlapping.

Are you coming tonight?

Will it clear up by morning?

Why didn’t you stay on the main roads?

Are you safe?

Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll call you when I know more,” she said. “Love you.”

She hung up and let her head fall back against the couch cushion with a quiet groan.

When she made her way back to the kitchen, Kakashi was tugging a belt of tools over his shoulder.

“Where’re you going?” she asked.

He cinched the strap and grabbed a folded cloth. “Thought I’d take a look at your car before the next wave rolls in. See if we can’t figure out what’s going on under the hood.”

Sakura blinked. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” he said, voice light. “Besides—if we’re gonna keep reading bedtime smut to each other, I figure I should at least pretend to be a gentleman.”

She snorted.

He glanced back at her with a grin. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Food. Coffee. Tea. Whiskey, if you want to start the day off right.”

She laughed again. “Very responsible of you.”

He winked. “Always.”

Then he whistled, and the dog trotted after him, tail wagging as they disappeared through the front door and down the steps into the brightening stormlight.

Sakura stood alone for a moment in the stillness, hand pressed to the frame of the door.

There was something strange about Kakashi.

Not bad-strange.

Just… unlike anyone else she’d ever met.

He was quiet, but not distant. Smart, but not smug.

Kind in this unbothered way that wasn’t performative—it just was. Like he had nothing to prove.

It made her feel seen in ways that unsettled her.

She wandered back to the couch and sat with her knees drawn up, staring at the screen of her phone, then let her head rest sideways on the armrest.

And out of nowhere, the memory hit—

A different living room.

A raised voice.

Her ex, pacing like a caged animal, arms flung wide.

“You don’t care about anything!” he’d yelled. “You’re cold, Sakura. It’s like talking to a wall. You never fucking react. You’re always off somewhere—reading, or zoning out, or acting like I’m not even in the room!”

She’d sat on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap. Not crying. Not speaking. Not feeding it.

“You don’t know how to feel anything,” he’d snapped. “You just—coast. You’re not passionate. You’re not even fun.”

She had felt everything, that night.

But she’d said nothing.

Just stared at her hands. Like they were foreign.

Now, here in a stranger’s home, safe from the heat and the storm and all those voices telling her she wasn’t enough—

She let herself feel the throb of it.

The ache of how long it had been since someone looked at her like she wasn’t too much or not enough.

Just a person.

Doing her best.

The rain hadn’t fully returned, but the sky was sulking.

Clouds gathered over the hills like fists, and a hush had fallen across the trees, the stillness before a storm when even the birds forget how to sing. The wind lifted and then settled. The air held its breath.

Sakura was on her second cup of lukewarm tea when she heard the dog barking.

Then the screen door creaked.

She turned her head just in time to see Kakashi shouldering it open with his hip, damp from the misting air. His shirt clung a little to his chest and collarbones, the hem darkened with rain, and his forearms were dusted with grime from the engine.

He looked like a mechanic in a romance novel.

Or worse—like someone’s fantasy.

“You’re back,” she said dumbly, still sitting on the couch, her phone forgotten beside her.

“I am,” he said, peeling the toolbelt off and hanging it on a hook by the door. His dog—ears perked and tongue lolling—trailed behind him and flopped happily onto the rug.

“And?”

Kakashi glanced at her with a crooked smile. “You wanna hear the good news or the bad news?”

Sakura groaned. “Don’t do that to me.”

“I’ll start with the good,” he said, pulling out a chair and sinking into it with a soft grunt. “Your battery’s not dead. It’s alive. Breathing. Full of dreams.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So that’s not the problem?”

“Nope.”

“…What is the problem?”

He hesitated. “Starter’s going. Maybe the solenoid. Might be moisture in the electrical system. That part I couldn’t totally check. Could be worse, could be better. Either way, it’s not gonna crank until it dries out—or until it gets replaced.”

“So that’s the bad news,” she sighed.

He nodded. “Storm’s not helping.”

“Great,” she muttered. “So I’m stranded. Again.”

“You’re not stranded,” he said. “You’re in a house. With food. And tea. And the best goddamn biscuits this side of the river.”

She smiled despite herself. “Okay, fine. Temporarily inconvenienced.”

“Atta girl.”

He reached down and scratched his dog’s ears. The room filled with the faint sound of the pup’s tail thumping.

“I was really hoping for a miracle,” she muttered, hugging her knees.

“I mean,” he said, glancing up at her. “I did get it to turn over. Once.”

Her eyes snapped to his.

“You what?”

“Not all the way. But close. I jiggled a few things. Swore at it. Did the sacred dance of the Honda gods.”

“You’re joking.”

“Would I joke about something so sacred?”

She laughed—an actual laugh, not the quiet huff she usually gave—and leaned back into the couch cushions.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For looking.”

“Anytime,” Kakashi said. Then, a little gentler: “You alright?”

Sakura nodded slowly. “Yeah. I just—I was kind of hoping to feel useful again today.”

“You are useful.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve made me laugh a dozen times,” he said, lifting his mug. “You taught me about werewolf sex. You’ve fed my dog biscuits when you thought I wasn’t looking.”

She grinned.

“And,” he added, “you’ve been very brave about your growing porn addiction. That’s courage.”

“Oh my god—”

“It takes strength.”

She groaned into her hands, but her shoulders shook with laughter.

And then the thunder cracked.

Loud. Close. Like it had reached down and snapped the sky in two.

Sakura jumped, startled. A heartbeat later, the sky opened.

Sheets of rain pelted the windows in waves. The front yard disappeared in mist. Water roared down the gutters and splashed over the porch steps. The dog gave a low woof and crawled closer to Kakashi’s feet.

“Well,” he said casually, “there goes your miracle.”

She exhaled, her palms still pressed to her face. “I hate everything.”

“Want a drink?”

“Do you have absinthe?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

“Okay,” he said, standing. “But I do have cookie butter whiskey.”

“…Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Sakura followed him into the kitchen, the storm flashing behind the windows, her pulse quickening—not from fear.

But from something else entirely.

The rain had turned torrential, streaming in rivulets down the glass like fingers. Sakura was curled on the couch, knees tucked beneath her, hands still wrapped around the mug Kakashi had handed her a few minutes earlier.

Cookie butter whiskey.

It was absurdly sweet. And warm. And weirdly comforting.

She took another sip just as her phone buzzed on the armrest beside her.

Aunt Mitsue.

Sakura stared at the screen for a second too long.

She didn’t want to answer it.

But she did.

“Hey.”

“Oh, thank god,” came her aunt’s voice, already too loud. “Sakura, are you okay? Are you still out there?”

“Yes,” she said, adjusting the phone to her other ear. “I’m fine. It’s just the weather.”

“Well, it’s been awful here too, but everyone’s finally here now. The cousins got in from Galveston this morning, and your mother—your mother’s been worried sick.”

Sakura rubbed at her temple. “I sent her a text.”

“Sweetheart, that’s not the same. She keeps asking me if I know where you are, if you’re eating, if you’re safe.”

“I’m fine.”

Her aunt hesitated, then said, too casually, “Well, listen… I didn’t want to bring this up, but…”

Sakura closed her eyes. “Don’t.”

“I just think you ought to know—he’s here.”

Her stomach dropped.

“What?”

“Daichi. He showed up this morning with Kaito and your uncle. Apparently, they were invited weeks ago. I had no idea he’d actually come, but, well—he’s been asking about you.”

Silence.

“I didn’t know what to say,” Mitsue continued. “I mean, you haven’t told us much, and I just said you were probably having one of your hard weeks again and needed space.”

Sakura bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood.

“That’s not your call.”

“I was trying to help—”

“No, you weren’t.”

She ended the call without another word.

The silence afterward was sharp. Heavy.

A beat later, Kakashi’s voice floated in from the hallway:

“You okay?”

Sakura didn’t answer at first.

He stepped into the room in dry clothes, a laptop tucked under one arm. His silver hair was damp at the tips, curling a little near his ears. The plain navy T-shirt stretched across his chest, soft and worn. He looked… grounded. Unbothered.

Like someone who didn’t rattle easily.

“You’re welcome to do whatever,” he said, easing into the opposite armchair. “TV’s got Netflix. Couch eats you alive if you sit too long, but it’s worth it. I’ve got a PlayStation if you want to kill things. Or I can put on something dumb for background noise.”

She glanced over at him. “You’re working?”

“Little bit,” he said, flipping the laptop open. “Freelance stuff. Reports, grants. I do some contract work for vet programs.”

Sakura nodded absently, still holding her drink. “That’s cool.”

He didn’t ask what the call was about. Didn’t pry.

She appreciated that.

When he disappeared into his office, Sakura let the stillness settle again.

She sat there for a while, watching the rain carve paths down the windows. Then, finally, she set her mug aside, padded down the hall to her room, and returned with one of the books from the tote—one she hadn’t touched in months.

The cover was black. The title, embossed in gold. She’d dog-eared half of it.

The story wasn’t anything revolutionary: a broken heroine with a past she wouldn’t talk about, a possessive vampire who saw through every mask she wore. But the writing—god, the writing. Every filthy, longing-filled paragraph was like someone dragging nails down the inside of her ribs.

She curled into the corner by the window and read.

“I don’t want to drink your blood,” he whispered against her thigh. “I want to crawl into you. I want to wear your heartbeat like a suit. I want to fuck the way you cry when you’re loved.”

She exhaled.

Her chest was tight.

Each line twisted something deeper.

“Let me ruin you in the quiet way. Let me kiss the ghost of every man who made you flinch. Let me love you until you forget how to hate yourself.”

Her eyes stung.

And in the space between one sentence and the next, she heard it again:

“You’re too cold, Sakura. It’s like you’re not even present. It’s like you’re a stranger in your own skin.”

Daichi’s voice, smooth and scathing, landed like a slap across her memory.

She pressed the book to her chest.

He had always said it during fights—fights he started. When she didn’t cry fast enough. When she was tired. When she asked for space. When she wanted more.

She hadn’t been cold.

She’d been holding herself together.

But he’d known how to press the softest parts of her until they bled.

She turned the page. The next scene was even filthier—something about fingers and ropes and the vampire whispering how she tasted—but she didn’t register any of it.

Because all she could hear was that goddamn voice, and all she could feel was the echo he’d left behind.

She shut the book.

And pulled her knees to her chest.

It was almost dusk when her phone buzzed again.

She was curled into the corner of the guest bed, another smut-stained romance resting spine-up beside her. The window rattled faintly with the wind. Somewhere down the hall, she could hear Kakashi’s voice—low and lazy, murmuring something to his dog.

The screen lit up.

Mom.

Her gut turned cold.

Sakura slid off the bed and padded barefoot into the hallway, then ducked into the small laundry alcove and pulled the door almost shut behind her.

The buzz went again.

And again.

She answered on the third ring.

“Hello.”

“You hung up on your aunt.”

No greeting. No warmth. Just accusation.

Sakura exhaled through her nose. “Yeah. I did.”

“Why?”

“She said something I didn’t like.”

Her mother scoffed.

“You’ve always been like this. The minute someone says something you don’t like, you run. Slam the door. Hang up. It’s childish.”

Sakura leaned against the dryer. Stared at the wall.

Her voice stayed low. Controlled.

“She told me my ex was there. That he was asking about me. And she said she didn’t know what to say. Like I’m some—some fragile little embarrassment you all have to tiptoe around.”

“Well, you kind of are acting like that, Sakura. I mean, really—this whole disappearing act of yours? No one knows where you are, or what you’re doing—”

“I told you I was leaving. I told you I needed space.”

“You didn’t say why.”

Sakura’s nails dug into her palm.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t listen.”

“Listen to what? That you’re still upset about Daichi? That you can’t just be civil and move on like an adult?”

“Civil?”

The word scraped her throat raw.

“You mean like the way he was civil when he screamed at me in front of a restaurant? When he threw my phone into the street? When he told me—your daughter—that I was cold and frigid and a waste of time?”

“You two were fighting—people say things in fights. He was under stress—”

Sakura’s voice cracked out like a whip.

“Why the fuck are you defending him?”

Silence.

Then her mother’s voice, clipped and sharp:

“Watch your mouth.”

Sakura pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. Her jaw was trembling.

“Why is he even there, Mom? Why would you let him come?”

“I didn’t invite him, sweetheart. Your uncle did. It’s a family gathering, and you’re acting like—”

“Like what?”

Her voice dropped lower. Darker.

“Like a grown woman who doesn’t want to share space with the man who tried to break her down every single day for two fucking years?”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

Sakura laughed.

A bitter, broken thing.

“Oh my god. There it is. There’s the magic phrase. Don’t be dramatic. Is that what you told yourself when you left me home alone for three days straight and said it was just a phase?”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t get to act confused. You don’t get to play the martyr now.”

“You’ve always been so angry, Sakura.”

“I wonder why,” she hissed, shaking.

“I wonder why I turned out angry—with a mother who told me I was too much every time I had a feeling. Who acted like everything I felt was a burden or an overreaction. You want to know why I needed space? Because I am so tired of being told that I am the problem for reacting to the way you all treat me.”

Her mom was silent again.

And when she spoke next, her voice was cold.

“Well. If you don’t want to come, no one’s forcing you.”

“Good,” Sakura said flatly. “Because I’m not.”

She hung up.

Her hands were shaking.

She stood there for a full minute, breathing hard, shoulders trembling, sweat beading at the back of her neck despite the fan whirring nearby.

She pressed the phone to her forehead.

Then, quietly, she turned and walked down the hall toward the kitchen.

Kakashi was there, barefoot, leaning over the stove. The smell of garlic and butter filled the space. His dog was curled at the edge of the rug, snoring.

He glanced up.

And even without asking—he knew.

He said nothing. Just held her gaze for a second, then gestured with his chin toward the bottle of whiskey on the counter.

“Pour one,” he said. “It’s on the house.”

Sakura didn’t answer.

She walked to the cabinet. Pulled down a glass. And poured until it was almost full.

She knocked back a sip.

Then another.

Then, finally—she sat.

And when he handed her a plate of steaming pasta, she said:

“Thank you.”

He just gave a slow, crooked smile.

“Anytime, killer.”

The kitchen was warm and dim, lit only by the overhead stove light and the flicker of a candle someone—him, probably—had lit on the counter. The pasta sat untouched in front of her, fork resting limp between her fingers.

She didn’t even realize how tightly she was clenching her jaw until she saw his gaze flicker over her face.

“I’m sorry,” Sakura said finally. Her voice scraped the bottom of her throat. “If you heard that. I know the last thing you want is some stranger’s drama exploding all over your house.”

Kakashi didn’t look surprised. He didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, thumb brushing the rim of his whiskey glass, and said mildly—

“I’m pretty familiar with explosions.”

Sakura gave a weak snort. She poked half-heartedly at a roasted tomato on her plate.

A beat passed in silence.

Then Kakashi added, “For what it’s worth, I don’t mind.”

She glanced up.

Their eyes met across the table.

A flicker of disbelief danced through her before she could stop it. She looked away, let the tension unravel just a little in her spine, then muttered, “Why are you so kind?”

His head tilted.

“What do you mean?”

Sakura lifted her glass, took a sip.

“Most people who live this far out—alone, private, fenced in by trees and silence—they don’t want to be kind. They want people gone. Out of sight, out of mind.” She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t exactly strike me as the neighborly type.”

Kakashi hummed, as if considering it.

Then he shrugged. “Just because I’m private and I have land doesn’t mean I’m unkind. Or that I won’t help someone who clearly needs it.”

She squinted at him.

“So what you’re saying is… other emotionally damaged women have had their beat-up Fords die dramatically in front of your gate?”

He grinned. Crooked. Sleepy. Warm.

“Only two or three.”

Sakura laughed despite herself. It cracked out of her like a sudden storm, catching her off-guard. She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes watering, shoulders shaking.

When she looked back up at him, her voice was softer.

“Seriously, though. You didn’t have to help me.”

He looked at her for a moment. Long enough that she could feel it—not just his eyes, but his attention. Like the way his dog watched a storm on the horizon.

“I wanted to,” he said. “And I’m glad I did.”

The words didn’t feel like flattery. They didn’t feel like a line.

They felt like a truth.

Something warm spread in her chest. Unfamiliar and dangerous.

She picked up her fork again, just to have something to do with her hands.

They ate in the kind of quiet that didn’t demand to be filled. That knew it was enough.

Eventually, after the dishes were cleared and the candle burned low, Kakashi gestured toward the living room.

“I’ve got movies, if you want to wind down before bed. Or games. Or more whiskey. Dealer’s choice.”

Sakura followed him without answering. Something in her chest ached—not a wound, but the way an old bruise aches when someone touches it too gently.

She sat on the couch, curled into the corner again, blanket pulled over her bare knees. Kakashi threw in a DVD—something old and vaguely noir—and settled into the other end of the couch with a beer in hand.

They watched in silence for a while. Rain whispered against the windows.

About halfway through, she heard him murmur:

“Still thinking about the call?”

Sakura’s eyes stayed on the screen.

“Yes,” she admitted.

He didn’t say anything else. Just shifted slightly, as if his body leaned toward her without even meaning to.

And in that space between them—small but significant—Sakura whispered:

“She always does this. My mom. My aunt. Even my cousin. They make me feel like I’m broken. Like every choice I make is wrong. Like needing time, or space, or even just… something different… is selfish.”

She paused.

“And then I start believing it.”

Kakashi’s voice was low. Steady.

“You’re not broken.”

Sakura swallowed. Her throat was tight.

“You don’t know me.”

“No,” he said. “But I’ve known a lot of broken people. You’re not one of them.”

The screen flickered. A black-and-white kiss. A gunshot. A siren’s wail.

And in that moment, wrapped in warmth and quiet and the slow drip of comfort, Sakura didn’t say anything more.

But she didn’t have to.

Because for the first time in a long, long while—

She felt safe.

The movie ended with a melancholy swell of strings, fading to black.

Kakashi moved first—leaned forward with a lazy groan, grabbed the remote, and flicked the screen off. Then he stood, stretching slowly, vertebrae cracking like wood shifting in the walls.

“I’ve gotta log in and knock out a bit of work before bed,” he murmured. “Won’t take long. You good out here?”

Sakura nodded.

“Yeah. I might read for a bit.”

Kakashi smiled at that.

Something soft. Familiar.

Then he disappeared down the hall toward his office.

The moment he was gone, Sakura exhaled—quiet and long, like she’d been holding her breath for an hour.

The storm outside had thinned to a drizzle, but the air still felt heavy.

Weighty.

Charged in a way that wasn’t entirely from the weather.

She stood slowly and padded barefoot back to her canvas tote, rummaging through the now-messy sprawl of dog-eared paperbacks and impulsive dollar-bin finds. She plucked one out at random—a werewolf thing, probably terrible—and slid it under her arm as she crossed to the kitchen table.

Kakashi had left the light on over it.

One of those old amber bulbs, warm like whiskey.

He was already seated again when she came in, laptop open in front of him, a mug steaming faintly at his elbow.

His reading glasses sat low on his nose.

His gray shirt clung damp across his collarbone from the humidity of the day.

He looked… comfortable.

And—dammit—hot.

Not like the glossy, broody type on her book covers.

But quiet hot.

In-the-details hot.

The soft-gray stubble on his jaw.

The faint curl of his hair around his ear.

The way his forearms looked absurdly good just resting there on the table.

He glanced up when she entered, and his mouth curved—something amused in it, something that made her pulse skip.

“Round two?” he said, nodding to her book.

“Round two,” she confirmed, sliding into the chair across from him.

Their knees didn’t touch under the table.

But they were close.

She tucked one leg beneath her and opened the book.

Tried to read.

Except she could feel him.

The occasional clack of the keyboard.

The shift of his weight.

His thumb brushing along the rim of his coffee mug.

The way he rolled his shoulders like someone used to wearing things heavier than cotton.

He didn’t talk.

Didn’t fidget.

Just worked, quiet and focused.

And every now and then—he looked up at her.

Just once.

Just briefly.

And never long enough to catch her watching him, too.

She tried to focus on her book, but the words blurred.

Something about the protagonist pinning her fated mate against a tree and threatening to bite him.

Sakura’s lips twitched.

“Something funny?” Kakashi murmured, not looking up.

“Nothing,” she said too quickly. “Just… the phrasing.”

“Oh?”

He finally glanced at her then.

And something shifted—so subtly she almost missed it.

The curve of his mouth.

The glint in his eyes.

The look that said, You’re blushing again, aren’t you?

Sakura cleared her throat and flipped the page too hard.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“That’s what makes it worse.”

He chuckled, low and soft.

Then his gaze dropped back to his screen, and he kept working.

But the tension had changed.

Gone tauter.

Finer.

Like the breath between the moment someone steps closer—

and the moment they touch.

They stayed that way for a long time.

Just the two of them, seated across a table in the quiet hush of a storm-wrapped night.

Him with his laptop.

Her with her filth.

Two people with no reason to trust each other—no reason to stay—

still not moving.

The pages didn’t turn fast.

But the feeling did.

Somewhere inside her, something began to unfold.

Sakura sat curled in her chair, legs tucked up beneath her, book open but unread.

Kakashi still sat across from her, laptop open but forgotten.

They were just… watching each other now.

Light played against the cut of his jaw.

He hadn’t shaved in a couple days. He probably hadn’t even noticed, but the salt-and-pepper stubble only added to that unsettling something about him—

something relaxed and dangerous and hard to name.

She studied the curve of his mouth.

The long fingers resting near the keys.

The lean slope of muscle under soft, worn cotton.

And then—because the quiet was suddenly too quiet—she asked:

“You get flirted with a lot, don’t you?”

His brow rose, slow and amused.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she said, pretending to read.

Kakashi snorted.

Actually snorted.

“I live off a gravel road in the ass end of nowhere, Sakura. The only thing that flirts with me out here is my mirror.”

She smiled.

“Not when you’re in town.”

“I’m hardly there long enough for anyone to even flirt.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

He tilted his head, watching her now like she’d grown horns.

“Are you upset?”

“What?”

“Did I upset the alpha?”

His grin curved. Mocking. Sweet.

Sakura closed her book with a slow snap.

“There’s probably some poor woman out there crying to her momma about you.”

He blinked.

Then barked a laugh.

“You’re such a weird flirt.”

“Better than being a predictable one.”

“Oh, I’m not flirting,” he said casually, “I’m just—”

She lifted a brow.

Kakashi cleared his throat.

“—making an observation.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in one hand.

“You really trying to tell me you’re not the type to flirt?”

“I’m not the type of man who plays games with people,” he said, voice quiet, sure. “Least of all with someone’s heart.”

The mood shifted like the storm—

still soft, but heavier now.

Intentional.

“And the only tears I like to see,” he added after a moment,

“are in the bedroom.”

Sakura blinked.

“Oh wow,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Yikes. That bad, huh?”

Kakashi looked deeply unbothered.

In fact, he was grinning now—

grinning like he’d already won.

She rolled her eyes.

“Who knew such a pretty face could be such a disappointment.”

“Oh?” he said, tilting his head like he was savoring every word.

“So you think I’m pretty?”

There was a pause.

Sakura narrowed her eyes.

“I think your mirror’s been flirting a little too hard.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

“You didn’t deny it.”

“And you didn’t deny you’re a heartbreaker.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t.”

Kakashi smiled slow. A little crooked. A little wolfish.

“I just said I don’t like to play games.”

“Right. Except in bed, apparently.”

He didn’t answer that—

just studied her in that quiet, intent way of his.

Like he was learning her expressions.

Filing away the little tells.

Watching her cheeks pink, the way her lips twitched,

the way she bit back a smile she didn’t want him to see.

The rain picked up again.

He closed the laptop.

“So,” he said, rising slowly,

“what’s it gonna be, alpha?”

Sakura blinked.

“What?”

“Another book?” he asked, crossing to the kitchen.

“Something softer? Or do I need to read more about wolves railing mortals in the woods?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered.

He opened the cabinet.

“You want tea?”

“Tea?”

“It’s what I offer emotionally damaged houseguests when I’m trying not to seduce them.”

She laughed despite herself.

“Then sure. Tea.”

“Chamomile or peppermint?”

“Surprise me.”

He looked over his shoulder and smiled.

And there—

just for a second—

it wasn’t funny anymore.

Wasn’t teasing.

Just soft.

Just simple.

Just real.

“I’m glad you stayed,” he said quietly.

She swallowed.

Looked away.

And for a moment,

the storm inside the house

was louder than the one outside.

The kettle hissed.

Rain softened to a whisper.

Kakashi set her tea on the table without a word and sat across from her again, arms resting on the worn wood, body leaned back—

—but his gaze?

Fixed.

Sakura wrapped her fingers around the mug.

She wasn’t cold, not really,

but her skin prickled anyway.

For a long time, neither of them said anything.

Then—

he drummed his fingers slowly on the table.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She looked up.

He tilted his head.

“So what would happen next?”

Sakura blinked.

“What?”

“In one of your dirty girl books,” Kakashi said, voice lazy, half amusement, half heat.

“This moment. This storm. This—”

He gestured vaguely between them.

“—tension. What would happen next?”

Her lips parted.

She glanced away, trying not to smile.

“I’m asking seriously,” he added, like it was a perfectly normal literary inquiry.

“You’re the expert.”

“Where’s that knife you gave me?” she muttered.

He grinned.

“Safe and sound. Just like you.”

Sakura exhaled through her nose.

“Well, the books I read… they never give in right away.”

“Oh no?”

She shook her head.

“There’s always this push and pull.

This stubborn back-and-forth.

Verbal sparring.

Tension so thick it could suffocate you.

And this—”

She pointed between them with two fingers.

“This would only be the start of a week’s worth of barely contained physical and emotional foreplay.”

Kakashi looked at an invisible watch on his wrist.

“I’m not sure we have a week.”

Her smile faltered just slightly.

“Yeah,” she said after a beat.

“That’s… true.”

Silence stretched.

And then, quieter—more real:

“Is it weird that it kind of makes me feel sad?”

Kakashi’s eyes softened.

“No,” he said gently, voice so quiet it felt like something meant only for her.

“It’s not weird.”

He leaned forward just slightly.

Enough to bridge some small, fragile gap.

“I know we’re supposed to be strangers,” he said,

“but I love seeing you like this—so open.

So trusting.

With me.”

Sakura’s breath caught.

The room was still.

Outside, the wind whispered.

Inside, the coil in her gut tightened—

like someone had reached in

and twisted gently.

Then—

Growl.

Her stomach rumbled.

Kakashi blinked.

Then tipped his head back and laughed.

Full-bodied.

Warm.

Unbothered.

Sakura groaned, covering her face.

He grinned.

“So you are human.”

“Barely,” she muttered behind her hands.

“I could make you a sandwich,” he offered, teasing.

“I’m practically a Subway franchise.”

“Do you have tuna?” she deadpanned.

“Absolutely not.

That would be grounds for immediate eviction.”

She dropped her hands and looked up.

“Then I’ll take turkey and regret.”

“Coming right up,” he said, already rising.

After the sandwiches

—and the easy laughter that followed—

Sakura leaned back in her chair and glanced toward the window.

The rain had tapered to a mist,

the sky outside pale and glinting silver over green.

“I think I’m gonna jog,” she said, a little too casually.

Kakashi raised a brow.

“Jog?”

“Yeah.”

She stood, stretching her arms over her head, joints popping.

“It’s not pouring for once and I’ve got energy to burn.”

“Jog where exactly?” he asked, eyes tracking her movement.

“Across the swamp?”

“Your land. Down the road.

Anywhere that’s not a folding chair.”

She grabbed her empty plate and carried it to the sink.

Kakashi pushed his chair back slowly, arms crossing over his chest.

“I showed you the gym, right?”

Sakura paused mid-rinse.

“What gym?”

“The home gym. I could’ve sworn—”

He frowned, thinking.

“No, we just stopped at the guest room that first day.”

She turned.

“You have a home gym?”

He shrugged.

“Not much. Just a few things to keep from going completely feral.”

He stood and gestured for her to follow.

They passed the kitchen, down the hall she hadn’t explored, boots thunking softly against the hardwood.

He pointed briefly to one door—

“That’s my room”—

then continued to the one at the end.

He opened it with a quiet creak.

Inside, a clean, well-lit room revealed itself:

simple weight rack, adjustable bench, stacked dumbbells,

a squat cage in the corner,

and a treadmill against the far wall with a mounted fan clipped beside it.

A yoga mat was neatly rolled and tucked under a small bookshelf, half-filled with old magazines, protein tubs, and a jump rope.

“It’s not much,” he said, voice easy behind her,

“but it gets the job done.”

Sakura took a slow step in, blinking.

“You have a working treadmill?”

Kakashi looked at her, one brow lifted, then nodded.

“Sure do.”

She turned toward him,

a spark lighting behind her eyes.

“Okay, that’s impressive.”

He leaned against the doorframe.

“Take your time. It’s all yours.”

Her mouth curved.

“Thanks.”

And with that, she went to her duffle,

changed into an old sports bra and faded gym shorts,

tied up her hair,

and padded barefoot back down the hallway, passing his door.

She didn’t look inside.

She didn’t need to.

The gym was cool, the fan already on,

and as she stepped onto the treadmill,

her shoulders dropped.

One mile, then two.

A slow pace to start,

her legs remembering the rhythm of movement,

of pounding away worry,

of sprinting until the pressure in her chest loosened

and everything else went quiet.

The only sound was the hum of the belt

and her breath.

What she didn’t see—

what she couldn’t know—

was Kakashi standing silently just down the hall.

Not watching.

Not exactly.

Just listening,

faintly amused,

to the steady cadence of her feet.

He grinned to himself

and walked back to his office.

The hum of the treadmill had faded into the background noise of the house by now,

a steady rhythm like rainfall against the tin roof,

constant and oddly soothing.

Kakashi leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter,

coffee cooling between his palms,

eyes half-focused on nothing.

But when he passed the hall to his office to grab a file,

something in the corner of his vision snagged him.

He slowed.

And there—

through the cracked door to the gym—

was her.

Sakura.

Running.

Not aimless, not light,

but like she meant it.

Her strides were steady and powerful, heels lifting clean from the belt,

her body slick with sweat.

The waistband of her shorts rode low on her hips,

her tank top knotted at the back, revealing slivers of her waist

and the deep dip of her spine.

Muscles rippled subtly under her skin—defined but not hardened—

like she was carved of warmth and willpower.

Her hair was pulled into a messy tail,

wild strands stuck to her temple.

Her mouth parted with each breath,

brows knit in quiet focus.

She looked determined.

Wrecked.

Beautiful.

Kakashi exhaled and backed up a step so he wouldn’t be caught staring.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,

he thought, rubbing a hand down his face.

She was a goddamn vision.

And she was stranded.

Alone.

Vulnerable.

Hurting.

And still smiling at him,

his conscience whispered.

He sighed, pressing the heel of his palm to his eye socket.

“Nope.”

She was fire and poetry and half-wild instinct—

and every fiber of him wanted to lean into that heat.

But he knew better than to fan flames he couldn’t control.

He’d spent too long in the dark

to ever mistake firelight for shelter.

Besides—

if the boys saw this,

they’d be losing their minds.

He could hear them now.

“You’re telling me she’s hot, stranded, and into monster smut—and you haven’t even tried?”

Obito would’ve already thrown down the towel and brought out champagne.

“Tell her you read. Tell her you cook. Do anything.”

Genma would’ve been laughing, calling him a coward between puffs of his cigar.

“Kashi, you’re slipping, man. You’re getting old.”

He smiled faintly.

Old, maybe.

But not reckless.

Not anymore.

They were gone now—

some lost to war,

some to silence—

and the few that remained scattered like stars

you only see when the sky is black enough.

There were photos in a box somewhere,

mementos he didn’t open often.

They were young once.

Loud.

Dangerous.

Invincible.

He remembered diving off cliffs into foreign waters,

bleeding on foreign dirt,

laughing until they couldn’t breathe.

And then nights alone after—

never quite sure what they were fighting for anymore.

He shook the memory off like rain.

Kakashi moved down the hall toward his room,

the floors creaking softly under his steps.

He needed a new shirt,

maybe some paperwork he left near the bed.

Nothing urgent.

But then—

A door opened across the hall.

He looked up.

Sakura stepped out of the gym, glowing and wrecked.

Her chest rose and fell in deep, satisfied breaths.

Her face was flushed, skin glistening,

eyes glassy from exertion.

Her collarbone gleamed,

and sweat had soaked through the thin fabric of her top,

clinging to every curve like second skin.

She looked like a fucking goddess emerging from a storm.

She caught his gaze and smiled—

just a small, tired, honest smile.

No smirk, no teasing.

Just… her.

In that moment.

He felt his chest tighten.

“Life’s too short for missed opportunities.”

Yamato’s voice echoed suddenly in his mind.

That was the last thing he’d ever said before they lost him.

Kakashi stared back at her.

And smiled.

But inside?

Inside, he was screaming.

I am so, so fucked.

The house was quiet when she woke.

Rain still murmured against the windows like a lullaby on repeat,

but the storm had gentled.

The heavy rage of it softened into a rhythmic hush.

Sakura blinked up at the ceiling of the guest room,

the air faintly cool against her damp neck.

She’d forgotten where she was for a moment—

the room still faintly unfamiliar, too tidy,

the bed too comfortable.

And then she heard it:

Music.

Faint but unmistakable.

Some funky, soul-infused instrumental playing softly from the living room.

And the smell.

God, the smell.

Pizza.

Buttered popcorn.

Garlic. Tomato. Melted cheese.

The kind of scent that clung to your memory like childhood—

comfort and indulgence wrapped in a cloud of oven-warm bliss.

Sakura yawned, rubbing her face as she swung her legs off the bed.

She didn’t bother digging through her bag again—

her t-shirt had stuck to her skin earlier after her workout,

and she’d pulled on the closest thing she found hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

A soft, slightly oversized heather-gray shirt.

Kakashi’s.

The neckline was stretched, the sleeves cuffed just right,

and it smelled like him—

like cedar soap and summer storms

and the faintest trace of something smoky and masculine and warm.

She padded barefoot down the hall,

shorts swishing softly,

hair damp and tied up.

She turned the corner just as the opening credits of a movie flickered across the TV.

Kakashi stood in the kitchen,

leaning over the counter to slice the pizza with a casual flick of a knife,

a bowl of popcorn already perched at the edge.

He was in joggers now, barefoot, his shoulders loose.

The glow of the oven light warmed the edge of his face.

He looked up.

Paused.

His gaze dipped, just briefly, to the shirt hanging over her frame.

“You raided my closet?” he asked, lips twitching.

“You left it in the bathroom,” she said, lifting a shoulder. “I figured you meant for me to steal it.”

“I guess I did,” he mused, grabbing two plates.

Sakura cocked her head, eyeing the spread. “What’s all this?”

“Movie night.” He nudged a slice onto each plate and offered her one. “There’s this new one that dropped on HBO a couple weeks ago. I’ve been waiting to watch it.”

“What kind is it?”

“Seventies crime comedy thriller.”

She blinked at him. “You just used four genres in one sentence.”

“It’s ambitious,” he said, as though that explained everything.

“Do you want to watch with me? You’re more than welcome to.

I’ve got a fresh knife ready for you.”

Sakura snorted. “I don’t know. You might be pushing your luck.”

“C’mon.” He tilted his head toward the couch, already moving, casual in a way that made it hard not to follow.

“Popcorn’s hot. Couch is comfy. I won’t even make fun of your alpha werewolf harem.”

Sakura smiled softly and sank into the cushions beside him.

“I heard from Obito again,” he added, settling beside her with his beer.

“He’s still stuck. Power lines down, some flooding west of here.

It might be another day or so before he can head out this way.”

She nodded. “I figured. The rain’s been hell.”

“I’m sorry,” Kakashi said, eyes still on the screen,

“that you’re missing your family reunion.”

She looked at him, surprised.

“And that you’re stuck with some loner in the woods,” he added, grinning into his beer.

Sakura was quiet for a moment, then said honestly:

“To be fair? I’d rather be here with you than there with them any day.”

Silence stretched between them like a held breath.

Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry. That was—was that weird?”

Kakashi shrugged, easy, taking another sip.

“No.”

A beat passed.

“Not at all.”

The movie was… ridiculous.

Not in a bad way, exactly.

But in the way where the wardrobe was so 1975 it practically assaulted the eyes.

Loud suits. Wide collars.

Mustaches that should’ve had their own billing.

Kakashi’s commentary wasn’t helping either.

He didn’t talk over the whole thing,

but when he did speak,

it was to mutter under his breath like some half-drunk detective with a grudge and a penknife.

Sakura nearly choked on her soda when the lead actor sprinted across a rooftop in platform shoes.

“Is this the thriller part or the comedy part?” she whispered, barely keeping her voice down.

Kakashi didn’t answer—

he just mimed slipping off a rooftop and breaking a hip, complete with a dramatic splat gesture.

She giggled again, sinking further into the blanket draped across her legs.

Warmth pooled in her chest—

not from the soda, or the popcorn, or the glow of the screen—

but from the simple being.

Being beside him.

Being here.

Being herself.

The laughter softened.

The thunder had moved far off into the hills,

the worst of the storm’s fury behind them now.

It left the world wrapped in a sleepy hush.

Outside, the rain tapped gently at the windows.

Inside, the house felt like a bubble suspended in quiet.

The movie still played,

but the dialogue barely registered anymore.

Kakashi’s forearm rested against the back of the couch,

and she could feel the shift of his muscles every time he adjusted slightly,

his scent lingering on the shirt she wore,

his breath audible when he sighed or chuckled.

She turned a little, facing him more fully, knees pulled up beneath her.

“Can I ask you something?”

He glanced at her, brows slightly raised,

but his voice was low and relaxed when he said,

“Sure. I’m an open book.”

“I thought you were private,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully.

“You’re warming me up.”

She smiled faintly at that and looked at him for a long moment.

The blue-white flicker of the TV danced across his face.

His hair was tousled from where he’d run his fingers through it.

He looked content, at ease—but present. Aware.

“Do you ever get lonely?” she asked softly.

“Like… out here? Just on your own? No one to flirt with or annoy you or talk to?”

Kakashi tilted his head slightly,

watching her the way a storm watches the coastline—

quiet, restrained, maybe even fond.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, voice even.

Sakura smiled, then shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

He let the silence breathe between them before finally nodding,

eyes back on the screen.

“Sure. Sometimes.

But it’s not… an uncomfortable loneliness.

It’s familiar. I know what to expect from it.”

That struck something in her.

The way he said it—no bitterness, no apology. Just… truth.

She nodded slowly, drawing her legs up closer.

A few moments passed in quiet before he shifted too,

mirroring her position slightly.

His voice, when it came again, was quieter.

“Can I ask you a personal question now?”

Sakura exhaled a small laugh.

“Considering my drama has basically thrown itself headfirst into your house

and eaten your food and stolen your shirt?

Yeah, I think that’s fair.”

He didn’t smile right away,

but there was something gentler in his eyes.

Then he said:

“Who’s Daichi?”

The name landed with a strange, hollow thud inside her.

Her throat dried, her shoulders tensed.

“And why did your mom bring him up?” Kakashi added gently.

Sakura swallowed.

“He’s… my ex,” she said after a long pause.

“The one everyone keeps pretending isn’t a walking red flag factory.”

Kakashi stayed quiet.

Sakura stared down at her hands.

“We were together for a long time. Too long.

I think I stayed because I kept thinking

if I just tried harder,

if I just loved him more,

if I just fixed myself enough,

he’d stop trying to break me.”

Kakashi’s jaw ticked.

“But he didn’t.

He cheated.

Manipulated.

Made everything my fault.

And still—still—my mom… my aunt…

They talk about him like I lost something good.”

“You didn’t,” Kakashi said quietly.

No hesitation. No need for embellishment.

Sakura looked up, a little startled at the conviction in his voice.

He met her eyes.

“You didn’t lose something good, Sakura.

You left something bad.”

Her lips parted.

No one had ever said it quite like that.

She nodded once, then again, her throat tight.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Kakashi’s expression softened. “Any time.”

Only the flicker of the movie lit the room, forgotten in the background as the conversation stretched deeper.

Sakura had turned fully toward Kakashi on the couch now,

one leg tucked under her, the other dangling just above the floor,

toes tapping lightly to a rhythm she couldn’t name.

Her shoulder nearly touched his arm.

The air felt heavier—

but not in a bad way.

Like a weighted blanket.

Like something solid and grounding.

Kakashi shifted just enough to sip his drink,

the ice inside clinking softly against the glass.

His voice came low, scratchy.

“Only insecure men feel the need to tear others down.”

Sakura’s lips curved—

not into a smile exactly,

but something almost like relief.

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”

She ran her fingers through the edge of her damp hair, eyes fixed on her hands.

“He hated everything I did.

Reading, writing, working late, even my workouts.

Always said I was wasting time.”

Kakashi raised a brow, setting the glass down with a quiet clink.

“Then why was he with you?”

Sakura looked at him for a beat,

the flicker of TV light playing off her cheekbones.

She gave a weak shrug.

“I don’t know.

I guess… why was I with him?”

Her voice was quieter now.

“Why didn’t I leave sooner?”

The question wasn’t really for him.

She stared at her hands again,

chewing the inside of her cheek,

fingers curled and anxious in her lap.

“I mean,” she added,

“It’s not all him.

I’m to blame too.”

Kakashi sat a little straighter but didn’t interrupt.

He waited.

Sakura’s throat bobbed when she swallowed.

“Daichi always said I was cold.

Emotionless.

That I spent more time in imaginary worlds than I did in the real one.

That for all the emotional shit I read… I was a rock.

Not in a strong way, in a useless way.”

Kakashi blinked.

His glass froze just before reaching his lips.

He set it back down, expression unreadable for a moment.

Then:

“You’ve been here all of two days and some change,”

he said slowly,

“and I can say without a doubt,

you are the furthest thing from cold.”

Sakura blinked.

And then… she smiled.

Quietly. Softly.

A real one.

Small and strange and warm.

“Thanks.”

She looked at him, not away.

“I don’t miss him. I really don’t.

I hate talking about him.

I’ve moved on.

It’s just… the echoes, you know?”

She tapped her temple with two fingers.

“What he said still rings sometimes.

Still takes up space.”

Kakashi nodded, meeting her eyes.

“Yeah. I do.”

A long pause.

A safe one.

Then Sakura tilted her head and asked gently,

“Why do you ask, anyway?”

He shrugged, casual as ever.

“I’m starting to understand why you don’t want to go to that reunion.”

Sakura let out a breath.

“Yeah,” she murmured.

“It’s like… walking into a room full of people who think they know you better than you know yourself.

Like you’re supposed to perform the version of you they’ve been holding onto for a decade.”

Kakashi hummed, running a hand through his hair.

“Sounds awful.”

“It is.”

Another quiet beat.

The movie changed scenes—

someone screamed off screen,

but neither of them looked away from each other.

“Can I tell you something?” Sakura said suddenly.

“Always.”

She hesitated, then said it anyway:

“I think… I’ve never felt more like myself than I do right now.”

She smiled again, hesitant but bright.

“Sitting on your couch.

In your shirt.

Eating popcorn and talking about vampire erotica and life trauma.”

Kakashi’s lips twitched into a smirk.

“Well, we’re hitting all the major genres.”

Sakura laughed.

“Truly. A well-rounded evening.”

They were both flushed from laughter, wine-buzzed and sprawled comfortably on the couch like the night wasn’t about to bleed into morning.

The TV kept playing, mostly ignored now. The comfort of flickering light and background noise was enough.

Sakura curled her legs up, her wine glass dangling between her fingers. Her eyes shimmered with mischief.

“Okay,” she said, tilting her head. “Tell me the worst date you’ve ever been on.”

Kakashi groaned immediately and dropped his head back.

“Please don’t take me there.”

She cackled, leaned forward, and slapped a hand against his chest.

“You have to! You owe me after the flashlight poem.”

The second her palm met him, though—

Solid heat.

Hard chest, barely concealed by the thin, worn cotton of his long-sleeved shirt.

Her brain sputtered like a dying truck.

Jesus Christ. He was carved out of something. And hot. Like he radiated real heat.

She almost jerked her hand back—but didn’t want to make it weird.

His chest rose under her palm.

Kakashi glanced down at her hand, then back at her face.

Something unreadable flashed in his expression—

But it vanished in a blink.

“Okay, fine,” he said with a resigned breath. “Worst date.”

He took another sip of wine.

“Years ago. I got set up by a buddy on a date with this woman who—unbeknownst to me—was a PETA intern.”

Sakura nearly spit her drink.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me those don’t exist.”

“They do exist,” he said, tone flat. “And they judge you. For everything. Like having leather seats in your truck. Like ordering eggs. Like existing.”

Sakura was doubled over.

“Noooo.”

“She spent the entire date telling me how eating meat was a form of spiritual violence and how cows cry tears of grief in slaughterhouses.”

“Oh my god.”

“I was polite, you know? I told her I respected her convictions. But I also told her I grew up around cattle ranches, and slow-cooked brisket is a hell of a drug.”

Sakura snorted wine out of her nose.

Kakashi grinned.

“Anyway, I thought we’d made peace. I drove her home. End of story, right?”

He shook his head.

“She climbs in my lap before I can get her door open. Pulls a pair of bunny ears out of her purse.”

Sakura blinked.

“Like…”

“Pink. Fluffy. Slutty-ass bunny ears.”

“Oh my god!”

“She whispers—and I quote—‘I want you to jackrabbit into me like a bad little carnivore.’”

Sakura screamed.

She was full-body laughing, eyes watering, wine glass threatening to slip from her fingers.

“NO.”

“I swear on my dog,” Kakashi said, hand to chest. “You know I don’t kink shame. But it just wasn’t there for me.”

“You’re telling me she tried to roleplay a traumatized prey animal?!”

“She had a whole backstory, Sakura.”

Sakura wiped her eyes, wheezing.

“I can’t breathe.”

“I was one PETA rant away from converting to veganism just to escape.”

She collapsed into the couch cushions, laughter still bubbling out of her.

“That is the most unhinged shit I’ve ever heard. I don’t think I can top that.”

Kakashi leaned back, clearly pleased with himself.

“I take great pride in my suffering.”

“And you still dated after that?”

“I… took a break.” He chuckled. “A long one.”

Sakura smiled, wide and open, her hand still resting on his chest.

They both noticed it at the same time—

Neither pulled away.

“I think I needed this,” she murmured.

Kakashi looked at her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes were still glinting, but softer now.

“To laugh. To feel… normal. Safe.”

He nodded once.

“Good.”

The air was still around them—warm, wine-sweet, thick with something more.

Sakura blinked down at her hand and slowly pulled it back, fingers brushing along his chest on the way.

Kakashi’s breath caught—

But only for a second.

Kakashi rose with a soft groan and a smirk, collecting their glasses.

“Alright, lightweight,” he teased. “What about you—worst date?”

Sakura let out a long, theatrical sigh, sinking deeper into the couch.

“Oh my god. Where do I start.”

He laughed from the kitchen.

“That promising, huh?”

She called after him,

“Worse. You’re going to wish I made it up.”

When Kakashi returned and handed her the refilled glass, he flopped down beside her again, expectant, brow lifted.

“Alright. Enlighten me.”

Sakura took a long sip before beginning.

“So. When I was in college, I had this one class where the professor grouped us permanently—like, same project partners all semester. Which is hell on Earth, by the way. Anyway. One of the dudes in my group was this rail-thin guy who looked like a malnourished Backstreet Boy. Middle-part, earrings, lip gloss—the whole thing.”

Kakashi made a face.

“Tragic.”

Sakura nodded sagely.

“He used to tell me he was making music. That I was his muse. I didn’t think anything of it. Until…”

She held up a finger.

“I started finding CDs in my backpack.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she said, eyes wide. “Like burned CDs. And each one had a title like ‘Crimson Rose (For S)’ or ‘Muse in Moonlight.’ I thought, okay, he’s got a weird sense of humor.”

“But Kakashi,” she said, taking another long drink, “some of the songs had other girls’ names in them.”

“Wait—what?”

“I recognized the names! Girls from other classes. So I started thinking, oh. I’m not the only muse he’s got.”

Kakashi was wheezing.

“Okay, but Sakura, that’s not a date.”

“I’m not done.”

He leaned back, hand over his heart.

“After the sixth CD, he finally asked me out. And I felt bad, you know? He wasn’t mean, just… intense. So I said yes, thinking we’d get coffee, maybe a movie. Something chill.”

Kakashi blinked.

“Sakura. The man made you six mixed CDs. That’s not casual. That’s ritual-grade obsession.”

“I know!” she said, laughing now. “So he takes me to this converted warehouse downtown—it’s got this little divey bar inside where local bands perform, very low-key indie scene.”

Kakashi’s face dropped.

“Oh no. Don’t tell me—”

“Oh yes.” She pointed at him, wine sloshing. “He and three other dudes—who I assume were his bandmates-slash-cult members—get on stage. He pulls a mic from his jacket. And I shit you not—he sang. To me.”

Kakashi was cackling, eyes wide.

“They choreographed?!”

“Full routine. With jazz hands. They made heart shapes with their arms. And the song had a bridge where he did spoken word—spoken word, Kakashi!”

He doubled over.

“No no no. You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not! I left halfway through the set. I didn’t even wait for the second song.”

“Cold-blooded,” Kakashi said through his laughter. “Poor bastard. What did you do that had him so transfixed?”

Sakura blinked, then shrugged.

“I sneezed on his bagel once. Accidentally.”

Kakashi lost it.

He tossed his head back and howled with laughter, full-body shaking, breath catching in his throat.

“You sneezed on his bagel?!”

“Yep.”

“And that was enough?!”

“He said it was fate.”

Kakashi wiped a tear from his eye.

“I’m sorry. I would’ve married you right there. A sneeze from you? That’s like—like a blessing from the Pope.”

Sakura snorted.

“Stop.”

“I’m serious. That’s not bodily fluid. That’s holy water.”

She was full-body laughing now, slumped against the cushions, her wine glass forgotten.

His smile had stretched into something looser, more unguarded.

Sakura’s stomach still ached from laughing, her wine glass low and her cheeks flushed—not just from the alcohol. The warmth had settled into her bones, uncoiling some tightly wound thing inside her chest she hadn’t realized was still braced.

She was getting too warm though. Between the buzz and the heat lingering from their laughter, she stood with a stretch and tugged at the hem of the oversized shirt she was wearing—his shirt.

Kakashi watched her move, that lazy, lidded gaze tracking her every shift like it was second nature. She pulled the shirt over her head in one motion, revealing the ribbed black tank underneath, snug against the curve of her breasts and the line of her ribs.

“Too warm?” he asked, voice low, a little hoarse.

Sakura tossed the shirt on the back of the couch and shrugged, not bothering to answer. The wine shimmered in her veins like mischief.

Kakashi’s POV

He watched her settle back onto the couch, long bare legs curling under her, face flushed, lips parted from the wine and laughter. His shirt lay abandoned behind her like a dropped flag.

He should’ve looked away. He didn’t.

Instead, he took a slow sip of his beer, watching the curve of her throat move as she drank from her glass.

“Any more questions, killer?” he murmured, voice low and slow, like they were sharing secrets beneath a blanket of thunder.

Sakura squinted at him in playful challenge.

“Hmm.” She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “Okay. What’s the worst lay you’ve ever had?”

Kakashi let out a noise of theatrical offense, setting his beer down dramatically.

“Oh my gods, Sakura,” he gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “I am a god-fearing man.”

She cackled, reaching out to nudge his shin with her bare foot.

“Sure you are. Because god-fearing men definitely read a woman’s entire smut collection out loud to her. And ask why it gets her off.”

He held up a finger, grinning.

“Excuse you, I never asked why it got you off. That’s obvious. I was asking if there was any plot buried beneath all the ‘yes alpha, harder alpha, bite me alpha.’”

Sakura rolled her eyes.

“We’re past formalities, Hatake. You might as well tell me.”

Kakashi leaned back with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Fine. Worst lay?”

“Worst,” she affirmed, pointing her glass at him.

He chuckled and took another drink, setting the bottle aside before he began.

“There was this waitress once,” he said, eyes distant, amused. “When I was twenty-four. Young, dumb, full of hubris. She cornered me in the alley behind this bar in Norfolk where the guys and I would sometimes eat after a job.”

Sakura perked up.

“Alley sex?”

He held up a hand.

“Back hallway. Not completely feral.”

She snorted.

“So we’re making out. It’s messy. Not bad. Her breath smells like cherry vodka and wings. She hikes her skirt up, and I think, okay, maybe this’ll be fun. But halfway through—mid-thrust—the cook opens the back door.”

Sakura was already covering her face, dying.

“The waitress screams like she’s being murdered, I flinch, lose rhythm, and the guy just stands there, holding a tub of defrosting shrimp, watching.”

Sakura wheezed.

“No!”

“Oh yes,” Kakashi said gravely. “And you’d think that’d be the end of it. But she waves at him. Like, just a little two-finger hello. And keeps going.”

Sakura was practically in tears now, choking on her wine.

“Nooo!”

“Yes!” Kakashi grinned. “So now I’m looking at this guy looking at me, while I’m inside this woman who’s clearly done this before in this exact hallway, and she keeps moaning louder, like it’s a goddamn performance piece. I finish out of sheer stress.”

He took another swig.

“Couldn’t go back to that bar for months.”

“Holy shit,” Sakura said, wiping tears from her eyes. “You poor traumatized man.”

“The shrimp guy nodded at me when I left. I think he was proud.”

“That’s worse,” she gasped.

Kakashi only grinned.

Kakashi stood and stretched, running a hand down his front absently before he looked over at her, a playful glint in his eye.

“I see why you took off the top shirt,” he said.

Sakura rolled her eyes, cheeks already a little pink from the wine.

“The wine’s making us hot.”

“You don’t need wine for that, Sakura.”

That stopped her.

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. Just breath.

And Kakashi—because he was a menace—gripped the hem of his own shirt, pulled it up and off in one smooth motion, revealing the tight black tank underneath, stretched over the sharp cut of his chest and those damn shoulders.

Sakura stared. Absolutely stared.

He sat back down, barely concealing his grin.

“Alright, killer. Worst lay. Let’s have it.”

She blinked at him. Once. Twice. Then grabbed her wine, took a long drink like she was buying time.

“Wow,” she said finally. “So many. Let me think.”

Kakashi choked on his sip, coughing and laughing at the same time.

“No, not you,” he gasped. “You? You’ve had that many bad lays?”

She shrugged, exasperated and a little smug.

“A lot of men are all talk. And honestly? Cruel in the way they hype you up and let you down.”

“Example?” he asked, the word leaving his mouth at the same time she said:

“For example—”

They paused. Laughed.

Sakura leaned forward, elbows on her knees, wine glass swaying in her hand.

“So I’m at the gym,” she started, “and this guy I’ve sort of had a crush on starts chatting me up. Eventually asks for my number. And for about a week it’s a lot of texting. Sexting, mostly. Which—fine. I didn’t want anything serious at the time.”

Kakashi’s grin was already dangerous.

“But this man,” she continued, lifting a finger like she was telling a spooky campfire story, “could not shut up about my ass. Like, paragraphs. Poems. About how he wants to rail me from behind, how his cock is so long it won’t slip out even if I move too much, how I’m gonna forget my own name. The works.”

Kakashi covered his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking.

“So he comes over,” she went on. “And I mean, he’s nice. Cute. Kissing and foreplay were fine. Not amazing. But whatever, we’re vibing. Then it’s go time.”

She raised her brows.

“Not only is he not as big as advertised—not even close—but it does keep slipping out. And then, like five minutes in, he sighs and asks me to just get on top. And I’m like, okay, fine, let’s get it done.”

She sipped her wine. Then hit him with it:

“I get on top. Stroke once. He nuts. Like, immediately. And then gets all embarrassed and leaves.”

Kakashi’s jaw was slack.

“That poor, poor man,” he whispered.

“Poor him? Poor me,” Sakura said, gesturing to herself. “Like, okay, size—whatever. That’s not always a deal breaker. But the talking big, then bailing? At least get me off before you tuck tail and run. That’s basic decency.”

Kakashi looked at her, sober now in his expression, like he was calculating something behind those sleepy gray eyes.

“To be fair,” he said after a beat, “any man can understand why he finished so fast.”

Sakura raised a brow.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

Kakashi set his glass down gently. Looked her in the eye.

“Because you’re… incredibly hot,” he said. “Like, stupid hot. Stunning. But not in a filtered, overdone way. In this wild, alive kind of way. You intimidate people. I’m sure half the men who touch you barely remember their own names. To kiss you, let alone be inside you? Yeah. It’s no wonder.”

Sakura’s eyes widened. Color bloomed across her cheeks.

“Wow,” she said softly. “How much wine have you had?”

Kakashi leaned in, just a little. Grinned.

“Girl, don’t go there.”

Sakura laughed, but she was definitely blushing. She tried to hide behind her wine.

“I made the porn fiend blush,” Kakashi said, victorious.

“You didn’t make me do anything,” she mumbled, smiling behind her glass.

“You’re bright red.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you? How hot I said you were.”

She threw a pillow at him.

He caught it. Easily.

And for just a second, the banter stopped—leaving them sitting there, lit by the flickering movie and soft lamplight, looking.

Looking a little too long.

Looking like they knew something was coming.

Sakura met his gaze—that look, half-lidded and smug—and slapped her cheeks with the flats of her hands.

“I’m not blushing,” she declared. “It’s the wine.”

Kakashi lifted a brow.

“Oh? It’s the wine, is it?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding firmly. “I’m impervious. Nothing makes me blush. I’m a degenerate, remember?”

That made him pause. Something subtle but perceptible shifted in the room.

He straightened a little. Not much. Just enough to really look at her. His head tilted the smallest degree, brows knit slightly as if studying a particularly compelling painting.

“No?” he murmured.

The low tone sank into her skin.

Sakura’s grin faltered a fraction.

“I mean… I am peddling porn, if you forgot.”

Kakashi leaned in slightly—so slightly she almost didn’t notice. His voice dropped again, velvet-dark and quiet, each syllable curling like warm smoke.

“It must be so devastating.”

“What?” she asked, honestly not hearing him the first time, too focused on the weight of his gaze—where it dipped, then returned to meet her.

He reached out slowly, fingers curling under her chin, lifting gently.

Sakura stilled.

His hand was warm. Calloused, but careful. The way his thumb rested just beneath her bottom lip felt accidental and intimate all at once.

“You read all these books,” he said, voice low, soft, but searing,

“you have all these grand ideas of how it could be…”

His eyes dropped to her mouth. Stayed there for a second too long.

“…and instead of feeling satisfied,” he continued, voice like silk drawn over flame,

“you’re left a drooling, weeping mess. Wanting. Frustrated. Needy.”

The syllables pressed right into her. Drenched in gentleness, but dripping with heat.

Then he cooed. A soft, delicate sound in the back of his throat, tender and raw.

A hum. A tut.

“So tragic,” he murmured, “you poor, poor baby.”

Sakura’s breath caught.

The wine in her veins turned molten.

Every nerve at attention.

Every inch of her burning.

—

Kakashi’s POV

There it was.

The moment the blush bloomed hot across her cheeks, spreading all the way to the tops of her ears and the base of her throat.

The pupils of her eyes had dilated—big and dark, swallowing the green. Her lashes fluttered like she’d forgotten to breathe, and her lips parted just enough to show the edges of her teeth.

She wasn’t just red.

She was glowing.

Pulse jumping at her throat, chest rising too fast under that tank top, her hands frozen in her lap like she couldn’t remember how they worked.

And her eyes.

Gods—those eyes.

A flicker of defiance, sure. She was Sakura after all.

But under it? That was heat. Wonder. A little desperation.

He grinned, slow and wicked, letting one of his eyeteeth flash just barely between his lips. The fang glinted. The corner of his eye creased with mischief.

“See?” he said, voice lighter now, teasing.

“Someone can make you blush.”

She didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even breathe, not at first.

The blush stayed high on her cheeks like a flush from something far deeper than embarrassment.

Kakashi let his grin fade just slightly—just enough to keep the moment from veering into too much.

He didn’t want to break the spell. Not when it hung so fragile and shimmering between them like a web of heat and breath and unsaid things.

So instead, he softened.

Let the sharp tease melt into something slow and intimate.

He kept his hand under her chin, thumb brushing once along the side of her jaw—barely there, barely a ghost.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice velvet-soft. “That look right there.”

Sakura blinked.

Just once.

But it was telling.

“That look like you want to bite me and run away in the same second.”

His voice was low. Measured.

As if every word was peeled from some secret part of him and laid, bare and warm, in her lap.

“You keep saying nothing makes you blush,” he said, thumb drifting—barely—down the line of her throat before he drew his hand away, letting her feel the absence.

“But you blush when I see you. Really see you.”

Her lips parted again.

Her throat bobbed.

She still hadn’t spoken.

“And you say you’re a degenerate,” he went on, leaning just a little closer, the heat of him brushing her knee beneath the table,

“but it’s not just filth, is it? Not just the smut or the dominance or the rutting.”

He tilted his head, catching her eyes again and letting his voice slip lower, like he was whispering a sin into her skin.

“It’s the worship. The slow unravel.

The idea of someone bringing you to your knees without ever raising their voice.”

A pause.

The silence after his words cracked like thunder.

Her breathing had changed.

Slight. But deeper.

“You like the build,” he murmured. “The ache. The restraint.”

He paused again, then added in the softest tone yet—

“You like being wanted so much… it’s savored.”

—

Sakura’s POV

She could feel her pulse in her mouth.

Her hands were fists in her lap.

She hadn’t even realized she’d done that.

Her whole body was a contradiction—hot all over, but her skin prickled like gooseflesh.

She was grounded by the wine and utterly lightheaded from his voice. His words.

Gods.

His voice.

It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it.

Like it was a spell. A secret. A breath against her skin.

She couldn’t even fake a snarky reply.

Her entire mouth had gone dry.

She could see the glint in his eye, the tension in his shoulders—the way he was holding back just as much as she was.

There was no mistaking this moment.

They were pressed against the edge of it.

Standing at the edge of the heat, both pretending it wasn’t already burning them alive.

Sakura swallowed and said, very softly:

“Don’t—don’t talk to me like that.”

Kakashi raised a brow.

“Like what?”

She clenched her thighs.

Bit the inside of her cheek.

“Like you know.”

He smiled. Slow. Gentle.

That same devastating softness wrapped around danger.

“I do know.”

Then he stood.

Not fast. Not dramatic.

Just enough to make her chest constrict.

He leaned down to grab their empty glasses and said—so lightly, so casually it made her breath shudder—

“If I didn’t know before… I do now.”

He turned and walked toward the kitchen.

And Sakura sat there, blistering, skin buzzing, thighs pressed together like a prayer,

trying to remember what year it was.

Kakashi didn’t break the silence immediately.

Not after what he said.

Not after the way her whole face had gone soft and unreadable.

But then—he smiled again.

Not cocky. Not sly.

Tender.

Soft in a way that still made her stomach tighten with heat.

His voice came low and warm as he stepped away from the sink, setting their wine glasses down with an absent clink of glass.

“Well,” he said, running a hand through his silver-streaked hair, “if you’ll excuse me…”

He looked at her again—and the way he looked at her—

“…it’s getting late. And if I stay here and stare at you any longer…”

Another beat.

His eyes fell just a second too long on her mouth.

“…I’m afraid of what I might do.”

Sakura blinked, caught between a breath and a scream.

She tried to summon something—anything—to cut the tension.

“Like what?” she asked, sitting back with mock suspicion. “Stab me?”

Kakashi laughed.

Gods, he laughed. His whole face lit.

But then, just as quickly, the warmth shifted into something quieter.

A little heavier.

More serious.

He scratched the back of his neck, looked off to the side.

“The last thing I want,” he said, voice dipping, “is for you to think I’ve been nice to you just so I can get between your legs.”

The air shifted.

Her throat tightened.

“I’ve never once thought that,” she said.

Kakashi turned his head, eyes locking with hers again.

Her chest buzzed.

“I mean—” she added, lifting a brow, “—not that I would mind.”

There was silence.

That warm, devastating silence again.

Then Kakashi’s mouth curved into a grin.

Wide.

Crooked.

And dangerous.

But all he said was—

“Goodnight, killer.”

And then he turned, slow and calm, and walked toward the hall.

—

Sakura’s POV

She stared at the door for a full minute after he left.

Her whole body ached.

Not from pain.

From pressure.

She climbed into bed like she was floating.

Her limbs weightless.

Her brain fried.

Her core…

Hot.

She laid down, eyes on the dark ceiling of the guest room, fingers clutching the edge of the blanket.

And it didn’t stop.

Her thoughts tripped over themselves:

How warm his eyes had been.

The way his voice had felt like being brushed by the edge of a flame.

The way he’d looked standing there—broad chest, solid arms, that tank clinging to his sides like a second skin.

And the things he’d said.

You like being wanted so much it’s savored.

You read all these books, and instead of satisfaction you’re left a drooling, weeping mess.

You poor, poor baby.

God.

Sakura squeezed her thighs together under the blanket, like that would help.

It didn’t.

She could still smell him in the cotton shirt she’d folded beside the bed.

She could still see the heat in his eyes when she teased him.

And worse—

She could feel the way her body had responded.

Not just to his words.

To him.

Kakashi.

The man who lived alone at the end of a gravel road.

The man who fixed her car and gave her whiskey and laughed at her stories.

The man who listened.

Who didn’t push.

Who saw straight through her.

She stared into the dark and whispered to herself:

“…I’m fucked.”

She couldn’t sleep.

No matter how she turned.

No matter how she tucked the pillow or curled the blankets.

No matter how dark and quiet the room was—aside from the low hum of the wind pressing against the windows and the occasional creak of the old house settling into night—

Sakura’s body would not settle.

Every time she closed her eyes, she felt his voice again.

Low. Velvet-rich. Twisting into her ears like smoke.

“You read all these books… and instead of feeling satisfied, you’re left a drooling, weeping mess.”

“You poor, poor baby.”

Gods.

She exhaled sharply, flopping to her back. Her tank clung to her breasts with sweat and restlessness.

This was hell.

She groaned softly and sat up, reaching for the bag near the bedside table.

Fishing around in the dimness, her hand landed on one of the paperbacks she hadn’t read yet—

Third in a series. Something about alphas and blood oaths and scent bonds.

She cracked it open.

Maybe a little filth would help get her sleepy.

She read for a good hour.

And of course—because the universe hates her—the book hit a scene.

A claiming scene.

The alpha wakes to find the woman straddling his hips, knife in hand.

He snarls, grabs her wrist, and flips her beneath him.

The knife skids across the floor.

He pins her wrists. Bites her neck. Fucks her with vengeance.

He tells her how many nights he’s smelled her in heat and suffered.

How badly he’s wanted to claim her.

How next time, he’ll make it last.

But this time?

This time is punishment.

Sakura swallowed thickly. Her thighs squeezed together.

“Instead of feeling satisfied…”

Kakashi’s words dropped into her head again. Low. Knowing.

That voice. That face.

The way he looked at her when he gripped her chin like that—

Like he could see inside her.

Like he knew.

She tossed the book back in the bag like it had bit her.

Her heart was pounding.

Her nipples stiff under her tank.

She was aching, her panties damp against her skin, her whole body so tight with pressure it made her squirm.

Can I fuck myself in this man’s house?

She closed her eyes.

Kakashi’s voice again.

“Poor, poor baby…”

She whimpered.

One hand rose to her chest, cupping her breast, teasing her nipple through the thin fabric.

Her other hand—without permission—slid down her belly and under the elastic waistband of her sleep shorts.

Her fingers met heat and slick.

She circled her clit slowly. Light. Just enough.

Her hips jerked upward.

Then she pictured it—his hand on her chin, his mouth so close, his lashes low as he looked at her like he wanted her.

Sakura bit her lip and rubbed faster. Her free hand pinched her nipple and she arched against the mattress.

She was getting so close.

But then—

She stopped.

Snatched her hand back.

Let the tension burn in her.

Let the ache bloom wider.

Her breath was ragged.

She curled her fist in the sheets.

Then she did it again.

Slid her hand down.

Circled her clit.

Rubbed with growing need—

Stopped again.

Every time she neared the edge, she tore herself away from it.

Denied.

Denied.

Denied.

The ache was so sharp she thought she might scream.

Instead—she rolled onto her side, thighs pressed tight together.

Her body buzzed like a live wire.

Her skin flushed and hypersensitive.

And in her ears, with cruel clarity—

“You poor, poor baby.”

She blinked into the dark.

Her fingers curled under the pillow.

And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure what she needed more—

release…

or relief.

It was the pressure that stirred him.

Not the storm. Not the creaking house.

The weight—soft, curving, heat-heavy—across his hips.

His mind blinked once. Twice.

Then clarity slid in like a slow blade.

Something warm brushed his neck.

And then he felt it.

Cold. Steel.

A knife.

The one he gave her.

His eye opened.

The room was dim, moonlight edging the blinds.

The weight on him—Sakura—sat astride his hips, thighs braced around him, the tank top she wore clinging to her like second skin, soaked through from heat or sweat or something in between.

The blade glinted where it pressed just beneath his jaw.

But it wasn’t fear that moved in his chest.

It was hunger.

And ache.

Sakura’s face was wild.

Hair tousled, lashes heavy, skin flushed.

Her pupils were blown wide, nearly black.

Her lips parted like she couldn’t catch her breath.

He stayed still.

Waited.

Then she opened her mouth.

Her voice was a whisper. A tremor. A prayer.

“Can you do it?”

His breath caught.

He swallowed against the steel at his throat.

“Do what, poor baby?”

The knife trembled.

Her whole body was shaking—like a string pulled too tight, like all she had left was this one wild moment.

“Make me feel good,” she whispered.

Oh, fuck.

He exhaled, slow and deep, and hummed.

A low, tender sound. Like she was something to be cradled and ruined in equal measure.

His hands rose. Not to stop her. Not to take the knife.

Just to touch.

He ran his palms up the soft outer curve of her thighs.

Slow. Reverent.

Felt the tremble beneath her skin.

Traced up to her hips, up to the curve of her ass.

Then he sat up.

The blade followed his movement, just barely grazing upward with him.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

Just kept watching him—wrecked and needing.

He leaned in, his lips brushing hers.

“You know I can,” he murmured.

And then he kissed her.

Not rushed.

Not ravenous.

Slow.

A deep, indolent slide of mouth over mouth.

Velvet heat and breath and patience.

She whimpered—fragile, breaking—and shifted against him.

The knife trembled and he felt it lift a little from his throat.

He took the opening.

One hand dropped from her waist to her wrist.

He caught it gently, the blade still gripped, but he didn’t pry it away.

He just held her hand there.

And murmured against her mouth:

“Keep it here, poor baby.”

Her breath caught.

The look on her face—

Reddened cheeks.

Sweat at her brow.

Lips wet and kiss-bitten.

Eyes glassy and unfocused like he’d already drawn her halfway out of herself.

Kakashi’s pulse throbbed.

He knew that look.

Gods, how he knew it.

A fantasy—alive and trembling in his lap.

A dream no man should dare to wake from.

And by the flush in her face,

by the slick heat pressing against him through her panties,

he knew.

He was already inside her head.

Already wrecking her.

And he hadn’t even fucked her yet.

He kissed her again.

And again.

Hot, slow pressure, tongue curling against hers.

Hands on her body.

Blade against his throat.

Her soft whimpers feeding something carnal inside him.

He was hard as stone under her.

But he didn’t rush.

Because she’d asked.

She’d come to him.

And he was going to show her what it meant

to be the only man

who ever got to see her like this.

She was still straddling him, the knife quivering at his neck,

but she wasn’t holding it like a threat anymore.

She was holding it like a lifeline.

Like if she let go of anything, she’d fall apart completely.

And maybe she would.

He kissed down her jaw, the angle of her throat—

slow and reverent at first—until his teeth grazed skin.

Until her hips jerked down and she let out a gasping whine.

He bit.

Not enough to mark—yet—but enough to claim.

To say: I’m here. I’ve got you. Let go.

Another kiss to the corner of her mouth,

a flick of his tongue against her lip, and then—

“Come here,” he murmured, voice gone deep and dark and full of heat.

One hand slid up under the hem of her tank, pushing it slow, inch by inch.

Sakura raised her arms.

He peeled it off.

And when her bare breasts spilled into the moonlight,

he swore under his breath:

“Fuck.”

He didn’t ask.

Didn’t hesitate.

Just leaned forward and flicked his tongue across one nipple.

She made a noise like something in her was splintering.

He sucked—slow, hungry—mouth closing over the stiffening bud,

and her fingers tangled in his hair with a ragged cry.

His cock throbbed so hard it hurt.

He pulled back with a wet pop,

chest rising and falling with the rhythm of her hips grinding down against him.

Then the other breast.

Tongue. Lips. Teeth.

Another pop.

Then again.

And again.

He couldn’t help himself.

She was gasping now, trembling so hard he had to hold her steady by the hips.

Her panties were soaked—he could feel the heat, the slick,

every time she rolled down against the strain in his boxers.

He kissed her, sucked her bottom lip,

and pulled back just enough to whisper against her mouth:

“You should see your panties right now.”

Another kiss.

“They’re fucking destroyed.”

His hand slid down, tracing the outside of her thigh,

then the inside.

Her legs shuddered around him.

“You want me to make you feel good?” he murmured.

And as he said it,

his hand slipped inside her panties.

He found the soaked heat of her pussy,

gliding over her folds with aching slowness.

Up. Down.

A long, slow drag of his fingers over her clit and back again.

His own breath caught.

“Gods.”

He groaned it, mouth against her throat.

“You’re such a gift.”

She whimpered. Bucked.

He kissed her again—long, deep, drowning—

and rolled his fingers gently over her clit in tight circles.

“Do you know how lucky I feel right now?” he breathed.

“Do you know I’ve been thinking about you all day?”

Her moan vibrated through his mouth

as she ground harder against his hand.

Soaked.

Dripping.

He dropped his lips back to her breast,

sucking it back into his mouth, groaning around her skin.

His hand worked faster.

Her hips rocked.

The blade still hovered at his neck—her grip faltering—

but he didn’t care.

He didn’t care.

He’d gladly bleed for this.

He pulled his mouth from her tit, kissed her jaw, and then said it.

Low.

Filthy.

“Do you want to know what I wanted to do to you on the couch earlier?”

She froze.

She tightened around nothing.

“I wanted to flip you over,” he murmured,

“push that pretty face into the cushions, pull your hips back, and eat you until you begged me to stop.”

Sakura whimpered so loud he felt it in his spine.

“I wanted to take those panties off with my teeth,” he went on, fingers circling,

“and spread your thighs so wide your knees wouldn’t stop shaking.”

His fingers dipped, teasing her entrance,

then back up to her clit, slow and soft again—just to watch her twitch.

“I wanted to hear every sound you’d make with my fingers in your cunt and my mouth on your clit.

I wanted you to ride my face until you screamed.”

She was panting now.

Grinding.

So close.

He was kissing her like he’d been starved for years.

And maybe he had.

Her skin was flushed and glistening, chest heaving, thighs trembling around his waist—

and gods, she was so soft in his arms.

So wild and hot and his in this moment.

Kakashi hummed into her mouth and pulled back only an inch, lips dragging across hers.

“Come closer,” he murmured.

She scooted forward on his lap, flushed and breathless,

and his finger slipped lower—

the pad dragging through the slippery heat between her legs.

“Closer,” he said again, voice low and coaxing.

She shifted forward again—

and his finger sank inside.

He moaned right there—guttural—

forehead pressing against hers, hand steady and slow as he curled his finger deep.

“There,” he breathed. “Right there. Perfect.”

Her lips brushed his in a trembling kiss as he slid deeper,

curling his finger again—slow and deliberate—finding that sweet, tender spot inside her.

Their foreheads stayed pressed together.

Her hands were in his hair.

He kissed her—open and slow—

and rocked his hand against her.

The heel of his palm dragged and bumped against her clit with every movement—

just enough pressure to make her twitch.

Her hips began to roll—rhythmic and needy—

her breath catching in tiny sobs against his lips.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, mouth ghosting down her jaw.

“So fucking good.”

Her moans cracked open something in him—

something primal and tender all at once.

He kissed her neck,

bit just below her ear,

and moved to her breasts again—tongue flicking, teeth scraping, lips sucking.

She arched against his mouth and sobbed his name.

When her hips started moving faster, more desperate,

he murmured, “Hold on, baby,”

and added a second finger.

She gasped—

a sound between a choke and a cry—

and her thighs clamped around his sides.

Kakashi shifted his hand slightly,

deepening the curl, adjusting the pressure,

using his palm to press harder against her clit.

The angle dragged every nerve inside her raw and aching with each movement.

She was trembling.

Sweating.

Grinding in tight, needy circles.

And he couldn’t stop looking at her.

Her eyes were wide.

Glassy.

Pupils blown.

Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth,

and she was flushed to her chest—glowing, gorgeous.

“Desperate little thing,” he murmured,

his voice silken and coaxing as his fingers worked inside her.

“So needy for me, aren’t you, poor baby?”

She whimpered—then nodded fast,

hair falling forward, mouth open,

and Kakashi swore softly, adoringly.

“You feel good?” he asked,

even though he knew the answer—

he felt the way her walls were fluttering,

how she was already clenched around him,

riding the edge like a wave about to crash.

“Mhmm,” she whimpered,

her hips working harder.

“Show me.”

He curled his fingers deeper.

“Show me how good you feel, baby.”

That was it.

Her body jerked forward—

hips stuttering, mouth parting in a strangled cry—

and the orgasm hit her like a tidal wave,

stealing every breath from her lungs.

She ground against him again and again as it rolled through her,

chest heaving, body locking up and trembling

before melting entirely in his arms.

Her cunt spasmed around his fingers,

soaking his hand.

She moaned his name like it was a prayer,

a confession,

a sin.

Kakashi held her through it.

Kissed her mouth, her cheek, her neck.

Whispered:

“That’s it… let it happen, baby… just like that.”

And when she finally slumped against him,

panting and dazed,

his fingers still inside her and his cock aching beneath her weight—

he looked at her like she was divine.

Like she’d just undone every wall he’d ever built

Chapter Text

He still hadn’t moved his hand from between her thighs.

Slick and warm and pulsing around his fingers, Sakura trembled on his lap—her breaths uneven, her body flushed and flushed again.

But what kept him still—what stilled him entirely—was her gaze.

Wide and dazed and locked on his, like she couldn’t look away even if she wanted to.

Her hips rocked in small, delicate motions, instinctive and slow, just enough to keep his fingers nudging the edge of her climax’s ghost. And her eyes—gods, her eyes—dropped from his gaze to his mouth, lingering there a beat too long.

And then she kissed him.

Soft. Lingering. Barely a breath.

A whisper of affection and need and something more dangerous curling underneath.

She pulled back, barely—just enough to suck in a shaky breath—and her fingers twisted in his hair, her body trembling. And in a broken whine, she whispered:

“Please… please fuck m—”

He didn’t let her finish.

He launched forward, mouth crashing against hers in a kiss that cracked the air open, stealing the breath from her chest. She nearly toppled backward, gasping—but he caught her, arm slamming around her waist to tug her down beneath him.

The air shifted.

The room pulsed with something darker now, slower, deeper.

Kakashi hovered above her, his cock straining through his boxers, so hard it hurt. He kissed her again—devoured her—before dragging his mouth to her ear and pulling at the lobe with his teeth.

And then, low and rough in her ear:

“What would you have me do, baby?”

He pulled back just enough to look at her—his hair messy, his breath a rasp, his voice a sin.

Then he smiled.

That smile. Slow and wicked and knowing, like he’d just decided to ruin her and was going to enjoy every second.

He reached down, gripped himself—his thick, heavy cock in his hand—and stroked it once, lazily, the head wet with precum.

“When’s the last time,” he said slowly, “you were twisted up, pinned down, and claimed?”

Sakura shuddered—a tremor so strong her fingers curled against his chest like a clutch.

Kakashi hiked her knees up and out, opening her wide—so wide her slick glistened in the low light, her cunt wet and wanting, dripping down the curve of her ass.

And she almost curled up, almost went to cover herself—

But he stopped her.

One hand holding his cock, the other gripping her thigh, he looked right into her eyes as he brought the head down… dragged it slowly over her clit.

She gasped.

He pulled back, tapped it against her swollen bundle of nerves, then dragged it lower—over her slit, gathering her slick—and brought it back up to circle her clit again.

Wet sounds filled the space between them, louder than the sound of their breathing.

“You’re making such a mess,” he murmured, voice like velvet dragged over coals.

Then he barely pushed the head in.

Sakura whimpered.

And he pulled it out again, circling her clit, his thumb coming up to tug on a nipple, pinching it just enough to make her back arch.

His grin deepened.

“Should I have mercy on you?” he asked, cockhead teasing, voice all silken edge.

“Do you think you should earn my claim…” —he brushed the tip down, back up again, pressure steady and slow— “or should I just take it?”

She was practically vibrating, her thighs shaking, her breath caught.

“Gods,” she moaned, “please—take, take, take—”

And as the final word left her mouth, Kakashi drove forward.

One full, thick stroke.

He sank into her—deep and slow and complete—and they moaned together, voices tangling into a single sound of molten relief and holy devastation.

Her walls clutched him, tight and perfect and wet, and Kakashi nearly lost his mind.

His head dropped.

His hands gripped her thighs tighter.

And in the low, dangerous rasp of a man who’d waited long enough, he growled:

“Mine.”

The moment he sank into her—

The moment—his cock pushing in, thick and heavy, and that snarl—mine—tore from his chest like something ancient, something primordial—

The shift was instant.

Kakashi was no longer the clever, teasing loner with quiet hands and unreadable smiles.

He became every claiming, wolfish man-beast she had ever read about in her dirtiest, most fevered books.

Every filthy page that had ever undone her.

He was all of them, and more—alive and brutal and real—his cock throbbing inside her, stretching her wide and deep and right to the edge of something savage.

She could feel her body yielding to him, her pussy clenching around him like she could keep him there forever. Every sensitive nerve inside her sang with the sheer size and pressure of him.

And then his hand reached for her face.

His palm cupped her jaw with care, but his eyes—gods, his eyes—

Dark. Commanding. Asking without asking.

How far?

How hard?

How deep could he go?

Her breath caught.

She nodded—small, desperate—and his gaze darkened into something feral.

His hand flexed on her face, jaw gripping tighter, and his middle finger slid into her mouth. Her lips parted instinctively, welcoming, needy—and the pad of his finger pushed against her tongue, wet and firm and holding her there.

Then he pulled his hips back—

And rammed in.

No warning.

No tenderness.

Just the thick, punishing head of his cock slamming into every delicate spot inside her. And again. And again. The slap of their bodies cracked through the room, rough and unrelenting. Her moans broke between thrusts—high and hungry and raw.

His hand held her face there—forcing her gaze open, her mouth drooling around his finger, saliva trailing down her chin and pooling at her throat.

He bent her further back, fucked her harder.

The sound was obscene—wet and desperate and so brutally good she couldn’t breathe. A cry ripped out of her throat, part pain, part rapture, and she writhed beneath him, her body nothing but sensation.

Her eyes fluttered.

Snap—his cock drove in again, deeper, harder.

Another finger shoved into her mouth.

He grabbed her chin, fingers slick and demanding, and shook her head lightly.

“Look at me,” he growled, fucking her in sharp, brutal thrusts.

“Look at me while I take it.”

She did.

She couldn’t not.

His eyes were black with hunger, and the flash of fang when he smiled sent a tremble through her whole body.

“Mark what is mine,” he rumbled, and slammed in again, balls-deep.

He bent closer—his face just inches from hers, so close he could see the tears pooling in her lashes, her pupils blown wide, her cheeks flushed and mouth ruined.

He gripped her thighs tighter, locked her open to him, and said—

“Every inch of you is mine to bend, break, and worship.

To split open and put back together.

Do you understand?”

He ground into her as he said it, cock curling up and pressing—pressing—right into that devastating, perfect place inside her.

Her vision blurred.

Another thrust.

And another.

“Do you understand, poor baby?” he asked again, breath hot, voice a wreck of velvet and growl.

His hips rocked in shallow strokes, dragging her right to the edge.

Sakura moaned against his fingers, tried to speak, but his hand shoved deeper into her mouth—fucking her there too—and she gagged softly, drool spilling, her eyes rolling back.

“I didn’t hear you,” Kakashi said, mocking gentle—

And then he fucked her.

No more teasing.

No more buildup.

He rutted into her—brutal and claiming and possessive, each thrust slamming her further up the bed. The headboard creaked. Her thighs were quaking. Her moans rose and broke into keens and cries that sounded like prayer.

And when she came—when the orgasm finally shattered through her—

Her whole body arched.

Her head kicked back, spine curling, mouth breaking free of his fingers just long enough to scream—

“Yes! Yes, yes— I understand—yes—oh God—”

She came like something wild and untethered, a force of nature, and still—still—Kakashi didn’t stop.

He held her there.

Fucked her through it.

Forced her to feel it again and again and again until her voice was wrecked and her body shaking.

And then, with a snarl, he pulled back, gripped his cock—slick and swollen and twitching—

And came with his teeth bared.

Thick, hot ropes spilled across her stomach, her breasts, her throat—marking her. Claiming her.

And Sakura—

Sakura couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

Her whole body hummed with it. Trembled with it.

And Kakashi leaned down, kissed her so softly it made her ache again, and whispered—

“That’s my girl.”

She was still trembling when he leaned in and kissed her.

A slow, reverent press of lips over her flushed cheek, her temple, her pulse.

His cock, heavy and slick, rested against her lower belly, twitching faintly even after release.

His breath a little uneven.

His fingers still gripping her thighs.

But her mind wasn’t cloudy anymore.

It was sharp.

Drenched in hunger.

The molten ache between her legs still pulsed, and though she was still catching her breath, the sight of his come—spilled thick across her chest, streaking her breasts and dripping down her stomach—set off something dark and reckless in her.

Something primal.

Possessive.

Bold.

Before Kakashi could pull away, she reached between them and dragged her fingertips through the mess he’d left across her skin.

Thick and warm.

Marking her.

She brought her fingers to her mouth—slow, deliberate.

Kakashi froze.

And Sakura?

Sakura sucked them clean.

Never breaking eye contact.

Her mouth curled around her own fingers, tongue curling sensually as she moaned softly at the taste, and Kakashi’s expression shattered.

The twitch of his cock against her was instant.

His eyes went wide and black, his jaw locking as she licked one finger clean and went back for more.

She smeared it over her chest, over her collarbone, down between her breasts.

“You’re making a mess,” she murmured, her voice rough and ragged with sex, with power, with need. “You said it yourself…”

She licked a thick stripe from her breastbone up to her thumb.

“Come clean it up.”

And gods—Kakashi moved.

His mouth crashed into her chest, hands gripping her hips hard as he pressed her back down and sucked at the come on her skin. His tongue followed the trail she’d made—hot and urgent—and Sakura gasped and arched under him, her hands threading in his hair, holding him there.

She was wet again.

Soaked.

Throbbing and restless.

“You want more?” he growled, voice muffled as he bit lightly at her breast, his tongue circling her nipple.

“I need more,” she gasped.

He lifted his head—mouth swollen, face flushed, gaze consumed.

His cock already hardening again, twitching against her slick thighs.

“You greedy little thing,” he murmured, crawling up to kiss her lips—messy, deep, tasting of salt and heat and the ruin he’d just left.

“You just got your brains fucked out and you’re still begging for it?”

Sakura whimpered and hooked her legs around his hips, grinding up.

“You said I’m a mess,” she whispered, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his mouth again.

“So clean me up. Ruin me again. Harder this time.”

Kakashi groaned and bit her bottom lip.

Then he reached down, lined himself up—

And with one filthy, slick stroke, slid back into her.

They both moaned.

And this time?

This time, it was Sakura who took control.

She dug her nails into his shoulders and rolled her hips up to meet his thrusts.

She pressed her chest to his, their sweat and his come slicking between them.

Her teeth found his neck.

Her moans were loud, commanding, curling hot at the edges with pleasure and authority.

“Yes—fuck me like that—deeper—yes—yes, Kakashi—”

He groaned like she was wringing the soul from his chest.

“Take it,” he rasped against her skin. “Take every inch—don’t stop—”

“Then give it to me,” she snapped back, tightening her legs around him, riding the pressure, the stretch, the filthy grind.

Kakashi growled.

One hand tangled in her hair.

The other reached between their bodies—his fingers stroking her clit in fast, filthy circles.

She screamed.

The sound cracked through the house, echoing in the beams, and Kakashi slammed in harder.

“Fuck—fuck—you’re so tight like this—look at you—”

Sakura arched, her head tossing back, one hand gripping his ass to pull him in, the other fisting the sheets.

And then—another rush—

Her body tightened like a bowstring, and her orgasm crashed again—blinding—this time dragging a brutal sob from her throat as her pussy clenched so hard around him he snarled into her throat and came again.

Hot.

Deep.

Endless.

They shook together.

Breathed together.

Collapsed together.

And when the tremors faded, Kakashi pulled back just enough to see her flushed, dazed, shining face beneath him.

“You’re insane,” he panted, still buried in her, still twitching.

“You’re absolutely fucking insane.”

Sakura laughed, hoarse and dizzy.

“You started it.”

He grinned.

And kissed her again.

She woke up feeling like she could run a marathon.

Every nerve still crackled. Her thighs ached in the best way. Her lips were swollen and tender. Her skin carried the memory of his grip, his breath, his mouth—everywhere.

And somehow, she felt alive.

No—lit.

She shifted beneath the sheets and cast a glance to her right.

Kakashi was out. One arm slung above his head, the other lazily tucked beneath the pillow, mouth parted just a little, hair mussed like he’d fought off the gods in his sleep and won. The rise and fall of his bare chest was slow, heavy, steady.

He looked like sin made flesh. Like satisfaction in its rawest form.

And he had wrecked her.

Pinned, twisted, claimed… fucked like she was his.

Sakura bit her lip, body tingling again just thinking about it.

Gods, he was something else.

But even as her legs ached and her inner thighs still pulsed, her mind buzzed. She had too much energy to sit still. So she kissed his shoulder lightly, slipped out from under the covers, threw on a tank and shorts, and padded barefoot down the hall to the home gym.

The treadmill started with a steady whir.

And she ran.

Hard. Fast. Focused on the rhythm of her breathing, the swing of her arms, the beat of her own damned giddiness.

But after about an hour, something in the air shifted.

And when she looked up—heart already pounding—Kakashi was standing in the doorway.

Shirtless.

Boxer briefs.

Hair messy and jaw shadowed.

Looking like sex incarnate.

Her finger lifted to the STOP button automatically.

He stepped inside.

She hopped off the treadmill.

“Hey,” she panted, smiling like an idiot, flushed from exertion—and something else entirely.

He walked to her, slow and loose-limbed. His eyes ran down her body, greedy and unbothered. He stopped in front of her, silent for a beat, then leaned in and kissed her.

Soft.

So slow and lingering it unraveled her more than anything from the night before.

When he pulled back, her head was spinning.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice still sleep-rough and thick.

They stood there for a moment, breath mingling.

And then—

He moved.

In one swift motion, he scooped her up by the waist, her feet lifting from the mat with a squeak of surprise, and pinned her to the wall. His mouth was on hers again, hotter now, rougher. Tongue and teeth and need. One of his hands was already sliding to her ass, grabbing—claiming—her again.

She moaned into his mouth. “Kakashi—”

He didn’t let her finish.

His free hand was already wiggling down the waistband of her shorts, pushing past the elastic, greedy and impatient.

“Wait—let me shower first,” she panted against his mouth, trying to push at his wrist. “I just ran—I’m sweaty—”

He swatted her hand lightly away.

“You think I care?” he muttered.

And then he turned—walked the few feet across the room—and placed her on the bench press seat. Not a trace of hesitation.

Sakura’s breath hitched.

He sank to his knees between her legs.

Hands braced on her thighs. Mouth trailing kisses up the inside of her leg—slow, tasting her sweat, skin, the burn of her effort.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured.

“I’m dirty,” she insisted, half-laughing, half-mortified.

He nipped her hip and growled.

“Filthy,” he corrected. “And I like it.”

She opened her mouth to argue—and then he hooked his thumbs in the sides of her shorts and dragged them down.

Her breath left her lungs in a rush.

Kakashi elbowed his way between her legs, settled in like he owned the ground he knelt on, and stared up at her. His gaze flicked from her flushed face down to her glistening pussy.

Then back again.

He grinned.

Ran a single finger—softly—over her clit.

“How’s your pussy, baby?” he murmured.

She shuddered, cheeks going pink. “A little sore,” she admitted.

His smile curved slow and dark.

“Allow me to apologize.”

And then he kissed her clit. Just once.

Soft.

Then licked—a long, warm, gluttonous stripe that made her hips jerk.

Sakura gasped. “Kakashi—”

He didn’t stop.

His mouth moved against her, slow and deliberate, tongue circling, flicking, drinking. Then sucking hard enough that she cried out, one hand clapping over her mouth while the other gripped the bench.

He slipped a finger inside.

She moaned.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, voice muffled by her body.

“You’re filthy,” she whispered, sitting up to look down at him.

He looked up at her through his lashes—wet chin, flushed cheeks, lips swollen, smirking.

“Depraved,” he agreed. “Say it again.”

Then he spread her open wider with his thumbs and tongue-fucked her.

Deep.

Fast.

Messy.

Sakura cried out. Her hands scrambled for something—anything—and found his hair. She rode his face, hips grinding in desperate rhythm, chasing the edge.

And when she came?

It was a torrent.

Shaking and gasping and babbling, her thighs closing around his head, her body shuddering like she was being wrung out.

Kakashi didn’t stop.

He moaned into her pussy, like the taste of her was ecstasy itself.

When he finally pulled back—licking his lips, mouth slick, face flushed—he climbed up her body and kissed her, tender and lingering.

“You taste even sweeter after a run,” he murmured, devilish grin stretching wide.

Sakura’s breath hitched.

“You’re insane,” she whispered.

“You love it,” he replied, voice low and smug.

And she did.

Gods help her—she did.

The sun was high when they finally made it to the shower—though neither of them had bothered checking the time. Sakura, still breathless from the bench press incident, leaned against Kakashi as they entered his bathroom. The steam was already beginning to fill the tiled space, fogging the mirror and curling the edges of her damp hair.

His shower was huge—open, warm grey tile everywhere, a built-in bench along one wall, rainfall head above, and secondary jets behind glass. No curtain. Just openness and warmth.

He turned the knobs and the water hissed to life, steam huffing around them. Sakura stepped under the spray first, moaning low at the heat, arching her neck back. When Kakashi joined her, she didn’t wait. She turned and kissed him—hot, open, slow—her fingers curling at the nape of his neck. Then she pulled back and gently pushed him toward the bench.

“Sit.”

He did. Water streaming down his shoulders. His dark eyes tracked her every motion as she straddled his lap, licking his lips again, before taking his chin in her fingers.

“Can I ask you something?” she murmured, voice thick with heat.

His eyes narrowed slightly, searching hers. “Of course.”

She let the moment hang. Then, softly, dangerously:

“How do you feel about back door activities?”

Kakashi blinked. His lips curled in a slow, knowing grin.

“If you’re asking if I eat ass, Sakura… I would be more than delighted to demonstrate.”

She laughed—a rich, sensual sound—but the gleam in her gaze turned darker. She leaned in, lips near his ear, her hand still on his chin.

“Do you fuck ass as well?”

Something in him stilled.

His breath caught. The faintest flush rose up the column of his throat. His voice, when it came, was hoarse, honest.

“…Yes.”

“Do you want to fuck my ass?”

That damn swallow. A visible bob of his throat.

He nodded. “Yes.”

Sakura kissed him sweetly—so sweetly it felt like a blessing. Then, without hesitation, she pulled away, turned, and eased herself onto his lap backward. She wriggled her ass along the thick length pressing up, hard and hot, against her.

“I just know,” she whispered, tipping her head back onto his shoulder, “how good you’re going to feel inside me like that.”

His hands clamped down to her waist, thumbs pressing into her flesh. She lifted herself slightly, spread her cheeks with one hand, and used the other to guide his cockhead to that tight, forbidden ring of muscle.

Kakashi’s fingers twitched.

Then she sank.

So slow.

So fucking slow.

His breath hitched, eyes closing, his head tipping back against the tiles as the tip breached and stretched and eased into her. She didn’t stop until he was fully seated inside her. A trembling, whimpering exhale escaped them both.

Sakura rolled her hips just once, testing. “Still with me?”

His voice was strangled. “You are… fucking unreal.”

She started to move. Up. Down. Slick from the steam and her own desire, her muscles clenched and gave. She worked herself on his cock like she’d been waiting a lifetime for it, whispering filthy, reverent things—

“Does my ass feel good?”

“You fill me so deep, it’s like I can’t breathe.”

Kakashi’s hands rose to her breasts, molding and cupping, thumbs grazing her nipples. His mouth found her neck. Bit. Sucked.

And then she spread her legs wider across his, water still cascading down their joined bodies. His hand snuck between them—slick and sure—fingers plunging into her pussy with no resistance.

Sakura gasped.

Kakashi groaned. “You’re gripping me like a vice, baby.”

She moaned again.

Fucking herself.

Fucking his fingers.

Fucking his cock.

Steam whirled. Water beat down.

And when she whispered, voice trembling,

“Do it… fill my ass. Please. I want you to be dripping out of me—”

He lost it.

Thrusting up hard, pulling her back against his chest, his teeth sunk into her neck and his hips snapped. She cried out, he snarled, and they both came—her clenching on his fingers, him pulsing deep inside her ass, groaning her name as his release flooded.

They shuddered together.

Still moving in little rocking thrusts.

Steam hiding nothing.

Breath panting.

The sound of their hearts so loud it filled the space.

Kakashi pulled back just enough to murmur into her shoulder, grinning with awe:

“…Un-fucking-real, baby.”

No Rain

They were both still damp when they got dressed, laughter still laced in every motion.

Sakura pulled her shorts up one leg at a time, wobbling a little, and Kakashi steadied her with a hand on her waist. She grinned at him, cheeky, and he leaned in to steal a kiss—quick, then slow, then deep enough she had to steady herself against his chest again.

“Hey,” she murmured into his mouth, “what happened to the knife, by the way?”

Kakashi paused with his shirt halfway on. His brows dipped slightly as if genuinely trying to remember.

“Huh.”

He tugged the shirt down over his head and looked around the room.

“It’s here somewhere.”

Sakura gave him a look.

“Wow. Dangerous.”

Kakashi smirked, bending to grab his boots.

“Ma’am, you had the knife to my throat.”

“You gave it to me to stab you.”

“The only thing that got stabbed was you, baby.”

She rolled her eyes.

“God, you’re unbearable.”

He grinned around the bootlace between his fingers.

She walked to the window, still pulling her hair into a bun, and paused.

“Hey… no rain.”

Kakashi looked up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She turned toward him. “Are you gonna call Obito?”

“Yeah,” he said, tying off the lace. “I’ll check in with him, see what’s up. If the road’s clear, he might be able to get through sometime today or tomorrow.”

Sakura’s smile faded a little, something quieter settling on her face.

“And,” Kakashi added, rising to his feet, “I’ve gotta mow the lawn while it’s not coming down in buckets, just in case it pours again. What’s with that look?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek.

“I don’t know. Is it weird that it sort of… sucks? Thinking I’ll be leaving soon?”

Kakashi didn’t say anything at first. He just watched her for a long, still stretch. Then he crossed the room toward her, steps quiet.

When he was close enough to touch her, he did—just a hand at her waist.

“No,” he said softly. “It’s not weird. I feel the same way, to be honest.”

Her eyes lifted to his.

He leaned in, kissed her. Tender. Warm. Something lingered between their lips when he pulled back, just breath and almost-said things.

“Maybe I’ll just have to figure out a way to keep you here forever,” he murmured.

Sakura chuckled, heart thudding a little too fast.

“We could always dump my car in the river.”

He laughed.

“We could. But I gather your friends back home would miss you.”

Her face changed. Not a grimace, but close.

“I don’t have anyone there,” she said simply. “Not really.”

His brows ticked.

“It’s so weird,” she added, quieter. “Living in a city full of people and still feeling so alone.”

Then she looked up at him and inhaled, nervous.

“Can I be honest with you?”

He nodded instantly.

“Of course.”

Sakura turned her head away for a moment, trying to find the right words. When she looked back at him, her voice cracked just slightly.

“Being here with you, for even this short amount of time…” She breathed out. “It’s made me feel less lonely than I have my entire life.”

Kakashi didn’t move.

“I mean it,” she whispered. “I don’t even feel the smallest bit lonely. Not when I’m with you.”

The silence stretched again. He was looking at her with something weighty and deep in his expression, something unreadable and tender and burning.

Then finally, he spoke.

“Can I be honest too?”

Sakura nodded, heart in her throat.

“Of course.”

Kakashi’s mouth curved, but his eyes didn’t leave hers.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

She froze.

“I’ve heard it’s a thing,” she said, cautious.

He nodded once, the tiniest tilt of his head.

“I wouldn’t mind if you never left, poor baby.”

The way he said it wasn’t joking, wasn’t teasing. It was sweet and deep and earnest, and it made her breath catch.

He reached up, cupped her cheek.

And for a second, she wasn’t sure if she was going to cry or kiss him.

She laughed instead, weak and warm.

“But that would be insane, right? I mean… maybe we just feel this way because of everything we’ve just done.”

Kakashi’s eyes softened.

“Maybe,” he said, brushing her shoulder. He leaned in, kissed her cheek, and added, “I’m gonna call Obito.”

She watched him head toward the door. Something wild and half-formed fluttered in her chest.

“Kakashi,” she called softly.

He stopped, looked back at her.

“Yeah, killer?”

“Can I use your laptop?” she asked. “Just to check in with work. Maybe give them an update.”

He smiled and nodded.

“Help yourself, sugar.”

She watched him leave, the echo of his words in her chest.

I wouldn’t mind if you never left, poor baby.

And somehow, that sounded a lot like a promise.

The thing about mornings in the country—when it wasn’t raining, anyway—was that they forced you to sit in your own skin.

Kakashi stood in the hallway, one boot on, staring through the cracked door where Sakura still moved around his bedroom. Her laugh lingered like the steam in the shower, clinging to his ribs. His hand hovered over the second boot but didn’t move. That feeling in his chest—tight and warm and strange—refused to leave.

It was the same damn feeling his dad used to talk about when he looked at his mom. He used to say, “You’ll know, son. One day you’ll meet someone and it won’t feel like falling—it’ll feel like remembering. Like you’ve always known her.”

Kakashi shook his head and blew out a long breath. It was too fast. Too intense. Too good.

She’d said she felt less lonely with him than in her whole life.

He felt the same.

Hell, he’d lived a hundred lives already, or at least it felt like it—across oceans, deserts, and all the blood and gravel between—and still, there’d been nothing quite like waking up to the smell of her skin and the echo of her laugh.

He muttered, “Christ,” under his breath and pulled his phone from the counter.

Obito picked up on the second ring, already grumbling.

“You know some of us are knee-deep in mop-up work, right?”

Kakashi leaned against the doorframe.

“Yeah, yeah. Just checking when you’ll be heading this way. Weather’s finally clear.”

Obito grunted.

“Tomorrow night, maybe the day after. Still some shit to clean up.”

Then, after a pause: “How’s it going over there?”

Kakashi scratched the back of his neck.

“You want the truth or the edited version?”

Obito chuckled.

“Don’t pretend we don’t swap trauma and jack-off stories in the same breath. Give it to me raw.”

So Kakashi told him—about the breakdown, the porch, the beer, the knives, the sex, the wall, the fucking everything. About her loneliness. About how not lonely he felt when she looked at him like he was something she’d been waiting for.

When he finished, Obito whistled.

“Well, damn. Considering you’ve never said shit like that about anyone, it sounds like something.”

Kakashi hummed.

“Could just be the good sex talking.”

Obito snorted.

“Sure. Good sex is powerful. But you’ve had good sex, man. You’ve never called me about it.”

A long silence stretched between them. Kakashi didn’t break it.

Then Obito went,

“Why not call Sissy?”

Kakashi huffed a laugh.

“Rin? She’d eat this up with a fucking spoon.”

“Yeah, but she’s smart. Like Momma smart. You want good advice, she’s got it.”

Another pause. Kakashi imagined Rin holding a baby in one arm, a toddler on her hip, giving him that big-sister, no-bullshit stare through the phone. There was a warmth in his chest that hadn’t been there for years. Since their mom died.

“I can buy you another week if you need it,” Obito said, voice soft now. “Say something came up.”

Kakashi smiled.

“Don’t do that. She’s been through enough. She deserves real peace.”

They exchanged a few more words—brother to brother—and then hung up.

But the weight in his chest lingered.

And so, he tapped Rin’s name.

She answered before the second ring.

“Hey! It’s my favorite fart-face!”

He laughed.

“You can’t pretend we don’t talk every week.”

In the background, he heard babies squealing and toddler screeches. A door slamming. Chaos.

“How are the gremlins?” he asked.

“Oh, you know. Living chaos. Feral. Loud. Sticky.”

“Sounds like a dream.”

Rin’s laugh went a little hysterical.

“You want one? I’ll send you a box.”

Kakashi chuckled. Then, quieter:

“Hey, I actually wanted to talk to you. About something real.”

Her tone shifted instantly.

“Go on.”

He told her everything. Not just the sex—though he did spare a couple of highlight moments—but the feelings. The ease. The way Sakura looked at the world. The loneliness. The hope.

By the time he finished, Rin was silent.

So long, in fact, he pulled the phone away from his ear to check the call.

“…Rin?”

“I’m here,” she said quickly, breath caught. “Sorry. I had to step outside. Left the babies with daddy.”

More silence. Kakashi rubbed at his chest.

“I’m crazy, right? This is insane. Obito said good sex can cloud—”

“I have never,” she cut in, “ever, heard you talk like this. About anyone.”

He bit his cheek.

She exhaled.

“Remember what Momma used to say?”

He swallowed.

“Which part?”

“The boat.”

He winced, already knowing.

“Oh, God.”

“She said—A man’s drowning in a flood. He prays for help. A boat comes, he says no thanks, God will save me. A helicopter comes, same answer. A log floats by. Same thing. Then he dies and asks God why He didn’t save him. And God says: ‘I sent you a boat, a helicopter, and a log.’”

Kakashi exhaled through his nose.

“Heavy.”

“She would say: ‘Don’t be a fool waiting for a miracle when you’re neck-deep in one.’”

He smiled, tight-lipped.

“You sound just like her.”

“So I’ve heard,” Rin whispered. “I miss her.”

“Me too.”

“You deserve happiness, Kashi. Don’t run from it just because it’s fast. If there’s a will…”

“There’s a way,” he finished.

“You’re a Navy SEAL, for fuck’s sake. You’ve done harder shit than maintaining a five-hour relationship.”

He laughed.

But his heart was pounding.

Because she was right.

And he knew what he knew.

And what he knew… was Sakura.

Sakura tucked her phone between her shoulder and ear as she leaned over the kitchen counter, one hand absently tapping at the edge of Kakashi’s laptop.

“Yes, I’m here. No, I didn’t die. Sorry,” she mumbled, a sheepish grin on her face.

Her boss’s voice came through bright and a little too chipper for this early in the day.

“I was starting to worry. But you’ve been working remotely, caught up on all the deliverables, and we don’t have any active campaign launches this month—so I’m just glad you’re okay. Really. Take the time.”

Sakura blinked.

“Wait… seriously?”

“Seriously seriously,” her boss laughed. “We’ll circle back if anything urgent comes in. But for now, enjoy the peace.”

“Thanks, Mira,” Sakura said, heart stuttering with something she hadn’t felt in a long while—relief. “I appreciate it. I’ll keep checking in.”

Once the call ended, she sighed and sat up, rubbing the back of her neck. The early sun poured in through the kitchen window, warming the hardwood floor beneath her bare feet. She took a sip of coffee, eyes drifting lazily over the open laptop screen in front of her. It was Kakashi’s. He’d left it open.

She hadn’t meant to pry. Really, she hadn’t. But there, in the top corner of the desktop, a Word doc sat, dated August 17th, 2009—titled simply:

If I Should Die.

Her hand hovered. She stared at it. Curiosity is a shameful thing.

She clicked.

If I Should Die

Written by: Hatake, Kakashi

For Rin, Obito, Momma, Pops… and anyone else unfortunate enough to have this befallen them.

If I’m dead by the time you’re reading this, I hope I died in a way that made me brave.

I hope I did something noble. Something right. I hope it mattered.

I hope I died the kind of death PawPaw would be proud of—loud, loyal, and worth the breath it cost.

I’ve always said, men like us—soldiers, shadows, brothers in blood—we don’t get forever. So don’t mourn me long. Just remember me honest.

Momma, if I didn’t call enough—I’m sorry. You always knew how much I loved you even when I didn’t say it. You were my first compass. The way you prayed, the way you fought, the way you forgave.

Pops… you were quiet and tough and real. If I ever had any backbone, it came from you. Tell the land I said thank you.

Obito, blood brother—you already know. No regrets. Take care of Sissy. And the others. Live wild. Ride hard. Burn bright. But don’t die stupid.

Rin—Sissy—this land is yours now. PawPaw would want you to have it. Do with it what you want. But for the love of God… if you turn it into that froyo dance studio, I will haunt your ass.

(Yes, I know it’s your dream. I’m just saying: prepare to be haunted.)

But truly, I trust you. Always did.

If this is it… if this was the last firework I had in me, know that I burned it with everything I had.

Men like us know how fast the light can go out. So if I’m gone—let it be said I didn’t waste a breath. Let it be said I was ready.

—K

Sakura’s hands were trembling. Her breath hitched as her eyes welled up, spilling tears down her cheeks in quiet, uncontrollable waves. Something about it—about the boy who wrote this, the man she’d come to know, the tenderness in his coarse soul—it leveled her.

“Jesus…” she whispered.

And then from behind her, low and warm and familiar:

“You can thank creative writing and Braveheart for that one.”

She whirled around, wiping her eyes, heart thrashing. Kakashi leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his expression soft but tinged with something older. Something worn.

“I shouldn’t have—” she started, but he waved her off.

“It’s okay,” he said gently, walking in. “I forgot that file even existed.”

He came to stand beside her, eyes glancing once at the screen before resting on her face.

“You were what—nineteen?” she asked, voice cracking.

He nodded.

“First deployment. I wrote it in a tent after my first real op. Thought I wasn’t coming back.”

Sakura looked at him, heart so full and fragile she thought it might crack wide open.

“You’re a good man, Kakashi.”

He smiled, crooked and quiet.

“You’re a good woman, Sakura.”

They stood there for a long moment, just breathing together. Until Kakashi reached out, thumb brushing beneath her eye.

“You’re crying for me,” he murmured.

“I’m crying for all of it,” she said.

And without another word, he pulled her into his arms. And she didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.

Sakura wasn’t sure who moved first—whether it was her fingers tightening around the collar of his shirt, or his palm cradling the back of her head—but the kiss bloomed between them like it had been aching to exist for lifetimes.

It wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t hungry.

It was soft. Devastating. A mercy.

Her lips trembled against his, still wet with tears, and Kakashi kissed her as if her sadness was sacred—like it deserved reverence, not repair.

She tilted her face more fully into him, breath hitching in the quiet, and Kakashi deepened the kiss—not with urgency, but with weight. Like he was pouring every unspoken thing into the space between their mouths. His hands were impossibly gentle where they held her cheeks, thumbs swiping over her flushed skin like a prayer.

Her sob turned into a sound halfway between a gasp and a moan.

He leaned in more, until her spine bowed into his chest, until her whole body folded into his quiet strength. And then—without ever letting their mouths separate—he gathered her up in his arms.

She clung, thighs cinching around his waist instinctively, arms around his shoulders, nose brushing his temple.

He walked.

And the world walked with them.

She didn’t even realize they’d reached his room until her back met soft cotton sheets, and the scent of cedar and something unmistakably him filled her lungs. The next kiss was slower. Hungrier, maybe, but still wrapped in that tender ache that made her want to cry all over again.

Their clothes came off in pieces—quiet moments threaded between hot breaths and careful hands. She tugged his shirt off. He helped her wiggle out of her shorts. She kissed along the line of his collarbone. He pressed his lips to the curve beneath her breast.

It wasn’t about speed. It was about being there—about the way their hands curled around each other’s limbs like they belonged there.

And when Kakashi pulled her into his lap, legs stretched long in front of him, back resting against the headboard—Sakura melted into the cradle of his body like it was the only place she’d ever belonged.

She straddled him slowly, knees framing his hips, legs curled back behind him as she hovered above him.

Her hands cupped his face.

Their foreheads touched.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice deep and quiet.

Her breath caught. She closed her eyes. And then she lowered herself.

The head of his cock parted her, slow and hot and deep—and the kiss they’d been holding shattered into matching, broken moans.

It was overwhelming.

How full she felt.

How right it felt.

His hands were on her waist, trembling slightly, and she curled her fingers into his hair, her thighs quaking as she adjusted to the stretch of him. They sat like that for a long, sacred moment—foreheads still touching, their bodies flush and trembling in tandem, both of them clutching at the edge of something too big to name.

And then they started to move.

Gently. Rocking.

Back and forth.

Like a tide lapping the edge of something raw.

Sakura whimpered and rolled her hips, chasing the rhythm of his breath, the pulse of his cock dragging against every trembling place inside her. She kissed his jaw. He kissed her neck. Her fingers curled at the back of his head. His mouth caught a moan against her throat.

It was slow. Wrecking.

It built like stormlight in the belly of the sky.

And through all of it, her tears never stopped.

Not loud, not choking—just present. Like they’d been waiting to be witnessed.

Kakashi held her like a holy thing. Kissed her like a question he was willing to spend his life answering.

And when the build finally crested, when her muscles tightened and her breath faltered and she could feel him getting close too—she bent her mouth to his neck, lips trembling, and whispered:

“I’m glad you’re still here.”

His body stilled for just a beat. His breath hitched.

And then he whispered back, voice cracking, “Me too.”

Their orgasms spilled through them like something elemental—like fire and tide, like stars collapsing in quiet worship. She cried harder, gasping, moaning into his shoulder as he buried his face in her neck and held her through it, grounding them both as they shook.

They didn’t separate for a long time.

They just stayed there, breathing in the sacred aftershocks, wrapped around each other like something ancient and rare—like they’d found something neither of them had ever dared to name.

The house smelled like garlic, chicken broth, and something simmering that made Sakura’s stomach growl every few minutes despite herself.

Kakashi moved around the kitchen with a practiced kind of ease—barefoot, hair still damp from their shower earlier, sleeves pushed up, stirring the soup like he’d been born doing it. There was a small pot bubbling on the back burner, a pan of something caramelizing up front, and a clean cutting board in front of her where she sliced carrots into thin coins.

“You’ve done this before,” Sakura murmured, not looking up from the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of the knife.

“Soup?” he asked, glancing at her. “It’s one of my few party tricks. Wait ‘til I make gumbo.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“You should.”

There was a warmth in the air. Domestic. Unrushed. Like the house itself had exhaled.

Sakura paused mid-chop and looked up, watching him stir. His back flexed slightly with each movement—broad shoulders rolling under the thin, soft cotton of his shirt. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, clinging in all the ways that made her head swim. And the way he looked so content, so present here, in this humble kitchen with a wooden spoon in hand—it did something to her chest she didn’t know how to name.

Then he turned.

Caught her watching.

One eyebrow lifted in playful warning, mouth tilting.

“If you’re not careful,” he said, “we’re not going to have dinner. Not if you keep looking at me like that, poor baby.”

Sakura flushed immediately. “I wasn’t looking.”

He snorted. “You were absolutely looking.”

“I was admiring,” she corrected, which only made him grin wider.

“Ah. My mistake.”

After setting the knife down, she wandered toward the wall of family photos—rows and clusters of mismatched frames that lined the space between the kitchen and the living room. She tilted her head, studying one.

“Who’s this?”

Kakashi didn’t even look. “That’s Obito and me. Age nineteen. Just before our first tour.”

“Oh my god, is that a mohawk?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, deadpan.

Sakura laughed and pointed to another photo of a big group grilling around a bonfire. “And this?”

“Rin’s birthday a few years back. That’s my uncle, that’s Sissy’s husband, and that’s Nana—don’t ask her about vodka if you want to survive.”

Sakura blinked at him. “Y’all look really tight-knit.”

He nodded, gaze softening as he stirred the soup. “We are. We may not be an overly big family, but we’d go to war for each other.”

He glanced at her as he said it.

She caught the look. Felt it in her chest. It fluttered somewhere between warning and invitation.

She smiled and turned back to the photos. “Is military a thing in your family?”

“Far back as a few great-grandpas. Never pressured or anything—it’s just kind of in the blood.”

She turned to look at him. “Literally.”

Kakashi smiled, repeating, “Yeah. Literally.”

She moved down the wall until she stopped at a picture that made her do a double take. It was Kakashi—hair longer, younger maybe—holding a swaddled baby in one arm while chasing a toddler across a field. In the blurry background, Rin stood with her pregnant belly, one hand on her hip and the other mid-gesture like she was yelling at them both.

“You… framed this?”

Kakashi looked over and laughed. “Sissy is a hellcat when she’s pregnant. She told me not to rile the babies up.”

“So you riled them up.”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

Sakura stared at it longer than she meant to. “You look really good with a baby on you.”

Kakashi paused at the stove. Then, softly: “Thank you, Sakura. That’s… very sweet of you.”

She glanced over, cheeks warming. His eyes were on her—unflinching. Gentle. Something curled in her belly.

He turned back to the stove, and from where he stood, he asked casually, “Do you like kids?”

Sakura stepped closer to the counter again, still looking at the photos. “Oh, I love them.”

He nodded once. Stirred the soup.

“Do you want to have kids one day?”

The question landed hard and soft at the same time. She blinked, caught off guard, but her answer was honest.

“Yeah,” she said, throat tightening. “I’d love to be a momma.”

There was a pause.

Then Kakashi made a thoughtful sound. “Hm.”

He didn’t turn around.

Sakura raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

He gave a little shrug but still didn’t turn. “I think you’d make a great momma one day.”

Sakura’s heart lurched. “How do you know? Maybe I’m terrible.”

Now he turned. Slowly.

“Nothing about you is terrible,” he said, voice low. “In fact, it’s remarkable. I’ve never seen someone’s heart so much like I’ve seen yours.”

He paused.

Sakura swallowed. “And?”

His gaze flickered to hers. “And… it’s terrifying how remarkable it is.”

Her breath caught in a nervous laugh. “Terrifying?”

Kakashi grinned slowly. “Yeah. Because I shouldn’t feel this way for a stranger. And yet…”

He trailed off, eyes locking with hers.

And Sakura—barely breathing—whispered, “And yet here we are.”

His brow ticked up, and the grin turned into a full, blinding smile. He stepped closer, reached out, gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“And yet,” he said again, so quietly it felt holy, “here we are.”

The soup was damn good, if she did say so herself.

Or maybe it was the shirt. His shirt. Oversized, soft, still faintly smelling like him. That and her own panties were all she wore, and something about the contrast of that—bare legs and a steaming bowl of soup, cozy on a rain-threatened evening—made her feel warm down to her bones.

Kakashi sat across from her on the couch, ankles crossed, one hand curled around a glass of whiskey, the other holding the TV remote. They were watching reruns of American Ninja Warrior, both of them shouting opinions at the screen between bites.

“His arms are too long,” Kakashi muttered as one guy failed the warped wall. “You need spring, not reach.”

Sakura snorted. “He needs coordination, not hope.”

“Bold from someone who tripped over my boots this morning.”

“I was distracted.”

“Oh yeah? By what?”

“You. Shirtless. Cooking bacon. Like a damn lumberjack thirst trap.”

Kakashi grinned and lifted his glass in mock toast. “Guilty.”

Sakura took another bite, then glanced at him thoughtfully. “Can I ask something?”

He eyed her over the rim of his whiskey glass. “Mm?”

“Your time in the SEALs. Do you ever—”

Kakashi shook his head so fast and so dramatically, she blinked.

“No ma’am,” he said firmly.

Sakura narrowed her eyes. “What?”

He lowered his glass with a smirk. “You know the rules.”

“What rules?”

Kakashi reclined smugly. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember: for every story I share, I get to dig into one of your books and that filthy, filthy mind of yours.”

Sakura’s stomach dropped. “You’re still on that?”

He grinned wider.

She downed the rest of her whiskey and sighed. “Fine.”

He was on his feet in an instant.

“Where’s your bag?”

“Rocking chair,” she mumbled, already regretting it.

Kakashi made a beeline for the canvas tote slumped over the back of the chair. His hand disappeared inside, rustled for a moment, and then—

“Ohoho—what do we have here?”

He lifted a thick black book, matte cover, no author listed. Just one bold word in stark white:

FULL

His lower lip jutted. “Hm.”

Sakura’s face ignited.

“Kakashi—”

He turned slowly, hawkish. “Oh yeah. We’ve got a juicy one.”

He plopped back on the couch, thumbing quickly through the pages. His expression changed—curiosity, then confusion, then something wicked.

“Chapter… seven,” he murmured. “Nope—back a bit. Six.” He flipped again. “Here we go.”

Sakura’s soul left her body.

He began reading out loud.

“Her breath hitched as the blindfold was tightened, plunging her into velvet-dark submission. Rope cinched under her breasts, tighter now, wrists bound behind her, legs spread by the bar fastened at her ankles. She felt him step closer. Heard the rustle of fabric. A hot breath against her ear.

‘Don’t you dare come until I spit it in your mouth,’ he whispered.

‘You’ll wait until I say. Until I’m good and ready. You’ll take every drop I give you, and you’ll thank me for it.’

She whimpered. The taste of him still lingered—salt and heat and something forbidden—as he pressed her back, hips pinning her open, filling her again while she swallowed down what he gave her.”

Kakashi closed the book gently.

Brows raised high.

“Goodness sake, Sakura.”

She flailed. “Okay, no! You don’t get it! It’s about exploring vulnerability and body autonomy and—”

“How,” Kakashi deadpanned, “is spitting come from one mouth into another a soul journey?”

“It’s about—!” She groaned. “The heroine grew up with generational shame embedded into the women in her family. She’s learning to reclaim desire and control and agency through extreme consensual fantasy scenarios.”

He tilted his head. “Uh huh. Is that why you scooped my come off your chest the other night and licked it off your finger?”

Her breath hitched.

He smirked.

“Your turn. Ask away.”

She stared at him for a beat. Then drained her glass, sat back into the couch, and exhaled.

“Okay. Have you ever hooked up with any babes abroad?”

Kakashi laughed. “Actually? No.”

“No?!”

He shrugged. “We were always either too busy, too cautious, or too emotionally fried to even think about it. Now Obito on the other hand…”

“What about Obito?”

He raised a finger. “Nope. Another question. The rules are rigid, I’m afraid.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You picked the rules.”

He was flipping through more pages now, humming, glancing over the chapter titles.

“What is it about this one, though? You’re blushing harder than I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“Sakura. Baby. You are beet red. Which is impressive, considering.”

She groaned and muttered, “It’s sort of… a specific book. Tailored to a couple very specific kinks, rolled into its own kink monster.”

“Kink monster,” he repeated, grinning. “Pray tell.”

“If I tell you… you have to answer that last question.”

He nodded solemnly. “Deal.”

Sakura snatched the book from his hands, flipped to the front few pages, and tapped a small paragraph.

“Read this.”

He did.

Out loud.

Trigger/Kink List: dubious consent, consensual non-consent, bondage, denial, cum play, forced orgasm, size difference, breeding…

He paused.

Turned his head slowly.

Brows lifted. “Forced breeding?”

He kept reading.

…knotting, heat cycles, rutting, primal play, omegaverse, and—ah—endless come.

Kakashi choked. “Endless?”

Sakura stared straight ahead.

He peered at her. “Okay. Okay, I gotta ask. What the hell is the Omegaverse?”

Sakura winced.

“It’s—uh—it’s a… genre of erotic fiction that reimagines dynamics between people using animalistic instincts, biology, and social hierarchy.”

Kakashi blinked. “English, please.”

Sakura closed her eyes. “There are Alphas, Betas, and Omegas. Alphas are dominant, scent-marking, knot-having types. Omegas go into heat. Sometimes there’s—uh—mating marks. Breeding instincts. Hormonal cycles. And… knots.”

“Knots,” he repeated. “As in…”

“Y-yeah. Like. Canine anatomy.”

He just stared at her.

“So this book is about, like… breeding, but more animalistic?”

She nodded.

“But with bondage.”

Nod.

“And forced breeding.”

Another nod.

“And knotting?! Is that what I think it is?”

Sakura didn’t answer. Just nodded slowly, redder than ever.

Kakashi sat back, looked at the ceiling, then back at her.

“That’s… very interesting.”

“Don’t judge me!”

He held up both hands. “Not judging. I just think it’s… telling, is all.”

“Telling?!”

“Oh, relax. I think it’s hot. Kinda explains why you damn near growled the other night.”

Sakura hurled a throw pillow at him.

He caught it.

And winked.

“Okay,” Sakura said, still fanning her flushed cheeks. “So what about Obito?”

Kakashi exhaled a quiet laugh and stood, gathering their empty glasses. “Ah, that one…” He disappeared into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. “Hold tight, sugar.”

She heard the familiar clink of ice, the gentle glug of whiskey poured slow and deliberate. A soft whoosh of the fridge opening. Then his footsteps returning.

He handed her a fresh glass, plus a tall one of water without comment, and plopped next to her again—closer this time. Their knees brushed.

He shrugged, casual. “Well. We’re all in one space. It’s quiet out there. Paper-thin walls.”

He sipped. A gleam lit his storm-colored eyes.

“And we could just hear him going at it.”

Sakura choked on her drink. “Kakashi!”

He chuckled, shoulders shaking. “There was this one time—he met this beautiful Japanese woman. Just stunning. They hooked up, and she kept saying something over and over, and he didn’t really understand it, but he was into it.”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“Later,” he continued, “we found out she was calling him an American pig. As in—‘You like getting fucked, little piggie. Squeal, little piggie.’”

Sakura gasped. “No!?!”

Kakashi nodded, eyes crinkling. “Oh yeah. Obito thought he was hot shit the whole next day. Until one of the other guys—Asuma—let him in on what she’d actually said.”

She clapped a hand to her mouth, laughing. “What did he do?!”

“He tried to find her,” Kakashi said between snorts, “but we’d already shipped out. To this day, when he’s being a real dipshit, I’ll just lean over and say: ‘Little piggie.’”

Sakura doubled over, practically crying. “That’s evil.”

“It’s justice.”

Their laughter lingered like the warmth of the whiskey, slow and glowing.

Kakashi watched her with a contented little grin before tilting his head. “You have any siblings?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Only child.”

“Cousins? Friends?”

“Yeah, cousins. Aunts. We used to be closer, but you know how it is. Everyone grows apart.”

Her eyes dropped to the rim of her glass, fingers smoothing the condensation.

“I always wished my family had been tight-knit. Like yours.”

Kakashi studied her for a moment. Then he tipped his head, gave her a rueful smile.

“You’ll be pretty tight-knit in our family soon enough.”

Sakura blinked. Then leaned back, squinting at him with a grin. “Bold of you to assume.”

His smile widened to something boyish and devastating. “Too late. I’ve already told my sissy about you. She’s never letting you escape us now.”

Sakura giggled. “She sounds awesome.”

“She is,” Kakashi said, pride in every syllable. “Rin’s the best. Obito and I are very protective of her.”

Sakura narrowed her eyes playfully. “Ahh. Her poor husband.”

“Oh yeah,” Kakashi chuckled. “That man went through the ringer. But they’ve been married a long time now. Got babies. He’s solid.”

He gave her a long, pointed look.

“If he wasn’t—well, Obito and I are very well trained in body disposal.”

There was a glint in his eye. Not entirely joking.

Sakura shivered, delighted. Her voice dropped just slightly.

“There’s something so hot about a man protecting his family.”

Kakashi wiggled the black book from earlier between two fingers.

“In this scenario,” he asked, “who’s getting bred here?”

Sakura took a sip of whiskey at precisely the wrong moment.

She spluttered, coughing, eyes watering, clutching her chest.

Kakashi burst out laughing, nearly wheezing. “Oh my god—are you dying?”

She was redder than a cherry tomato. “You asshole!”

He handed her the water, still laughing. “I was genuinely asking!”

“You knew what you were doing!”

“I did not!” he said, clearly lying, grinning so wide his teeth flashed. “It was an innocent question!”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Sakura blinked, still a little dazed from laughing so hard, her throat dry from the whiskey and the remnants of her breathless giggles.

Kakashi’s grin was crooked, a little mischievous, and when he cocked his head and said, “Any more questions, killer?” her heart jumped in that annoying way it always did now.

She considered.

Then her eyes flicked, involuntarily, to the book on the coffee table.

He followed her gaze.

And when he looked back at her—slow, deliberate, pupils blown like ink bleeding into sky—his grin stretched wider.

“You know,” he said casually, “I have never heard of the omegaverse before this… let alone read about it.”

“Kakashi—” she started, worried.

He held up the thick matte-black book titled FULL and gave it a light bounce in his palm. “Is there a scene in this book you’re fond of?”

Sakura hesitated, heat rushing into her cheeks.

Kakashi’s smile turned sharper. “Would you be so kind as to show me?”

Her shoulders slumped a little in mock defeat, but her belly was flipping, fluttering. “You’re so annoying,” she muttered.

“Mmhm.” He didn’t move.

With a quiet huff, she reached for the book and thumbed through the thick pages, past the smeared ink of chapters she’d read too many times, until she landed on it. Early second half. She checked a few paragraphs ahead, a few behind, then nodded.

“Here.”

She held it out for him.

But instead of taking it, Kakashi set his whiskey down with a clink, gave a very slow shake of his head—and gripped her hips.

“Wait—” she squeaked as he pulled her gently but firmly until she slipped down against the couch cushions, her thighs parted around him.

His mouth kissed a lazy path along her neck, her collarbone. Hands trailing up under the hem of his borrowed shirt—his shirt—until they found the curve of her hips, and then the warm, damp place between her legs.

“Read it,” he murmured against her skin, one long finger sliding along her already-slick pussy. “Please.”

Her head tipped back, lips parted. “What?”

But his middle finger pressed in with that maddening tenderness, curling just once before retreating—then swirling softly over her clit.

“Read your favorite part to me, poor baby.”

His eyes were so dark. So open. So full of want.

Sakura swallowed. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened the book to the place she’d marked. Her voice was uncertain at first, quiet.

But she began.

The pod was warm, built for comfort—padded with cushions at the front half, and a wide open chamber at the back. Her upper body pressed into the softness while her hips were left bare, jutting through the padded ring to the other side. Her wrists were bound to the floor of the pod, her blindfold tied snug around her eyes.

Inside with her, a Beta cooed and stroked her sweat-damp hair, whispering praise against her cheek. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, kissing her. “So full already.”

She barely had time to respond before she felt the heavy hands of the first Alpha outside the pod grab her hips and drag her back with a growl. Her breath hitched. She could feel how slick and desperate she was—how her cunt fluttered even before the wide, hot head of his cock pressed to her folds.

“Look at this messy cunt,” he snarled, then shoved inside with a brutal snap of his hips that rattled the entire pod.

Sakura gasped as Kakashi moved down between her legs and spread her gently, his mouth meeting her folds like a prayer. His tongue dipped low, then dragged up in a smooth, slow stroke that made her hips jerk.

But she kept reading, breathless.

The Beta kissed her shoulder and lapped at her nipple while the Alpha pounded her, hips slamming her back with every thrust. She was drooling, incoherent, her toes curling, her womb clenching, begging to be filled.

Kakashi moaned into her pussy, and the vibration made her fumble the words. She tried again.

When he knotted deep inside, she screamed around the cloth in her mouth. The Beta kissed her temple as she trembled. “That’s it,” he purred. “Let it happen. Let him breed you, sweet girl.”

Kakashi pulled back just long enough to bite the inside of her thigh.

“Keep reading.”

She whimpered. Her hips bucked. His fingers were inside her now, working slow and sinful while his mouth dragged across her clit again and again.

The second Alpha didn’t wait long. He pushed into her before the knot could shrink. She felt him stretch her wider, felt the thick slap of his balls, and knew she was already dripping from the last round. She couldn’t stop moaning. The Beta stroked her face and said, “Such a good little Omega, so empty and ready for more.”

The third Alpha was the biggest. His cock kissed the mouth of her womb, then shoved further until her spine arched and her moans turned to sobs. “You’ll carry pups,” he growled. “You’ll be so fucking full, so swollen with seed.”

Sakura was panting now, trying to finish the paragraph while Kakashi’s fingers pumped into her, his tongue flicking rapid, rhythmic circles over her clit until her thighs trembled.

“Horny little bitch,” the Alpha snarled. “You love this. Love being filled, bred, used. Such a messy, needy thing—dripping from your pretty hole. You want to carry every drop, don’t you?”

And she did. Gods, she did.

She dropped the book.

Her body arched, eyes rolling as Kakashi moaned deep against her and sucked her clit like he wanted to drink her dry. His fingers pressed harder, curled perfectly, and then—then it all broke.

Sakura cried out as her orgasm slammed through her—white-hot, thunderous. She clawed at the couch, her hips twitching as he licked her through every wave, never relenting.

When the trembling slowed, she looked down with half-lidded eyes, breath still shallow.

Kakashi stood, eyes heavy, mouth wet with her release.

He pulled her upright. Gripped her jaw.

And without a word, opened his mouth and let the cum he’d been holding there drip into hers.

Sakura moaned as she accepted it, eyes fluttering shut. She hadn’t even swallowed before he threaded his fingers into her hair, tilting her head back more.

“Don’t swallow,” he whispered.

Her thighs still trembled. Her pussy pulsed, wet and raw and aching. And she hadn’t swallowed.

Kakashi’s fingers threaded tighter in her hair, the press at her scalp both commanding and comforting.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice thick and low.

Sakura let him guide her from the couch, down, down, onto her knees on the floor in front of him—still with his spit and her own slick in her mouth, her lips parted, her breath shallow. The heat between her legs didn’t subside. It only grew. His eyes on her made her feel like prey. Like worship. Like ruin.

And gods, she wanted to be ruined.

He gazed down at her like a god deciding whether to grant mercy or drag her to hell.

And either way, she’d thank him.

Kakashi undid his belt slowly, the leather whispering through the loops, metal clinking low in the room like a warning. The zipper came next. His thick cock sprang free—already so hard, flushed and leaking.

“Keep your mouth open,” he said softly, gently. His words wrapped around her like velvet and wire.

He reached over her, grabbing the book she’d flung away in the heat of orgasm. His other hand ran the tip of his cock down the curve of her cheek.

“You are so pretty like this,” he cooed, silky as sin, his tone reverent and devastating.

Then he leaned in, kissed her bottom lip like it was something sacred, something rare. And as the kiss broke, he pressed the wide head of his cock past her lips.

Sakura’s eyes fluttered. She moaned, welcoming the taste of him, the weight of him on her tongue. She tried to take more—eager, desperate—but he ticked his hips back, just enough to hold her still, his expression dark and glazed.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured, fingers still firm in her hair.

And then he began to slide in again, slow and indulgent. His eyes rolled back as a moan caught in his throat.

Sakura could hardly breathe for how wet she still was.

He raised the book in one hand, flipping deftly through pages until he found the one he wanted.

“Here we go,” he breathed, voice cracking with a grin as he thrust forward gently, shallow, into her mouth. “You’ll like this one.”

His other hand stayed curled in her hair, guiding her slowly on his cock, and he began to read, his voice husky and raw:

The Alpha shoved her face-first into the nest of furs, straddling her hips. She was already slick and open, cunt trembling with the last orgasm he’d pulled from her with just his fingers. He didn’t wait. His knot slammed in, thick and brutal, punching a scream from her throat. He bit her gland and she cried harder—her body leaking slick, milking his cock, the stretch almost unbearable.

Sakura whimpered around him.

Kakashi moaned.

“You’ll take it,” the Alpha growled against her ear. “You’ll milk every fucking drop from me, messy girl. You were made to be bred. Just look at how you squirm for it.”

Kakashi’s pace in her mouth quickened. His fingers tightened in her hair.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re—mm, gods, Sakura—you’re unreal.”

Sakura hummed around him and the vibration pulled a sound from deep in his chest.

He lifted her, fucked up into her from behind with her back to his chest, one hand on her belly, the other smearing her own slick across her clit. “You’re not done,” he snarled. “I’m not done. You’ll take every load, every knot. You’ll be so full, you’ll leak for days.”

Kakashi’s voice cracked again on the last line.

He looked down at her, eyes like thunderclouds. Holding the book in one hand, the other guiding her mouth faster now, his breath ragged.

And then he read one last line:

“Say thank you, bitch,” the Alpha rasped, holding her down with one hand as he thrust so deep she went silent. “Say thank you for the seed in your cunt.”

Kakashi hissed, and his hips bucked.

He buried himself in her throat.

Sakura gagged, her eyes watering. His cock pulsed thick and hot, and with a moan so deep it made her shiver, he came.

The salt of him flooded her mouth, her throat. She swallowed instinctively once, twice—but when he finally pulled back, his cock shiny with the mess of them both, he reached down and cupped her chin.

“You know what to do,” he said, voice low, almost reverent.

She looked up at him, lips glossy, cum on her tongue as she opened her mouth wide and stuck it out.

He bent to kiss her there, licked the tip of her tongue, nuzzled her cheek like she was his treasure.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered.

And in that moment, she wasn’t embarrassed. She wasn’t ashamed.

She felt fucking cherished.

Sakura blinked, still a little dazed from laughing so hard, her throat dry from the whiskey and the remnants of her breathless giggles.

Kakashi’s grin was crooked, a little mischievous, and when he cocked his head and said, “

They’d fallen asleep wrapped in each other, all cleaned up and curled beneath the sheets, limbs tangled and hearts steady.

But sometime around 3 a.m., Kakashi’s eyes snapped open.

Something wasn’t right.

The hairs on his arms rose before the sound even registered—a footfall too heavy for an animal, crunching gravel outside the window.

Kakashi shifted silently, slipping out of bed with the kind of precision only years as a SEAL could engrain. Sakura stirred beside him, but he leaned down and pressed a finger to his lips.

Silent.

Her breath caught.

He moved like smoke, sliding along the shadows of the room as the sound of footsteps circled toward the back door. Sakura followed barefoot, heart hammering, barely breathing, watching from the hallway.

She saw the knob rattle. Slow. Testing.

Then—

Kakashi struck.

The door flew open with a burst of strength, the man on the other side yanked inside so fast he didn’t have time to shout. Kakashi slammed him against the wall with one arm locked around his chest, the other twisting his wrist behind his back. The man’s breath caught in a choke.

Kakashi’s voice was ice and steel, low and lethal.

“Tell me who the fuck you are and why you’re on my land.”

The man struggled uselessly. His boots scuffed against the floor.

Sakura flicked on the hallway light and gasped.

“Daichi?”

Kakashi turned just enough to glance at her, his eyes sharp. “Your ex?”

She nodded, but her eyes were already blazing. Rage overtook her fear.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she snapped.

Daichi was still half-choking, straining in Kakashi’s grip. Kakashi adjusted just enough to let him breathe—but not move.

Daichi coughed, then sputtered, “Your mom—your mom asked me to find you. She shared your location. She’s worried.”

Sakura blinked.

Then her hand came flying.

SMACK.

The slap cracked through the hallway like a gunshot. Kakashi didn’t flinch—but Daichi staggered. Even with Kakashi’s grip, the force rocked them both.

Sakura’s voice was fury incarnate. “Are you insane? Who the fuck breaks into someone’s house in the middle of the night like a goddamn stalker? My mom knows I’m safe. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Daichi looked dazed. “She’s your mother—your family’s worried—”

“My family,” she snarled, “sent you? The same man who made my life a living hell? What the fuck kind of logic is that?”

Kakashi’s arm flexed slightly, holding Daichi tighter.

“I can have you arrested or buried. It’s your choice.” His voice was calm, almost gentle—but that made it worse.

Daichi’s face paled.

“Sakura, come on. Let’s go. You’re not thinking straight. You don’t even know this guy—”

SMACK.

Her second slap was louder.

“Fuck you. You don’t get to say who I know. You don’t get to come here—uninvited—on someone else’s property—and try to drag me back like I’m your fucking problem to solve. Tell my mother since you’re apparently so close now,” her voice was shaking with fury, “that I’m just fine. And I don’t ever want to hear from her—or you—again.”

Daichi’s mouth opened, grasping for something to say.

Kakashi spoke first. “I’ve got a sawed-off with your name on it, pal. And you are this close to seeing how fast I can load it blindfolded.”

Sakura’s voice cracked. “Get the fuck out.”

Daichi raised his hands. “I’m leaving, alright? Jesus—”

“Not fast enough.”

Kakashi wrenched the door open, grabbing Daichi by the collar.

“I’ll throw him over the gate,” he said over his shoulder to Sakura. “Be right back.”

And he did just that.

The night closed in again. The door slammed shut. Silence returned—but not peace. Not yet.

Sakura stood trembling in the hall, chest heaving, heart rattling in her chest.

The shame. The rage. The violation.

And underneath it all—something else.

A flicker of safety. Of awe. Watching the way Kakashi moved. The way he protected her. The way he didn’t ask questions, didn’t hesitate. Just acted.

God help her, but that alone made her weak in the knees.

Gravel crunched under Kakashi’s boots, each step slow, steady, deliberate. The bastard was heavier than he looked, but Kakashi hoisted him like a duffle full of wet gear—no more, no less.

Daichi sputtered a protest when Kakashi reached the gate, but Kakashi didn’t stop. He hauled him up by the back of the shirt and belt and tossed him over the gate like he was chucking firewood. The thud on the other side was satisfying.

Kakashi leaned on the post, looking down at him.

Steel behind his voice. Not loud. Quieter than wrath.

“Next time you’re on my land in the dead of night, I’ll shoot first. Then I’ll ask questions. Maybe.”

Daichi groaned, pushing himself up. “Yeah, what the fuck ever. You think I wanted to do this? I owed her mom a favor.”

Kakashi’s brows ticked up. Still calm.

“Her mother?”

“Yeah. She wanted me to bring Sakura back. They think she’s not safe with you.”

A beat of silence.

Then Kakashi hummed—a sound that sent chills across desert sand once, years ago. “Funny.” His eyes narrowed. “Who’s trespassing and breaking into homes at three in the goddamn morning? Because it’s not me.”

Daichi spat. “Look, she was worried. Thought maybe I could talk some sense into her.”

Kakashi tilted his head.

“And what was the plan? Scare her into leaving? Convince her with a ski mask and a crowbar?” His voice dipped colder. “If her safety was your concern—why not call the cops?”

Daichi looked away. “She thought I could bring her back.”

“By breaking into the house she was sleeping in,” Kakashi repeated, slower this time, like Daichi needed a minute to work through the logic.

“She still shares her location with her mom,” Daichi muttered. “She texted it to me. I saw Sakura’s car out front.”

Kakashi nodded.

That was all he needed.

He stepped closer, slow and quiet again, until Daichi could see the look in his eyes. “I don’t give a damn how many favors you think you’re owed. I don’t care what anyone told you.”

Then, still soft—

“But if you ever—ever—show up near my woman again without her asking for you, I will drag you out slower. And next time, I won’t be so polite.”

Daichi’s mouth opened to say something.

Kakashi turned his back on him.

Inside, Sakura gripped her phone like it might combust in her hand.

“I cannot believe you did that,” she hissed, pacing the living room barefoot in Kakashi’s t-shirt.

“It’s three in the morning, Sakura,” her mother snapped on the other end, voice bleary but harsh. “And I’m the one who should be upset. You haven’t checked in once in two days, you’ve gone off with God knows who—”

“He’s not some stranger, Mom. He’s a good man. And you sent my ex-husband to drag me back like a kidnapped toddler—do you realize how fucked up that is?”

“Watch your mouth—”

“No, you watch yours.” Sakura’s voice trembled. With anger. With hurt. “You gave him my location. You sent him into a stranger’s home in the middle of the night. That could’ve gotten him shot.”

“Well maybe it should have!” her mother barked. “Maybe then you’d come home and stop embarrassing the family.”

Sakura froze.

“Embarrassing?”

“Running off with a man like that, disappearing—”

“A man like what?”

Kakashi walked in then, shirtless, calm but still hot from adrenaline. His hair was tousled, his hand flexing once by his side as he saw the expression on her face.

She held up one finger to him.

“Let me tell you something,” Sakura said, voice steel-threaded now. “That man is more of a family than anything I’ve known in years. You don’t get to decide who’s safe. You gave my abuser a key back into my life. I hope you realize how messed up that is.”

The line went dead.

Sakura stared at the screen for a beat, then dropped her arm, chest rising and falling.

Kakashi came to her slow, warm palms skimming up her arms. “You okay?”

Her eyes were glassy but furious.

“She doesn’t get it.”

“She doesn’t have to,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’re safe. You’re here. And no one’s dragging you anywhere.”

Sakura finally exhaled and leaned into him.

The door was locked. The night had teeth.

But in Kakashi’s arms, she was unshakeable.

The house was still. Quiet. Too quiet.

Sakura stood near the hallway, arms crossed tight over Kakashi’s T-shirt—her breath shallow, chest aching. Her hands were shaking, but not from fear.

From rage. From embarrassment. From the sheer audacity of what had just happened.

She turned and caught Kakashi’s eyes just as he looked at her. They both opened their mouths—

“I’m sorry,” they said at the same time.

A wry smile tugged at both of their mouths.

Kakashi stepped forward slowly. “I’m sorry your mom did that to you,” he said, voice low, like it hurt just to say the words. His jaw flexed. “And Daichi… I mean that’s—”

“Fucking crazy, right?” Sakura cut in, eyebrows raised. Her voice pitched, cracked on the edges. “Tell me that’s crazy.”

Kakashi blinked. “No. That’s insane. He’s lucky I didn’t shoot him. Any other landowner would’ve taken one look at a man fiddling with a back door at three a.m. and—”

“Boom,” Sakura muttered, covering her face with her hands. She sighed and shook her head. “I am so sorry this happened to you.”

Kakashi chuckled, a sound that rumbled low in his chest as he stepped closer. “To me?” His eyes twinkled. “I’m not the one who almost got whisked away in the middle of the night.”

Sakura dropped her hands, exasperated. “Did they seriously think I was just gonna let him, what—scoop me up and carry me home like a kidnapped toddler?”

Kakashi shook his head, shrugged once.

“Are you gonna call the cops?”

He thought for a beat. Then, simply—“No. I’ve said what I’ve said. If he wants to play again…” He met her gaze, voice dropping to a lethal hush. “He knows what’s waiting for him.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

Sakura swallowed.

“I’m sorry this is happening. I’m sorry all of my bullshit is just—messing up your life.”

Kakashi barked a laugh. “Honey.” He grinned, wide and easy. “I’m having a blast.”

Sakura blinked.

“Granted,” he went on, “that’s not exactly how I pictured using my SEAL training again, but alas. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Despite herself, Sakura laughed—and it sounded so good, it hurt.

“That was really impressive,” she admitted, eyes sparkling. “Like… movie impressive.”

Kakashi stretched, spine crackling. “Ah, nah. I’m rusty.”

“If that’s your rusty,” she teased, “your best must be astonishing.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “You know how to stroke a man’s ego.”

She rolled her eyes. But then there was a beat of stillness. A shift in the air.

“Would you really kill him?” she asked, quieter now. There was no flirt in her voice this time.

Kakashi tilted his head. Studied her for a long, unreadable moment.

“For you?” he said softly. “I would.”

Sakura had meant to laugh. Had meant to toss back a quip, to play it cool.

But it came out breathless instead.

“You’d think I’d be afraid,” she murmured, eyes flicking to his mouth, “but…”

She trailed off.

Kakashi’s expression darkened, something like heat blooming behind his eyes. “But what, Sakura?”

Her lips parted. Her mouth had gone dry. Her heart pounded wildly.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I should be afraid. But if we’re being honest… seeing you incapacitate the man whose only mission in life is to make mine hell—in less than three seconds—and then threaten to kill him?”

She looked up at him. Her voice dropped.

“It just turns me on.”

Kakashi grinned. The kind of grin wolves wear when they catch the scent.

He stepped closer.

“Maybe I’ll let him break in a couple more times,” he murmured, head tilting like a wildcat, voice so silky it melted across her skin, “if you’re gonna look at me like that every time.”

Sakura’s breath caught.

He reached for her—slow, predatory.

“Are you thinking about it, poor baby?”

His hand slid to her waist.

“Thinking about me twisting you up the same way?” His voice dipped even lower. “Making you take my cock?”

Her cheeks flushed so hot she thought she might combust. She nodded, slowly.

“You want me to make you milk my cock?”

A shuddering breath escaped her.

“Yes.”

His gaze searched hers for a single heartbeat longer.

Then he asked, just above a whisper—

“What’s our safe word?”

Her lips parted.

“Knife.”

Kakashi’s smile was slow and sinful.

“Knife,” he echoed, and took her mouth like a promise.

She didn’t make it to the bedroom.

Not even to the hallway.

Kakashi caught her the second she murmured knife and turned it into prophecy.

He kissed her like he’d earned her. Like she was his to wreck and rebuild from the inside out. And maybe she was. Because by the time he’d backed her into the living room wall, her knees were already buckling, her hips searching for pressure, her breath catching on every filthy promise he hadn’t even spoken yet.

He didn’t speak—not at first. He let his hands do the talking.

One on her throat. One sliding down her belly.

And when he got beneath her panties, when he ran two fingers through her slick heat and felt how wet she already was for him, that’s when the grin came.

That damn grin.

His mouth hovered over hers as his fingers curled just barely inside her—slow, testing—and he whispered:

“You poor thing.”

Sakura whimpered, arched into his hand. Her thighs trembled.

“You are a slut for it, huh?” he murmured against her lips, voice like smoke in her bloodstream. “My come.”

Her whole body jolted.

Kakashi licked the corner of her mouth and groaned softly. “Thought so.”

He pushed deeper, spreading his fingers slowly until she was stretching around the pads of them. Her head hit the wall with a dull thunk, eyes fluttering, mouth open in helpless little gasps.

He didn’t let up.

“Bet your pussy remembers,” he whispered. “Bet it’s still aching for me to fill it again. Fuck it full and keep it full.”

Sakura moaned—loud, desperate.

Kakashi’s hand at her throat flexed—not choking, just holding, possessing.

“That’s what you want, right?” he crooned. “Want me to fuck you stupid and breed you like you need it?”

She clawed at his shoulders, back arching. “Yes—”

“Want me to knot you like some fucking animal?” His voice darkened, turned cruel with desire. “Want me to split you open, pin you down, and pump you full until there’s nothing left but my come leaking out of you?”

“Kakashi—fuck—”

His fingers curled wickedly and pressed up, hitting that perfect spongy spot, and Sakura screamed.

“Shhh,” he crooned, grinding his palm against her clit. “Neighbors’ll think I’m hurting you.”

“You are,” she gasped. “Good—hurting—please—”

Kakashi grinned again. He was relentless now. Fingering her with hard, brutal precision, making her take it, making her grind against his hand like a bitch in heat.

“You’d let me do it, wouldn’t you?” he whispered into her ear. “Breed you so deep your body never forgets the shape of mine?”

She cried out—legs shaking, eyes wet. “Yes—God—yes—”

“Stuff you full of come until it’s dripping down your thighs. Until you can’t walk. Until you feel pregnant, even if you’re not.”

Sakura’s orgasm was violent. She came with a ragged sob, clinging to him, body convulsing against the wall as his fingers kept working her through it.

He kissed her temple. Her cheek. Her jaw.

“That’s it, pretty thing,” he murmured, still fucking her with his fingers while she shook. “Just like that.”

She slumped against him, panting.

But Kakashi wasn’t done.

He pulled his fingers out—slow, wet—and brought them to her lips.

“Open.”

She obeyed.

He smeared her own slick on her tongue, watching her eyes roll back.

“Now,” he said darkly, “we’re gonna go to the bedroom. And I’m going to fuck you full until you scream for me again. And you’re going to take every drop like the good little thing you are.”

Sakura’s knees buckled.

Kakashi caught her.

And carried her to the bed like a man possessed.

He didn’t let her catch her breath.

Kakashi laid her on the bed like a sacrifice. His hands were already at her thighs, spreading them wide. His cock—hard, heavy, and pulsing—was dragging through her folds before she could even plead.

But he wanted the sound.

He leaned over her, pressing the weight of himself onto her chest, and whispered in her ear:

“Say it.”

She whimpered. “Please—”

“Say it.”

Sakura’s breath broke on a gasp. “Please fuck me—please, Kakashi—breed me—”

That was all he needed.

He pushed in deep, burying himself to the root in one brutal, breath-stealing thrust that had Sakura’s legs flying up around his ribs. She cried out—high, sweet, desperate—and Kakashi groaned like something unholy.

“That’s it,” he growled, hips grinding slow and deep. “Take it. Take all of me. Feel how deep I am, baby?”

Sakura couldn’t answer. Her mouth just opened and closed as he rocked into her—grinding with every thrust, pressing his cock against the back of her pussy like he could brand her from the inside out.

“You’re so wet,” he hissed, dragging almost all the way out before slamming back in. “This pussy wants it. It knows me.”

Sakura nodded helplessly, tears slipping down her cheeks from overstimulation.

Kakashi leaned back, grabbed her ankles, and pushed her knees to her chest—folding her in half. His cock drove deeper in this position, and when her back arched from the stretch, he laughed—dark, cruel, fond.

“Look at you,” he cooed, “bent in half and drooling on the sheets. And still begging for more.”

He slammed into her over and over until the bed frame screamed. Until Sakura sobbed with every thrust. Until her slick had soaked his thighs and the sheets beneath them. And then—only then—he pulled out, flipped her to her stomach, and yanked her hips back.

“Ass up. Chest down. Don’t move.”

She obeyed with a moan.

And when he slammed back into her from behind—harder, deeper, meaner—she screamed.

Kakashi’s hand fisted in her hair. His other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise. He fucked her with vicious rhythm, hips slapping, balls wet with her slick.

“You’re gonna milk me, baby,” he panted against her neck. “Gonna wring every drop out of me like the come-hungry bitch you are.”

Sakura sobbed. “Please—want it—want your come—”

Kakashi growled, bit her shoulder, and slammed deep one last time—grinding, cock pulsing, as he poured himself into her.

He stayed buried, breathing ragged.

“That’s right,” he moaned. “Take it.”

She collapsed beneath him.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out—slow, messy—and watched his come leak down the backs of her thighs.

“Stay still,” he murmured.

He climbed off the bed, returned with one of his shirts, and knelt behind her. He wiped up the spill gently, then used his fingers to stuff the rest back inside her pussy.

Sakura trembled.

“You’re gonna keep it,” he whispered, “until your body knows who it belongs to.”

And then—gently—he pulled her into his arms, kissed her temple, and whispered:

“Mine.”

Sakura barely had time to whimper when he dragged her by the hips to the edge of the bed, her legs dangling off, her pussy still glistening and full. He shoved her thighs apart and stared down at her cunt—wet, flushed, swollen, his come slipping from her in thick lazy streams.

He groaned.

“Look at that.”

He pushed two fingers into her and pulled them out—covered in his seed—and brought them to her lips.

“Open.”

She did. Moaning as he fed her the taste of him—of them.

He pulled her upright by the wrists, dragging her across the bed and forcing her to kneel beside him as he stood at the edge.

“Watch,” he growled, gripping his cock and stroking it back to full hardness.

Sakura’s eyes widened—he was still hard, still dripping.

“Watch me fuck what’s mine.”

He bent her over, pressing her chest to the mattress, one leg up on the bed while the other hung off—and lined up again. His cock was slick with her arousal, with his own release, and he slapped it against her pussy a few times before sliding back in slow.

So slow she shook.

And then he pressed a hand to the small of her back and slammed into her—hard enough to knock the breath out of her lungs. He grunted. She screamed.

And then he pulled out again—slow—and did it all over.

“You see that?” he hissed, glancing down, grabbing the base of his cock as he dragged it in and out of her ruined pussy. “See how your little cunt clings to me? See how it doesn’t want to let go?”

Sakura sobbed.

“You’re gonna watch,” he snapped. “Gonna watch how well you take my come. How much your greedy little pussy needs it.”

He grabbed her by the hair again and dragged her head down—until she was looking between her own thighs, eyes locked on where his cock was spearing into her, thick and brutal, creamy with the mess they’d already made.

“Look at it,” he growled.

He pulled all the way out—just to watch another spill of come drip from her stretched hole.

“You’re leaking,” he murmured darkly, almost fond. “Guess I need to put more in.”

And he slammed back in.

Sakura screamed again.

“That’s it,” he whispered against her spine. “Gonna fuck you full until it stays. Gonna breed you so deep your body forgets what it means to be empty.”

He twisted her, again—this time onto her side, one leg slung high over his shoulder as he fucked her sideways, deep and brutal, his hand pressing her thigh open so he could watch it all. Watch his cock vanish inside her again and again, sloppy and noisy and feral.

“This pussy was made for me,” he growled. “And I’m not stopping until you believe it.”

Sakura choked on a sob, nodding. “Yes—yes—please—”

He grabbed her face, forced her eyes open.

“Say it.”

“It’s yours—it’s all yours—please—fill me—”

He moaned.

And then he fucked her harder—ruthless, savage, until her pussy fluttered around him, already on the edge.

And when he felt her clamp down—

He pushed in deep. So deep. So fucking full.

And came.

Again.

Pouring everything into her in wave after wave, hips twitching, breath ragged.

When he was done, he stayed there—his cock buried to the hilt, his fingers stroking her stomach like he could feel it fill from the inside.

“You’re gonna keep it this time,” he whispered. “All of it. Every last drop.”

She was trembling.

Still full of him, still open, still twitching around his cock.

Kakashi hadn’t moved—hadn’t let a drop spill. He’d stayed buried to the hilt, one large hand stroking the sweat-slick curve of her hip while the other cupped her throat gently from behind, thumb brushing her jaw as if soothing her.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, voice so low it made her throb. “You kept it in.”

Sakura moaned, barely audible, breath catching in her throat.

And then he pulled out.

Slow.

Thick. Wet. Sticky. His cock slid from her with a lewd schlk, and a heavy spill of their combined come followed—seeping out in globs down her thighs.

Kakashi caught it with two fingers. Watched the string of it drip.

“Still leaking,” he murmured, and then shoved the two fingers into her mouth. “Clean it up.”

Sakura sucked—eyes wide, cheeks hollowing around the mess he fed her.

He groaned, cock twitching again.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Then—he was dragging her again. Rolling her onto her back, hoisting her legs up and over his shoulders this time, cock already hard again as he positioned himself right at her ruined, raw, glistening entrance.

“I need to see it,” he rasped. “Need to watch this greedy little cunt milk me again.”

And he slammed back in.

Sakura cried out—no sound. Just a shape of a scream, mouth open, nothing coming out but broken breath and shock.

He laughed—feral. Dark. Possessive.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “there it is. Fuck, there’s nothing better than watching you come with no sound at all. Like I’ve knocked the wind outta your pretty little body.”

He didn’t stop.

He fucked.

Long, dragging strokes that pushed everything back in, then fast, filthy thrusts that made obscene squelching sounds as her pussy gushed and clenched and fluttered around him.

She was sobbing—silent again.

And he leaned forward, pressing her folded knees into her chest, his weight grinding her down into the mattress as he fucked her with unrelenting purpose.

“Come on,” he growled. “Milk my cock again. Let it all out.”

Sakura’s body locked up—trembled.

And then—

She broke.

Pussy rippling around him in wet, wild spasms. Soaked. She was soaked.

And the sound she made this time was completely gone—her throat bobbing, eyes rolling, mouth hanging open in a wordless, perfect release.

Kakashi moaned like he’d come again from just watching it.

“There she is,” he whispered, barely able to keep moving as she kept pulsing around him. “Fuck—look at that—you’re sucking me dry, baby. You’re milking me.”

And he stayed inside her, grinding in slow, tight circles, eyes never leaving the place where her pussy swallowed him over and over again.

“You belong to me,” he rasped. “You’re mine. You were made for this.”

And Sakura, still soundless, nodded through the haze.

They stayed like that for almost ten minutes.

Still joined. Still breathing in the same rhythm. Her legs trembling around his waist. His cock pulsing inside her, still hard, still home.

Kakashi hadn’t moved. Not even a twitch. Just pressed his forehead to hers, his breath deep and steady, his hands still wrapped around her thighs.

One of them had come with sound. The other without.

Both of them were still spiraling in the aftershock.

Eventually—slowly—he leaned back, just enough to run his thumb along her jaw, catching the tears that had dried on her flushed cheeks.

His voice was a whisper.

“You still with me, baby?”

Sakura nodded, eyes half-lidded and dazed.

“Good.”

He kissed her. Slow, melting, claiming.

And then he shifted her. Turned her onto her stomach. Hands under her hips. Cock still buried inside.

He rolled his hips once—deep—grinding his weight down into her until she cried out again.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. “You’re still so tight. Still fucking squeezing me.”

His hand moved up to her nape, threaded into her hair, gripped firm—but not cruel—and slowly, he arched her head back toward him. She let him. Like a doll. A well-used, soaked, ruined doll.

“Is this what you imagined when you read that filthy little book?” he asked, low and gritty. “Me pinning you down like this—breeding you full over and over until you forgot your own name?”

Sakura moaned, legs spread wider as her hips lifted to meet him.

“Yes,” she gasped. “God, yes—Kakashi—”

He drove into her. Hard. Slow. Brutal. Pressed her back down into the bed with the sheer force of it.

“I’ve never felt anything like this,” he growled, voice fraying at the edges, “never wanted anything like this.”

Sakura sobbed into the pillow—her cunt still milking him like she was trying to claim his soul.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he whispered suddenly, biting her shoulder. “I can’t let you go.”

Another thrust. Another pulse. His cock sunk so deep she swore she could feel it in her ribs.

“Then don’t,” she moaned, breath shattering. “Don’t let me go—don’t ever fucking let me go—”

And he lost it.

Snarled.

The sound was wild—half-man, half-beast, low and guttural and desperate—as he slammed into her one final time and held.

Sakura shattered beneath him, crying, sobbing, pulsing so hard around his cock it forced the orgasm out of him with a full-body jerk.

He spilled inside her again. Again. Again.

Heat. Pressure. The push of him staying, owning, marking every part of her from the inside out.

They didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just breathed.

Together.

Until Kakashi leaned forward, kissed the sweat along her spine, and whispered—quiet and honest and everything:

“I think I’m falling in love with you, poor baby.”

They didn’t move for a long time.

Just the sound of the ceiling fan spinning, a breeze lifting the sweat-damp ends of her hair, and the slow, steady thrum of his heart pressed to her spine.

Kakashi was still inside her. Still hard. Still holding her like his hands weren’t ready to let go yet.

And maybe they weren’t.

His breath was deep and quiet. Slower now. She could feel it against her shoulder, the soft brush of his mouth at her neck, like even in the silence, he needed to touch her.

Sakura finally stirred.

She shifted her hips just a little and winced with a soft, aching moan. Kakashi caught the sound like a prayer and immediately moved. He slid out of her slow, careful, like he was easing out of something sacred.

She whimpered at the loss, already empty.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss behind her ear.

He rose, strong and lithe and beautiful in the half-dark, and returned moments later with a warm cloth. He cleaned her gently—reverently—even as she trembled beneath his hands.

“Still with me?” he murmured.

“Always,” she said softly, and it was the truest thing she’d ever said.

He climbed into bed behind her and pulled her back to his chest. Her legs tangled with his. His palm slid over her belly, then her ribs, then up—cupping her breast like it was meant to be held there.

They lay in silence.

Then she whispered, “You meant it, didn’t you.”

Kakashi stilled behind her.

“When you said you didn’t want to let me go.”

He let out a breath against her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I meant it.”

She turned in his arms. Faced him. His silver hair was mussed and wild. His jaw shadowed in stubble. His face—so often unreadable—was open now. Raw. Beautiful in a way that made her ache.

“I’ve never had someone fight for me like that,” she whispered. “Not really. Not like you.”

His gaze softened.

“You shouldn’t have to fight so hard just to be left alone,” he murmured. “Or to be loved right.”

She swallowed hard. Her fingers traced his chest. The scar near his collarbone. The faint trail of scratches she’d left earlier, glowing red against his pale skin.

“I don’t want to go back,” she said, voice trembling. “I don’t want to go back to who I was before you.”

Kakashi leaned in and kissed her forehead.

“Then don’t.”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy. “Will you… stay with me? Keep staying?”

His voice was steady, even as his thumb traced the edge of her jaw.

“I’m already here, baby.”

She buried her face in his chest, and he held her like he’d been waiting his whole life to wrap his arms around her.

Eventually, he whispered, “You scared the hell out of me tonight.”

“Me too,” she said, breathing into him. “But I feel safe now.”

He kissed the top of her head and smiled against her hair.

“Then I’m doing something right.”

They stayed like that. Wrapped in warmth, honesty, and skin. Nothing between them but everything real.

No masks.

No fear.

Just two wrecked souls choosing to rest inside each other.

They stayed like that for almost ten minutes.

Still joined. Still breathing in the same rhythm. Her legs trembling around his waist. His cock pulsing inside her, still hard, Sunlight spilled lazy and golden across the hardwood floors.

Kakashi’s arm was thrown over Sakura’s waist. Her leg was hooked over his hip. Somewhere in the corner, a fan whirred gently, blowing her tousled hair across his shoulder.

They hadn’t moved in hours.

Well. That wasn’t entirely true.

They just hadn’t moved much since falling asleep—after the intense, soft, ruinous night that left her aching in all the best ways.

Sakura blinked up at him now, lips curled in a small smile.

“You’re staring.”

Kakashi blinked back. His face was a mess of pillow lines, mussed silver hair, and fondness so blatant it made her stomach flutter.

“Mm,” he shrugged. “You’re something to look at.”

“You’re full of it.”

“And you’re full of me,” he murmured.

Sakura smacked his bare chest with the back of her hand. He caught it, grinned, kissed her knuckles.

They lay like that for a few more moments, warm and open and tangled.

Then—

“You know,” Kakashi said, voice still gravelly from sleep, “maybe this is forward. Or too soon. Or both. But…” he trailed off, then shrugged. “All of this feels like it shouldn’t feel this way so fast. But it does.”

He tilted his head against the pillow and looked at her.

“Time’s an illusion anyway.”

Sakura blinked at him. “That’s your reasoning?”

“Have you seen the stars? That shit’s ancient.”

She laughed and rolled onto her back, stretching.

He followed her with his eyes, then his hand—fingers skating down the slope of her side, his palm pausing just beneath her ribs.

“I meant what I said about how I felt,” he murmured.

She turned her head.

He was still watching her.

“And… if you wanted to live here, I wouldn’t mind one bit.”

Silence.

Then: “…Live here?”

“Mhm.” He shrugged again, casual as ever. “There’s a closet with your name on it. And a laundry basket, and my bed, and the shower, and the porch, and the yard, and the armchair. You know. If you’re into domestic stuff.”

Sakura gave him a long stare.

“What if I’m messy? Or crazy?”

Kakashi looked mock-thoughtful. “You are messy.”

She elbowed him.

“And maybe a little crazy.”

Another elbow. He caught it again. Kissed her arm. Grinned like a fiend.

“But I like your kind of crazy. And I’m already picking up your socks anyway.”

She smiled, soft and blooming.

“And what if you’re the crazy one?”

His grin widened. He raised a brow, slow and smug.

“Baby, you’ve got the knife.”

She choked on a laugh. “You are ridiculous.”

“You’re stuck with me.”

They lay there in warm light, humor curling into affection.

“Seriously though,” he added, a little softer, “don’t ever feel pressured. I’m just saying… whenever you want. Or if you never do. But I’d never say no.”

Sakura looked at him—at this feral, soft-hearted man with bed hair and lines by his eyes and a smirk like the sun was in on it.

She opened her mouth.

Then—

Crunch.

The sound of tires on gravel.

Kakashi’s head lifted.

He blinked. “…That’s Obito.”

Sakura blinked. “How can you tell?”

Kakashi sat up, rubbing his face. “That man drives like a maniac. You can hear his engine screaming from a zip code away.”

She sat up too, tugging the sheet over her chest just as a car door slammed outside.

Kakashi groaned. “And here comes the chaos.”

Sakura raised a brow. “Should I put on pants?”

He gave her a long once-over.

“…You could. But then again, Obito’s been hit with worse.”

Sakura snorted. “You’re so lucky I like you.”

Kakashi grinned. “You’re so lucky I got to you before Obito could show up with one of his damn mixtapes.”

She gasped. “He has mixtapes?”

“Burned CDs. Labeled with sharpie.” Kakashi stood, already heading for the door. “Pray you never hear track three.”

Sakura was laughing as she scrambled out of bed, half-dressed, glowing.

Outside, Obito hollered:

“DON’T OPEN THAT DOOR WITH YOUR DICK OUT, YOU MENACE—THERE’S A LADY PRESENT!”

“She likes it, asshole!”

“Y’ALL NEED JESUS.”

Sakura was still laughing when Kakashi kissed her forehead and opened the door.

Obito stood in the middle of the gravel drive like he owned the damn place, arms outstretched, sunglasses on despite the fact it was barely 9 a.m., and wearing a T-shirt that said Guns, God, and Great Asses.

Sakura blinked. “…That’s your best friend?”

Kakashi scratched his head. “Unfortunately.”

“I can hear you, asshole,” Obito called.

“Good,” Kakashi called back.

Sakura hid a smile as she padded barefoot across the porch, coffee in hand and still wearing one of Kakashi’s shirts that hung nearly to her knees.

Obito’s gaze swept over her with the discerning scrutiny of a nosy older brother, lips twitching. Then he turned to Kakashi, who’d stepped just behind her.

“She’s cute. Way too good for you.”

Kakashi lifted his coffee and muttered, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You sleep with your mouth open.”

“You cried at the end of Mulan.”

Obito clutched his chest. “It was emotional, you cold-hearted bastard.”

Sakura sipped her coffee, trying and failing not to grin.

Obito turned to her. “Hi. I’m Obito. Lifelong burden to this man’s existence.”

“Sakura,” she said with a smile. “Temporary thorn in his side.”

Obito cackled. “Oh, I like her. I like her.” He jerked a thumb at Kakashi. “You know he once ran shirtless into a lake in the middle of a thunderstorm just to impress a girl who liked frogs?”

Sakura’s jaw dropped. “Frogs?”

Kakashi groaned. “She was a herpetologist. I was seventeen. Shut up.”

“You nearly got struck by lightning.”

“It was romantic!”

Obito rolled his eyes. “Anyway. Let’s talk about your car, Miss Sakura.”

He wandered toward the gravel edge where her dusty, sun-beaten sedan sat looking particularly sad.

“She’s got a heart, but baby, she’s on life support.” Obito opened the driver-side door. It creaked ominously. “How the hell did you make it down that road?”

“She’s scrappy,” Sakura said defensively.

“She’s death-defying.” He kicked a tire. “I think this thing has trust issues.”

Kakashi leaned against the porch post. “You sure you can even get it onto the truck?”

Obito sniffed, insulted. “Please. I once towed a Humvee off a cliff in Afghanistan.”

“You didn’t tow it, Obito. You pushed it.”

“Semantics.”

There was a brief flurry of tools, chains, a few grunts, a scraped knuckle, and finally the clank of the car hitch being secured to the back of Obito’s truck.

Then Obito clapped his hands together and turned back to the porch where Sakura and Kakashi stood.

“…Soooo,” Obito said, drawing out the word with an exaggerated stretch. “Before I go…” He glanced between them, hands on his hips.

“Spit it out,” Kakashi muttered.

Obito grinned. “Sissy wants to have dinner.”

Kakashi blinked. “Rin?”

“Yup. Before Sakura leaves for good.” He winked at her, voice teasing and light, but his gaze sharp.

Sakura paused, coffee halfway to her lips. She glanced at Kakashi’s porch, then at Kakashi himself, then at the gravel road leading away from all of it.

She smiled. “I would love that.”

Obito’s grin softened. “She’ll be thrilled. Rin’s already planning the menu. Something about lemon rosemary chicken and your death via starch.”

“Bread. So much bread,” Kakashi added, smiling faintly.

Obito nodded like a man proud of a plan well-executed. “Alright then. I’ll call her. I’ll text you. Don’t be late.”

“We live in the woods,” Kakashi said flatly. “Where would we be going?”

Obito paused. “…Fair.” He headed back to his truck. “Oh, and Kakashi?”

“Yeah?”

Obito climbed into the driver’s seat, stuck his head out the window.

“Don’t fuck this one up.”

Kakashi opened his mouth, but Sakura beat him to it.

“He won’t.”

Obito’s eyes flicked between them.

And he grinned.

Then the truck rumbled to life and kicked up gravel as it pulled away.

Sakura leaned into Kakashi’s side, still barefoot, still wearing his shirt.

“So,” she said, sipping her coffee, “I’m meeting the family.”

“Looks like it,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her. “You’re stuck with us now.”

“Lucky me,” she said.

But the look she gave him said she meant it.

The front door burst open before Kakashi could even knock.

“You’re late,” Obito announced, holding a baby on one hip and a spatula in the other, already wearing a flour-dusted apron that said Kiss the Cook, He’s Tired.

“It’s 6:03,” Kakashi said flatly.

“Which means you’re three minutes late and three minutes less useful,” Obito countered, backing up into the house.

Sakura stepped in behind Kakashi, wide-eyed at the whirlwind of domestic noise—the smell of roasted chicken and rosemary and fresh bread, the shrill squeal of a toddler on the loose, and the rhythmic creak of a rocking chair somewhere deeper in the house.

“Welcome to the circus,” Obito grinned. “Your seat comes with complimentary chaos.”

“Smells amazing,” Sakura said, laughing as she slipped out of her jacket.

“That’s Rin. I’m just the errand boy and occasional eye candy.”

“Occasional?” Kakashi muttered.

From the kitchen, a voice rang out: “I heard that!”

Rin appeared in the doorway like a benevolent queen in yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, hair in a messy braid, face glowing.

She wiped her hands on a towel and pulled Sakura into a warm, tight hug.

“Finally,” Rin said softly. “It’s so good to meet you.”

Sakura was startled by the sincerity, and warmth bloomed in her chest. “It’s so good to meet you too.”

“Come sit, we’re about to eat.”

—

Dinner was chaos.

One baby dropped a spoon, another shrieked at a piece of broccoli like it had personally offended him. Obito somehow managed to both corral a toddler and argue passionately with Kakashi about whether or not The Princess Bride was a better love story than Titanic.

“It’s literally got fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters—”

“No ships, though,” Kakashi replied.

“It has a castle!”

“So does Mario Kart.”

Sakura was laughing so hard she nearly choked on her wine.

Rin, sitting beside her, gave her a sly glance. “They’ve been like this since high school. It’s exhausting and endearing.”

“Mostly exhausting,” Kakashi said.

“Mostly endearing,” Obito grinned.

The kids were passed around like hot potatoes between bites, sticky fingers found their way into mashed potatoes, and someone spilled milk halfway through the meal, prompting a round of dramatic gasps from everyone under four feet tall.

—

After dinner, while the table was being cleared and Obito had vanished somewhere in the back to wrangle bath time, Rin touched Sakura’s arm lightly.

“Come with me a sec?”

Sakura followed her into the hallway just off the kitchen, near the pantry, where it was quiet.

Rin turned, hands folded in front of her, smiling gently.

“I don’t usually do this.”

“Do what?” Sakura asked.

“Play older sister interrogator.” Rin gave a soft laugh. “But I had to pull you aside.”

She tilted her head.

“How long have you been stranded at Kakashi’s?”

Sakura blinked. “Uh. Eight days, I think?”

Rin gave her a once-over, and her smile widened.

“And you’ve already got his hoodie, a key on the table, and his coffee order memorized. That sound about right?”

Sakura flushed. “He just… he made it easy.”

“You made it easy for him.” Rin stepped forward, brushing a crumb from Sakura’s shoulder like she was already family. “I don’t know what you did, but I’ve never seen him like this. He’s lighter. More open.”

“It hasn’t even been two weeks,” Sakura whispered, as if the time might scold her.

Rin just nodded. “I know. It’s insane. But logic aside…”

She stepped closer and tapped Sakura’s chest, over her heart.

“Listen from here. What does it feel like?”

Sakura’s eyes burned a little.

She inhaled, slow and sure.

“Like I already know him.”

Rin smiled, warm and full of quiet knowing.

“Good.”

She leaned in and kissed Sakura’s cheek.

“Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”

—

When they returned to the kitchen, Kakashi looked up from the sink, sleeves rolled and hands soapy, and arched a brow.

Sakura smiled—soft, private, glowing.

And when she tucked herself against his side, he didn’t need to ask.

He already knew.

The kitchen had gone still after the laughter.

Plates were cleared, counters wiped down, wine glasses rinsed and placed on the drying rack. The kids had long since been tucked into bed, and even the crickets outside had quieted, as if they, too, were holding their breath.

Sakura stood near the door with her bag slung over her shoulder.

Kakashi hadn’t moved from where he leaned against the archway, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

Obito stepped in from the porch, brushing his hands together.

“Well…” he said, clearing his throat a little too loudly. “Car’s all hooked up. Battery’s charged. Should get her to town easy enough.”

He looked between them, then at Kakashi. “I’ll take your truck.”

Kakashi blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. You take her. It’s her car, yeah? Besides, I’ve got errands to run in town. I’ll meet you there.”

Kakashi didn’t argue. Just nodded once.

Rin appeared from behind, wrapped in a blanket. She opened her arms and pulled Sakura into a hug that felt final and whole and warm all at once.

“Come back soon,” she whispered into her ear. “You belong here.”

Obito clapped Sakura gently on the back, rough hands and soft eyes. “Don’t be a stranger, yeah? I’ll start pulling out the good wine if I know you’re comin’.”

They left with no more words.

The silence followed them like fog.

—

The drive into town was almost an hour.

Neither of them spoke.

The headlights cut the dark in long silver lines, trees rising on either side like silent witnesses. The radio was off. Her hand sat limp in her lap, fingers twitching every now and then with unsaid words. Kakashi’s jaw was tight. He hadn’t looked at her more than once since they pulled out of the driveway.

And something—something like panic or sorrow—pressed against her chest with each passing mile.

She hated goodbyes.

This felt like the worst kind.

When they pulled into the small auto shop lot, her car already resting in one of the side bays, the mechanic waved them in. Kakashi didn’t move.

Sakura watched him quietly from the passenger seat, her throat dry.

“I’ll come with,” he said simply.

—

The starter was bad. It’d been replaced.

Her tank had been filled.

It had only taken a day’s work—just long enough to strand her with a man who had unraveled her, worshiped her, claimed her in every way that mattered.

Now the car worked.

Now she could leave.

—

They stood beside her car.

The sky was dusty rose behind the trees.

The shop lights flickered once, buzzed.

“So,” Sakura said. Her voice came out hoarse. Too thin. “Guess that’s that.”

Kakashi didn’t answer at first.

His hands were in his pockets, shoulders tight, and when he finally looked at her, it was slow—measured. Like he was memorizing her.

“You got everything?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

A breeze picked up, tugging a strand of her hair across her cheek. She didn’t fix it. Didn’t move.

“Sakura,” Kakashi said, his voice lower now, rougher. “I meant what I said. I don’t want to let you go.”

Her breath hitched.

She blinked.

Swallowed.

“Then don’t,” she whispered.

He stepped forward.

His hands reached for her face, cradling her so gently, thumbs resting under her jaw. Their foreheads touched, noses brushing.

“I don’t want this to end.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

Kakashi breathed her in.